head!’
‘Argh! Aunty, what are you doing?’
Tamas swung his hips away from the blows. Samantha knew that although those shoulders could have picked Esmeralda up and carried her easily, he did not dare pull away from his aunty when she was in a mood like this. Although the spoon couldn’t be hurting him much, Oody raced around madly, barking like a machine gun, weaving in and out of Esmeralda’s legs.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ Tamas yelled. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’
Oody’s barking drew Hero, the tiny dog racing in as quickly as his name would imply. Bo followed, waving a stick with a hanky for a flag, hollering at the top of his lungs, just because he could and everyone else was. Lala limped along behind them, shaking her fist in the air, yelling at Bo to calm down. Samantha hid her laughter behind her hands as Mirela stood up and did a special belly dance for her cousin, mimicking Tamas’s attempts to dodge the spoon. Mirela shouted with laughter and her black hair streamed around her face like ribbons.
Samantha’s chest felt warm, like her heart was smiling too. The Gaje might telephone the police if they were watching a scene like this, but this was her crazy family and they’d die for one another.
Dwight Juvenile Justice Detention Centre, Sydney, Australia
Luke sat in the locker room, wrapped in his towel, squashed between Zac and Jonas, all waiting for their turn in the shower. Rain hammered down on the tin roof above them, drowning the voices of the other boys also wrapped in towels, shivering, waiting.
Even with the noise of the rain, no one dared speak much above a whisper. Dorm Four had been told that in addition to no TV tonight, they were in ‘silent mode’ – no speaking until morning. Not that many people were talking to Zac and Luke.
Jonas moved to scrunch even closer to the strip heater on the wall. ‘It’s friggin’ freezing,’ he said, his lips blue.
Luke turned to Zac. ‘What classes have you got today, Zac?’ he asked.
‘Metalwork,’ said Zac, swimming in one of the towels that barely met in the middle around Jonas’s waist. ‘And um, landscaping, I think. You?’
‘Same,’ Luke grinned. ‘You must be in Section Six too.’
‘Man, Holt
‘What’s wrong with Section Six?’ asked Zac. ‘Metalwork doesn’t sound that bad.’
‘All the Sections get to do metalwork, idiot,’ said Jonas. ‘And everyone gets computer lab too – well, except Black, here. He could probably teach that class, but he’s banned from the lab. But that’s not what you need to understand about Section Six. Section Six is where they put all the crabs.’
‘Crabs?’ said Zac.
‘Yeah,’ said Luke. ‘Losers who don’t do what they’re told.’
‘People who screw everything up for the rest of us,’ said Jonas, frowning. ‘Do you know that
‘Holt’s not on tonight,’ said Zac.
‘Holt’s not the only one you need to worry about in here, Nguyen,’ said Jonas. ‘Holt gets other people to do his
‘What’s counselling?’ asked Zac.
‘What Luke got last night,’ said Jonas.
‘From Jason Taylor?’ said Zac. ‘And that fat Toad? Whatever.’
Luke laughed. His lip split a little and he tasted metal. He wiped the smear of blood with the back of his hand.
‘At least we got metalwork next,’ he said. ‘Best class of the week. Landscaping’s gonna suck in this weather, though.’
‘I don’t know…’ said Zac, standing as Hong Lo, Kitkat and Barry walked into the locker rooms, faces red from their hot showers. His eyes met Luke’s. ‘I’m pretty good with plants.’
‘Mr Blainey is one of the reasons that metalwork is the best class of the week,’ said Luke to Zac, pointing with his chin at the crumpled-looking man at the front of the cold room.
They were sharing the back work table, Luke ensuring he got there first, just as he did for every metalwork class.
Zac studied their teacher: his glowing crimson cheeks and nose; his oversized, stained woollen jumper. ‘So he’s good at metalwork?’ he said, frowning.
‘Oh, he’s a
‘Okay, Section Six, what are you up to today?’ asked Mr Blainey, flipping a page on a clipboard. ‘Ah, that’s right, still on toolboxes. Have to stay basic for you boys, don’t we? Clarkson, get up here and unlock the supply cupboard. Those of you who’ve got a toolbox started can approach single file and take your project. If you haven’t started making a toolbox yet, you’ll find instructions and equipment in the boxes on my desk. Take only one kit. And please remember, any screwing around and you’ll have no visitors this weekend and no privileges for the rest of your stay here. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Mr Blainey,’ chorused Section Six.
‘And don’t forget – it’s two people only on the grinder at a time. Fifteen-minute shifts.’ Blainey positioned himself back behind his desk.
Luke queued for the supply cupboard while Zac collected his starter kit from the teacher’s desk. He figured that he should be feeling a thousand times worse after the run this morning, but for some reason the exercise and the hot shower had actually helped. At least it didn’t hurt so much to breathe, but he figured that he wasn’t going to be seeing much out of his eye for a while.
When he’d collected his half-constructed metal toolbox, he made his way back to the desk where Zac waited.
Zac ran a finger down the instruction sheet in his hand.
‘Seems pretty lame,’ said Zac. ‘Who wants to make a toolbox? What am I gonna do with that?’
‘You’re right,’ said Luke. ‘I much prefer the actual tools myself.’
He reached carefully under the workbench, eyes on Mr Blainey who had reclined further in his chair and put his feet up on the desk.
‘Good old Blainey,’ he said. ‘Almost asleep already. He’s a drunk, you know.’
From under the bench he pulled out two pieces of metal: an oversized nail and a flat narrow piece that was as long as his hand.
‘What are they?’ asked Zac.
‘Not finished yet, is what they are right now,’ said Luke. ‘But what they will be is a pick and a torque wrench.’
Zac raised his eyebrows, his face a question.
‘A lock-picking set,’ Luke smiled. ‘I stashed these here last week.’
Zac looked sceptical. ‘How are you gonna pick a lock with them?’
Luke glanced around. Everyone was bent over their desks, filing. Clarkson and Hooley were on the grinder. Luke was up next. He checked his watch. Five minutes to go.
‘Have you ever even seen a lock-picking set, Nguyen?’ he said.
‘Ah, no. It’s not the kind of thing we had hanging around my house.’
‘Well, it’s exactly the kind of thing we had hanging around my house. Well, the house of Foster Parents Number Six, anyway.’
