‘Yo, dude! Thought we were gonna be stuck listening to Finkler cream himself over derivatives again. Freedom, man! How awesome is this?’
Damien Pagono appears beside me, dragging his desk from the other side of the room till it bumps against mine. The legs scrape the lino, sharp and piercing. Shaun Khouri and his brainless friends turn around and unleash a barrage of pretty uninventive insults.
Damien seems unfazed. He sits, coolly, till Shaun and his mates lose interest, then kicks a foot up beside mine. ‘So. What are we doing with this glorious ninety minutes of freedom?’
I focus on my novel. When all else fails, denial is my friend.
‘I could use the time to catch up on some writing. You ever read fanfic? I’m well into it. Been working on this Harry Potter story since we moved here. But, like, in my version, McGonagall and Tonks are totally doing it.’
I angle myself away from him. I don’t know what Damien’s game is, but if he thinks he can smoke me out by talking till I cave, he really doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. Once I went almost a full year without speaking. Not even the combo of my parents and some very expensive therapists could sway me. This melon-faced douchenut has no chance.
‘You know McGonagall? Wicked hot, for an old chick. I reckon it’s the Animagus thing. And maybe the hat. She’s well into some nasty business, too, in my story. Sex stuff,’ he adds, helpfully.
I focus on my book. Black ink blurs on the page.
‘Y’know Professor McG can turn herself into any animal? Talk about kinky.’
Something about the lost city of Kelsingra …
‘Tonks is totally up for the dolphin stuff.’
My head snaps up. ‘Bloody hell, that’s … really inappropriate.’
A triumphant, crap-eating grin blooms across his face. ‘Whoa, he speaks! Thought I was gonna have to start signing next.’ He waves demented fingers in my face, forming no words but still managing to look offensive.
I slam my book shut. ‘Look, what do you want? Why are you hassling me? Do I look like I’m up for a chat about dolphin sex?’
Damien snorts. ‘Like it’s ever the wrong time to talk about dolphin sex. And hello – you’re calling me inappropriate? Cos staring at the back of that chick’s head in Bio for the last, oh I dunno, ninety bajillion years is all kinds of kosher?’
I spin around towards him, face flushing. ‘That’s … I don’t know what … it’s none of your business!’
He rests his hands behind his neck and swings his chair backwards. ‘S’okay. She’s hot. Got issues the size of Uluru, but she seems cool for a smart chick. She can’t act for shit, but. And her friend looks at me like she wants to roast my wang on a Bunsen burner,’ he says cheerfully.
Despite my better judgement, my ears prick up. ‘Right. You take Drama too, don’t you?’
‘Aw, see, you have noticed me!’ He flutters his stubby lashes. ‘Always the quiet ones who’ll be stealing an eyeful of your arse when they think you’re not looking.’
I cross my arms. ‘Trust me, your arse is the last place my eyes want to venture.’
He laughs, an unselfconscious hyena-bark. ‘Fair enough. I’m counting it as a win that you’re looking at my face.’
‘Okay, fine, I’ll bite. Why are you so keen on being buddies? Did you lose a bet?’
He kicks his other foot up onto my desk. ‘Whoa, someone has self-esteem issues. Paranoid much?’ His eyes flitter away awkwardly. ‘I just figure us losers and loners should stick together. You know. No-one can be arsed with the new guy. And you don’t seem fussed that everyone here thinks you’re hoarding human hair in your lunchbox or some shit.’
I snort. ‘I couldn’t care less what people think.’
‘See? My mum always told me to make friends with the weird kids.’
‘I have friends,’ I say automatically.
He rolls his eyes. ‘Fantasy girl and your right hand don’t count.’
I nudge Damien’s feet off my desk and take another look at him. The dude’s sat next to me in Bio since he showed up at school earlier this year, and with a personality like his, he’s kinda hard to miss. He’s shorter than me, and broader, with one of those spongy round faces that’s destined to head straight into middle age without losing the pudge. He always seems oblivious to the fact that he’s the grown-up equivalent of that smelly kid in kinder no-one wanted to sit beside. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him hanging out with anyone at school.
Crap on a stick. I run my hands through my hair. ‘Yeah, okay,’ I find myself saying. ‘But don’t think this means I’m inviting you for sleepovers.’
Damien grins. He digs a squashed muesli bar out of his bag and tears off half, holding it out to me. I decline with a vague headshake.
‘So, you and The Genius, huh?’ He whistles under his breath. ‘What are your intentions there?’
Despite everything, I find myself choking on a laugh. ‘What are you, her dad?’
‘Just a concerned observer,’ he says through a mouthful of choc chips. ‘You haven’t picked an easy target there, bro.’
I sigh. ‘Don’t call her a “target”. And I really don’t want to talk about this …’ I sneak another hesitant glance at him. ‘She’s really struggling in Drama, huh?’
He tips his chair onto its back legs again. ‘Yeah. I mean, shouldn’t she be, like, off working for some secret think tank in the Netherlands? What the shit is she doing slogging through Heller’s poxy improv games?’
I drum my fingers on my desk. I’m worried, too. And not just about her morale in Drama. Though she lets slip only slivers of personal stuff, I’ve noticed some troubling signs lately, little jolts that’ve been building for months. And aside from my piss poor efforts, I feel totally powerless to help.
So I may have spent the greater part of Bio this year trying to work out a variation on a Dove Pan trick in my notebook, and staring at the back of Sophia’s head while constructing some pretty lame fantasies featuring her sitting next to me and sharing my eraser. But leaving aside my own intentions, or whatever, it’s blindingly obvious that things aren’t right in her world. It hasn’t escaped my notice that Elsie’s started angling her stool very slightly away. Sophia never really talks much in class, but she usually has at least a few quiet conversations with her bestie, heads bent close-but-not-too-close together. But lately, Elsie’s been responding with only nods and brief, strained replies. Nothing like her usual self, full of hand gestures and warmth.
I’ve seen it coming for months, this friction between them. It’s palpable, even from the outside, and it makes my heart break a little.
Beside me, Damien is still talking.
‘Sorry, what?’