Will: 15 Years on the City Streets- Wezzo Survived!

By Richard Convery

Will is the story of Wezzo and Geoff, two school friends with the world at their feet, whose choices lead them down vastly different paths. Later, their worlds collide and once again they become uniquely linked.

All of us make choices. But what happens when our choices plunge us into despair? What can we do? Who do we turn to? Wezzos choices leave him homeless on the city streets of Newcastle, Australia, while Geoffs choices trap him in a maze of diabolical white-collar corruption.

Yet theyd both started out like you and mefull of hopes and dreams.

Will is about triumph in the midst of tragedy, love lost, purpose found; the strongest of families torn apart then re-created in the most unlikely place.

In a world hobbled with epidemic homelessness, Will portrays streeties not as shameful failures but as gifted individuals who deserve another chance.

Will contrasts the victims and the victors, the hopeless and the hopeful, challenging us to not only think about our own destiny, but to resolve it.

And the finaleyou wont see it coming!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Apr 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781466935280

Book preview

Contents

Foreword

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

About the Author

Foreword

by Greg Westbrook

Ever since that night in 1986 as I walked down the city streets of Newcastle, Australia, a memory is forever etched in my mind. As I passed by a café, the whiff of food filled my nostrils and as I reached deep into my pocket, I knew there’d be nothing there. That’s when it hit me—I had no money, not even for a scrap of food, I had nowhere to go and I knew absolutely no-one. I was truly homeless.

True, I could have thrown myself at the mercy of welfare but I chose not to. For many that would seem foolish but even now I am as overwhelmed as ever that I was totally dependent on God. As strange as that may seem, I was somehow free.

As I read through Will I resonated with the central character and though our stories are in many ways different, the parallels are surreal.

It’s been 25 years since I had any contact with the author. And though I’m thrilled to discover that Will was inspired by a conversation I had with Richard back in 1987 after I’d found myself on the city streets, there’s a thought that still intrigues me; ‘How could Richard have possibly known all those things?’

Reading Will has had a profound effect as I looked back on my youth in the 60’s and 70’s. There were the happy times and I smile as I recall the girls, the hotels, the rock bands and all the parties. Yet beyond all those there’s also been the impact of the sadness that has caused me a flood of tears. Like the central character, I too carried the unbearable weight of guilt, a burden that haunted me until I was finally set free. I identify so intimately with the loss of my cherished relationships and the inevitable sting of death.

Will is a unique and insightful look not only at life on the streets but about the characters within and the consequences of the choices they made along the way.

Will has reinforced within me the need to be truly courageous in standing for the truth. I believe we all need not only to be true to others but courageously true to ourselves. When we fail to live in truth, we die our own private death.

As I reflect, the most life-defining truth that has emerged from my 15 years living on the city streets is this: What I believe leads me to faith; faith leads me to hope and upon that hope is built an unshakable trust. Even when all else seems lost, that trust keeps me alive and makes me well within my soul.

Enjoy Will and the message of hope. When we embrace its message, even if all else has been ripped away, what remains can be enough. I believe wholeheartedly that is how God intended us to live.

These words got me through so many hard times on the streets:

‘Seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things will be added to you’ Matt 6:33 and ‘He commanded them to take nothing for the journey—no bag, no bread, no money in their belts’ Mark 7:8.

Greg Westbrook.

Prologue

A tramp? No, come on. Nah, no way.

A solitary figure scavenged for food. Scraps to satisfy his constant need. Distraught and confused, Wezzo watched from a distance.

Barely ten paces now, Wezzo offered the man the remainder of his lunch. The putrid tramp hesitated, yet the prospect of a feed that hadn’t already clocked up bin time caused his eyes to dance, his mouth to water.

Thank you, thank you so much. You’re a good man. Thank you.

Wezzo studied the tramp with a pity that sliced deep. That could be me, he thought as the tramp devoured the remainder of the meal.

Mighty good food. Haven’t had fresh pasta like that for a while. Thank you again, sir. Merry Christmas.

Hey, um, you in a hurry?

Never.

Wezzo, and he extended his hand.

The tramp eyed Wezzo warily then wiped his right hand on a trouser leg and returned the gesture, complete with a toothless grin. Spider.

