CHAPTER 5

Go Home, Pig!

“As a representative of your local police force, I am very glad to have the opportunity of addressing you today at your school assembly.”

“He’s probably making a drug bust,” whispered Peter Callaghan, sitting on Alex’s right.

“We take our responsibility of protecting you and all the citizens of Logan City very seriously. Part of our job is not only to arrest people who are doing the wrong thing, but also to educate and help the youth in our community. Each year we run a special program for juvenile offenders called ‘Break the Cycle, not the Law’. The money we receive from your fundraising allows us to keep the program going, and keep more young people out of jail.”

“I bet he uses the money to buy his kid’s birthday presents,” said Peter, talking behind his hand.

Mrs Blake threw a scowl in their direction.

“To show our appreciation of your efforts, the Logan City Police would like to present the principal of St Joseph’s College, Mr Stahl, with this outdoor clock.”

There was stilted applause as the policeman handed Mr Stahl an expensive-looking clock and shook his hand for the all-important photo — a certain inclusion in the next school newsletter.

Full school assemblies meant 45 minutes of sitting on the concrete, getting shooshed by teachers and watching endless presentations. They were, by definition, boring, but usually something unplanned happened which made them bearable.

“GO HOME, PIG!”

In the undercover area the words bounced violently off the walls. For a few seconds there was dead silence, then muffled laughter by one or two students spread like a Mexican wave at the footy.

“Who was it?” kids murmured. It had been a boy, but that’s all anybody could tell. You would have to be very brave, very stupid, or both to try such a thing at assembly. If caught you’d probably get your tongue chopped off.

The whole school was looking up at the Year 10 section. The deputy, Mr Dowden, stepped up to the microphone. “Quiet please, everyone. QUIET!”

Mr Dowden had been deputy of St Joseph’s for 16 years, and he was authority in a sweaty shirt and pooh-brown tie. The noise dropped to a low din and then to nothing at all.

“I would ask that at the end of this assembly all Year 10s please stay behind.”

They groaned.

“I expect the person who made that unfortunate remark to make themselves known at that time. I apologise to Senior Sergeant Doyle and assure him that this is the sentiment of one attention-seeking individual and not that of the whole school. I ask that we put our hands together again for Sergeant Doyle.”

The students, feeling a mixture of guilt and excitement, clapped loudly.

“This should remind us all of the importance of being respectful. Respectful to each other, respectful to ourselves, and respectful to our school property.”

School assemblies were also about long lectures from the deputy principal.

“It causes me great sadness to report that the amount of graffiti at this school is much greater than at any other time in our 20-year history. Much of it has been the work of one group, who I won’t give the pleasure of naming.”

Adrian Dorry, sitting behind, tapped Alex on the shoulder. “It’s SWA,” he whispered. “It’s written over half the books in the library.”

Mrs Blake was staring again.

“The act of vandalism is a low, selfish thing to be involved in,” Mr Dowden continued. “It costs us a great deal of time and money to clean up so you can have a school you’re proud to attend. It is NOT ON. I can’t be any clearer than that. I would ask that anyone who has any information on this group contact me immediately. It is not dobbing your friends in, it is showing that you care about your school and its property.”

Adrian leant forward. “I heard SWA’s against authority and stuff. It was probably one of them who yelled out.”

“What’s SWA mean?” asked Alex. He didn’t look at Adrian but forward at the stage. He could sense Mrs Blake was ready to make a bust.

“Don’t know,” he said. “But I know who’s in it. Some Year 10 guys and a chick.”

There were more presentations happening. The art teacher was gushing into the microphone. “The winner is one of the most talented painters St Joseph’s has had in a long time. From Year 10, Kimberley Lim.”

Alex couldn’t see the girl properly as the policeman was blocking his view. The name was familiar, though, and he had almost placed her when he was distracted. She received, along with a certificate, a loud wolf-whistle — again from the Year 10 section.

Adrian tapped him on the shoulder.

“That’s …” was all Adrian got the chance to say. He did, however, get the chance to share his lunchtime with Mrs Blake.