After by Sue Lawson Page B

stumbled then charged back. ‘Yeah? Well I’m not the one who made him feel like a retard in front of everyone. That was you, Greenie.’
    A rush of anger surged through me. But who was I angry with? Frewen or myself? My hands curled into fists.
    Frewen leant forward. ‘Take a shot,’ he hissed.
    It was like everything stopped—the playground noise, even time. All I could see was Frewen’s sneer and the fear in his eyes. How sweet it would have been to smash my fist into his nose—to spread it across his face. I imagined the impact, the echo of the blow up my arm. Frewen’s howl of pain. He’d cry, I knew it.
    There would be blood ... red, pooling in a puddle on the ground.
    I wanted to hurt him—shut him up—but the memory of the blood was too strong. Sweat beaded on my lip and forehead. I uncurled my fist. Time moved again. Sounds—kids yelling and laughing, Miffo jeering, Klay yelling, ‘Let him hit you first, Frew’—filled my ears.
    Luke tugged at my arm.
    ‘Clear off, Luke.’ My voice sounded strange—a growl.
    Luke pushed the bin against my leg. ‘But Mr Agar’s coming.’
    ‘Callum Alexander,’ bellowed Mr Agar. He held his hat to his head as he sprinted across the oval.
    ‘This isn’t finished,’ hissed Frewen.
    ‘Yeah, it is.’
    Mr Agar weaved between us, panting.
    Ella Bennett blocked Mr Agar’s path. ‘Frewen was doing it again.’
    ‘I’ll deal with this, Ella.’
    Ella scoffed. ‘As if! Frewen’s your big footy star. You won’t—’
    Mr Agar struck like a snake. ‘That will do!’
    Ella jumped.
    ‘Wait for me by the office door.’
    ‘But Mr—’
    Mr Agar pointed to the admin building. ‘Now, Ella!’
    Ella flounced away.
    Mr Agar turned his attention back to Frewen and me. ‘One of you had better explain what’s going on here.’
    ‘He started it, Mr Agar,’ said Frewen before I could even form a sentence. ‘We were just kicking goals. You had a few shots with us before, remember?’
    Mr Agar nodded.
    ‘Miffo shanked his kick and it hit Luke. It was an accident, honest.’
    Frewen was so good, I almost believed him.
    ‘Alexander turned psycho and said all this stuff about how he whipped me yesterday and that he was a better footy player than me, didn’t he Miffo?’
    ‘Yeah, he went off,’ said Miffo.
    ‘Absolutely crazy,’ added Klay.
    ‘I don’t reckon he’s right in the head,’ said Jack.
    Mr Agar raised his hand. ‘I get the picture, Jack. Alexander, walk with me.’
    ‘What?’ It was more a screech than a word.
    ‘You heard.’
    ‘It was Jack,’ said Luke. ‘Jack emptied the bin everywhere.’
    ‘Then he’ll help you clean up, won’t you, Jack?’ said Mr Agar. ‘And while he does, I’ll chat to Callum.’
    Luke pulled his shoulders back and stood straighter. At full height he was taller than Mr Agar, and looked just as strong. ‘This sucks. Sucks, sucks, sucks.’ Luke shook his head.
    Mr Agar took a step back. ‘Luke, that will do. Clean up the rubbish, now.’
    Luke deflated with a sigh. ‘Okay.’
    ‘You too, Frew,’ said Mr Agar, pointing at the mess around Luke. ‘Klay, Miffo, Matt, you can help as well.’
    ‘Oh, come on,’ said Miffo, hands on his hips.
    ‘Want a game this week, Miffo?’
    Frewen, Miffo, Matt and Klay started picking up the rubbish, muttering.
    ‘Callum?’ Mr Agar motioned for me to walk with him. ‘You need to drop the attitude. Stop causing trouble. For your own good.’
    ‘Are you serious?’
    Mr Agar kept his voice low. ‘Callum, you need to understand, Jack’s a gun footballer and well-liked around here.’
    ‘And that gives him the right to give Luke a hard time?’
    ‘I don’t think you’re in a position to complain about Jack’s treatment of Luke, not after yesterday.’
    I stopped walking. My arms flopped to my side. ‘I didn’t call him a retard.’
    ‘Drop it!’ Mr Agar’s voice echoed around the oval.
    The mass of kids chasing the footy stopped for a moment.
    Mr Agar leant