Glad to meet you, Spider. Got a minute?

With another curious glance, the tramp answered, Time is what I got most of. You on holidays?

For the next two hours both shared from their own stashes of life while marvelling at the glory of the South Pacific.

For eight years Spider had called the city streets home and beyond side-stepping the ongoing attempts by law enforcers to move him on and the relentless procurement of his needs, the enigma known only as Spider didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

And I don’t never get sick.

But you eat out of garbage cans.

Spider shot Wezzo his latest grin. You’d be right ’bout that, but I just don’t get sick, not no more, and he paused briefly. Used to when I was livin’ in me house, but not no more. Fingering his ample gums, Spider joked, Lost me a few teeth awhile back but ’part from that, I’m fit as a fiddle.

In his former life Spider had been married for almost twenty years and was the proud father of a couple of teenagers. In that same life he had loyally served one employer, though found himself jobless following a company takeover that somehow still didn’t make sense.

Me job needed doin’ no matter who was runnin’ the place.

After three fruitless months of searching daily for work, he’d arrived home to an empty house. Me missus took off with the lot. Just up ’n went, and I was left with nothin’.

But Spider, your kids. What about your kids?

Spider’s eyelids flickered. Yeah, that’s the hardest part. I loved me kids, still do. I gave me kids everythin’. I know one thing’s for sure, I’d do it all again, but she turned ’em against me. Told ’em I was useless ’n couldn’t take care of ’em no more. Said there weren’t nothin’ I was any good at. Silly bugger, eh? and for the first time Spider turned away, breaking eye contact.

Wezzo waited. So what do you do now?

I’ll tell ya what I do now, I enjoy life, that’s what. I decided to accept me medicine. We all get stuff happenin’ to us, Wezzo. It’s what we do with the stuff that matters most. He peered intently into Wezzo’s eyes for a response. None came. Everybody livin’ round here gets the same chance. Everybody. They can look at this amazin’ place, or not, it’s up to them. It’s our will.

Our will?

Yeah, Wezzo, our will. Our free will. Worth more ’n silver or gold yet people chuck it round like it’s worth nothin’. We can get pushed into stuff ’n we can blame everybody else but it’s our will ’n our responsibility, or else we got nothin’ more ’n blamin’ others.

Maybe you’re right, Spider. I can’t say I’ve ever looked at it like that.

The saddest thing is most folks is too wrapped up in their own problems to enjoy what we got. Me, I got every single day to enjoy the sun comin’ up over the ocean ’n the beaches ’n all the trees. It sure takes some beatin’ I reckon and he rubbed his scrawny chin and smiled. Wezzo, ya probably not gunna believe me ’n I wouldn’t blame ya if ya didn’t, but I’d be the happiest bloke you’re ever gunna meet."

Wezzo shook his head. But, aren’t you lonely?

Spider laughed with a volume greater than intended. Lonely? You gotta be kiddin’. I ain’t never lonely, not like that, and he turned to confront Wezzo. Let me ask ya somethin’, Wezzo. How many fair dinkum friends you got right now?

What do you mean?

Come on, ya know what I mean. I’m talkin’ ’bout real close friends. Best friends. How many like that you got in your life?

Spider could never have known that of all the awkward questions he could ever ask, this was the most brutal. With shoulders tensing and muscles taut, Wezzo tried to stall, summoning the courage to respond with an honesty that had long been buried. Real friends? Friends I’d trust my life with? The sort of friends I could tell my closest secrets to, and not feel stupid?

Spider nodded, staring directly into Wezzo’s eyes. Yeah, them ones. How many?

Compelled to tell the truth for his own sake, Wezzo confessed, Two, Spider. I’ve got two, and locking his fingers tightly, he admitted, One lives on the other side of the country, and the second, well, last I knew, he was in the States. Out of all the people I’ve ever known, there’s only two real friends left, and they’re both so far away they might as well be on the moon. Truth is, neither of them even knows where I am. With his confession finally out, Wezzo slumped forward and began to weep.

Spider put an arm on his shoulder. Don’t never be ’fraid of cryin’, Wezzo. Makes ya real.

Wezzo then admitted to being desperately lonely. He’d reached a point in his life when he’d stopped caring, and right now hadn’t the slightest clue where to turn.

