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I make the mistake of glancing up at him, regretting it immediately as I see the pity in his eyes.I don’t need anyone’s pity. I just want to be left alone.
“Thanks, sir.” I stand up. “If you don’t mind–”
“Just a moment, please.” Principal Fraser interrupts, nodding for me to sit back down.
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck before slumping back in the chair.
Principal Fraser watches me closely for a moment. “I want you to know Mrs Scott, the school Chaplain, is available for you to talk to at any time. You only need to let your teachers know if you need to speak with her.”
My stomach drops. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m fine, really. I just want to focus on my studies and football. I don’t need to talk to anyone.”
He clears his throat. “Well, of course we can’t force you, but please know Mrs Scott’s door is always open. As is mine. This is a big year for you, Oliver. And not just for your schooling.” He looks over his glasses. “I understand you’ve had interest from a couple of AFL clubs?”
I nod.
“Right, well the school is here to support you in any way you need. Mr Page has forwarded the relevant paperwork that was requested, and he assures me the school team is sorted. I believe we’ll be beginning the sports program in week four.”
“Great.” I try to sound upbeat, but it falls flat, even to my ears.
“If you need time–”
“No,” I shock myself with the vehemence in my tone, and Principal Fraser blinks.
“No,” I say a little less forceful. “Sorry. I’m good, really.”
He nods but I can tell he doesn’t believe me. Nevertheless, he stands and holds his hand out to me across his desk and I shake it.
“Thanks, sir.”
The bell rings as I leave his office and I make my way over to the grey brick auditorium with the rest of the student body. I slip in the back, greeting a couple of mates, letting the sounds of fifteen hundred boys and ninety-three staff members talking and catching up after the school holidays wash over me. I tug on my tie hating how the formal setting of assembly reminds me of my dad’s funeral.
“You good, Oli?” My fidgeting has caught the attention of Joel West, a guy in my year level that I play footy against.
I nod, dropping my hand into my lap. “Yeah, man. I’m good.”
Macca and JD step up to the podium and a hush falls over the crowd. “I’m Anthony McDonald, and this is James DeLuca. We are your school captains.” There’s polite applause and I join in. “School’s not only a place for academic education. Although that’s important, it’s a place for us to learn to be respectful, intelligent men who learn from our mistakes, have successes and find ways to make our mark on this world. Life’s about growing. It’s a journey. We hope you take advantage of all the opportunities afforded to you from St Christopher’s. James and I take our responsibilities as school captains seriously and we’re here to represent the whole student body, so feel free to approach us about anything. We’re here to listen.”
There’s more applause, but as JD steps up to speak, I zone out. I glance around at my peers. Some are listening intently, others are inconspicuously checking their phones. A heaviness settles on my chest, and I just want to skip all this ‘together we will achieve greatness’ bullshit.What’s the point of it all anyway?Life can be over in the blink of an eye. I swallow down the lump in my throat thinking about Dad.Why am I still here?I’m just messing everything up.
I pull out my phone and open to the photo of Hannah. I still need to reply to her, but what am I going to say? We can’t just pretend I didn’t kiss her. That’s not fair to her. I know she deserves an explanation. I just don’t know what it is yet. This is not a great start to our last year of high school. I’m such a screw up.Sorry, Dad.
7
My chest tightens as I stare at my phone, waiting to see if Oliver will respond. I haven’t heard from him for three days and I worry the kiss has ruined our friendship - that he’ll avoid me forever. I pace back and forth, checking and rechecking my screen, waiting for him to reply. He’s taken a screenshot of my photo, but he hasn’t written anything or sent a photo back.This is so stupid.Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I throw my phone on my bed.
The smell of bacon draws me towards the kitchen. I offer my dad a small smile as I plop down at the breakfast bench.
“Smells amazing!”
“Breakfast fit for a queen on your last first day of school.” Kissing the top of my head, he places my plate down in front of me. “You okay?”
I nod. There’s no way I’m sharing what happened at Oliver’s birthday with him. Thankfully, I’m saved by my brother.
“Where’s mine?” Brad snags a piece of bacon off my plate. I swat his hand away as he goes for my hash brown. “Itsh mah firsht djay choo,” he says with his mouth full.
Dad places a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Brad before turning back to the stove to flip some pancakes. I reach over and snatch some bacon from Brad’s plate. He sticks his tongue out at me.
“Eww!” I complain. “Not while you’re eating!”
