Romeo
Hey, what do you know about that new Mark bloke?
Chris was normally good for information. He had to do a whole lot of meet and greet with the new kids, and he’s just one of those blokes—people meet him and in ten minutes they’ve spilled their guts. Especially girls.
Which new Mark bloke?
The one in Year Twelve. From Melbourne.
Oh yeah. The boys went over to his place the other Friday to watch the game. Seems all right. They were carrying on about him being the only forward with a brain.
Freak! This guy was sounding a little too perfect. Especially when you lined him up against a guitar-playing, pants-dropping underachiever like my good self.
What’s with the questions? Are we going to have one of those I’ve got something to tell you moments?
I looked at him, wondering what he was on about.
You know, one of those I’m questioning my sexuality—
Shut up, you wanker!
Well, you know they told us in Pastoral Care last year, it’s completely natural to question your sexuality and perhaps experiment …
No, you wanker, I mean I want to know if he’s seeing that girl from the musical.
The one Jock waved at the other day—you know, I think she’s some sort of prefect.
You’d want to watch it, mate, cutting Jock’s grass.
I’m serious, Chris! She’s gorgeous!
Chris knew when to shut up.
I’ll ask around.
Chris, don’t say anything … Well, don’t mention my name. I don’t want anyone to think that I’m, you know …
… interested in Mark? Sure!
I bolted after him, but he’d taken off, bag and blazer flying out behind him, collecting Year 7s like bowling pins.
You’re going to get it, mate, I shouted.
His right of reply was the raising of the middle finger of his left hand as he disappeared around the corner of the quad.