‘What are we doing today?’ he asks me.

  ‘We are not doing anything,’ I reply. ‘You have to play with the other Preps now.’

  ‘None of them will play with me.’

  ‘Oh. Maybe ask your teacher what to do?’ I tell him.

  ‘I did. Miss Agostino said to come and find you.’

  ‘You’ll be bored here with us,’ Alex tells him. ‘We don’t play around or anything.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Thomas Moore says.

  ‘You can stay for today,’ Peta says, walking over, ‘until you find some friends.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Braden says, ‘but don’t bring all the Preps over here. This is our spot. Okay?’

  Thomas Moore climbs up on the end of the wall.

  ‘This is our spot,’ he repeats, nodding.

  In the afternoon, before we go home, Mrs Leeman says Minha has something she wants to share with the class. Minha stands up but she doesn’t walk to the front so we all have to turn around and find where the voice is coming from. Her desk is down the back, next to Alex’s.

  ‘Okay, yeah. We have some fish at the rescue centre at the moment that need a home,’ Minha says. ‘So, if anyone wants some fish, we’ve got some. They come with the tank and filter and everything.’

  I think back to the video she showed at the beginning of the day. I wouldn’t mind some pet fish. I wonder if I’d be allowed to have these ones?

  Minha sits back down for two seconds, and then jumps up again. ‘Oh, yeah! There’s four of them. The little ones are called One, Two and Three and the big one is called Bubbles.’

  Bubbles?

  That’s not what I’m going to call it.

  I’m glad I didn’t do any work last night on the poster project because I find out the next day that when Mrs Leeman said ‘our closest neighbours’ she didn’t mean our actual neighbours. She meant Australia’s neighbouring countries, like Indonesia, Malaysia and New Zealand. Why didn’t she say so? I want to say to Alex, ‘Excuse me a minute. I just need to go eleven hundred kilometres next door to borrow a battery charger’ except Alex is sitting about eleven hundred kilometres away from me.

  Mrs Leeman starts making her way down the aisle, writing notes on her class list of which ‘neighbour’ we’re planning to do our project on. I think about saying Indonesia because it’s one she just mentioned, but Mrs Leeman expects us to do something like her suggestion, not her actual suggestion. There’s a subtle difference.

  Halfway down the aisle, Mrs Leeman stops walking. She’s standing at Jun’s desk. He’s finished his assignment already. It takes up his entire desk and the whole width of the aisle. At the top he’s written ‘My Neighbourhood – Languages of Dandelion Street’. Dandelion Street is where Jun lives with his grandparents and his dog, Tiny. On the poster the street is drawn as if from above. Each house has little coloured flags that show the nationalities of and languages spoken by the people who live inside. Lots of houses have more than one flag. At the bottom of the poster, there’s a map of the world with areas coloured like the flags. He’s even drawn some people and cars and stuff as well.

  It makes all the maps and graphs on the walls of the classroom look even more boring than they did yesterday.

  Mrs Leeman stares at the poster for a minute then picks it up and walks back to her desk. She opens the top drawer. It’s a tense moment because she keeps everything in that drawer: scissors, black marker, detention book and most of our confiscated items. She takes out four Grippy Bits. Grippy Bits are for putting stuff up on the wall that’s too good to get drawing pin holes in. The box in Mrs Leeman’s desk looks about fifty years old.

  She puts Jun’s poster on the wall and returns to her desk. She says we can either do an assignment on one of our international neighbours or we can do what Jun has done: a map of our local neighbourhood, showing cultural diversity in an interesting way. We don’t have to do flags … we can use our imagination and do little maps or show special days or celebrations that our neighbours observe. She says we have to go with an adult if we’re visiting neighbours, and the project has to be poster-size, in colour and finished by Monday.

  That’s a lot of rules for an assignment that wasn’t even her idea.

  At recess, Peta’s already down on the retaining wall when Jun, Alex, Braden and I get there. Ms Kendall lets her class out when the bell goes, unlike Mrs Leeman who lets us out when she feels like it. It’s a good thing Peta’s in the other class or someone else would take our spot on the wall. When you’ve relocated, it’s important to keep a strong presence for a week at least, or someone else will say they were there first.

