Chapter Three

Lockie was sitting on the fence beside the front gate when Tim and his mother arrived at school the next morning.

‘Hey,’ he called, jumping down from the fence. ‘Y’want me t’take y’to the classroom, Tim?’

‘That’s nice of you, Lockie,’ said Mrs Trickett. ‘I think Tim’s feeling a bit nervous about the first day at his new school.’

Tim rolled his eyes. Lockie just grinned.

‘So, where’s your mother, Lockie?’ she asked.

‘M’mum? She’s at work. Out at Dickenson’s piggery—’

A bell rang.

‘That’s first bell,’ said Lockie. ‘We can go into our classrooms now. Come on, I’ll show y’where t’go. S’okay, Mrs Trickett. I’ll look after him if y’wanna get to work.’

‘Ahmm, I think I should meet Mr Martin,’ she said.

Tim’s shoulders sagged. It was bad enough being the new kid without his mother taking him to the classroom.

‘But you go with Lockie, Tim,’ she added, quickly. ‘And I’ll just have a quick word with Mr Martin before I go.’

Tim didn’t hesitate. He rushed off after Lockie before his mother decided to give him a hug.

‘See ya, Mrs Trickett,’ Lockie called over his shoulder.

They made their way up the stairs and Lockie pushed through a group of girls who were all talking at once.

‘Hi, Lockie. Who’s your friend?’ called one of them. She was chewing gum.

‘This is Tim,’ said Lockie, grinning. ‘He’s new.’

‘Well, duh,’ said the girl, rolling her eyes, and all the others laughed.

Tim felt himself go red, but Lockie just ignored them and pushed on into the classroom.

‘Y’don’t wanna worry about them,’ said Lockie. ‘They’re just girls. Chloe’s the worst. She’s always a bit—’

‘Lockie. Good to see you. And who’s this?’

‘Hello, Mr Martin. This is Tim. He’s new.’

‘Hello. It’s Tim Trickett, isn’t it? Your mother or father not with you?’

‘Ah … Mum’s coming,’ said Tim, glancing towards the door. ‘She’ll be here in a minute.’

‘We’ll just find a seat while y’waitin’ for ‘er, sir,’ said Lockie. ‘Come on, Tim. Let’s sit up here.’ And he dumped his backpack on a desk at the back of the room.

When Tim had finished unpacking his backpack, his mother was still there talking to the teacher. Every so often they would glance his way, and each time Tim would feel his left shoulder itching under his school shirt. He tried not to rub it.

‘Must be nice to have y’mum come t’school with y’sometimes,’ said Lockie, leaning his chair back against the wall, only two legs on the floor.

‘Doesn’t your mother come sometimes?’ asked Tim.

Lockie pulled a face and shook his head. ‘Nah. She doesn’t like schools much.’

‘But what about things like, you know, the Christmas concert, or parent reporting?’

‘Nah. Says she hated school when she was a kid, but she don’t mind me and m’sister comin’. Says we oughtta get better jobs than she’s got.’ He shrugged. ‘Don’t know what’s wrong with her job. Good pay, she says. But I guess I wouldn’t mind bein’ a truck driver or somethin’ like that. Could see the country that way. Though what m’dad does is pretty cool, workin’ for the council. Drives the grader. Would love t’do that. Whatta you wanna be, Tim?’

‘Don’t know, but I don’t want to be a nurse, that’s for sure.’

‘Don’t blame ya,’ laughed Lockie. ‘Oh-oh,’ he added, glancing towards the door.

Tim turned to see what he was looking at. Heading towards them was a kid way too big to be in grade five.

‘That’s my seat, McKenzie,’ snarled the boy.

‘Oliver. Down here please,’ called Mr Martin.

The boy glared at Lockie. ‘You’ll keep,’ he snarled before turning away.

So that was Oliver, thought Tim, glad he wasn’t sitting anywhere near him in class.

It was a different story at lunchtime. Oliver pushed a little kid off the seat next to Lockie and sat down.

‘What you got for lunch, new kid?’ Oliver demanded, elbowing Lockie out of the way and reaching for Tim’s lunch box.

Oliver zipped it open before Tim could stop him.

‘Ew, salad and fruit. That ain’t lunch. That’s rabbit food.’ And he tossed the lunch box back in disgust. ‘What you got, McKenzie?’

‘Football biscuits and butter,’ said Lockie. ‘And ya ain’t getting’ them,’ he added, quickly licking each one.

‘You’re a pig, McKenzie. I ain’t sittin’ here with you,’ Oliver said, and he lumbered off to find someone else’s lunch to eat.

‘Is he always like that?’ asked Tim.

