Deity

‘I see a good portion of the group are already exhausted and have decided to skip the last two Thursdays,’ said Rifkind. ‘No matter.’ At that moment the double doors swung open and Jake McKenzie strode into the suite. He looked around for an available chair.

‘Ah, Jake. Decided to favour us with your presence today. Hurry up and sit, please; the group are ravenous for knowledge to start.’

Jake smiled and hesitated. There were no chairs left except the one next to Kyle Kennedy.

‘There’s a seat next to Gay Boy,’ chuckled Wilson Woodrow, the overweight eighteen year old with the zigzag haircut and buzzing earphones. ‘If you don’t mind catching AIDS.’

‘That’s enough of that,’ admonished Rifkind as mildly as he could. He prided himself on his good relationships with students and didn’t like to play the authority figure.

To avoid Wilson’s confrontational leer, Kyle stared down at the floor through his John Lennon spectacles and buried his long delicate hands between tightly crossed legs. He wore the blank expression of the diplomatically deaf.

Jake made for the seat next to Kyle and sat down. Kyle looked up at him in greeting and then just as quickly returned his gaze to the floor.

‘Today and next week we’re going to be watching and critiquing a film so this morning we can sit back and chillax.’ Rifkind paused to make sure his comfort with the patois of youth had registered. ‘Today’s film. .’

Wilson produced a DVD case from his baggy clothing and held it under Rifkind’s nose without having the courtesy to look at him.

The lecturer stared at the top of the boy’s head and ignored the offering. ‘Today we are-’As Rifkind clearly hadn’t noticed the DVD, Wilson waggled it in front of his face again.

In the end, the lecturer accepted it with a sigh. ‘Thank you, Wilson.’

‘Will,’ replied the boy gruffly, again without looking up from his iPod.

‘Oh, you managed to hear that over the Death Metal? Funny how I have to repeat things three times when I want your attention.’

Wilson gazed up at Rifkind, a pearl of wisdom on the end of his tongue. ‘My dad says sarcasm is the lowest form of something.’

‘Ignorance perhaps,’ replied Rifkind, looking at the cover of the DVD with a sinking heart.

‘No, it’s not that,’ answered Wilson, thinking hard.

‘Saw 4 — interesting choice.’

‘It’s brilliant,’ agreed Wilson, as though revealing a great secret to which only he was privy.

‘Is it as brilliant as Saws 1, 2 and 3, dare I ask?’

‘Saw 2 is my best film ever. But Saw 4 is even better.’

Rifkind looked around the room to garner support for his upcoming putdown, but only Kyle Kennedy’s brow furrowed in amusement so he thought better of it.

‘Thank you, Wilson.’

‘Will!’ the teenager retorted, with a touch more aggression.

‘I’m afraid we won’t be watching Saw 4, Will. Rusty has-’

‘What? Why not?’

Rifkind made sure to speak slowly because he didn’t want to repeat it. ‘Because, as you’ll remember, at the start of the academic year, we agreed to have a rota for people to choose the end-of-term film, and I’m afraid you’ve had your turn.’

‘Yeah, my turn is the Saw films. You have to see them all for it to make sense. They’re a series.’

‘I don’t care if it’s a series, Wilson,’ he said, taking pleasure in repeating the boy’s hated name.

‘It’s Will!’ shouted Wilson, this time. ‘And we’re watching Saw 4.’ He turned round to the gathering. ‘Everybody else wants to watch it, don’t you?’ Wilson eyeballed the group. Only Jake and Becky returned eye-contact.

‘It doesn’t matter what everybody wants.’

‘That’s not very democratic.’

Rifkind smiled at him, beginning to enjoy the little power he had over the boy. ‘Nor is bullying people into doing what you want.’

‘I’m not bullying anyone. You want to watch Saw 4, don’t you, Kylie?’ he said to Kyle Kennedy, who bridled at the sudden attention. ‘I’m talking to you, Faggot.’

‘That’s enough of that language,’ said Rifkind.

‘What language? English?’ Wilson sneered. ‘It’s a crime to speak your own language now, is it? I was just asking Faggot-’

‘I said that’s enough,’ countered Rifkind, attempting a show of strength that he knew he couldn’t back up. ‘We’re wasting time. Rusty has chosen today’s film. End of.’

‘Geek Boy wasn’t even here at the start of the year, so how can he be on the rota?’ snarled Wilson.

‘Give it a rest, Will,’ said Becky. ‘I couldn’t be arsed. He’s taking my slot.’

Rifkind grinned at Woodrow’s tubby face. ‘Happy now that democracy has been served?’

Wilson stared angrily at the carpet, urgently searching for another compelling reason to have his way.

‘Rusty?’ Rifkind looked expectantly at Russell’s pale face as he handed over a DVD case.

‘Picnic at Hanging Rock,’ said Rifkind. He beamed approvingly. ‘Interesting choice.’

‘Who’s in it?’ growled Wilson.

Rusty cleared his throat and in a timid voice said, ‘Nobody famous, but it was Peter Weir’s breakthrough film, made in 1975. Weir, you may remember, directed Gallipoli and Witness, starring Harrison Ford.’

There was silence as everyone stared at him. In the six months since he’d been enrolled at Derby College, he’d barely spoken to anyone and certainly hadn’t dared to speak in front of classmates. He seemed to spend most of his time sitting in the refectory drinking Coca Cola and pointing his camcorder at everyone who passed.

‘Nineteen seventy-five?’ howled Wilson. ‘Is it in colour?’

‘Beautiful colour, Will,’ nodded Rusty, warming to his theme. ‘The cameraman was Russell Boyd and his use of vibrant-’

‘Sounds shit. What’s it about?’

‘It’s about an Australian girls’ school in 1900,’ interjected Rifkind, in case Rusty began to buckle under Wilson’s interrogation.

‘You’re shittin’ me. I’m not watching that shit. It sounds shit.’

‘That is your democratic choice, Will,’ replied Rifkind, hopeful that the bully might be about to leave. But instead he waggled his own DVD in Rifkind’s face again.

‘Here. We’re watching Saw 4. Rusty don’t mind.’ Wilson grinned over at him. ‘Don’t worry, Geek Boy. You’re not going to get battered. Your mum’s a MILF,’ he hissed at him with a leer.

Rifkind shook his head. ‘Well, I mind. We’re watching Picnic at Hanging Rock. In Media Studies, Wilson, we have to open ourselves up to a variety of genres, aimed at different audiences . .’

‘My name is WILL!’

There was silence for a moment but Rifkind refused to be fazed. He was smarter than Wilson and wasn’t about to back off until he’d proved it. He sniffed coldly. ‘You should enjoy this film, Will. If you’d been born two hundred years ago, Australia is where you would have ended up.’

‘What does that mean?’ A smattering of the students sniggered their understanding and Wilson rounded on them angrily. ‘What the fuck are you laughing at?’ His eye caught Kyle Kennedy smiling and he stood to confront him. ‘Something funny, Gay Boy?’

Kyle’s smile disappeared. ‘I . . no, I mean-’

‘Wilson. Either sit down or get out!’ shouted Rifkind, finally losing his temper.

‘Gay boys don’t laugh at me,’ bellowed Wilson, wading through chairs towards Kyle.

Jake McKenzie jumped hurriedly between the two. ‘Back off, Wilson,’ he said calmly. He held a hand up to