  Alex is a bit quiet. I ask him if he’s worried about going to St Brainiac’s.

  ‘Yeah … a little bit. I don’t know what to wear,’ he says.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There’s no uniform. The kids can wear anything. The teachers can wear anything.’

  ‘Like jeans?’

  ‘Like trackies,’ he says, giggling.

  ‘What if Mrs Leeman wore trackies?’ I laugh.

  ‘Yeah,’ Alex says. ‘Trackies and runners.’ And we both laugh so much we fall off the retaining wall.

  Peta looks at us rolling around on the asphalt. ‘What’s wrong with you two? Mrs Leeman is okay.’

  Only someone who isn’t in Mrs Leeman’s class would say something like that.

  When we get back to the classroom after recess, Mrs Leeman finishes marking off our assignment topics next to our names on the roll.

  I pick Mrs Leeman’s original assignment because I think it could be some kind of test. Us being allowed to choose, I mean. Also, I don’t want to spend a million years talking to everyone in my street. I pick the Philippines because I don’t think anyone else has yet.

  Being the first one to choose a country could be part of the test.

  At home after school, I search the kitchen cupboard hoping to find a bit of cake or a chocolate biscuit or something but I can’t find anything. There’s never a lot to eat in there, but today there’s literally nothing. Somebody hungry must have robbed the house and stolen all the food.

  Mum sees me scrabbling around the cupboard in a panic. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Where is everything? I can’t find anything to eat,’ I say.

  ‘There’s plenty of things to eat, Jesse. Rice wheels, four-bean salad and the fruit bowl is full. You just need to look.’

  That wasn’t really a fair thing to say. I did look. And the only thing in the fruit bowl is fruit.

  Over dinner, Mum announces that we are all going on a diet. No more processed foods, sugar, salt, fat or preservatives. Starting today. Without any warning.

  ‘How do you know there isn’t sugar and salt in this?’ Noah asks, holding up a long, green thing with black dots on it.

  ‘Because I bought all the ingredients fresh from the whole foods store,’ Mum says, ‘and I prepared it all myself. That way I know exactly what my family’s eating.’

  ‘Yeah, but your family don’t know what they’re eating,’ Noah says, giggling.

  ‘That’s enough, Noah,’ Dad says, sawing his green thing in half.

  ‘Enough what?’ Noah says, but only loudly enough for me to hear.

  Noah and I look at each other and at the other things on our plates. There’s some orange stuff underneath the green things and a few droopy leaves on top. Dad keeps an angry face on Noah until he and I both pick up our forks and pretend to eat something. I wouldn’t say it’s yucky – it isn’t anything. It’s like eating when you’ve got a head cold and everything tastes like foam.

  Later on, I wait until Mum’s busy watching something on TV and not really listening when I tell her I’m going to be looking after Minha’s fish.

  ‘What fish?’ Mum asks, pausing the TV. ‘For how long?’

  ‘I’m not sure how long exactly,’ I say. ‘How long do fish usually live for?’

  Mum turns her head towards the corner, where our dog, Milky, is sitting in Dad’s armchair. ‘Do you know anything about this, Andrew?’

  I didn’t know Dad was in the armchair until then. His head pops out from behind the dog.

  ‘I think it’s a great idea,’ Dad says. ‘It’s about time he learned some responsibility.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know … It’s quite a bit of work, looking after fish. You have to feed them, clean their tank and filter. And what happens if you go away?’ Mum says to me.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I promise. ‘I can do it.’

  The going away part isn’t a problem. I like staying home. I can use the fish as a reason to stay home forever.

  Mum turns back to the TV. ‘Let me have a little think about it, Jesse. I need to decide whether you’re ready for that sort of commitment.’

  I’m not asking for a bank loan. They’re fish. How much work can they be?

  Dad says, ‘We’ll have a talk about it, Jesse, and come back to you. It’s not something we can decide on the spot.’