Only you can decide that one, me friend, only you. But I’ll tell ya somethin’. Right here on these streets, ya could find some of the best people in the world. Right round here there’s people that are me friends, me best friends, ’n I know I can trust ’em with me life. Matter of fact, I do trust ’em with me life—nearly every single day. They’d be some of the finest people you’d ever hope to meet, ’n without ’em I guess I’d be just like you. And me friends never let me down, never. And I tell ya somethin’ else. If ya ever wanna meet ’em, ya just say the word, okay?

Wezzo stared at his feet, tears dripping from the tip of his nose. Slowly, he looked up into Spider’s face. But how would I find you?

Unleashing another of his chuckles, Spider patted his new friend on the shoulder. You’d never find me, or any of me friends if we don’t want ya to, but just come here ’n wait a while, ’n we’ll find you. Deal? He glanced away to see a patrol car rounding the corner.

Gotta go.

Chapter 1

Wesley, come on, please calm down. Today of all days. Betty patted her son gently. Just take a few deep breaths. Got your puffer? Everything’s going to be fine. Ready, Lynette?

Slamming the door behind him, Wesley trudged behind his sister to the car. Never before had he been forced to confront a new school in a new town where he knew absolutely nobody. And to start in the second year of high school only multiplied his fears. Everyone else will know each other, Mum, and I’ll be left all on my own. How crap’s that!

Wesley! I’ve told you before I won’t stand for that kind of language. If your father heard you speak like that you know what he’d say.

Sorry, Mum, but it’s not fair.

Betty peered into the rear-view mirror. In no time at all I’m sure you’ll make lots of new friends and—

Yeah, Mum, you told me before, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

Lakeview High was ten times bigger than his last school, yet as they arrived it seemed a hundred. Man, check it out! and his lungs and head threatened to burst.

Mum, I don’t feel well.

Come on, kids. Let’s go and find out where you’re meant to be.

Wes’ chest tightened and he almost gagged as he got out of the car and looked around. All the other kids seemed at least a foot taller and twenty pounds heavier. They must be seniors, surely. So many kids. I’ll never find my way round this place. I’m gunna spew, he muttered, not expecting a reply.

Day one didn’t improve. His pulse hovered at the red line and his breathing mimicked their old vacuum cleaner with a full bag. New buildings, new classrooms, strange teachers, so many faces, everyone staring at the new kid.

Roll call, boomed a teacher who looked seven feet tall.

Shit, my name starts with a B! Within seconds, Brooks, Wesley was ricocheting around the room as the ungentle giant searched for the kid who matched the name. Brooks, Wesley? The slightly agitated and repeated enquiry forced Wes to speak.

H-here, sir, and his voice cracked, hitting a note that would fail to register on most musical scales and likely spook the schoolyard dog. The entire class disintegrated into fits of hysteria.

Okay, okay, settle down.

Now everyone knows my name and they’re gonna pay me out heaps. Stuff it!

Burns, Terry?

At lunchtime the students filed noisily out of the classroom. With his face still flushed from a morning of unwanted gawking, Wes was in desperate need of urgent bladder relief. Out of sheer necessity he summoned the courage to ask two innocent looking students, Um, where are the toilets?

The two exchanged sly grins. Must be hard being the new kid, said one. Come with me. I’ll show you the board that lists everything. It’s on the way to the crapper.

The other student dashed ahead as Wes and his self-appointed tour guide continued along the corridor and out toward sunlight. Be a good idea to check out the board. Wes gave the elaborate noticeboard a glance, though with other searing demands everything else would have to wait. His guide gestured ahead as a curious smirk crossed his face. There you go, the toilet’s right in there, he said as the second boy emerged, shaking his wet hands.

Wes abandoned his schoolbag and with laboured breathing raced into the toilet block, only to be mocked by a small group of girls who squealed and jeered.

Wes’ crimson cheeks deepened, his constricted chest tightened and, muttering a senseless apology, he bolted for the door.

Outside, his two ‘helpers’ had been joined by others, clearly intent on some cheap entertainment at the new boy’s expense. Wes noticed a schoolbag had been strategically hung to obscure the Girls sign as Wes, now drowning in pitiful humiliation, cursed repeatedly under his breath.

