The next day is even hotter.

I get to school early, hoping to look around for my jumper, but Mrs Leeman is already at her desk in the classroom with her face set to disapproval. Maybe she never goes home.

The heat in our classroom is intense. The computers have been deemed a fire risk and are locked in the storeroom. Most of the things we do is on them, so there isn’t much to do. We can’t read because the vinyl beanbags in the reading corner are too hot to touch and we can’t use the twisty pencils because they’ve melted into purple blobs at the bottom of the tubs. The only good part is that all the plastic-covered maths cards have stuck together in a block and are unusable after the first card, ‘Introduction to Algebra’, which has no actual algebra on it.

When the bell goes for recess, Jun and I go down to the spot Alex got for us yesterday while I was looking for my jumper.

It’s a really good spot; right down the bottom near the water tanks. Almost out of bounds. The teachers on yard duty usually stay up the top near the artificial climbing wall where half of the footholds are loose and spin around when you step on them. Most accidents happen in this area. From there they can see down to the water tanks but not who is down by the water tanks. Except Mrs Leeman. She has the eyesight of a peregrine falcon and the same screechy voice.

The water tanks are totally empty. It hasn’t rained for ages.

Braden joins us, but he doesn’t say much. Maybe he’s missing his old school. If I went to a new school, I would probably miss my friends. As for actual school … I can take it or leave it.

Apart from the heat and my jumper still being missing, it’s an okay day. Mrs Leeman has a teachers’ conference in the afternoon, so we join Ms Kendall’s class and do word puzzles all afternoon. Ms Kendall even lets Minha check her wildlife water stations during class time.

No one even mentions school captain announcements. Maybe Mrs Overbeek’s forgotten about it.

I hope so.

After school, Alex tells me I should ask my mum for a replacement jumper. His dad said there’s a cool change coming tonight. He hands me a piece of paper.

‘I was in the office having my puffer and I saw them, so I grabbed one for you,’ he explains.

It’s a Grade 6 jumper re-order form. I fold it up and stuff it in my bag.

‘Miss Creighton said there were two spare jumpers but we have two new kids, so …’

Only Alex would think about someone else while he was having an asthma attack. He already has his karate uniform on.

I am a bit worried about the cool change though. Alex’s dad works for the Bureau of Meteorology.

Wednesday feels just as hot as Tuesday, but it’s actually hotter. According to the news, it’s the hottest day since records began. Schools and businesses are closed with the exception of our school, which would probably stay open on the sun.

There’s still no mention of school captains. We’re drifting through the year without leadership and no one has even noticed.

Thursday is even hotter than Wednesday. I don’t care about my jumper anymore. Or my shoes or socks or uniform. I would lie on the floor in my undies if I was allowed. We don’t have normal classes at school. We just watch videos all day. Mrs Leeman finally allows the air conditioning to be put on ‘low’.

Five minutes later she puts her cardigan on.

I’m not kidding.

That should be on the news: ‘100-Year-Old Teacher Complains the Sun is a “Bit Chilly”’.

I’m starting to get a bit suspicious about Alex’s dad working at the Bureau of Meteorology.

I say to him, ‘Doesn’t your dad work at Rent-a-Tent?’

‘Yeah. He used to work there,’ Alex says, ‘while he was studying. Now he’s a groundwater hydrologist.’

I start laughing. ‘A what?’

‘At the Bureau of Meterology,’ Alex says. ‘You know … he studies the water underground.’

Alex starts laughing too because it sounds so funny.

‘Know what I mean?’ he says.

I nod but I have no idea what he’s talking about.

Does that mean his dad is underground as well? Studying water?

It sounds like something made up.

The next morning, something’s different. There’s been a cool change overnight and it’s freezing. I’m relieved for about a minute before I remember that I don’t have a jumper. I put two T-shirts on under my school shirt. I go down to the kitchen to eat breakfast, trying to look casual and not cold and uncomfortable which is what I am.

Mum walks into the room pulling a woolly jumper over her head. ‘Aren’t you cold, Jesse?’

‘No, no. I’m fine.’

We both look at the goosebumps and little hairs sticking up on my bare arms.

‘Why don’t you put your jumper on?’ Mum asks.

It’s a reasonable question. I try to think of a reasonable answer.

‘Uhh … I left my jumper at school. I’ll put it on when I get there.’

