Chapter 2

“You’re a bit different to what we were expecting,” said Mark as he turned the key in the ignition.

Brandon bristled. What the hell does that mean?Sure, he wasn’t as athletically built as Mark. In fact, he was downright skinny. He was as shapeless as a ruler. He wore his hair gelled into place (a slight quiff at the front), and kept his sideburns neatly shaped—each tapering to a point. He was wearing the latest 80's fashion (baggy trousers and a primitive print collared shirt), but then again so was everyone else he knew in the city.

Unable to think of an appropriate response, he remained silent.

Such was the size of Gunnanilla, it only took four minutes for them to arrive at what was clearly the school.

“We’ve got the pre-primary and Years One to Three over there in that demountable,” Mark explained, pointing with his whole hand. “That building across the quadrangle is where the laundry and toilets are, but you can use the one in our house because it bloody stinks in there. The Abos are worse than animals.”

Brandon had gone to school with Aboriginal people, but they’d been urban Aborigines of mixed blood. Here, on the edge of the desert, he was going to meet full-blooded Aborigines; something he’d been looking forward to. It came as something of a shock to hear them spoken about in such a derogatory way.

“Over here is where we teach the rest of them—Years Four to Seven and a couple of high school students. Hopeless, both of them.”

Brandon followed Mark up the three wooden steps to the main building.

“That’s the office in there.” He pointed to a small annex before sliding the door to the classroom open.

Immediately every eye was upon Brandon. A sea of dark faces, punctuated here and there by a brilliant white smile.

“Everybody, this is Mr Lewis, our new teacher. I hope you’ll all show him what good students you are.”

A tall, thin woman came out of the adjoining office. She had blue eyes, a long, narrow nose with a small hook in it and rubicund cheeks. She wore her blonde hair short. Her lips were thin, but her smile was friendly.

“Hello, Brandon. I’m Trina,” she said.

“Pleased to meet you, Trina.”

As they shook hands, Brandon noticed Trina’s eyes go to his neatly styled hair, though her smile didn’t waver. He wondered what she was thinking; whether she agreed with her husband that he wasn’t ‘what they’d been expecting’.

“So Mr Lewis…” Even after three months practical experience while at university, it felt strange, so official, to hear himself addressed in such a formal manner. “…which class would you like?”

Brandon had already made up his mind he didn’t want to work in the main building, not under the constant supervision of the school principal. However, he wanted to make a good impression. He was, after all, under probation and would be for the next two years.

“I’ll take whichever one is free,” he replied.

Mark closed his eyes for a second or two. The faintest crease appeared between his eyebrows. “You can have any of them. Which one would you feel most comfortable teaching?”

“The junior primary,” Brandon said. “Years One to Three.”

“And the pre-schoolers,” added Trina.

Shit!He’d forgotten about them. “And the pre-schoolers,” he repeated, hearing a crack in his voice.

“I’ll keep an eye on this lot,” said Mark, addressing his wife. “You take him over to meet Jenny.”

Jenny, Brandon was informed, was the wife of the local police officer. In the flesh, she was a solidly built woman with large hips. She was short in stature and had permed hair, which gave her a little added height. She came through the door of the classroom wearing a broad smile, which seemed more genuine than the smiles he’d got from both Mark and Trina.

“How are you?” she said, shaking his hand with a firm grip.

“Brandon’s opted for my old class,” said Trina.

Jenny nodded, making her curls bounce. “Right,” she said. “I’ll take him in. Introduce him to the little darlings.”

Brandon caught Trina rolling her eyes and couldn’t decide whether he’d done a good thing in taking the principal’s wife’s class, or a bad thing.

Once again, the second he stepped into the room, every eye was upon him.

“Boys and girls, this is Mr Lewis, your new teacher. Everyone say good morning.”

“Good morning, Mitta Lewis,” chorused the children.

A little girl, with fairer skin than the other pupils and sun-bleached hair, came up and took hold of his hand. Looking up at him she asked, “What your first name?”

Brandon looked at Jenny for a clue as to whether or not he should tell them. Seeing no evidence it was against the rules, Brandon replied.