Everything is Changed by Nova Weetman Page B

We’re doing prac.’
    Not me, Mr Cap. I’m going to the skate park. I let the door slam behind me as I wipe the bottom of my t-shirt across my face, removing any sign of emotion. The corridor is almost empty because everyone is outside having lunch. I make it to my locker without seeing anyone I know. I leave all my schoolbooks and just grab my empty backpack. I’m not planning on coming back for a while.
    â€˜Boo,’ says a voice behind my locker.
    I know from the striped socks and the red Converse that it’s Ellie. Not even the thought of talking to her makes me want to stay.
    â€˜I got you the last pie. You owe me five bucks,’ she says.
    I sling my backpack over my shoulder as she closes the locker door and hands me a paper bag that feels a bit damp because it’s so hot.
    â€˜Hey, you okay?’ she says, inspecting my face.
    â€˜Yeah. Headache.’
    â€˜Thought we were going to study?’
    â€˜I’m going home.’
    â€˜No you’re not. You’re going to fail if you keep this up. Come on. Let’s go study. We’ve got a free period next. Then it’s prac. Your favourite.’
    The pie bag is starting to burn my hand. I slide the pie out and bite the stiff-edged pastry. Ellie leans forward and takes a bite too and grins at me. ‘Okay, you only owe me $2.50 if we share.’
    â€˜Here. You have it. I’m not hungry anyway,’ I say, handing her the bag. ‘I’m going.’
    I manage four or five steps before she yells after me, ‘I bought you a pie! And you’re leaving? Not cool, Jake. Not cool at all.’
    Yep. Don’t I know it.

alex
    Nobody else in the team ever catches public transport to the river. The rest get driven, but I like riding the tram before the sun is up and there’s no way I want Mum to drive me to the boatsheds, even though she keeps offering.
    The tram is always quiet at this time of the day. And there is always a seat. Each person seems to naturally take their own section, like they aren’t ready to interact. Me down the back with the old guy who’s snoring whisky fumes into the air, the young business guy in the middle and the woman in the jogging gear right up the front near the driver. I’ve seen them both before, but we never acknowledge each other. I’d like to stay on the tram one time to see where they get off, but my stop is first, so unless I skip rowing training I’ll never know.
    The tram takes the corner too fast and the brakes go on so hard that it feels like the carriage will lean all the way down to the ground. Straightening up, the tram jolts violently enough to bring the old guy out of his nap. He looks around, and his gaze stops on me.
    â€˜You going to work?’ he asks, half coughing as he stares at the side of my head like he can’t quite focus on my face.
    â€˜Nah. Rowing,’ I say, still impressed that rowing is something I do.
    But it clearly doesn’t impress him because he laughs and spit flies from his yellowing mouth.
    â€˜Why’d you want to go and do that then?’
    I feel like I should answer him but I don’t know why. It’s not like I started the conversation and just because I’m sitting here, near him, it doesn’t mean I have to talk. So I find a shrug instead, but I know it won’t be enough to deter him so I turn and look out the window, and decide I’ll get off at the next stop and walk the rest of the way to the sheds.
    â€˜You at one of those fancy schools?’
    â€˜Yeah,’ I say, still staring out the window, tempted to point to the insignia in Latin on my tracksuit top. I’m only wearing it because I like the way it looks. It’s too warm to have it on, but my rowing t-shirt is plain.
    He sounds just like Jake when he’s giving me a hard time about my fancy school. Don’t they get that there’s really nothing fancy about trying to fit in? A uniform doesn’t