Good Oil by Laura Buzo Read Free Book Online Page A

my grandmother used to say.
    ‘Well, I don’t mind telling you that I’m frankly appalled , youngster.’
    I don’t answer, which fires him up even more.
    ‘What am I?’ he says, blocking the doorway that I had taken a step towards.
    ‘Appalled,’ I say.
    ‘That’s right. I’m appalled.’
    ‘Well, good luck with that.’ I push past him and go out to the registers, knowing that the perfect comeback will come to me later that night as I am ironing tomorrow’s school shirt.
    No doubt it was Ed who squealed on me – he and Chris are maaaates after all. Chris continues to ride me about the ‘polished mahogany incident’ as he takes to calling it for the rest of the week. I don’t see him once speak to Kathy, though.
    When I walk into work on Wednesday, Chris and Bianca are leaning against the service-desk counter next to each other. I swear they both smirk when they see me.
    ‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t the youngster,’ he calls as I scurry past. ‘Feeling all right there, sport?’
    I make for the locker room.
    ‘You’re still in disgrace, youngster! Got it?’
    I studiously avoid making eye contact with anyone, especially Jeremy. I do glance towards the service desk, I hope in a subtle fashion, when this girlfriend of his is around. Chris was right, she needs a sandwich. And those 16 mg Benson & Hedges that Jeremy slips her probably aren’t doing her any favours. Whatever, like I care.

    On Thursday at school, I bemoan the work situation to Penny. We are hovering at the edge of the grassed area, talking just to each other before we join the group. I don’t think she quite knows what to make of Chris, or what outcome to hope for.
    ‘He’s being a bit of jerk,’ she says warily.
    ‘Yeah,’ I agree and hurriedly add, ‘but he’s not like that all the time.’
    She shrugs. ‘Mum and Dad are still making noises about me changing schools. They want me to sit some scholarship exams. And the selective schools exams.’
    Penny’s parents aren’t happy about her school performance. She’s not enthusiastic, they say. Her marks could be better, they say. She needs stronger guidance, they say.
    And if you ask me, Penny’s lack of enthusiasm is one of the most glorious things about her. Example: she hates PE. No, listen to me – haaaaaaates PE. I’m pretty underwhelmed by having to put on a cringe-worthy sports uniform in the middle of the day, run around under the harsh summer sun until I’m red and sweaty, then get changed back into my school tunic (no showers) and be sticky for the rest of the day. But I do it twice a week, as required. As do the other girls.
    Not Penny. She has never wagged PE, not even once. She shows up all right, with that unhurried, loping gait of hers, but instead of heading to the change rooms with the rest of us, she slings her backpack down on the grass in the shade, sits down next to it, pulls out a book or magazine (always non-school-related) and starts reading. She doesn’t wheedle to the teacher about period cramps or headaches. She doesn’t forge notes from her mother. She just won’t do PE . Ever. It’s understood. Mrs McGill never pulls her up on it and always marks her name off on the roll. It’s just the way Pen carries herself. Like I said, gloriously unenthusiastic. And her marks are perfectly decent. I don’t know why her parents are arcing up like this. Penny changing schools is a terrifying thought.
    Everyone is a bit quiet at lunch on Thursdays because there is a double maths period straight after. People silently try to psyche themselves up for it and when the bell rings no one moves right away. Actually, they freeze – like animals caught in the headlights of the oncoming juggernaut of trigonometry.
    Sitting next to Penny in maths I notice that she now has two piercings in each ear, instead of one.
    ‘When did you get those done?’ I ask, surprised that she hasn’t mentioned it.
    ‘Last weekend,’ she replies, not looking up from her