CHAPTER 3
Busted

After quickly making his way to Block 7, Alex waited at the front of the line for Mrs Blake to let them in. He was feeling squeamish and his palms were clammy. Relax, he thought. I can do this. I’m ice–cool Jackson. Skateboarder and slayer of the female species.

“For the third time, Alex, move in!” Mrs Blake ordered.

There was laughter behind him. “Good one, Michael,” someone said. That was one nickname he hoped wouldn’t stick.

Alex sat down next to Becky and went through his plan. He had thought about “accidentally” forgetting his pen and asking Becky if he could borrow one of hers, but this might make him look scungy. Nah, the best bet was to act cool for the first five minutes and then casually start a conversation. Once they got talking, she’d have to like him.

“Alex, sit up!” said Mrs Blake as he tried acting smooth by leaning back against the wall. “If you can’t sit on your chair properly I’ll move you to the front.”

Alex sat up. He was still trying to think positively, so he could build up the confidence to talk to Becky. At thirteen he hadn’t yet been attacked by zits, and his clear skin, blond hair and blue eyes made him look a surfer, even though he wasn’t. He was small for his age and average at most sports, but he could pull moves on a skateboard other Year 8s could only dream about.

Mrs Blake was talking about listening, and about how most communication occurs through body language, and not the actual words that are said. Then Alex caught a glimpse of Becky and he didn’t hear another word Mrs Blake said.

He leant over towards Becky. “Hey ... what primary school did you go to?”

She was about to answer when ...

“Would you two down the back please stop talking!” screeched Mrs Blake.

Can't she leave us alone for a second? He wondered how he could get around this communication problem. He looked down at his desk for inspiration. Of course.

What were you going to say? he wrote, and pushed the paper across to her desk.

She read his note, and curled her left arm over the paper, writing slowly and carefully. This is the moment I've been waiting for. Finally he was communicating with the first girl he’d ever really liked.

I was going to say ...

NONE OF YOUR BEESWAX!

Alex was stunned. One simple question and she hated him already. The look of shock slowly turned into a smile. None of your beeswax. Who actually says that anymore?

Are you always this friendly?

Do you always stare at girls?

Alex went a light shade of red. She’d got him there. He thought he’d been discreet, but obviously he hadn’t been discreet enough. Oh well, I might as well go for it. I can’t do any worse.

Some girls would be flattered!

Not me. I’d rather you just said something. Why do boys have to stare?

Because we’re wimps. Staring is easy, talking is hard. From now on I promise I’ll.

Alex didn’t see her coming. He was so engrossed in thinking up something original, intelligent and halfway witty to write that he didn’t notice Mrs Blake until she snatched the note out of his hand. He could see by her body language that she was as wild as a caged dingo. He didn’t need to hear the actual words she was yelling to figure that out. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice.

“YEAR CO-ORDINATOR! NOW!”

Busted, thought Alex, on his way out the door.

As he sat in Mr Letcher’s office, Alex tried to mentally prepare himself to be killed. Well, maybe not killed, but the next closest thing, being yelled at by Mr Letcher. Everyone in Year 8 had heard horror stories about “Letch”. He was a huge man with an even huger voice, and he could intimidate the toughest Year 8 boy just by opening his mouth.

“HOW DARE YOU!” was his favourite way of beginning a yelling session. The Year 8s knew that if you were on the receiving end of those words you might as well dig a hole and start climbing in.

He walked into the office and gave Alex a long, mean stare.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

“I was writing notes in class, sir.”

“AND WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”

“Alex Jackson, sir.”

“WHO WERE YOU WRITING NOTES TO, ALEX JACKSON?”

“Becky Tonella, sir.”

Letch paused at this piece of information and started to look even madder, if that was possible. His cheeks puffed up, and his left eyebrow started twitching ever so slightly. “HOW DARE ...” he began, before pausing again.

“TELL ME, WHY WERE YOU WRITING NOTES TO BECKY?”

Alex had to think quickly. It wasn’t as if he could say “I was trying to hit on her, sir.” He had to come up with something good, but lying wasn’t one of his talents.

“I noticed that she looks lonely, sir. I wanted to be friendly.”

Sometimes in life you say the completely wrong thing and you live to regret it. Luckily for Alex, this wasn’t one of those times. Letch’s angry, red face dissipated into something more ... normal.

“Yes ...” he said slowly and more softly, “I guess the poor kid needs a friend right now.”

Alex was confused but relieved. Letch did write a note in his diary for his parents to sign, but didn’t yell or seem at all mad. He even gave Alex a smile as he handed back the diary. Before Alex could attempt to figure it out, the bell rang. Week three at St Joseph’s College was officially over.