jake

Mum’s up even though it’s only 7.30 and she’s on nights. I’m trying to avoid her, hoping she’ll disappear back to bed if I stay in my room long enough. I was sure she’d forget about today. But she clearly hasn’t.

‘Two sugars?’ Mum asks pushing my door open with her elbow and walking in with two cups.

‘Yeah,’ I say and turn away to face the wall.

I hear the cup go down on the side table and then the room is flooded with light. I can’t help but groan.

‘You need to get up. We have to be there at 8.30,’ she says, sitting on the edge of my bed.

‘Where?’

‘Jake,’ she says sharply.

Of course I know what today is. And of course she’s cross. I just don’t want to go.

I can smell the medical smell she gets when she’s on nights. Even after she showers, she still reeks of hand sanitiser. I give up and roll over. Mum’s staring out, dazed, into the other room. If I’m quiet, she’ll be asleep again soon.

I sneak my arm past her and reach for my coffee.

‘Your fingernails are filthy, Jake. Don’t you ever wash?’

She has a point. They are.

I look up and see she’s watching me. I try to smile but it comes out wrong.

‘You going to tell me what’s going on?’

I slurp as loudly as I can and the hot coffee burns the back of my throat.

‘Jake …’ Her voice is full of something I don’t want to hear.

‘Mum, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.’

She snorts a sarcastic laugh and says, ‘You can’t try that with me.’

‘Well, it is.’

‘So why are we being called in to see Mrs Boyce?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say.

‘I have a fair idea. It’s because you’re wagging school all the time.’

‘I’m not. I’ve missed a few days. It’s nothing.’

‘It’s something.’

I sip more coffee, trying to find the sugar. ‘Did you stir this?’

‘You’ve got a shot, Jake. You’re smart. Don’t screw it up,’ she says, standing up. I pretend to focus on my cup, scratching at the edge with my dirty nail, but she’s right. I know she is.

‘Okay. I’ll stop wagging.’

‘Really? You promise?’

I see how tired she is. The relief is all over her face. She just wants to go to bed; instead she’s playing babysitter to her teenage son.

‘I promise.’

‘Today? You’ll go today?’

‘Yep.’

‘After the meeting? You’ll stay until the end?’

I force a laugh. The questions are crazy. She’s trying to box me in.

‘It’s not funny. Mr Capuano is worried about you. I’m worried about you.’

I like thinking Mr Cap is worried. He doesn’t seem to worry about much. It’s nice he’s reserving it for me. Even if there’s no point in him worrying about me anymore. It’s not like it’ll change anything.

‘Okay,’ I say, dodging, agreeing to anything.

I see her smile. Just a little one, because she’s pretending she’s still cross with me. But I know better. Mum never stays cross. She can’t. It’s just the two of us, so if she stays cross at me she has nobody to talk to.

‘And grow your hair out again. Please,’ she says, staring at my shaved head.

I shrug. ‘Why? I like it.’ And I do. I like that I’ve shaved the old me away.

She frowns. ‘You look like your father.’

It’s like a slap in the face. I don’t want to look like him.

‘No you don’t, honey. Sorry,’ she says quickly. ‘It’s just the shaved head …’ Then she smiles properly and leans down to kiss my head and I hear her sniff it.

‘Shower now. Wash your fingernails and shampoo your … head,’ she says.

‘Yes, Mum,’ I say, watching her walk out slowly.

I wish I could talk to Mr Cap about genetics. I tried researching it, but nothing answered my question. How do I escape my inheritance?

I roll out of my bed and consider the shower, but decide that showering and turning up to school on the same day is a little ambitious, so I’ll start small with going to school. We don’t have an actual uniform; we have an unofficial one. Mine is black jeans and a t-shirt. Sometimes they are old band t-shirts and sometimes they are just plain black. Today I find a clean plain one and smother my pits in deodorant. There’s no point going to the meeting. I know what Mrs Boyce is going to say. She’s going to point out to Mum how many days I’ve wagged, and Mum is going to be shocked and embarrassed that she had no idea. Then she’ll blame herself for working nights and not being around more and I’ll feel like a complete arse.