Off to his right Wes noticed two boys emerge from what must have been the boys’ toilet. He wheezed in that direction, checking briefly for a confirming sign before striding single-mindedly inside, legs locked, holding on for all he was worth.

Searching for a vacant cubicle, he shouldered his way inside, locked the door and tore at his clothing to release the offending appendage. Relief!

Although his agony soon subsided it was replaced by one promising to last a lot longer. Grappling in his pocket for his asthma puffer, the new boy concluded, I hate this mongrel place!

Ten intolerable minutes of laboured breathing ensued before Wes was able, or willing, to leave the cubicle, and only then after a senior student banged on the toilet door taunting the occupant, That’ll send you blind!

Wes trudged outside in search of his schoolbag, eventually managing to retrieve it just before resumption of classes. So much for lunch, even if I was hungry!

Throughout the afternoon Wes checked his watch a thousand times. Three-twenty finally ticked by, and, first to the car park, he anxiously scanned for his mother’s old car.

Hi, Wes. How did it go?

Just leave it, okay, Mum!

Oh, come on, son, I’m sure it can’t have been that bad.

Ya reckon?

Lynette exploded into the front seat with a salvo of announcements about her new friends, the hot boys in her classes and how incredibly friendly everyone had been. Sitting quietly in the back, Wes was more than willing to let his sister rave on about her day, leaving him to silently replay in his head the horror of his own initiation. Convinced that his first day couldn’t possibly have gone worse, Wes concluded that he would talk to his father the minute he arrived home from work and persuade him that there must be another school. Any other school, in any other place, had to be better.

That evening Frank remained resolute. Lakeview High was where both kids would remain. In a couple of months Wes’ bad day would be forgotten and everything would be fine.

"You sound just like Mum! You can’t even see the lake from the school, so why would you call the place ‘Lakeview’? The whole thing’s dumb!"

Settle down, son. Where’s your puffer?

"I don’t need my puffer, I need another school!"

Hey, come on, how about we take things one day at a time and then on the weekend how about we launch the dinghy and go out on the lake and try our hand at catching a few fish? What d’ya say?

Dad, you’re not even listening. I’m going to bed.

But son, it’s only seven-thirty.

That night Wes relived the whole day’s episodes a hundred times. After several visits from his mum and ten trips to the toilet, sleep failed to materialise. When Betty poked her head through the bedroom door next morning with a cheery Good morning, Wes’ eyes were blood-red and bleary to the max.

Wes, you don’t look the best. His vacant expression, set jaw and huffy rolling over spoke plenty. Did you get any sleep? No reply.

Lynette skipped by, singing some crazy pop song and with that starry-eyed, self-absorbed expression exclusive to teenagers she enquired, What’s up with Wes? Can we leave soon? I want to get there early to see my new friends.

Betty went to her son’s side and soon realised he’d fallen into a deep, exhausted slumber. Should she send him to school exhausted? Or should she let him stay home, knowing it would be doubly hard the next day? With Wes’ long history of illness, particularly his asthma, Betty’s heart had sunk when he’d told them of his first-day traumas. As her deepest fears were realised, a flood of helplessness crashed over her. His life had been a constant battle—thirteen years of one sickness after another. She’d yearned for the day when her son would be strong and healthy, free from the dramas that had dragged him down. And now we’re off to such a horrible start.

That evening as Frank drove into the driveway, Betty was there to meet him. Clearly by the expression on her face the day had not gone well.

How’s Wes?

Oh, Frank, he spent the whole day in his room.

Frank searched his wife’s eyes. Any ideas?

None. I’ve been worrying all day. Frank, what are we to do?

Something’ll work out, love. It always does. Don’t you worry. Come on, let’s get inside. How’s Lyn?

That’s the crazy thing—she loves the place! On top of the world. Can’t wipe the smile off her face. She’s made new friends, even got plans for the weekend and wants to know if she can go out on Saturday night to some dance. It’s all a bit quick, don’t you think?

Hey, love, be happy for her.

Wes made a brief appearance then asked to be excused after some derogatory remark about vegetables and torture. Frank decided that for the moment discretion was the better part of fatherhood. I’ll go into him in a little while, love, it’ll be—

And Dad, I asked Mum about Saturday night and she said it was okay if it was okay with you and—

Hang on a minute, Lynette; I said I’d talk with your dad. Don’t go twisting my words now.

