I only lasted ten minutes outside the school canteen before I was taken to the principal. I waited outside her office for fifteen minutes before she opened the door and called me in. (Well, bellowed me in.) They do that on purpose – keep you waiting, so your imagination goes into overdrive. I’ve seen detective shows on television. It’s psychological manipulation, so when you’re finally confronted with your offence, you’re happy, no – eager –to confess. I did it, Your Honour. It’s a fair cop so cuff me and take me down. I’ve done the crime and now I’ll do the time.

‘I’m disappointed in you, Rob,’ Miss Cunningham roared. Or it might have been a bellow. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell the difference when your ears are ringing.

I hung my head. This is something I’ve always done, even when people aren’t yelling at me. It’s instinctive and comes with shyness and low self-esteem. Try to make yourself small, avoid eye contact and perhaps people will let you go. Invisibility is the goal, even if you know it can’t be achieved.

‘There are many students at this school,’ she continued, ‘who I would expect to be troublesome, but I did not count you among them. Perhaps you will be so good as to explain your behaviour?’

I’ve spent a lot of time with Grandad and, despite what Mum and Dad say, his influence hasn’t been all bad. Suddenly I saw this situation from his point of view. What would Pop do if someone at the aged-care facility called him into his or her office and accused him of behaving badly? He wouldn’t hang his head, even if he knew he was in the wrong. If he felt himself in the right, then … well, hang on to your blankety hats, because blankety brown stuff would splatter blankety fans. And I hadn’t done anything wrong. So why was I behaving as if I had? I raised my head and met Miss Cunningham’s eyes. My fear had miraculously melted away.

‘I haven’t been troublesome, Miss Cunningham,’ I said. ‘I’ve been protesting.’

‘About our canteen serving meat.’

‘Yes.’

‘And did you get permission for your protest, before you stood displaying an offensive placard in front of the whole school?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t need permission to tell the truth. Which is what my placard did. But I know what is troublesome, Miss Cunningham. When a school tries to stop free speech.’

Boy, that remark pressed a button. Miss Cunningham turned an interesting shade of purple, her eyes morphed into shards of granite and her mouth became a slit. At any other time I would probably have wet my pants, but as I say, I was … calm.

‘“Every burger you buy from this canteen is a nail in the world’s coffin.”’ Miss Cunningham’s voice rose in volume, which I’d imagined was anatomically impossible. Pictures on the wall rattled. ‘That is a silly exaggeration, Rob. And how do you think our canteen staff felt? They’re trying to make a living. Did you think about that when you made your childish protest?’

I hadn’t, but it occurred to me that the argument was shifting from the main point. I didn’t think that was fair.

‘I’m not saying students shouldn’t buy food from the canteen, Miss Cunningham,’ I said. ‘I’m asking them to think about what it means to eat meat. You say I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. Eating meat is bad for the world. Perhaps the canteen should sell healthy vegetarian food. That’d be good for business and good for the students. There’s almost nothing vegetarian on the menu and if the deep fryer broke down there’d be nothing on the menu at all. Everything they sell is brown.’

I could have said more, but Miss Cunningham wasn’t in the mood for healthy debate. She suspended me for three days.

I think that was for arguing with her, rather than destroying the canteen staff’s lives, but I guess it doesn’t matter. I waited in the corridor while the reception staff got in touch with Grandad. He’s on the emergency contact list because Mum and Dad both work. The school phoned them too, anyway. It took Grandad half an hour to come pick me up. He’s a little unsteady on his legs, even with the cane, but as he says himself, he gets to where he wants to go. Eventually.

‘Young Rob,’ he said when he’d signed whatever needed to be signed at the front desk and I was released into his custody. ‘Suspended, huh?’ He glanced at the placard that was propped against my knees. ‘You’re a danger to society. Nothing more or less than a vegetarian terrorist. Excuse me a moment.’

Grandad opened the door to the principal’s office without knocking and walked straight in. I have no idea what he said, because he closed the door behind him and even Miss Cunningham’s roar became muffled. But I guessed he was offering his frank opinion on her suitability for the job of principal. I suspect blankety words were used (and not by Miss Cunningham). As Pop once said, when you’ve been through a war and are close to kicking the bucket, biting the dust, cashing in your chips, going belly up, checking out, snuffing it, carking it and taking a dirt nap then you really don’t care about hurting people’s feelings anymore.

Not that Grandad ever worried about that at the best of times.