On the day of Milltown’s Got Talent, the day I returned from suspension, I half-expected to get a text message from my mysterious sender. Maybe words of encouragement, or even a question about whether I was doing it at all. There’d been no communication since the last challenge was set and I didn’t know whether this was confidence I would rise to the occasion or a loss of interest.
Andrew caught up with me at recess.
‘I was talking to Destry Camberwick today and the conversation turned to you.’
Now, I seem to remember saying something along the lines that the mention of Destry’s name no longer caused my heart to race. Well, I might have been jumping the gun. Andrew’s words punched me in the gut and my heart tried to escape from my chest, desperate for freedom and battering at my ribs. I fought to gain control. It was important to be cool about this news, maybe raise an eyebrow and say something along the lines of ‘Destry who?’
‘OH, MY GOD!’ I shrieked. ‘What did she say about me?’
‘We were talking about your protest outside the canteen,’ said Andrew.
‘Yes?’
‘And she said she thought it was cool.’
‘What?’
‘Cool. She said it was cool.’
I was tempted to hit him with a whole bag of chips, but obviously this was a situation that required all my tact and diplomacy.
‘Andrew,’ I said. ‘Give me the whole conversation, right now, or I’m going to kick your head in.’
Andrew looked puzzled. ‘I can’t remember the whole conversation,’ he said. ‘Can I just give you the highlights?’
‘“Cool” was a highlight?’
Andrew sighed. ‘Okay. I was talking about how rubbish the canteen is, how it does the same food day after day. You know: “Why can’t we have a good range, a choice? Now the only options are chips, wedges and pies.” And she said, “Yeah and burgers or chiko rolls.” And I said …’
‘Yes, all right, Andrew. Get to what was said about me please. I don’t need the whole conversation.’
‘But you just said you did need the whole conversation. You said …’
‘Don’t tell me what I said. Tell me what she said. I know what I said. I don’t know what she said.’
‘I hate you sometimes, Rob. I think you should know that.’
Andrew sighed again. ‘Okay. Destry said, “Wasn’t that your friend, Rob someone, who did the protest outside the canteen that day?”’
‘She knew my name?’
‘Only the first one. Unless you’ve changed your last name to Someone and forgot to tell me.’
‘She knows my first name,’ I whispered. A rosy glow swept through my entire body.
‘And I said to her, “Sure. Rob Fitzgerald, possibly the greatest, most committed and kindest person in the state. Maybe Australia. Certainly in this school.”’
‘You didn’t say that!’
‘No, I didn’t. But I wished I had ten minutes later, when it was too late. Don’t you hate it when that happens?’
‘And then what did she say?’
‘And then she said that was cool.’
‘That was it?’
‘What else do you want?’
‘She said it was cool or I was cool?’
‘I dunno. God. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t mentioned it.’
‘Me, too.’
Andrew got up from the bench. I knew I’d annoyed him because his eyes were stony and his mouth a thin line. He was a dead ringer for Mum, apart from gender, age and dress sense. ‘I tellya one thing,’ he snarled. ‘The only reason I mentioned all that stuff about the canteen was because I was trying to help you – you know, be a friend, a mate. I was fishing for some comment about you. Why would I complain about the canteen only doing burgers, chips and wedges? I only eat burgers, chips and wedges.’ He stuffed a chip into his mouth as if to prove the point. ‘I wish I hadn’t bothered, Rob. You’re an ungrateful dipstick.’
I deflated then. Not so much like a balloon, but not a million miles away either. ‘Sorry, Andrew,’ I said. ‘I didn’t want to make you feel how sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless friend.’
He stuck a finger right between my eyes.
‘Are you doing that Shakespeare thing again?’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘King Lear this time.’
‘I hate it when you do that,’ he said. But I knew we were okay. I’m a good judge of tone.