'Why are you still standing here?'
'I know I can't train with the others tonight, but I'm going to the pool near home, I'll go straight after, 'Go away.' The Coach dismissed him with an abrupt gesture. 'With me, you are training, on your own you are just paddling like a puppy.'
And Danny knew the truth of that: without Torma, without his training, he was stuck in the in-between.
The class straight after the break was phys ed. And Danny knew that the boys were out to get him, he could sense it. The air was thick, it carried sound and heat, an electric current transmitted from boy to boy, a living, writhing energy. It was there in the smirk on Sullivan's face, in the slow and careful way Taylor undressed next to him, as if preparing for combat: neatly hanging up his shirt, his tie, folding his trousers. Danny didn't dare look at the other boys as he slipped quickly into his sports gear. The challenge was not only in the air: the crowing magpies announced that Danny Kelly was going to get it; the threat was there in the slow measured tread of the boys around him.
Mr Oldfield ordered them to run around the oval three times, and as Danny set off he found that Sullivan and Tsitsas were keeping pace with him, all the while chanting, making it a beat: 'Doof. Doof. Doof. Doof.'
When the last boy had finished, Mr Oldfield chose Taylor to captain one team, and Sullivan the other. The two captains began to alternately choose from the crowd of boys and Danny knew exactly what was coming. He looked straight ahead, straight at Taylor, who even while calling out names kept his cool grey eyes focused on Danny. The crowd thinned until it was just Danny and Luke left.
It was Taylor's turn to choose. His eyes, unwavering, were still locked on Danny. 'Kelly, get over here.'
Danny walked to the group. His heart was winter. He had been steeling himself, from the change rooms to the run, to the picking of the teams. But he was not prepared for this. Now he knew what the air around him was whispering.
They were going to get Luke.
At a certain moment, as a group of boys were battling in a scrum and all attention was on who would emerge with the ball, Taylor let out a cry and fell to the ground. Mr Oldfield blew his whistle, the boys stopped their game, and the teacher ran over to Taylor. The smiles exchanged between Tsitsas and Sullivan said it had all been prearranged. The teacher massaged Taylor's right calf, asked the boy if he was alright, and Taylor answered, 'I think I've twisted it, sir.'
The teacher got to his feet and called out to the boys, 'I'm going to take Taylor to the sickbay. The rest of you get on with the game.'
'Right,' Tsitsas ordered, 'I'm captain now.' Tsitsas stood a head taller than any other boy, and his frame was muscular and bullish. No one was going to challenge his claim to the captaincy.
Danny didn't care about the game, didn't give a shit about winning. But whatever the play, he wasn't going to move away from Luke.
Sullivan from midfield had the ball, and though it made sense to go forward, to run or kick it to the forward line, he sent the ball straight to the outer, straight to Luke. And the smaller boy, his eyes half closed, ran full pelt towards the ball, afraid of catching it and even more afraid of missing it. Danny followed but the boy was fast, desperate to claim the mark and prove himself to all of them. The call from Tsitsas sounded like a shriek from one of the magpies circling above them, and just as the ball landed in Luke's open arms, four boys were leaping, slamming into him, dropping on him. Danny ran into the tangle of bodies, trying to get to his friend, but all he could see was the boys crushing Luke; he could see that Tsitsas was lying flat over the smaller boy and was pushing down on the back of Luke's head, forcing his face into the damp earth, one elbow anchoring the nape of Luke's neck. Danny was biting and kicking and shoving and scratching, boys were yelling at him, he thought it was Sullivan screaming, 'You don't bite, you don't bite, that isn't fair', but Danny was kicking and shoving, biting and scratching, until it was just him and Luke and Tsitsas. He threw himself at Tsitsas, wrenched him off the ground in a headlock with the thought that he could snap his neck, and he could hear Luke coughing and retching, and he raised a fist to smash Tsitsas when he felt arms tight around him and then it was him being lifted off the ground and him in a headlock and Tsitsas had got to his feet and his hands had formed fists and he started pummelling Danny, punching him again and again in his stomach, his flank. Danny convulsed with the pain, unable to breathe, but his first thought was, Please don't let him crack a rib, please don't let him do anything that will stop me swimming, and his second thought was that whatever happened, no matter how much it hurt, he would not cry, he would never let himself cry in front of them again, and so every punch took away his breath but he didn't look down, he looked straight at Tsitsas, he would not cry.
Tsitsas's arms dropped to his side. His breathing was ragged. Whoever was holding him let go of Danny. He staggered but stayed on his feet.
Tsitsas pointed down at Luke, his face caked in dirt, his tears two white rivulets on his cheeks. 'Right, faggot,' he said, 'why don't you look after your boyfriend?'
Danny watched Tsitsas walk away, flexing his muscles, lifting his arms in a champion's pose. And that was when Danny started running, running so hard he didn't think his feet were touching the ground, and Sullivan yelled, 'Tsitsas, watch out!' Tsitsas turned, a bemused sneer on his handsome chubby face, and he put up his hands as if to indicate he was untouchable, and that was when Danny crashed in and headbutted him. There was the sound of bone against bone. And Danny felt no pain, there were no stars or dizziness.
Then Mr Oldfield came running from the other side of the ground, bearing down on Danny.
'Kelly,' Mr Oldfield called out, 'what happened?'
But it was Sullivan who answered. 'They were contesting a mark, sir, and Kelly accidentally headbutted Tsitsas.'
The frowning teacher squatted and carefully examined Tsitsas's bleeding nose. 'Is that what happened, son?'
The boy's ashamed assent was muffled.
The teacher helped him to his feet and ordered everyone to the change rooms. Danny waited for Luke, who was still distressed, rubbing the dirt off his face and neck and asking anxiously if Danny was OK.
Luke's mouth fell open in shock when his friend started laughing, a rich, crazy cackle as he watched the other boys trudge away, their heads down. Taylor kept turning back to look at him, and Danny wiped his mouth; his fingers were stained with Tsitsas's blood. He couldn't stop laughing, because at his old school he would have been beaten to a pulp by then, he'd have been on the ground, teacher or no teacher, he would have been belted, but this wasn't his old school, this was Cunts College, and he was the strongest and the fastest and the best. The magpies were wheeling above him and he felt as if he was one of them, among the silver gums, gliding over water.
'I'm OK,' he said, slapping Luke on the back, forcing his own breathing to slow, wiping more blood from his chin. 'I'm not hurt at all.'
In the change rooms, no one would look at him. But no one dared to mock him, no one dared say anything to him. He could just hear the murmurings behind him and around him, sensed the whisper first taking shape in Luke's astonished and admiring stare. He could hear the words: 'Jesus, that Danny Kelly,' they whispered, 'that Danny Kelly. He's a psycho.'
The day that Kurt Cobain died, that was the day Danny Kelly became a psycho.
'Where are you?'
'I just got home.'
'Come over.'
'I have to go swimming first.'