  I hope they decide ‘yes’ about the fish because I already told Minha I would take them. Her dad is bringing the tank around to our house on Friday.

  In the morning, instead of our usual Choco-Flakes, Rice Pops and Weet Treats on the table, there are three plastic containers with varying shades of brown flakes and a container of almond milk. I’m starving so I pick the light-brown flakes and put some of the low-fat, organic almond milk on them. It’s like eating wet newspaper.

  I refuse Mum’s offer of toast because I see what Noah has on his plate. It looks like particle board. Anyway, there’s already something on my plate. It’s bright red and about the size and shape of a submarine. I don’t know what it is or how it got there.

  Dad comes in and chooses the medium-brown flakes and puts two pieces of particle board in the toaster. There’s something pink and watery in his cup instead of coffee.

  ‘What’s this thing on my plate?’ I ask Mum.

  ‘A vitamin pill,’ she says.

  ‘Why do I to have to take a vitamin pill if I’m eating healthy food?’

  Noah looks up. He must have taken his red submarine already.

  ‘It’ll help your body adjust to all the new changes,’ Mum says.

  ‘All the changes? What else can’t we eat?’ I push the submarine around the plate.

  ‘Chips, lollies, biscuits, white bread, sugary breakfast cereal and anything with pastry on or around it …’ she says.

  I try to swallow the pill. It’s impossible.

  ‘Salt, sugar, artificial colours and preservatives …’ Mum continues.

  The pill tastes like seaweed.

  ‘Ice cream, cake, chocolate, packet soups, sauces and desserts …’

  I pick up my lunch box and leave.

  Mum’s just being ridiculous now.

  Today is Wednesday so Alex isn’t at school. He’s got his first day at St Bennett’s. Mrs Overbeek must have decided to come back from holidays because we have to line up for assembly as soon as the bell goes. The first class to arrive at the gym has to put the teachers’ chairs out. That means our class because Mrs Leeman is always on time or early for everything.

  When the rest of the school turns up, Mrs Overbeek announces it’s a short assembly because she has so much work to do. She should have come back to school on Monday like everyone else.

  ‘I have a wonderful announcement today!’ Mrs Overbeek begins. ‘Githa, our receptionist, had a lovely baby girl over the break! We’re all so happy for her and her family. That means Roland will be spending the rest of the year in the office with Miss Creighton.’ Everyone giggles. It’s not a wonderful announcement for Roland. Someone will have to break the bad news to him when Miss Creighton is on her lunch break.

  Mrs Overbeek waits for us to be quiet, then continues: ‘You may have noticed, in the school grounds, that the building repairs from last semester’s broken pipe are almost finished. There are a few things left to do, so Mr Wilson is organising a working bee for later in the term. He’ll be saying more about that closer to the date.’ Everyone’s relieved he’s not in assembly to say more about it today. Even though he’s vice-principal, Mr Wilson never sits through a whole assembly anyway. He only turns up for his part, like a special guest.

  Mrs Overbeek leans forwards and tells the Preps they’re going to have an ‘incursion’ from Kidz Lizardz. The Preps would get to do the only interesting thing. Right now they’re just looking confused because they don’t know what ‘incursion’ means.

  ‘… and lastly, sometime over the next couple of weeks, Ian will visit every class and talk about his new role at the school as Wellbeing Officer,’ Mrs Overbeek announces. For some reason, that makes everyone start talking at once and she has to tap on the microphone to get everyone to be quiet.

  Why doesn’t she say ‘be quiet’ into the microphone?

  Before we all escape, Mrs Overbeek reminds us about the new adventure playground. She suggests doing a quick ‘self-risk-assessment’ or watching another student before deciding whether we feel comfortable going on it. It all sounds a bit experimental to me. Why didn’t the school buy playground equipment that’s already been tested?

  In class, we start our Closest Neighbours projects. I have some good ideas already. I’m going to draw a big map in the middle and stick pictures of beaches and wildlife around it because the Philippines have lots of both. If I have room, I’ll include some boring things about climate and population density and stuff.

  Then I see the actual map of the Philippines.

  It is made up of seven and a half thousand islands.

