The Story of Tom Brennan Read Online Free Page B

holding it.
    Back at the office, I was given hasty directions to the Year Eleven block and the name of my 'home room' teacher, Harvey the footy coach, who yesterday seemed like a reasonable bloke. The old man'd told me last night that Harvey knew about the accident and Daniel and stuff. I didn't feel comfortable about it, but Dad said the teachers had to know what happened to us back home. What could I do? As long as he left me alone and didn't try any after-school chats, I'd be happy.
    I'd changed schools once before, when I left primary school to start Year Seven at St John's. It was no big deal 'cause everyone else did too. In our town the choice was either Mumbilli High or St John's Marist College. It came down to two simple factors – money and religion. Catholics with an income opted for St John's, Catholics on benefits and all the others were left with Mumbilli High or 'Billi High' as everyone called it.
    Everyone was seated when I walked in, so it must've been the way I mumbled quickly at the door that made Harvey get the intros over with so fast.
    'Class, this is a new student, Tom Brennan. Remember to say g'day and help him out.' He told me to take the desk across from Rory, and that was it.
    'G'day.' Rory nodded as I took my seat.
    The room was small and stuffy and my desk was in the middle. I could have a good sticky at those in the front and only wonder what the lot behind were like. Apart from Rory, there were a couple of other faces I recognised from the game.
    It's hard to sneak a perve at the chicks when you're the new boy. I'd have to wait for a more inconspicuous time, that's what Daniel'd tell me to do. He'd say, 'You don't want to go cutting someone else's lunch.' And he'd be right. Besides, chicks were the last thing on my mind.
    The night Dad told us we were moving to Coghill, I made a deal with myself: I'd stay for two years till Year Twelve was over, max. After that I hadn't decided. Not back to Mumbilli; the Billi would always be home but two years wasn't long enough. I didn't know how long was long enough. Maybe after Daniel had done his time we could all go back. Maybe not.
    The bus on the way home was packed. There were kids from St Bennie's, St Xavier's, Coghill High and Montana, the hippie bush school. The bus stank. There was no air, just a cocktail of body odours and bad breath mixed in with the odd fart.
    The blokes were being prize wankers, mucking around and showing off, and the chicks that weren't part of that were deep in conversation. Finally there was something good about being the new kid; my inconspicuous moment had arrived.
    Two seats ahead sat a couple of girls from my class. The girl near the window was perched up on her knees, chatting to the one next to her. The buttonholes on her shirt were popping. If I leant over slightly I could see a bit of black bra through the hole.
    Standing up at the front of the bus was a group of girls from Coghill High. One was real sexy. Her skirt was sitting low on her hips and she'd tied her shirt up so you could see her tanned, smooth belly. Daniel would've liked her, and he would have got her too. He got whoever he wanted, and when he was sick of them he'd move onto the next. Except with Claire, that was the only time he stuffed up, and did we all pay for that!
    Daniel and Claire had been having a bad patch. Actually, it was Daniel having the bad patch and Claire having to cop it. It was the standard Daniel scenario: black moods that went on and on, rages over nothing, followed by long periods of sulking. There were times I thought the oldies were scared of him or didn't know how to deal with him. So he just got away with it.
    When he got like that with girlfriends, it usually meant he'd had enough of them; it was his way of pissing them off without having to tell them. But Claire was different. She didn't put up with the grief, and she didn't walk, and I don't reckon Daniel knew how to handle it. He was used to calling the shots.
    However, the