8. DREAM TEAM
"Sorry, Joke" I said, looking my friend in the eye. We stood in the foyer of the assembly hall, waiting for the other classes to file out.
"For what?" asked Joke, shifting his weight from one foot to another.
"For being an idiot. For leaving you alone at Mark's party. And for not standing up to Mark when he hurt you."
"You're not the one that just called Mr Barker's project unscientific. In front of the whole school! I could have smacked myself in the head when Mr Barker said the prize was a Pinkerton scholarship."
"Mark was doing a good enough job of that for you," I said. Joke's ears were still like a pair of scarlet fruit bats. "And don't forget the round-the-world trip! Imagine all the museums you could visit."
Joke smiled nervously, his thin lips pressed tightly together, his shoulders hunched. We watched the crush of babbling kids pass, then exited the hall. Outside, the air stunk of charcoal and manure. Winter in a big country town.
"I've always wanted to go to private school," I said. Joke nodded, and stared at me with the shimmering eyes of an orphaned rabbit.
"Relax, Joke," I laughed, mock-punching his arm. "I'm just messing with you. The scholarship's yours, if we come first. I'd love to win that trip for Aunt Bea and Mum. To thank my Aunt for taking us in; and to give Mum a holiday from Quakehaven."
Joke exhaled. Colour returned to his cheeks and his shoulders dropped. "Thanks, Paddy. You don't know what it means to me."
"I think I might have an inkling," I replied. "You may have mentioned your archaeologist plan once or twice in passing. More like a million times!"
Joke giggled – his horrible crushed safety glass laugh - and I fought the urge to wince. For a while we dawdled. Then Joke broke the silence: "I don't know why Mark hates me so much."
"Because you've got something he wants."
"What does he want from me?" said Joke.
"Me for a partner for the bridge project," I laughed, and lightly slapped his back. We set off for class.
"Mark's always hated me," said Joke sadly. "Ever since first grade. I don't know why."
"Probably because you don't worship him," I said. Joke raised his eyebrows. I continued: "He doesn't like that you're not impressed by him, that you're not desperate to be his friend like everyone else. Like I was."
Joke nodded, but I could tell he was just being polite; that he couldn't imagine what I was saying was true. Then he stopped without warning, and I had to prop to avoid bumping into him.
"What he said about your Mum," asked Joke, delicately. "Is it - is she OK?"
"She's not mental," I said. "But she is sick: worn out with nerves. She's been like that a few times since Dad -" My eyes welled with tears. Joke nudged me forward, studying the bitumen beneath our feet.
"I hope she gets better soon," said Joke. His sincerity was touching, especially as I'd ignored him since the start of term. "I don't know why Mark had to say those things about her," continued Joke. "When he gets riled up, it's like he's a monster."
It was my turn to stop dead. Joke, still inspecting the ground, tripped over my feet.
"Mark's not a monster," I said. "For all his faults, he's heaps of fun to be around, if you stay on the right side of him."
Joke pursed his lips, and I realised how dumb my words sounded. "Yeah, he does have another side to him - I guess I hadn't seen how bad it was till his party. He crossed the line. Big time. But he's smarter than he pretends to be - I've seen some of the books he's read. The class clown routine is just an act. It can't be easy being Mr Barker's son and his mum's not around much. He's not a monster," I repeated. "I'm sure of it."
"I didn't mean an actual monster," said Joke frowning. "Monsters don't exist: it's a scientific fact."
"Just because scientists haven't captured one, doesn't mean monsters don't exist. True scientists would admit that."
"Highly improbable, though," sniffed Joke, upset that I'd corrected him on scientific theory. The bell rang. Automatically, I jogged towards the demountable.
"Wait up," said Joke, doing his best impersonation of a run. "It's a big deal to me, Paddy."
"What is? Monsters?"
"No. Not monsters," bleated Joke. "Why do you keep talking about monsters? The prize, the scholarship. I need to win it."
"Then start thinking of ideas," I shouted back over my shoulder.
"I'll do nothing else for the next two days. This is my chance. You know that, right?"
I stopped and waited for Joke to catch up. His running gait was awful: reminded me of a three-legged, fox I'd once accidentally frightened out of the scrub with my bike. But his words were true. The bridge competition was his way out of Quakehaven to the career and life he wanted so badly.
Out of breath, Joke almost collapsed into my arms. "I know I haven't been the most reliable mate," I said. "But I also know you need this. Come over after school, and we'll get cracking. Uncle Gerry's got tonnes of books we can pillage."