  Seven and a half thousand.

  If I start drawing the map today, I might get it done by the time I’m fifty. Normally, I would ask Alex what to do. If he moves to St Bennett’s, it’ll be like this all the time. No Alex to ask. So I go and grab some of the books that Mrs Leeman has brought to class for this assignment. By the time the bell rings for lunch, I’ve read enough about the Philippines to write a guidebook, but I haven’t written anything.

  Jun, Braden and I race down to find Peta already at the wall again at recess. I’m so distracted thinking about all my worries like our spot on the wall and Alex and the Philippines, I forget about Mum’s healthy eating plan until I open my lunch box. It’s full of things I don’t like or can’t identify. There’s some kind of leathery wrap made out of cabbage (yuck), miniature tomatoes (I hate tomatoes), carrot sticks, a million lettuce leaves and a meat that I think is chicken with green, oily stuff all over it.

  There’s also a snap lock bag full of birdseed and two dried apricots. The only edible thing in the container is a piece of banana cake but it takes almost all of recess to pick the passionfruit seeds off the top.

  Before today, I took Alex and food for granted.

  When I get home after school, there’s a brand-new bike in the kitchen leaning against the empty fridge. It has a million gears and dials and looks a different colour depending on where you’re standing – sometimes it’s purple and sometimes it’s pink. Dad appears from the hallway wearing a full-size grey lycra suit with green stripes. He looks kind of like a spotted tree frog. I can say that with authority because there’s a chart showing all the endangered frogs of Victoria and New South Wales on the inside cover of my Science Alive workbook. The only difference is size – the spotted tree frog is six centimetres long.

  Dad says the bike and suit are for cycling to work and back every day.

  ‘How far is away is the warehouse, Dad?’ He does the accounts there for a business that makes things out of chocolate.

  ‘Oh, not too far … about ten, I think.’

  ‘Ten kilometres?’ I try not to laugh. ‘You’re going to do a twenty-kilometre round trip? Every day?’ This is good news for my stomach. Dad gets tired hanging the washing out.

  He’s also bought one of those watches that records your heart rate and blood pressure and how fast you’re moving.

  ‘It has an alarm and tells me everything I need to know,’ Dad explains, clipping it onto his arm. The watch isn’t telling him anything now, though.

  So I guess he doesn’t need to know he looks ridiculous.

  The next morning, I pick a different cereal. I try to wrap the vitamin pill in a soggy flake and swallow it that way, except it starts to dissolve the minute it’s in my mouth.

  ‘Do we have to get these massive seaweed vitamins?’ I ask Mum. ‘You must be able to buy smaller ones.’

  Mum says, ‘You can. But these ones are the best. They were recommended to me.’

  ‘Who recommended them? Poseidon?’ I whisper across the table to Noah and start laughing.

  ‘James Pond?’ Noah says.

  ‘Moby—’

  ‘That’s enough, boys,’ Dad interrupts, but I notice he only has one piece of particle board this morning.

  ‘The lady at the whole foods store recommended them,’ Mum says, sitting down. ‘It’s the only one without sugar. Did you know that almost everything we used to eat contained sugar?’

  ‘Well, I’m feeling better already,’ Dad says. ‘I can really notice a difference.’

  Mum smiles at him and tips a whole pile of the grainiest-looking flakes in a bowl. She pours some watery stuff all over them and says, ‘Oh! I nearly forgot!’ then grabs a little sachet from the cupboard.

  ‘Would you like some of this on your cereal, Jesse?’ she asks, tearing the top off the sachet. ‘It’ll boost your energy and help you concentrate at school.’

  I don’t think it will. The smell coming from the sachet is affecting my concentration now.

  When Braden and I get to school, Alex is waiting at the gate. I ask him what his first day at St Bennett’s was like.

  ‘It was okay,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to put your hand up.’

  ‘When don’t you have to put your hand up?’ Braden says.

  ‘Ever. Like if you want to say something in class … you just say it.’

  ‘What happens if everyone talks at once?’ I ask.

  ‘Then the teacher has to figure out who goes first and who goes next …’

 

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