The Great Gatenby by John Marsden Read Free Book Online Page B

don’t want you bursting through the wall.’ Real funny bugger. ‘Hey Gatenby, no smoking in the pool, OK? It dries out the water.’ I just put my head down and did the laps. Could these guys help it if they were one pickle short of a hamburger? Hell, they didn’t even have the bun.
    The only good news was that this was the last session of early morning House swimming training. And that was very good news. I was too tired to get excited about it but deep down somewhere in my bones there was a gathering sense of relief. I felt it as I climbed out of the pool and I felt it grow during the day. I had never thought, God help me, that the prospect of ‘sleeping in’ till 7.15 every morning could be so enticing. But right now it seemed like the most desirable thing in the world. And of course it meant that the end of the swimming season was close. Only the two biggies were still to come: Linley’s own Inter-House Carnival, and the CCS meet, where all the rich schools got together and fought it out for the title, the championship, the trophy. All this early morning stuff had been for the Inter-House Carnival, while the after school routine with Crewcut was for the CCS.
    As a matter of fact even Crewcut got in on the act about the Art Room episode. That little turkey, if he ever went to a funeral he’d be wanting to tell the corpse how to lie. He drew me aside that afternoon for a confidential chat. In the undistant distance I could see Melanie who was laughing at me instead of concentrating on her diving, and that didn’t help any. The talk was all about smoking and how it’d mess up my body and I wouldn’t feel the effects for another five or ten years and then it’d be too late, all that stuff. Well, I knew that, and deep down I agreed with him, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Occasionally I’d have a cigarette that I’d enjoy, but those moments were getting rarer and rarer. I knew the time would come when I would give them up, and it’d have to be soon. Apart from anything else it was too expensive, plus it was getting me into too much trouble. But this was not exactly the perfect week to make the move.
    Crewcut did treat me to a few surprises though, by telling me he thought I was a hot swimmer who could get into the Federal Swimming Institute if I went for it. I’d never thought of that before. Those guys gave you an education, accommodation, and swimming coaching, all for free.
    â€˜But I don’t know if you could handle the discipline, Erle,’ said Crewcut. I didn’t know either. I doubted it. Still, the prospect wasn’t without its attractions.
    â€˜What about Melanie Tozer, sir?’ I asked. ‘Would she get in for diving?’
    â€˜Yes, I think she could,’ Crewcut answered without batting an eyelid. I liked him for giving such a straight answer. Actually, one thing about him, he’d always been straight with me. I quite liked the idea of Melanie and me at the Swimming Institute, too. It was something to think about.

Chapter Eight
    First term was coming to the twilight of its career and would soon be heading for the retirement village. That’s the way life was. One minute you’re sitting on the supermarket shelf, full of lemonade, the next you’re down at the recycling plant being turned into a car door. But before the ole term breathed its last, there were still a few little matters to attend to. The swimming carnivals, for one. Exams, and stuff like that. Some kind of hike through the mountains which the school thoughtfully organised for fourth formers every year — a crash course in becoming men. A guy oughta be more grateful.
    This CCS carnival promised to be quite a cute little effort actually. There was some guy in my age-group called Phillip Savvas, from St Jude’s, who was reputed to be the hottest thing this side of a Doors album. People told me that this