Fifteen

Today I walked to school with Brady! I walked to school with Brady today!

Simon rang me up this morning to tell me his Mum was taking him to school in the van, so I’d have to find my way down the road, round the corner, past the dairy, and along the footpath all by myself. Cheeky little … person. His mother wanted him to stay home for the day, but he’d told her it was the school cross-country, and he wanted to be there to count the death-toll. I’ve been trying to forget about the school cross-country.

I’d been thinking I might see Nelita on the way to school. I’d even found a joke which I thought would be just her level: ‘What’s black and white and red all over? A newspaper? No, a zebra with nappy rash.’

But I did better than seeing Nelita. I met Brady!

She must have been wearing some scent or something, because she smelt really fantastic, just like a chemist’s counter. She must have guessed that I was feeling a bit uptight about Simon, because she didn’t say anything about him; she just talked about last night’s TV programmes. I managed a few ‘nggrrftt’s’, and I think I nodded in a pretty cool sort of manner. She didn’t say anything about Alex Wilson, either. Tough luck, Alex!

Simon was waiting in the Social Studies room when we arrived. He didn’t look too bad. He was talking to Nelita and Haare, and complaining about the cold.

‘It’d freeze the feathers off a brass duck,’ he told me. ‘Don’t you reckon?’

‘Yeah,’ agreed, though I didn’t really think it was all that bad. I could see Simon was wearing an extra jersey under his school jacket.

‘I think I’m getting a cold,’ said Haare hopefully. ‘My annual cross-country cold.’

Cross-country is the time when half the kids at school try to make out they’ve got colds or ’flu or yellow fever or something. Unless they’ve got a note from their parents, Mr Johnston just laughs, and tells them that fresh air and exercise will do their lungs good. All phys-ed teachers are sadists.

But then there’s those who actually look forward to the cross-country. Brady West is one of them. I heard Lana Patu telling Becky Klenner once, it’s because Brady likes showing off her legs, and she’d noticed she always seemed to have a new pair of shorts for every cross-country. Just jealousy, I reckon. Anyway, Brady’s legs aren’t her only gorgeous feature.

Alex Wilson is another cross-country nut. After that business a few weeks back with his knee ligaments, he had a perfect excuse not to run, but the thought never seems to have crossed his mind. I mentioned this to Simon, who said it probably couldn’t find anything to cross. Alex is keen on his sports, though; you have to admit that.

It was Jason who we were feeling most worried about. Jason is a guy who can choke on a lunch-time sandwich, poke himself in the eye as he tries to reach over and slap his own back, and then sprain the wrist of his slapping hand. Sending him out on a cross-country course with ditches, fences, creeks and steep hillsides seemed a bit like telling someone to go out and play on the motorway. Haare and Todd and I decided to run with him. We wouldn’t look so bad that way.

We spent a fairly depressed morning in class, trying to make ourselves look pale, and trying out a few hollow coughs. However, after lunch (‘Eat up, warm up, run up, throw up,’ advised Simon, who was getting all perky at the thought of the suffering he was going to watch), we changed into our sports gear and started wandering out to the cross-country start, on the top football field.

It’s a sort of tradition at our school that you can wear almost anything you like on the cross-country. Maybe it’s a ‘let-the-condemned-victim-have-a-last-treat’ idea. Maybe it’s so they can identify the corpses more easily afterwards.

So I was wearing a T-shirt with a picture of the Mona Lisa smoking a cigar – Dad gave it to me last year. Haare had an old grey tracksuit top with Return to Sender written on it in red felt, and Todd had a T-shirt with a stencil, If you can read this, you’re smart enough to be a teacher.

Lana and Becky must have got theirs from the same shop. Lana’s read, Maths Rules: O + K?, while Becky’s was Politeness Rules: If you don’t mind. Jason had an army shirt with Blood Group A in big letters across one pocket. Maybe he thought it was a good idea to have help close at hand.

The teachers had already headed off to their various checkpoints. They’re supposed to stand at different places around the course, and make sure you go in the right direction. Otherwise half the school might disappear into the swamps and not come back till the exams are over. It would make a good Northern Spews headline: CRAZED TEENAGERS RUN AMOK. Except, as Simon would no doubt point out, Northern Spews readers probably don’t know what a mok is.

It nearly did happen last year, in spite of the teachers. Well, because of the teachers, actually. Ms Kidman was supposed to be looking after one particularly important place on the course where kids had to turn left. If they turned right, they were liable to end up running sideways through the kids heading for another checkpoint. That might lead to alarm, confusion, and the odd punch-up.

