The Promise Seed by Cass Moriarty

Author:Cass Moriarty
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of Queensland Press
Published: 2015-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

28

The boy was slouched under his desk as far as he could go without actually sliding to the floor. Almost horizontal. Every so often Ms Zibraugh turned around from the copious notes she was chalking on the board and peered at the class over the top of her purple spectacles.

I sincerely hope you’re all getting this down.

Yes, miss, they chanted in automatic unison.

Because this will all be in next week’s test. Her stare rested on the boy until he straightened himself and made a show of finding his pencil.

She turned away and he slid down again, resting his knee on the cool of the metal desk leg.

His palms were sticky and hot. The few overhead fans did nothing to dissipate the fug of sweat and secret farts magnified by the September sun streaming through the windows. He glanced through the glass. A small green and blue budgerigar pecked at the grass seeds, in between raising its head in jerky, anxious movements. A shadow passed across the grass and the bird was gone in a flutter of wings. The boy searched the patch of visible sky but it was empty.

A soft thud on the back of his head. A pig-shaped eraser rolled under his chair. Mitch, in the desk behind him, began to chant in a quiet, sing-song voice.

Take off ze bra, baby … take off ze bra, baby …

The boy glanced up at their teacher’s back, the flesh under her arms jiggling as she wrote. He repeated the taunt softly, his French accent honed through days of practice. Take off ze bra, baby …

She swivelled abruptly, zeroing in on the boy with a withering glare.

Would you care to share?

No, miss.

Oh, please do. You obviously find something extremely amusing. It would be cruel not to let the rest of us in on the joke. Her voice was cold and the room was silent. I’m sure I heard something about a bra. That’s a topic your tiny little brain finds funny, is it?

No, miss.

No? NO? She stamped towards his desk, picked up his ruler and brought it down with a smart slap on his open exercise book. The other students watched in silent awe. Her voice was shrill as she continued to scold him, her face furious, the ruler whacking hard and fast. His book began to slide off the desk. When he tried to catch it before it hit the floor, he felt the sting of ruler on skin. He retracted his hand and held it against his chest, a bruise already forming across his knuckles. Ms Zibraugh faltered for only a moment and then brought the ruler down hard on the desk once more.

Perhaps you will consider the subject of your humour more carefully next time. Choose something more appropriate. Her soft-soled shoes squeaked a path back to the board.

That’s bullshit, the boy murmured.

I’m sorry? What did you say?

Nothing, miss.

WHAT DID YOU SAY?

Twenty-four pairs of eyes swung between the teacher and the boy, as if at a tennis match.

The boy was made bold by his anger.

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