Can I, Dad? Come on, Dad, can I? The possibilities of a night out for a fifteen year old girl in an unfamiliar town with a group of relative strangers did the rounds for the next hour until an acceptable compromise was reached.

Part of this agreement, young lady, is that you help Mum with the dishes while I go have a talk with Wes, okay?

Sure, Dad, sure.

Frank found Wes lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. What!

Hang on, son, we’re on your side, remember? Mum and I know how tough it is right now and if there was any way we could make it better, we’d—

Then let me go to another school! That’s all I want. There’s plenty of other schools. No way they’d be as bad as that mongrel place. Everything about it stinks. I don’t want to go back—ever!

And what if you went to a different school and you got off to a bad start there? Do we keep trying till you find one you like?

I thought you’d want me to be in a school I like!

Son, we do, it’s just that—

Sure doesn’t sound like it!

Frank paused. Tell you what. If in a couple of months things still aren’t working out, I promise we can talk about the possibility of maybe considering another school then, okay?

Possibility? Maybe? Sounds like one big con to me.

Give me a break, Wes. It’s not a con. Frank leaned forward to look into his son’s eyes. The move to Newcastle has been tough on all of us, but it’s getting better. My job’s been rough adjusting to as well. It’s not exactly like they said it would be and some of the guys reckon the company should’ve given my job to a local. They gave me a bit of stick to start with, but now two months in, there’s signs of ’em coming round. But if I’d bailed out—

You didn’t say anything about it being tough.

Yeah, well, I didn’t want to make things harder for you and Lynette than—

Lynette!

From the second her name left Frank’s lips, he knew it hadn’t been smart.

Lynette thinks the place is great! She hasn’t shut up about her precious new school. Just because she likes it doesn’t mean I have to. Maybe it’s the wrong school for me! What about that?

Okay, okay, forget I mentioned Lynette. Let’s just get back to our deal. If you’re seriously not happy in a couple of months, I promise we’ll consider another school. Deal?

You promise?

Yeah, mate, I promise.

After a long pause Wes responded, S’pose.

I’m so proud of you. I really do know how hard it’s been. Mum and I are going to do everything to make this as painless as possible. And that includes the boat trip on the weekend. Shake?

Wes looked directly at his dad and tentatively took hold of his outstretched hand. Shake.

As Frank returned to the kitchen and to the tail-end of the washing up, he made one muffled comment: Pray, love, just pray.

The following day for Wes was rough but not as rough as his first. The kids were just as unfriendly yet more inclined to ignore him. That suited Wes fine and he resolved to be the world’s best chameleon—whatever background was on offer, he’d simply meld right in.

By three-twenty that afternoon Betty was almost beside herself, only to discover that pretty much nothing of significance had happened. Although quiet and withdrawn, Wes wasn’t demanding, wasn’t protesting and wasn’t breathing as if it was his near final breath. Though Wes was a million miles from happy, Betty was at least optimistic that some sort of progress was being made.

The next few weeks proved somewhat of a roller-coaster. Lynette continued to gush and goo while Wes squirmed, exploded or employed the tried and trusted ‘retreat to my room’.

For Frank, the frequent fishing trips with his son gave him opportunities to ‘fish’ in other ways. Mostly though, Wes’ unwillingness to respond meant Frank would arrive home empty on all counts.

Betty’s attempts at breaking her son’s silence usually produced nothing more than, Mum, just leave it, okay!

If only they were more like girls, she pondered, but then again . . .

Chapter 2

It was tough enough being the new kid but to have ‘Mummy’ carry and fetch each day was only adding fuel to an already smouldering fire. The lifeline of a student bus pass meant Wes and his sister were soon catching the bus to and from school.

The bus was mostly full by the time it pulled in at their stop, forcing Wes to stand for the rest of the trip. Miraculously, Lynette always managed to find a seat.

Little by little, Wes’ tension began to wane. His asthma, though still mid-scale, eased as the weeks passed, yet strategically there remained an unshakeable awareness of his right to bail out if another day one catastrophe ever reared its ugly head.