‘Oliver? Yeah. But if ya spit on ya lunch or lick it, he’ll leave y’alone,’ said Lockie through a mouthful of biscuit. Tim had never thought of putting butter on arrowroot biscuits. Would his mother even let him? As for spitting on his food …

‘You gunna come and play footy with us boys at playtime?’ asked Lockie, bits of biscuit spraying out onto the cement in front of them.

A shadow fell across them. Tim and Lockie both looked up. Oliver was back, and in his hand he had someone’s ham sandwich.

‘Yeah, you comin’ down to play with us, new boy?’ Oliver asked with a sneer.

‘Ah, I might just watch to start with,’ said Tim.

Oliver sniffed. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said and lumbered off again. Tim watched as he walked over to a group of the girls from their class, looking over their shoulders at their lunch boxes.

‘Get lost, Baxter,’ yelled Chloe, taking a swipe at him.

Oliver laughed, but backed off all the same. Then a grin spread across his face.

‘Hey Chloe …’ he said, looking back to where Tim and Lockie were sitting. He leaned in and said something to Chloe, and Chloe laughed. Her eyes fell on Tim and she said something back. They both nodded, then sauntered towards Tim.

Something heavy churned in the pit of his stomach.

The bell rang then and silence fell over the eating area. Everyone wanted to get out into the playground. Chloe ducked back to sit with her group of friends, leaving Oliver standing alone.

‘Oliver,’ roared the teacher. ‘First day of school and you’re already breaking the rules.’

‘It was—’ Oliver started, but the teacher cut him off.

‘My room tomorrow. You can eat your lunch outside my door. Make that Wednesday as well, now find a seat. Everyone’s waiting for you.’

Scowling, Oliver pushed his way onto the end of the closest seat.

‘You’ll keep,’ he snarled across at Tim.

‘When you’re ready, Oliver,’ called the teacher, his whistle hovering in front of his mouth.

So it wasn’t until lunchtime on Thursday that Tim found out what Oliver had been planning. He squashed himself in between Tim and Lockie and as Tim tried to move away, Oliver’s huge hand shot out and grasped his arm.

‘Not so fast, Trickett,’ he said. ‘We just want to have a little chat, that’s all.’

‘We?’ said Tim. He looked up. Chloe was standing in front of him, arms crossed, smirking, a group of girls behind her.

Tim bent forward, trying to catch Lockie’s eye, but Lockie was busy stuffing a sandwich into his mouth.

‘It’s alright, Trickett. We ain’t going to hurt you or nothing,’ said Oliver. ‘Just want to be sure you get … initiated.’

‘Initiated?’ Tim had read stories about kids the size of Oliver initiating others kids. His eyes darted around. Where was the teacher? He couldn’t see one.

‘Ohhh, Oliver. You’ve got him scared,’ said Chloe, and she laughed. ‘I don’t think he’s going to be able to do it.’

‘He’ll do it,’ said Oliver.

‘Do what?’ asked Tim, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. His shoulder ached and his stomach churned.

‘Haven’t you told him?’ said Oliver, turning to Lockie.

But Lockie had his mouth full of bread.

‘Told me what?’ asked Tim.

‘You going to set it up then?’ Oliver asked Lockie, ignoring Tim.

Lockie nodded as he shoved even more bread into his overloaded mouth.

Lockie, you’re supposed to be my friend.

‘Ah, I don’t know,’ said Chloe. ‘Look, he’s gone all pale. I reckon he’s too chicken.’

‘Course he’s not. Are you, Trickett?’ said Oliver, wrapping his arm around Tim. ‘I reckon you’d jump at the chance to hunt—’

‘What’s going on here?’ came a voice.

Chloe and her friends stepped back. Tim looked up at a teacher old enough to have come in on the ark. The teacher looked back down at Tim over the top of her glasses.

‘New boy, hey,’ she grunted. ‘Why aren’t you eating your lunch?’

‘I was just telling him that, Mrs McGregor,’ said Oliver, a smirk on his face.

Tim withered under Mrs McGregor’s glare and unzipped his lunch box. Mrs McGregor looked over at Chloe and the group of girls. ‘Find a seat,’ she snapped at them. ‘And I hope that’s not gum you’re all chewing.’

Chloe shrugged and walked away, the rest of the girls, and Oliver, following. Mrs McGregor narrowed her eyes as she watched them go before searching for someone else to pounce on.

‘Who’s she?’ whispered Tim.

‘Mrs McGregor? She’s the grade one teacher,’ Lockie said.

‘She’s so … old,’ said Tim.

‘Yeah. Dad says she’s been here since the year dot. She taught ‘im when he was in grade one. And m’mum. Grandad reckons she was even here when he went t’school. Says she was Miss something-or-other back then, but.’

‘Lockie. Eat,’ barked Mrs McGregor as she walked past them again.

Tim gave a shiver, glad she hadn’t been his grade one teacher.