Underdog by Tobias Madden

Author:Tobias Madden
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Schwartz Publishing Pty. Ltd

Then

Autumn knows the difference between what makes a person happy—a Macca’s run after school, grabbing a pet and holding them tight—and what happiness actually is: chemicals.

Dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin, and endorphins.

Autumn scribbles Punnett squares on the inside of their wrist sometimes when nothing much is going on, and can tell you all about the near-deadly physics of Super Mario Galaxy, but they have no idea, absolutely none, of how they’re supposed to go about getting some weed.

It’s not something that’s ever been covered in homeroom. Or something they’ve had to study for their SAC: Where to get marijuana—please circle the appropriate choice. But this isn’t Saints College, this is Tech, this should be easy.

Their dad used to get stoned down the back of the Tech oval with his mate, Joel. While absolutely gone, they’d duct-taped a mate to the traffic lights out on the main street. Hid from teachers in a bush during class, high and giggly.

Their dad talks about Joel as if he’s in love with him. Just a bit, or just in love with that life, the before.

Point is, the kids at Tech get away with not wearing their uniforms. They don’t get into the eighties with their ATARs—at least, not yet, Autumn tells themself—and they don’t care all that much when they’re chucked detention after detention for nicking off campus at lunch. Tech kids are the public-school kids. The bogans.

And Autumn’s sure that someone here knows how to get weed.

Now

Chin cradled by their arms up on the desk, Autumn sits in their final period, English, and eyes the second hand lapping the clock’s face. Conjugating verbs—rough on a normal day and pretty much impossible this late on a Friday arvo. The annex is stuffy and the guys in the back row are a stinking horde, having kicked off their shoes under the table. It’s gross. Miss noticed it too, making a big show earlier of going around and opening up all the windows.

Autumn has homework to do, notes to take, but they scribble a Punnett square for attached earlobes—EE, Ee, Ee, ee—on their notebook. They’re pulled out of their head by heavy footsteps outside. They sit up. The door opens.

A stocky white man with a shiny suit and a shiny head leans in. Where Autumn’s dad’s scalp is blotchy and yellow under most lights now, Sir’s is freshly shaven. It’s rare seeing their principal anywhere outside of Monday-morning assembly, let alone in their class.

His eyes survey the room and just as Autumn’s about to go back to their own inner surveying, Sir says, ‘Sorry for interrupting. Autumn Nichols, can you collect your things and come with me, please.’

Though he’s asking, it’s not really a question.

It takes a second, but when it hits, Autumn’s tongue grips the top of their mouth. They’re still.

‘Autumn,’ Miss prompts, eyeing them through her specs. Autumn jerks. There’s a feeling that sits on top of their chest, a numbness that folds down onto itself and spreads across their stomach and legs.

Heart rate, blood-pressure, epinephrine, that adrenaline high.

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