33

jesse

I look out the window. It’s a bright sunny morning. I lean close to the pane and breathe heavily, frosting the glass. With my finger, I draw an outline of the biggest animal in Antarctica: the blue whale. I step back to admire my artwork. Perfect. Not a Japanese whaleboat in sight.

‘What do you think, Kelifa?’ I say, looking at the picture of my African friend Blu Tacked to my wall. A beam of sunshine lights the wall above his head. Kelifa seems to be smiling, probably because he’s received the email I sent to CARE Australia about the fundraising lunchtime we’re having at school today, in his honour.

‘Maybe we’ll raise enough so your dad can build you a new bedroom,’ I say, ‘away from your sisters.’

‘Mum,’ Beth calls, ‘Jesse’s talking to himself again.’

‘Jesse,’ Mum’s voice calls from the kitchen.

‘It’s okay,’ I yell, ‘Kelifa is not a false god, he’s an eight-year-old boy.’

Beth comes to my door and smiles. ‘Not an imaginary friend?’

I look toward the picture of Kelifa and shake my head. Beth walks into my room and places the new CD of The Scrambles on my dresser. Something is scrawled across the cover.

‘Ryan got each of the band members to autograph it, even Feral. He said you could auction it on eBay, or at lunchtime today and give the money to Kelifa,’ she says.

‘Wow, thanks sis.’

‘No worries, anything to avoid eating yams again.’

Mum knocks gently on my open door.

‘Beth,’ she says.

‘Mum,’ Beth answers.

Mum glances around the room, looking for Trevor. Kelifa smiles down at her.

‘What are you hiding behind your back, Mum?’ Beth asks.

Mum smiles. She steps into the room and elaborately presents Beth with a pair of yoga pants.

‘I bought these yesterday, Beth.’

Beth accepts the present and holds the pants up to the light.

‘They’re new, Beth. Not second hand.’ Mum turns to go and calls behind her, ‘I’ve kept your old pair.’

Beth stands holding the pants, her mouth open in disbelief.

‘You see, sis,’ I say, ‘the world can change.’

At school, Kate is waiting for me at the ‘Thought for the Day’ sign. The sign reads:

To give is better than to receive.

Kate’s wearing her green ribbon and, just for today, a green ‘Save the Whales’ t-shirt. As I approach, she lifts her pants to reveal her lucky socks. She smiles. ‘Too much green is never enough.’

When we get to class, everyone is sitting down, except Hunter who’s sitting on Sarah’s desk, his heavy shoes tapping on the wooden panel. Sarah hasn’t arrived yet.

‘Charityboy and Whalegirl,’ Hunter says, as we enter. He winks, just to let me know he’s kidding. This time.

‘You’re early, Hunter,’ I say.

‘The early bird catches …’

‘The worm,’ I suggest.

‘The teacher off guard,’ he answers.

As if on cue, Sarah walks in. ‘Hunter, I believe that’s my desk you’re sitting on.’

Hunter jumps up and says, ‘Sorry, Sarah, but as we’re a community, I thought it was our desk’. He casually walks toward his chair and sits down. Sarah sighs and places her handbag on her desk. Our desk.

Skye raises her hand. Sarah pretends not to notice.

‘Okay, class. It’s D-E-A-R time. And we know what that means.’

‘Doze Early And Repeatedly?’ Hunter calls.

Everyone giggles, even Sarah.

‘Don’t Eat At Recess!’ I add.

‘Dead Elephants And Rhinos!’ Hunter answers.

Sarah holds up a book, as if to remind us.

Hunter clicks his fingers. ‘Of course. Drop Everything And … Retch!’

I can’t help myself. ‘Ha!’

Sarah makes an extravagant gesture of opening her book.

‘Drop Everything And Read,’ Skye calls.

Everyone groans. We all knew that.

After reading, Hunter raises his hand, but before he can ask a question, Sarah says, ‘Yes, Hunter, you can go to Walter’. Hunter whistles a bouncy tune as he walks out the door. We can hear it echo along the verandah. When Sarah turns to write on the whiteboard, Kate passes me a note. I unfold it under my desk. It’s an invitation to her place tonight, for dinner.

I blush.

*

On the grassy area at lunchtime, a few parents have arranged tables in a large semicircle. On each table are items for sale. All the students wander from table to table, looking for treasure among the cast-off toys and books.

A large sign is strung between the two wattle trees in the corner. It reads, ‘All proceeds to charity’ with a picture of Kelifa pasted into the top corner. I’m busy tying the cord a little tighter, so Kelifa won’t get blown away by the wind, when Kate races up and grabs my hand.

‘Hunter is setting up his own stall.’ She grins.

‘No!’ I say. ‘I wonder what he’s selling.’

‘Maybe he’s offering a joke booth? One dollar a laugh,’ Kate says.

‘More likely a “Give me a dollar and I won’t hit you” booth. He’d make a fortune with that one,’ I say.

She leads me across the grass, still holding my hand. We jostle among the kindy kids surrounding the booths. The first person I notice is not Hunter, but an old man with a walking stick. He’s standing behind a table laden with sushi! Hunter is beside him, offering a sushi roll to Larry.

‘Three dollars Larry, special deal for teachers,’ Hunter says.

I notice the sign above the stall, which reads, ‘Sushi $2.50’. Larry sees it too, but happily hands over the gold coins.

Hunter spies me and Kate. He spreads his arms wide, a shopkeeper displaying his fine items. ‘Chicken, avocado, beef teriyaki,’ he says. ‘No whale meat!’ Kate and I both reach into our pockets.

Hunter makes a gesture for us to stop. He offers me a chicken roll and Kate an avocado and cucumber roll. ‘Free for my friends,’ he says.

‘Did you buy all this?’ I ask.

The old man puts his arm around Hunter’s shoulder. ‘A nice Japanese man gave us a huge discount.’ He reaches across the table to shake our hands. ‘My name’s Les.’ He looks at Hunter. ‘The young man here told me all about fundraising for the starving Africans,’ Les says. ‘He figured as I had lots of spare time, I might as well join him on this stall.’

Les reaches behind him into a large esky and pulls out a bottle of fizzy drink. He pours it into two plastic cups for Kate and me. ‘Home-brewed ginger beer, on the house. Or on the stall, I should say.’

He leans forward. ‘Funny thing is, the Japanese man seemed to think I was Hunter’s father and the head of a company called Dalton Enterprises.’

‘Hunter can be very …’ I can’t think of the correct word.

‘Persuasive?’ Les suggests.

‘Imaginative,’ says Hunter.

Les reaches to shake my hand, again. ‘This is a good thing you’ve organised, young man.’

Hunter sees Sarah on the verandah and cups his hands together, calling out, ‘Sushi, Sarah! Special price for teachers.’

Sarah reaches for her handbag.

Hunter looks at me. ‘I’m going to ask Sarah if you and me and Kate can help pack up, after lunch,’ he says. ‘That way, we’ll miss maths.’

There’s only one word I can say in response.

‘Ha!’