‘You should write your name on your books and all your stuff,’ Maddy said, without looking at me. ‘Otherwise someone will steal them. That happened to me last year, so now I write my name on everything.’
I stared down at the zip lock bag filled with my stationery. Some of the pens had had plastic tags with other people’s names on them which I’d scratched off with a pair of scissors. I wasn’t going to let Wally nick anything this year. Wasn’t going to let us be rough anymore.
When the bell for little lunch rang I took my time putting my books away. I waited until Wally had gone outside and then followed Maddy to the bag rack.
‘Do you want to play handball?’ I asked.
Maddy turned around. Her nose wrinkled just a bit. ‘With you?’ she said.
‘Yeah.’
‘Handball’s for boys,’ she said. ‘I’m playing Chinese whispers with my friends.’
‘Can I play?’ I said.
Maddy reached into her lunchbox, took out a Roll-Up. ‘No offence,’ she said, ‘but just because we have to sit together doesn’t mean we have to be friends.’
‘I know that,’ I said. ‘I’m not stupid.’
‘My friends think you’re weird,’ she said. ‘They wouldn’t want you coming to play with us without me asking them first.’
‘Then we can play together,’ I said. ‘Just you and me. I have some lollies we can share.’
Maddy blew on her hair that had whipped in front of her face, and for a second I was sure she was going to say yes. But then she turned and ran towards the oval. When she was far enough away I opened her bag. There was an old bandaid on the ground, and I pinched it between my fingers and put it in her lunchbox, on top of her sandwich, her tropical popper. I thought about stabbing her popper so it sogged up her sandwich but I couldn’t find anything sharp enough.
At lunchtime I made Wally come to the library. I didn’t want to see Maddy and those girls on the oval. It wasn’t a real library, with cushy armchairs and rows of books stacked high on shelves. It was in a demountable on the oval, with metal cases on wheels parked around the walls, foldout tables and plastic chairs in the middle of the room.
It was only Wally and me, and a pair of girls from year five who were playing Connect Four in the corner. They ate their lunch as they played, and then threw their sandwich crusts in the bin even though they were covered with jam. I thought about going to the bin and taking the crusts when they weren’t looking, but I didn’t want them to think I was weird as well. The girls whispered to each other, but not in a mean way, not like they were whispering about us. When I caught one of their eyes they quickly looked away, but sometimes they smiled. I liked them being there, as though they were warm lamps glowing in the corner.
Wally and me didn’t play a board game. They all had important pieces missing and I knew Wally would sulk when he lost, or get mad at me for cheating, which I only did sometimes, when I needed a win to make me feel better about things. Wally leafed through the picture books, tracing the drawings he liked onto pieces of paper the library lady gave him from the photocopier. I couldn’t read or draw very well, so I coloured in the half-finished drawings that Wally crumpled into little balls when he made a mistake.
All through lunch I could hear screaming from the oval. Sometimes a ball pounded the tin roof, or someone would come past and bang on the window, pull faces and press their noses into snubs against the glass. When the library lady went to the toilet Wally waited a second and then went over to her desk. He opened her bag and found her purse. He took out some silver coins, and then a packet of Lifesavers. Even though I promised myself I wouldn’t let Wally nick things anymore, I ate the lolly anyway. I asked the girls if they wanted one, but they shook their heads, looking scared, as though the door was about to open any second and they’d get in trouble even though they weren’t the ones nicking things.
‘There’s not enough for them, anyway,’ Wally said.
I smiled at the girls but they’d already turned back to their game.
When the library lady came back the girls didn’t dob on us, and she never asked us about the money, or maybe she was so rich she didn’t notice any was missing.
When we got home from school Mum and Dad were watching cricket. I sat down on the carpet next to the fan, which did nothing except blow warm air around the room. When the ads came on Dad asked how school was, and I told him that Wally and I played board games in the library at lunchtime with two girls from grade five, and that the library lady gave us all a lolly from her bag, just us.
‘That was good of her,’ Dad said. He reached over and lifted a strand of my hair. ‘Come here,’ he said.
I moved forward, and he leaned into my scalp and sniffed.
‘You need to wash your hair, love,’ Dad said. ‘It’s filthy as mud.’
I moved back across the carpet. ‘I just washed it a few days ago,’ I said, even though I couldn’t even remember the last time. I made a note to wash it that night. Only rough people had dirty hair.
Dad turned back to the screen. He let out a yelp and stood up, hovered over the couch for a second as something exciting happened in the match. I didn’t know what any of it meant, all those men dressed like polar bears, even though they must be sweating buckets. Mum blew her nose into a few squares of toilet paper. There was a streak of blood in her snot. It made me think of Mango, her crusty, bloody fur. She folded the toilet paper into her sleeve, yelped at the screen as well.
Later that afternoon, Helena’s car rumbled down the drive. We were still watching cricket, and Mum lifted her head. Since Christmas, Mum had been visiting the yellow house a few afternoons a week. She’d put on a good shirt and brush her hair, and take some slices of cake wrapped in serviettes. But she was never gone for long. Sometimes I’d watch them from the verandah. Helena never asked Mum inside, and she never came over here, never brought us cake wrapped in serviettes. Mum never said anything about what me and Wally had done at the yellow house. Helena mustn’t have told her how rough we were.
Mum got up from the couch and went outside. I followed, and we watched Helena and Tilly go up the stairs and slam the door behind them.
‘What are you looking at?’ I said.
Mum took the toilet paper from her sleeve and blew her nose again. ‘Go peel some spuds for dinner,’ she said. She ducked inside, came back a second later with a container of jam drops. ‘Go on, then,’ she said, waving me away with her hand. ‘What are you waiting for?’ She took off her slippers and put on Cassie’s thongs that were by the door, crossed the lawn and went up to the yellow house verandah.
I watched her knock on the door and take a step back. We’d seen them go in just a minute ago, but Helena didn’t come to the door, even after Mum knocked again and called out. Mum looked through the window and tapped on the glass, and then tried the door again, rattling its handle. She stood there for ages, knocking and then tapping and then knocking again. Finally, she gave up, turned and walked across the verandah, down the stairs. She tripped on the bottom step and lost a thong in the grass. She didn’t even bother putting it on again, even though it wasn’t her thong to lose.