There were three main groups of kids at Glenfield College: the popular kids, the regular kids and the rest of us. The leftovers.
Ben and I fell squarely into the third category and so, I suppose, did Erica, although she clearly belonged in the first category.
But things change rapidly with kids our age, and Ben and I somehow leapfrogged the middle group and jumped straight into the first. Not by choice I might add, but we were suddenly on the A list.
There were no secrets at Glenfield.
Ben sent Johnny an anonymous Get Well card in the hospital, and Johnny must have been surprised when he opened it and saw the money inside.
But I think Ben would have been even more surprised than Johnny if he had known that the envelope contained not one, but two hundred dollar bills.
It was all very secretive, but, somehow, whispers echoed along corridors and skimmed across the concrete of the courtyards. Ben was widely applauded, partly for his heroism in rescuing the girl, but mostly for his humility in wanting neither reward nor recognition for his deed.
All I had done was to take the school bully down a notch or two, but it was enough to award me school legend status. The school grapevine had heard about Blocker’s missing money and, perhaps because of the GWF, guessed I had something to do with it.
Tom Prebble came up to me in the hall foyer and shook my hand. ‘Good on ya,’ he said, with a knowing wink.
I started to ask what he was talking about, but he just tapped his nose with his finger and walked on.
I hoped Blocker wouldn’t come to the same conclusion. Still, that Robin Hood feeling was back and it was pretty cool to be popular. Strange, but very, very cool.
It caused some problems, though, and I actually found myself regretting all the attention. Here was I, trying to plan the crime of the century and, suddenly, I was an object of attention wherever I went.
On Friday I asked Erica out to the movies. Not via text (I had decided against that idea) but in person.
She accepted immediately and seemed very excited at the idea of going to the movies. With me. Jacob John Smith.
The fact that the most beautiful girl in school was excited at the idea of going on a date with me did wonders for my ego, I can tell you.
After that, we started texting each other regularly. Never during class though, which would risk having your phone confiscated. And I never kept any of the text messages. I deleted them as soon as I received them, fearing they would fall into the wrong hands.
I did keep all of Blocker’s texts, thinking that they might one day be used in evidence against him.
That turned out to be a big mistake, but how was I to know?
Blocker had his suspicions about the hundred dollar note, I was sure of that, and my fears were confirmed when he suddenly upped the intimidation level.
I was leaving school on my own, as Ben was at a student council meeting, when I noticed Blocker and Phil standing outside the gates. Waiting. For me.
I ignored them and walked straight past. Two strides later, I realised they were following me. Not just following, shadowing, half a pace behind. I could almost feel Blocker’s cheesy breath on the back of my neck.
I tired of this after a few metres, stepped to the side and stopped to let them past.
They stopped in sync with me, and waited, right behind me. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. I just waited a while, then started off again.
Phil and Blocker followed, right at my heels.
It sounds stupid the way I’ve described it, like a kids’ game. But it wasn’t. It was terrifying. I felt that any moment there would be a smashing blow to the back of my head or a paralysing kick to my kidneys.
I tried to use my power, but it had no effect. Either they were too determined or I was too unnerved to concentrate properly.
They said nothing until we reached my front gate. Dad was hammering away on some old piece of furniture in the garage and Gumbo came rushing out, barking like a mad thing.
He jumped up on me, slobbering like crazy, and knocked me back a step. I collided with Blocker, who shoved me off with a grunt.
‘What a nice doggie,’ he said, with a mile-wide sneer in his voice.
I couldn’t help but glance around, and something about the way Blocker was looking at Gumbo sent a chill right through me.
Gumbo must have picked it up, too, because he took one look at Blocker and growled, a low rumbly sound from deep in his throat. His lips drew back, baring his teeth in a vicious snarl. I’d never seen him do that in his entire life.
Gumbo, the sometimes scary, farty, sporty, floppy, sloppy dog.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Phil said urgently.
Blocker acted as if he wasn’t scared.
‘Come on, Gumbo,’ I said quickly and grabbed him by the collar.
Blocker began to back away. ‘Gumbo and Dumbo,’ he laughed, as he and Phil retreated cautiously. ‘Dumbo and Gumbo.’
That was it. That was all it took. Gumbo broke free from my grip and charged at Blocker.
Blocker and Phil spun around and ran for their lives.
They sprinted down the road with their schoolbags flying out behind them. Gumbo lunged along after them, barking and growling, and I ran along behind yelling, ‘Gumbo, come back!’ It must have looked quite a sight.
Gumbo couldn’t catch them; he was old, and his legs tired quickly. Pretty soon I had him, and we walked back home, while Blocker jeered at us and made rude signs from the safety of the far side of the main road.
Ben rang me about half an hour later, excited out of his brain. ‘You know that photo we took of the lightning strike?’
‘The photo you took …’
‘Well … yeah. It was entered in the annual Sunday Star Times photo competition and it won the junior section!’
‘Fantastic!’
‘It’s going to be printed in the paper!’
‘Good on ya.’
‘It’ll be huge. Half the back page of the first section.’
‘Well done, mate!’ I was genuinely pleased for him.
But I still had a few problems of my own to contend with.