The trouble was that Ms Kidman took a book out on the course with her. She wanted to have something to read while she was waiting for the runners to arrive.

Now Ms Kidman is a cool teacher, but she gets a bit hot and bothered if someone interrupts her while she’s rapt in a book.

This must have been a particularly interesting book, because when the kids started puffing and panting up to her, Ms Kidman stared at them vaguely, and waved her hands in all directions. Kirsti Shaw, who’s quite a good runner and who’d been leading the Senior Girls till then, came in fourteenth for the intermediate boys. A couple of turd form girls who’d been about eighty-sixth and eighty-seventh when they got to Ms Kidman suddenly found they were out in front of all the Senior Boys, and ran faster than they ever had in their nasty little lives.

So this year Ms Kidman was writing down names at the finish line. Mr Packman was with her. Since he’s a science teacher, he can probably calculate the chances of anyone surviving the run.

The most important checkpoint on the course was being controlled by – aaarghh! – Antilla the Hun. No way was anyone going to turn the wrong way this year. When Antilla says, ‘Jump!’, all you say is, ‘How high, sir?’

Simon was trundling along with us. He was going to watch from the top of a bank just beside the finish. He said he’d play Dixie on his wheelchair horn every two minutes. It would be like a rescue beacon if Jason got lost. He could aim towards it.

To be exact, Simon wasn’t trundling. He was being trundled. His wheelchair batteries are both being recharged, and he was having to get people to push him.

Pushing Simon in his chair is not on my list of Fun Things For Weekends. As I believe I’ve mentioned, his chair is (all together now) heavy!

Even getting it up on to a step or the footpath where there’s no culvert is a major project. Tip chair back, taking weight on rear wheels. Lift front wheels on to kerb by pushing rear wheels forward while passenger grips armrests and shuts eyes. Lift back of chair up, heaving and panting while front wheels threaten to roll back and passenger starts shouting three lots of advice at once. Push whole chair forward and hope rear wheels make contact on footpath surface without jolting passenger forward on to face. Measure damage to heart and back muscles while passenger says grateful things like, ‘Whaddaya doin’? Trying to put me into orbit?’

So when we saw the bank that Simon wanted to watch the race from, there were groans and moans from the four of us.

‘What are ya? Men or mice?’ Simon jeered as we stopped at the bottom.

‘Squeak! Squeak!’ we all replied.

Haare and Todd got behind the chair. I went in front to hold the footrests and pull. ‘I’ll put my feet on Nathan,’ said helpful Simon. ‘That’ll make it easier.’

There was a bit of discussion over where Jason should go. We didn’t want him near any sharp parts of the chair, in case he got stabbed, or near any heavy parts in case he got crushed. Finally we agreed he should go behind Haare and Todd, and push them.

We lined up at the bottom of the bank. ‘Forward, my faithful servants,’ Simon ordered.

I pulled. Todd and Haare pushed. Jason pushed Todd and Haare. Next thing you know, there’s a shriek from Haare, and he’s lying on the ground twitching and writhing. A broken back? A severed nerve in the leg? No – Haare’s ticklish, and Jason accidentally pushed him in one of his sensitive bits.

We regrouped, with Jason pushing Todd only. We heaved. We hauled. The chair stayed put. Three turd formers passing by started to get smart, then scattered as Todd took a couple of steps towards them.

We tried again. The chair struggled up the damp grassy bank about two metres, then slowly slid back down again. ‘I could grow old right here,’ said Simon. Brady West came past in a pair of glossy blue running shorts and matching top. She looked at us in a non-admiring way. Hell!

‘Maybe if you four get in the chair and I do the pushing?’ suggested Simon. We ignored him and strained with all our strength. The chair skidded round in a half-circle and ended up facing away from the bank.

There was a noise behind us like corrugated iron sliding down a pile of bricks, and I recognised Alex Wilson’s laugh. ‘You guys want to put more sugar on your weetbix!’ he sneered. ‘Let a real man have a go!’

The real man waved the rest of us aside and got in behind the chair. He held the back supports with both hands and lunged forward. Movement! No, not the chair – Alex. His feet slipped backwards about half a metre. Jason and Haare stared thoughtfully at the ground. Todd stared thoughtfully at the sky. I stared thoughtfully ahead of me.

My stare met Simon’s eyes. One of them slowly closed and opened in a wink, then flickered downwards towards the controls of his wheelchair.

