Free Dropping In by Geoff Havel Page B

all set out in his head. We tip the couch upside down and he puts one of the pieces of wood across the bottom, sticking out in front about a metre and a half.
    â€˜Screw that on,’ he says.
    â€˜I’ll measure it first,’ I say.
    â€˜What for?’
    â€˜So it’s even.’
    â€˜It doesn’t have to be exactly perfect,’ Ranga says. ‘It’ll work fine where it is.’
    I’ve already got the tape measure out. It really gets up his nose. I can see him getting angry.
    â€˜It’ll only take a second,’ I say, measuring across the couch. ‘What’s half of one point nine metres?’
    â€˜Ninety-five centimetres,’ says Ranga, quick as a flash.
    â€˜How’d you work it out so quick?’
    â€˜One point nine metres is ten centimetres short of two metres, so half of that is one metre minus half of ten centimetres is ninety-five centimetres.’
    I fold the tape over from ninety-five centimetres and there it is — one point nine metres. And some people say Ranga isn’t smart.
    I mark the centre and we use Dad’s drill and some screws to fix it in place.
    â€˜Now for the T-bar,’ says Ranga. He grabs the other bit of wood and places it on the end, sliding it back and forth until it looks right. Then he marks his place with his thumb and grabs the saw.
    I’m busting to measure something, but what? What’s the difference if it’s exactly one metre or not? Where Ranga marked it looks pretty right.
    â€˜Hold it!’ I say.
    â€˜What?’ he snaps.
    â€˜I’ll mark it square.’
    Ranga sighs. ‘If it makes you happy.’
    I’m annoyed, but I mark it out anyway. He saws it off and works out where the centre is. Then we drill a hole through both pieces of wood and bolt them together with washers in between so it will turn easily. All we need to do now is screw two pieces of wood to the back corners of the couch so we can attach the skateboard wheels there. Ranga has two spare trucks from an old skateboard and, because I can’t skate at the moment, we use the trucks off my skateboard to finish the job.
    When the wheels are screwed into place we turn the couch over to test it. Ranga sits in the middle with onefoot on each side of the T-bar and I push him across the garage. It rolls as easily as a skateboard and it turns pretty well but if you turn it too tightly it sort of hooks around and tries to throw you out.
    â€˜Let’s test it down the hill,’ Ranga says.
    â€˜Not today,’ I say. ‘James’ parents will be home soon and they’ll see it.’
    I’m expecting an argument but he just nods.
    â€˜Yeah,’ he says, ‘it’s not worth the risk.’ So we roll the couch down to the back of the garage and put a tarp over it.
    We head inside for a drink after all our hard work. I’ve just got the fridge open when Mum comes in. ‘Do you boys want to visit James in hospital tomorrow afternoon? I think he’d like that.’
    â€˜I’ll have to ask my mum when I can go, Mrs Whyte, but I’d like to,’ Ranga says, as polite as you like.
    Mum beams at him.

16
    Maths is boring today without James. Ranga is in ordinary maths so he’s not here either. Just me!
    Ranga really should be here in advanced maths. People think he isn’t smart enough but he could be good at maths if he really wanted to be. Look how good he was at working out measurements yesterday. He says he can’t stand having to learn about things if there’s no point, and that there’s definitely no point to algebra or calculus, but I reckon he just likes subjects where he can use his hands, or at least get up and move around every so often.
    I remember at primary school, when he used to get bored in maths because he already knew what to do. He had to sit there and wait while the class went over, and over, and over what we were learning until everyone else got it