Mum looks at me and I know she knows, and she knows that I know that she knows. She just nods. It makes me feel even more shivery.

When I get to school, everyone’s got their jumpers on.

The first bell is still going when Mrs Leeman starts class. She says the bell is for her and not for us, which doesn’t even make sense. There’s a big map of Australia on the interactive whiteboard. All the wheat, rice, beef, dairy and wool-growing regions are shaded with different patterns. It’s the most boring map I’ve ever seen until we’re all handed a blank map of Australia and told to copy the one from the board onto ours. Everyone’s busy choosing a wheat-coloured pencil when Mrs Overbeek’s voice announces over the PA system: ‘Good morning everyone. If you could all put away your work … It’s time to assemble in the gym for the school captain announcements.’

That’s the only thing I want to do less than what I’m currently doing.

Mrs Leeman doesn’t disguise her annoyance at having her lesson interrupted. She orders us to cover our work – as if it’s of interest to anyone except maybe a sheep or a cow – and line up at the door.

Ours is the first class to get to the gym so we have to sit in silence while the rest of the school shuffle in. I notice the new girl from the other class is sitting by herself. Mrs Leeman would have ordered someone to be friends with her by now if she was in our class.

Mrs Overbeek explains she’s going to do the announcements herself because there are no Parents’ Committee members present. I look at the back of the gym and see there are no parents either. A bit disappointing if you want to be school captain and are hoping for a sense of ceremony.

Even though it’s only the first week of term, Mr S is already here. He retired a year ago but he comes back every time a teacher is sick or away for some other reason. He’s here all the time. I wouldn’t mind if he were filling in for Mrs Leeman. He’s pretty tough but nothing compared with her. She’s like three Mr Ss combined.

We all sit there bored while the two office monitors and four house captain positions go to Grade 5 kids. This is normal for our school because there are only forty-seven kids in all of Grade 6. You can’t have too many of us in charge of something. Mrs Overbeek barely has control of the school as it is.

We wait while Mrs Overbeek stands on stage holding the last two badges in her hand for what seems like an hour. I wish she would hurry up. She’s worse than Mr Wilson. When she does do it, she does it all wrong. You’re supposed to announce vice-captain first, then captain. She says it the other way around.

‘I’m pleased to announce … Samra Boulos is school captain and Junli Zhao is vice-captain of Westmoore Primary School this year!’

I’m so relieved, I go all dizzy in the head. Everyone claps when Samra stands up to collect her badge. When Jun stands up for his badge, everyone claps about ten times as loud and stomps their feet on the floor. Mrs Overbeek probably shuffled the votes around to make sure he didn’t get to be captain. She would rather be principal of a different school than let Jun be captain of this one.

Samra takes her badge and goes to sit with the teachers. Jun sits back down next to us with his badge pinned on upside-down. A few kids laugh but when he looks down at the badge to read it, it’s the right way up.

We think assembly’s over but Mrs Overbeek says we have to stay a bit longer because there are some more important items that weren’t covered in Monday’s assembly. She mustn’t think they’re that important, though, because she hands the microphone to Mr Wilson, then leaves the gym to go and do something more interesting.

‘Uhhh … all right, boys and girls,’ Mr Wilson begins. ‘We’ve got some uhhh … fantastic things lined up for this term … a spelling bee for Grade 3 and uhhh … bake-a-cake for Grade 4 …’ He drones on for about two more weeks and we’re all falling asleep until he says, ‘Then of course in the last week of term there’s camp for Grade 6 …’

At the mention of Grade 6 camp, everyone at our end of the gym gets happy and excited with the exception of Mrs Leeman and me. Mrs Leeman has no time for happiness or excitement, and I have no time for camp.

I should start thinking about how I’m going to get out of it now. Everyone else loves camp for some reason, so I keep a bit quiet about not wanting to go. Also, there’s a chance I could change my mind. One day I might want to be cold, bored, tired, hungry and covered in mosquito bites two hundred kilometres from home.

That night, I pick a time when no one else is around to tell Mum what she already knows; that I’ve lost my Grade 6 jumper and need a new one. I slide the order form across the kitchen table. Mum glances at it then stares at me for about five whole minutes before saying really quietly, ‘I wondered when you were going to tell me about this, Jesse. Do you remember losing it?’

I shake my head.

I don’t even remember having it.