“Come on,” Fin whines. “You know, part of my job doing canteen duty is to interact with the school community. Have a conversation with me. We’re all friends here.”
Kieran stiffens. Zaina gives him a small smile, as if to say:yeah, Fin’s annoying, but it’s rude to ignore his questions.
“I don’t know,” Kieran says. “Bali?”
Fin huffs. “Do I look like a tradie?”
Kieran looks at me, one brow raised. I fight the urge to shrink away.
Get out.
His words ricochet inside my skull.
“Okay,” Fin says. He’s annoyed — he hates it when people aren’t interested in his glamorous life. “Where did you go, Phillips?”
“Stayed home.”
“Oh, sorry. Where do you live, anyway?” Fin asks.
Kieran doesn’t reply.
“Well?” Fin says.
Kieran looks at me. “Jasper knows,” he says.
Fin and Zaina look at me, surprised.
“You’ve been to his house, have you?” Fin asks.
“Of course not,” I respond.
“Well,” Fin asks, irritation creeping into his voice. “Where does he live?”
I look at my nails. “I don’t know. Probably Elizabeth Street.”
Zaina reacts first, eyes flying to Kieran before glaring at me.
Fin catches on and laughs, grabbing my shoulder. “Oh, that’s good, Jasper. That’s really good.”
Kieran’s body is rigid. He doesn’t understand, but he’s smart enough to know I’ve said something cruel.
“We’re going in,” Zaina declares. “The canteen is empty enough.” With that, she grabs Kieran’s arm and marches him in.
“Where’s Elizabeth Street?” I hear him ask.
The canteen swallows up their voice and the line of students that follows them is too thick to watch them any longer. I wonder how Zaina will answer his question. Will she deflect? Or will she tell him the truth — that Elizabeth Street is a street of government housing in the worst neighbourhood in Easton, notorious for the drug-use and poverty of its residents.
“What a dickface,” Fin says.
“Mm,” I say, but my stomach hurts.
*
I don’t look at Kieran for the rest of the week. At least, I try not to, but something my eyes will catch onto him. At the angular lines of his profile, or the way he looks so tall and strong in his uniform, or when he’s laughing with his friends.
I wonder if they’re laughing about him rejecting me.
“Hey,” I say one lunchtime, when I spot Curtis coming out of the Year 12 Common Room, with a toasted sandwich in his hands. “Are you busy?”
