The sun comes out

All day at school

the boys crowd around Patrick,

like seagulls arguing over an oily chip.

At one point,

Angelo puts his arm around Patrick’s shoulder

as though they’re back in kindergarten.

He leads Patrick away from the canteen,

down to the back fence,

near the janitor’s shed.

I watch from a distance.

Angelo keeps looking around

as if checking for teachers.

They disappear behind the shed

and, a few minutes later,

a faint wisp of smoke

marks the spot.

I can’t see them

but I bet they’re talking

about Friday night

and what Patrick saw

while he hid in the dark.

A few minutes later they return.

On the stairs,

Angelo bustles past me

his eyes bloodshot,

his voice slurred.

He calls me ‘Loser’

before following Patrick to English.

I look down at Patrick’s shoes –

black and shiny

expensive leather –

while the rest of us wear canvas.

I turn away from the classrooms

and walk deliberately

down to the janitor’s shed.

The bell sounds

for the start of class

as the sun finally comes out.