Bleakboy and Hunter Stand Out in the Rain by Steven Herrick Read Free Book Online Page A

brightens. ‘Yeah! Fifty dollars!’
    Beth grins. ‘That’s not much for a pirate. What about all your buried treasure?’
    â€˜Two hundred dollars!’ says Dad. He looks quickly toward Mum, who appears to have swallowed some chicken the wrong way.
    â€˜One hundred dollars?’ asks Dad.
    Mum nods.
    One hundred dollars! Kelifa could buy enough food for three months and have spare change for a football. To practise, for when he becomes an Ethiopian superstar player. All because of me and Dad!
    â€˜I know just who to donate to,’ I say without thinking.
    The table goes quiet.
    â€˜You do?’ asks Mum.
    â€˜I mean … I could do it for you … On the internet, if you want?’
    Beth laughs. ‘There you go, Dad. Give Jesse your credit card and it’s all taken care of.’
    â€˜I’d only spend—’
    Dad reaches for his knife and fork. ‘I’ll handle the financial—’ He looks at Mum. ‘Your mother will handle the financial transactions, Jesse.’
    I can picture Kelifa with a football. Tomorrow, I’m going to write a letter to him. Maybe I’ll be able to find his address somewhere on the website. I’ll tell him about Dad and Mum and our fruit trees and how one hundred dollars is only the start. I won’t mention Beth. He’d probably be jealous of me for having only one sister.

12
    HUNTER
    Hunter walks into the bathroom and takes the scissors from the cabinet under the sink. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his hair. He grips the scissors, considering what to do.
    Short on top? Yep.
    Long at the sides? Too girly.
    Straggly bits at the back? Mullethead! No-one at school would have the guts to call him that.
    He puts the scissors down on the sink and turns on the cold tap, filling the basin with water. He ducks his head down and scoops water over his hair. The water runs down his back and makes him shiver. He looks again in the mirror. Wet streaks of hair stick to his face, like a gargoyle.
    He grins. Now that’s a hairstyle. But he can’t go to Walter every five minutes to wet his head in order to maintain the look. Not even Sarah would allow that.
    He opens the bathroom cabinet, reaches for a fine-tooth comb and runs it slowly through his hair. He picks up the scissors again and starts cutting: a snip here and there, even to uneven, long to short, wet to dry. What does it matter? His hair drops into the basin, floating on the surface of the water. After a few minutes of careful snipping, he looks again in the mirror. One side of his fringe is longer than the other and a strand of hair tips over his right ear while his left ear sticks out, like a clown.
    â€˜Uuuummm,’ he says. He snips away the long fringe and considers the options. ‘Too clunky on top.’
    And there’s still the back to do. He opens the cupboard beside the bathtub and picks up his dad’s old shaving mirror. Holding it behind his head, he can see what the haircut looks like in the bathroom mirror.
    In one word?
    â€˜Gross.’
    He sighs. What now?
    He remembers the time a few years ago when he was beginning swimming lessons and he’d somehow paddled into the deep end, away from his group. When he put his feet down to touch the bottom, there was nothing but water. Water and rising panic. He kicked and flapped his arms against the surface of the water, wondering why he couldn’t scream. He went under, gulping water before resurfacing and spitting it out. He wanted to yell, but still no voice would come. He flapped and grabbed at vacant air and felt the water filling his ears and nose. Why couldn’t he shout?
    He reached one arm high into the air as the rest of his body went under. And that’s when his mother dived into the pool. She reached him with a few strokes. With her arms circling him, he felt weightless. His breathing settled immediately as she kicked and floated, with him in her