The thing is I don’t want to wag. I don’t even mean to wag. Some days I head off to school, bag packed, Vegemite sandwich in plastic wrap, but as I walk along the path near the overpass, I feel in my pocket for the stub of broken plastic from his headlight that I carry around with me and I can’t go any further. I just keep thinking about what we did. About him. And Alex. And me. And the whole catastrophe and then it stops me doing anything. And now that Tien has replaced me in Mr Cap’s summer science program, I really don’t seem to belong.

Of course I can’t tell Mum any of that because that would mean telling her things I don’t want to admit.

As I lace up my sneakers as loosely as possible, a high-pitched beeping noise cuts across the morning and I smell the smoke. I grab my pillow off the bed and dash to the smoke alarm outside my bedroom door. Our flat is so small we only have one alarm. I counted the ones in Alex’s new house. There were five.

I wave the pillow furiously under the screaming noise.

‘Mum,’ I yell. ‘The griller.’

It’s happened before when Mum’s been on nights. She’s put the bread under the grill and sat down at the table and drifted off. I see her sit up, and then realise what’s going on. She dashes to the kitchen, pulling out the slices of blackened bread and tossing them into the sink just as the smoke alarm stops.

‘That was the last of the bread. Sorry,’ she says from the kitchen.

‘I’m not hungry anyway.’

‘I am,’ she says with a sigh, leaning against the bench like everything is just too hard.

‘Go back to bed, Mum. I can go on my own,’ I say quietly.

She looks over, shaking her head. ‘What, and have the principal think I don’t care? No way. I’m coming.’

‘Okay. Okay. Just trying to save you the trip.’

She walks over to me. ‘You’re just trying to get out of going.’

I smile.

‘It’s not funny, Jake. I’ll just get my shoes. You ready?’

‘Yep.’

She turns as she reaches her door. ‘Did you even shower?’

The burnt toast means she fell asleep, even if it was for only twenty seconds. ‘Yeah. I did.’

She shrugs like she maybe believes me but probably doesn’t. And then she’s back, pulling on her good shoes. I realise she’s dressed up. Skirt. Nice top. No stains. She’s making an effort and it makes me feel even worse.

‘Come on. If we go now, I can get some takeaway from that milk bar on the way,’ she says.

We walk out of the block of flats into sunshine. Mum puts her sunnies on and I have to hurry to keep up with her. Neither of us is talking. And that’s fine by me. I’m running answers through my head, preparing for the attack by Mrs Boyce.

We pass Alex’s house. The ‘Sold’ sign has been graffitied by someone with a spray can. Seeing all the illegible tags is reassuring somehow. Like him leaving has made other people angry too.

‘Have you seen Alex?’ Mum asks as we cross the road.

I consider lying but settle for vague. ‘Not for a while.’

‘Is that the problem?’

‘No, Mum. I told you, there’s no problem.’

Mum grabs my hand and holds it tight as we reach the little park. I try not to pull away even though the feel of her fingers is strange. It’s been a long time since we’ve held hands. As we approach the milk bar, Mum releases me, like she’s realised it’s strange too.

‘Want something?’

‘Chocolate Big M,’ I say.

She nods and goes to open the door. But it’s locked.

‘Oh, come on!’ she says loudly, sounding more like a teenager than a woman in her thirties.

‘They’re always closed these days,’ I say, remembering the last time I tried to buy a pie at lunchtime.

‘No wonder milk bars are going out of business if they aren’t open at eight in the morning.’

I can’t help but laugh.

‘I’ve had two hours’ sleep, Jake.’

‘Yeah, sorry.’

We keep going. Mum in front. It’s not far to school and I wonder if we’ll see Ellie. I’d like Mum to meet her. I think they’d get along.

‘Any idea why we’re being called in?’

‘No,’ I say.

Mum turns and gives me a look of frustration before striding in through the gate. My heart is bouncing wildly in my chest. I really don’t want to be here. I wish Mum would walk next to me. I feel like I’m being led to my end.

Mum holds the door open for me and we walk in to the overly air-conditioned administration building. As Mum goes up to the counter to talk to the receptionist Jeanette, I take a seat on one of the red vinyl chairs. I hear Mum explaining that we have a meeting with Mrs Boyce.

I look down at my hands. I should have washed under my fingernails. I imagine Mrs Boyce shaking my hand and seeing how dirty I am.