Home class was seated in alphabetical order with Wesley Brooks seated next to Terry Burns. Terry was one of the cool kids—athletic, good looking and, according to his peers, very funny. And he surfed. Wes was none of these, except that he did happen to be in possession, when the moment suited, of serious helpings of a warped and wicked sense of humour.

Their newly appointed home class teacher was Miss McKenzie—slim, attractive, single and a recent college graduate with two particularly noteworthy features. As she entered the room one coolish morning, Wes quipped in a voice imperceptible to all but the most discerning ear, Hey, giant jugs!

Terry had previously treated Wes as Mr Invisible though he was constantly on the prowl for anything loosely worth a laugh. He leaned across in Wes’ face and demanded, What?

Nothing.

Come on, Brooks, what did you say?

Wes could feel his face beginning to burn and his chest tighten. It was obvious Terry Burns was not about to let up until he knew precisely what Wes had said. In as hushed a tone as he could get away with, Wes repeated, Hey, giant jugs.

Terry erupted, his wail instantly splitting the room. Miss McKenzie reeled about, attempting to bring the unwarranted disruption to a halt while Wes convinced himself that life on earth was about to end.

Burns! Burns, will you settle down!

Terry gradually reduced his volume to little more than a snigger, though still couldn’t bring himself to look at the teacher, especially the two noteworthy features.

Burns, any more and you’re outside! If you can’t control yourself you can get out of my class! Do you hear me?

Whatever happened for the remainder of that period, Wes remained oblivious. He’d found himself in the firing line of more unwanted attention, a far cry from his intended chameleon.

At the end of the period the class filed out for their next lessons and Terry rushed up to Wes and was about to mumble some inane apology when Terry gave him a shove on the shoulder.

Mate, that was so funny! Where’d ya get that from?

Confused by the comment and reluctant to make himself any more vulnerable, Wes simply muttered, I dunno.

Hey, Brooks, that was cool. Wait till I tell the guys! See ya. By lunchtime Wes’ reputation had soared.

The girls in his classes didn’t change at all but that afternoon the guys stopped laughing at Wes and started laughing with him. Somewhere deep within this young man’s psyche, something moved.

For Wes, the bus trip home, for the first time, was different. Just different.

The following day brought with it the inevitable home class period. As Miss McKenzie entered the room, Terry bit hard on his bottom lip and deliberately stared at his desk. Miss McKenzie canvassed the Brooks-Burns domain, finding little of concern.

Eager to get on with some actual teaching, she hurriedly posed the question, Who’s not here today?

Incapable of resisting and with scant regard for any potential repercussions, Wes let slip with, All those not present please raise your hands.

Terry completely lost it. This time followed by three nearby desks full of pubescents who also heard the comment. Anarchy broke out.

Within seconds his remark had buzzed around the entire room and within the same few seconds, every student had collectively degenerated into waves of outrageous laughter.

Burns and Brooks, get out! To the deputy’s office this very minute!

A new and shining star had just been born.

Chapter 3

The next morning as the bus pulled in at Wes’ stop, a few familiar faces appeared at the windows, Terry’s among them.

Hey, Wes, back here, mate. Wes still hadn’t fully processed the events of the last two days though he was persuaded to venture to the back of the bus where a spare seat incredibly appeared as one of the first year boys was somersaulted down the aisle.

Sit here, Brooks, roared one of the cool guys. That was shit-hot yesterday. You’re a funny guy. Why didn’t you tell us you were so funny?

Like, you’d of believed me.

The latest round of chuckles signalled more breakthrough. Wes, though still tight in the chest, visibly settled. The steel rod running down his spine suddenly relaxed and for the very first time he heaved a sigh of relief. They don’t hate me!

Hey, Wes, d’ya surf? Nah, guess not, eh! D’ya wanna come surfing with us on Friday arvo? We’re all off to Rocky Point in Frog’s old man’s truck. It’ll be cool. What d’ya reckon?

I dunno. I’ve never surfed before. I’ve only ever been to the beach twice and I was only eight.

Where ya been? On the moon?

Instantly his chest tightened. We lived inland so no beaches. Anyway, I don’t swim real good so maybe another time.

"No way, Brooks, we’ll teach you.