My own eyes moved in the same direction, and I produced a snort which I quickly changed to a cough. Simon had both wheelchair brakes full on. No wonder we hadn’t been able to move the little fink! No wonder Alex was still floundering like a seal trying to push a tugboat.

I moved back to the wheelchair. ‘I wonder if we might try it a different way,’ I said in my most polite voice, and gave Simon a meaningful look. He winked his other eye, and I saw his hands move on the controls.

To my surprise, Alex seemed almost grateful. I suppose I’d saved him from looking stupid by himself. And I suppose Mum’s right – Alex is sort of imprisoned by his own macho image.

Anyhow, we both grabbed the chair’s back supports, bent our backs and pushed. This time, the chair rolled smoothly forwards and up the bank. In fact it almost raced up the bank. Alex obviously has more muscles than the ones in his head. I was struggling to keep up.

There were cheers from the others, and I heard Nelita yell, ‘Great stuff, Nathan!’

We bounced up to the top of the bank and stopped. ‘Thanks, guys,’ said Simon. ‘Consider yourselves hired.’

Alex let go the chair, gave me a vast grin, and thumped me on the shoulder, stopping the bloodflow to one arm. It’s his way of saying thank you. I let go the chair with my undamaged arm, briefly considered a return thump, but decided against it.

Then, as we opened our mouths at the same time to say something pleasant to each other, the wheelchair gave a lurch. There was a gasp from Simon, yells from behind us, and suddenly the chair was over the lip of the bank and rushing down the other side. On the damp grass, Simon’s brakes had failed to hold the wheels.

Alex snatched at the chair back and just missed. Simon was carried bucking and bouncing down the slope. I could see his hands clinging to the arm rests. Somehow the wheelchair stayed upright and straight till it almost reached the bottom of the bank. Then one of the wheels jolted against something, and it slewed round and capsized. Simon half-fell, was half-chucked, on to the grass.

Alex and I were down beside him so fast that the wheelchair still hadn’t finished toppling over. Alex grabbed it before it could land anywhere near Simon. ‘Oh, hell, mate!’ he was babbling. ‘Jeez, mate, are you all right?’

What I did was completely wrong, of course. Every first aid book tells you that you shouldn’t move or even touch an accident victim until you’re sure they haven’t got any broken bones. I came swooping in like some mad mother duck, and scooped Simon up in my arms.

It was like picking up someone made of plywood and paper. He seemed hardly any heavier than a basket of dry washing when you carry it in from the line. His useless legs flopped and the top part of his body fell sideways against me. His shoulders and arms were shaking, and his face was white and trembling. There was a grass smear across one shoulder and down his arm, where he’d fallen, but otherwise he didn’t seem to be hurt.

As Haare and Todd and the others came tearing up and over the bank, Simon’s eyes jerked. He seemed to realise what was happening and how I had hold of him. ‘Oh, Nathan!’ he said. ‘This is so sudden! What will Brady think?’

Then he looked over my shoulder to where other anxious faces were arriving, and he called out, ‘Ms Kidman! Mr Packman! Please tell this person to put me down. I don’t even know where he’s been!’

There was general chaos for the next five minutes. Simon was checked, and his wheelchair was checked, and they both seemed to be all right. Nelita arrived with two blankets from the sickbay, Simon was lifted back into his chair, and the blankets were tucked around him. He was glad to have them; he was still white and shaking, though of course he was trying like hell to hide it.

‘Ah’m OK, pardner. Jest leave me here with m’gun and m’dog,’ he said, which had a few people looking baffled. And when he saw Jason, he called out, ‘Now that’s what you call a real accident!’

Someone went and got Kirsti. ‘Running your own cross-country, were you?’ she asked Simon when she came. Then to me, ‘Thanks Nathan.’ I didn’t deserve it, but I felt like Mr Universe.

Kirsti and a couple of other seventh formers began wheeling Simon back to the school. ‘I’ll ring up Mum, and ask her to come,’ said Kirsti. ‘I think this BMX maniac should be at home for the rest of the day.’

Unfortunately, everyone else then remembered there was a cross-country supposed to be happening. Haare suggested to Mr Johnston that the event could be postponed for a year or two. ‘We sensitive types are feeling a bit shaken, Mr J.’

Simon was just being moved off when he heard this. ‘They need the exercise, Mr Johnston!’ he called back. ‘Especially Alex and Nathan – they can’t even catch an invalid in a wheelchair!’