As Mum comes back, the strap of her bag falls from her shoulder and the leather bag she bought herself for Christmas hits the ground. I jump up to help her scoop things up from the floor, but she sweeps it all in before I can even touch the hairbrush.

‘Mum,’ I whisper.

Still crouching on the patterned carpet, she looks up and I see her blink away tears.

‘I promise,’ I say, hoping this time I can hold myself to it. I just need to do what Alex says. I need to move on. Somehow.

‘Mrs Reynolds?’

The sound of the voice behind us makes Mum jump like she’s been caught doing something wrong. ‘It’s Ms,’ Mum says softly.

‘I’m Mrs Boyce,’ says the principal, barely looking at me. ‘My office is this way.’

Mum takes off after her and I follow, Mrs Boyce’s beige heels clicking down the hallway into a large, airy office. The curtains are open and I can see the schoolyard. I hope the glass is tinted. I’d rather nobody could see me.

I’ve never been in here before. It’s very clinical. Sort of like a doctor’s surgery. There’s no stuff. Just a couple of photo frames on the desk and a computer and a pile of papers and a few paintings hanging on the wall that look like student work. But the rest of it is as beige as Mrs Boyce’s bobbed hair and shoes.

‘Thanks for coming in,’ she says in her best teacher voice. ‘I’m going to get right to it. Jake has already missed seventeen days of school this term. Were you aware of this?’

Mum looks at me and I can see the panic in her face. She had no idea. She swallows and looks back. ‘Um, yes. I know.’

Lying obviously runs in the family.

‘You can imagine our concern.’

‘Yes.’

‘So I’ve called this meeting to try and get to the bottom of it. I need to know why Jake has stopped turning up to class. He is one of our better students.’

It’s like I’m a ghost because Mrs Boyce still hasn’t even looked at me. But Mum does. Mum stares. And I can tell all the horrible thoughts she’s thinking as she stifles a yawn.

‘Jake? Have you got anything to say?’ says Mum.

‘I’m sorry.’ It sounds pathetic even to me.

And clearly to Mrs Boyce, who jumps in with, ‘Well, I’m pleased you’re sorry, Jake. But we take attendance very seriously, which I believe you know.’

Now she looks at me from over the top of her glasses. And I look away.

‘What do you think we should do, Jake?’ she says, still watching me.

I start picking at the dirt under my fingernails, trying to slide it out in pieces, but really just moving it from one side of the nail to another.

‘I’ll stop wagging,’ I say, knowing how unlikely that is.

‘I’m more interested in why it’s happening,’ she says.

I shrug.

‘You don’t know why you’ve stopped coming to school?’ she says incredulously.

The seconds stretch. Nobody speaks. There’s just the sound of kids outside the window, yelling, playing, and going to class like their lives are totally normal. Then Mum explodes. ‘Something’s happened. He’s changed. I don’t know what it is. He won’t tell me. But it’s something.’

I can’t believe Mum just said that. I can’t believe she’d give me up like that. Hurt is everywhere.

‘Jake? Has something happened?’ says Mrs Boyce.

Now the two of them are in on it. Pushing me for answers.

‘No. Nothing’s happened. Some days I just don’t want to go to school.’

Mum coughs and the sound makes both the principal and I look over at her. ‘I’m worried that it’s something to do with his father …’

‘No,’ I say before I can help it.

But Mum has turned and is talking to Mrs Boyce now. I’m no longer here.

‘His father is in jail …’

‘Yes, I’m aware of that. Has he had contact with his father recently?’

‘No, but maybe he should …’

I stand up but look down. I don’t want to catch Mum’s eye.

‘Jake? We aren’t finished,’ says Mrs Boyce.

‘This has nothing to do with my father,’ I say, controlling my voice as well as I can. Mum reaches for my hand but I don’t let her have it. I can’t believe she’d drag him into this.

‘Okay, well, I can see that we aren’t going to come to any conclusions today. School isn’t opt in and opt out. We have a duty of care. So I’m putting you on suspension for five days. And I want you to see a psychologist.’

I say nothing. I know if I say anything it’ll be the end. So I shut my mouth while the two of them plan my life as if I’m not even in the room.