It’s a typical Monday morning. We’re in home group just wasting time before our first lesson when the door opens. Mr Sutton, the principal, pokes his head in. ‘I’ve brought the new student, Mr Brown,’ he says.
Mr Brown jumps up. He looks guilty. I bet he was playing Angry Birds on his laptop. He nods. The principal steps into the room, holding the door wide open.
There is a whirring noise and one of those motorised wheelchairs edges its way through the door.
The kid in it is our age. His head is tipped forward and sideways. His hand on the control joystick is clawed and twisted. I can tell he is concentrating as hard as he can to steer the chair. He’s pretty good at it because he makes it into the room without crashing into anything. He drives to the centre of the room and turns to face the class.
The principal clears his throat. ‘This is James,’ he says. ‘I’m sure you’ll all make him welcome.’
A sort of smile flashes over James’s face but it disappears as quickly as it came. He is concentrating on the wheelchair controls again, except he can’t seem to look directly at the joystick. His head seems to want to turn to the side all the time.
Mr Sutton nods at us as if to say, ‘Come on, where’s your manners?’
‘Good morning James,’ we all chorus.
‘Goo mooning,’ he slurs. It sounds like he is fully drunk.
The classroom falls silent. We are all staring at James, wondering. And then a voice rings out in the silence.
‘He’s a retard!’
The whole class takes a breath at once.
James flinches. There’s a hurt expression, a flash of anger and then he grabs at the joystick on his wheelchair. He’s having a lot more trouble getting hold of it than he was just a second ago. His face twists up all over the place and there’s tension shaking his arm. He goes red as he tries to force his hand to grab the joystick, but it won’t obey him. He leans forward and puts his eyes close to it. Then he has it and he turns the chair on the spot and heads for the door. His wheel scrapes the frame on the way through.
Mr Brown gapes for a second and then he takes off after him.
‘McEvoy!’ Mr Sutton’s face is white. ‘Get — to — my — office!’
Ranga’s face is like an open book with blank pages: no expression at all, like he can’t understand what just happened.
‘McEvoy!’
Fear comes creeping into Ranga’s eyes. It’s in the way his head sinks into his shoulders. It’s in the bunching of his mouth. He knows he’s gone too far this time but I bet he doesn’t know why, even now. Mr Sutton called him by his surname. Usually when Ranga does something stupid and gets into trouble Mr Sutton calls him Warren.
Ranga nods. ‘Yes, Mr Sutton.’ He walks out, head bowed — condemned.
Mr Sutton turns to the class. ‘Don’t ever,’ he waves a finger in the air, ‘ever let me hear anyone say anything like that again.’ He pauses, staring us down. It takes a couple of seconds before he’s satisfied we are all scared enough. ‘James has cerebral palsy. He’s not intellectually challenged — not retarded like Warren called him. He’s as clever as any of you.’ Mr Sutton gives me a heavy look. It feels like he thinks I had something to do with what Ranga did. Then he says, ‘James’ body just won’t obey his brain properly.’
I’m trying to imagine how that must feel, what it would be like, when Mr Brown steps back into the classroom. ‘Mr Sutton,’ he says softly, ‘can I have a word with you?’
Mr Sutton nods and steps outside. He’s still half visible, talking to Mr Brown, so no one speaks. We just look around at each other.
Finally they both step back inside and right behind them comes James. He drives over to the middle and turns his chair so he’s facing the class. He’s been crying. His eyes are red and puffy.
All I can think of is how brave he is. For once Mr Sutton hasn’t got anything to say.
‘This way, James.’ Mr Sutton hovers over James as though he’s his mother or something. He leads him through the class to Ranga’s desk, the desk next to mine. He drags Ranga’s chair out of the way and James parks his wheelchair there. ‘Ian will show you around,’ he gives me a meaningful stare, ‘at recess.’
James gives me that quick smile again. Is it really a smile or just a random expression on that face of his?
‘Cool!’ he says.
He seems happy to sit next to me, but does he recognise me? Does he know Ranga was around at my place yesterday? How would he feel if he knew I was actually wondering whether James was slow before Ranga blurted the thought out? I’m really uncomfortable. I don’t know where to look but then home group ends and we have to go to maths.
I walk beside James and he tells me about himself. He used to live in Townsville. His father is in the army and he’s been transferred to the SAS base in Swanbourne. He says it was hot up there and it feels freezing here. He slurs some words and stutters a bit but it’s easy to get what he’s saying.
I’m agreeing about how cold it has been here lately when he says, ‘It didn’t stop your friend from jumping in the puddles.’
Jeez! He does know! I’m trying to think of something to say when we arrive at maths. I make a big deal out of finding a seat just to get out of talking for a bit.
Turns out he’s good at maths. He answers lots of questions and he gets the answers right too. He’s pretty brainy.
I end up hanging out with James all day. It’s okay but if I have to do it every day it’ll get boring. James can’t do much.
Ranga doesn’t come back to class. I bet he got suspended.