I stare at him.
“Get it cut, okay? And your collar?” He gestures at my neck. “It has to be buttoned up to the top.”
“I can’t breathe when it’s done up.”
“Just —” Jasper leans closer, hands outreached, but I glare at him, a look that says if he touches me, I won’t hesitate to push him away. Hard. He stops himself in time. “At least tighten your tie to hide the fact your button’s undone,” he says. “Teachers are hardasses about uniform here.”
I look down and try to tighten it, but how the hell do you tighten a tie?
“No,” Jasper hisses, his fingers flexing. “Like this.” With his own tie, he shows me how I can slide the knot up and down. I mirror his movements.
“Good,” he says. That’s the nicest thing he’s said to me since we’ve met. “Also, make sure that your shirt stays tucked in to your pants.” His gaze dips down to check.
I follow his gaze, looking at where I’ve stuffed my shirt in. “This makes me look like a wanker,” I say. I look like the principal at my old school, who sat behind his huge desk and sneered at me.Do you even think before you act, Kieran?
Jasper ignores me. “Be in homeroom every day by nine. Don’t be late. Our homeroom teacher, Mrs Burke, takes the roll, so don’t skip class, okay? She also reads out all the notices for the day. Homeroom is only about ten minutes. Then you go to your first class. I have different classes, so you’ll have to ask other people for help. Soon enough, you’ll remember where all your classrooms are. We have a 25 minute recess and then an hour for lunch, but on Fridays it’s forty-five minutes because of assembly. We have assembly every Friday and you must wear your blazer, otherwise you get uniform detention. Here’s Mrs Burke now,” Jasper says, looking at the door.
I follow his gaze and see my new homeroom teacher, a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length hair and several rings on her fingers. She apologises for being late before noticing me and introducing me to the room. I force a smile and say hello. I’ve never been the new kid, not since Year 7, when everyone was new. I hate feeling everyone’s eyes on me.
Afterwards, Mrs Burke reads out a long list of announcements, including music lessons and meetings for clubs. She tells Jasper he has a leadership meeting with the deputy principal and he notes it in his school diary.
As Mrs Burke drones on and on, I let myself zone out, watching Jasper. Now that he’s not scowling at me, I have time to look at him properly. He and Senior have the same thin nose and oval-shaped face. It makes both of them look shrewd and classy, like English gentlemen from period movies.
While Senior’s hair is a mix of grey and white, Jasper’s hair is light brown. It’s short, too short to grab onto. I won’t lie, yesterday, when he said all that crap to me —Did you find him on the street or something?— I imagined what it would be like to fight him. It was hypothetical, though. I won’t use my fists anymore.
*
Thank god it’s lunchtime. I can have a full hour to myself without feeling my skin crawl under the stare of classmates. Some introduced themselves, but I forgot their names as soon as they said them, and I didn’t have enough energy to try to make friends.
I buy lunch from the canteen. When Senior handed me ten dollars in the morning, I thought he was giving me way too much money, until I realised everything at this school was expensive. I’ve never seen more inflated prices in my life. Five dollars for a sandwich? Jesus.
I eat it as I walk around the school, trying to get acquainted with my new surroundings. I pass the oval, where students of all ages play football and soccer. Around the oval is a running track. My old school didn’t have one, so we ran through the suburb for cross country.
I pass the humongous gym and the art gallery and chuck my rubbish out when I’m done eating. I pass the student car park at the back of the school and twist my lips at the expensive cars.
Once I’ve wandered around enough, I check the time. Only five minutes until the end of lunch. I’m half excited to do something instead of walking around by myself, but I’m also dreading sitting at a table for another ninety minutes until the end of school.
I go to the nearest bathroom, which is near the Year 12 area. After pushing through the doors and walking around the privacy wall, I step into the main part of the bathroom, which is big and clean, like the rest of the school.
“…year level you in?” The guy who’s speaking is tall with blonde hair. He’s looking down at a short boy who’s got to be no older than twelve and looks like he’s going to piss his pants.
“Y-year seven,” the boy says.
“Well, this is the Year 12 bathroom,” the blonde guy says. “And you’re not in Year 12, are you?”
The boy shakes his head.
“Scuttle away then.” The Year 12 motions the boy out with his fingers and the boy runs past me.
“Hudson.” My eyes fly to the back wall of the bathroom, where another Year 12 has just finished at the urinals. He’s from my homeroom, and I’m pretty sure his name is Aiden. “Stop torturing the kids.”
They notice me, but I ignore them, walking to the urinals. My back’s to them, but I know they’re still here. They’re not saying anything, which puts me on edge.
Once I’ve finished, I go wash my hands in the sink.
“Fin!” Hudson shouts at the roof. “Hurry up.”
“Shut up,” a voice replies from a cubicle.
