Free Dropping In by Geoff Havel Page A

might start out being the number of apples but then someone eats one, or you find out that one is rotten, or one is really an orange and all your problem-solving doesn’t work any more. Still, in maths the logic is clean. You can work things out and there is a right answer that doesn’t change, even if other people don’t agree. Right is right, no matter what they think. Yes, maths is like a rest for my brain.

15
    After school Ranga and I walk down to the house near the roundabout. I’ve been busting to tell him how Mr Sutton called me up to his office but there were always other people around at school. Now’s my chance. I tell him all about it and when I say that I think Mr Sutton believes me he looks relieved. Then he tells me that he likes Mr Sutton.
    â€˜That’s weird!’ I say. ‘Mr Sutton busts you all the time.’
    Ranga shakes his head. ‘Mr Sutton doesn’t hate me. He’s fair. If you do the crime you have to do the time.’ He sounds like Mum and Dad.
    But Mr Sutton isn’t Ranga’s biggest problem. ‘What about the social worker?’ I ask.
    Ranga shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Mum hasn’t done anything wrong. They can’t do stuff to you just becausethey think something, can they? They’d have to have proof.’
    â€˜Well I reckon you’ve done a good job of proving that you are the worst accidental-self-mangler in the history of the universe.’
    Ranga laughs, then he points at my elbow and hands. ‘Except for you,’ he says.
    True, but for different reasons. I’m just bad at skateboarding. Ranga takes crazy risks.
    The couch is still near the roundabout, on the verge, beside a pile of other rubbish. We walk up to it and feel the cushions. They’re a bit damp. They’ve been outside for a couple of days so it figures. It doesn’t matter because they’ll dry out quick enough if we can get them under shelter. They might smell a bit though.
    We knock on the door of the house and ask the guy inside if we can have the couch. He says we can as long as it doesn’t end up on the side of the street somewhere. ‘No,’ Ranga says. ‘We’ve got big plans for this couch.’
    It’s only about one hundred and fifty metres up to our house and the couch is quite light, but we have to put it down a few times because it’s awkward and cushions keep falling off. The edges of the wooden frame dig into my hands and they’re still tender from my skateboardingaccident. It takes ages to get it home and my hands are stinging when we put it down on the garage floor.
    Mum and Dad said it would be alright if we worked on the couch in our garage. Lucky they didn’t ask what we plan to do with it. Just telling them we plan to fix it up seemed like enough explanation. Mum even backed her car out so we could work on it this afternoon. Doing it in here is extra good because James won’t spot it from over his place when he gets back from hospital as long as we keep the garage door closed.
    We need to get some wood for the steering so we head out again to scavenge around other Big Rubbish Day piles. As we walk heaps of cars cruise by with people checking out what’s being thrown out. Every so often one stops and someone gets out and raids a rubbish pile. Mum always says, ‘One person’s trash is another person’s treasure.’ It’s true! Some of the stuff looks really good to me. There’s a wide-screen TV at the other end of our street. I want it for my bedroom but there has to be something wrong with it, otherwise why would they throw it out?
    Around the block we find what we’re looking for. There is a pile of wood like the stuff they use on pergolas stacked outside. There is a lady home and she tells us wecan have what we want as long as we leave the pile tidy. All we need are two bits and we’re set.
    I want to draw a plan, but Ranga says he’s got it