Free The Story of Tom Brennan by J.C. Burke Page B

been smoking for ages. You just haven't noticed,' she said, blowing perfect white smoke rings out the window. 'You want one?'
    'Nah.'
    'Footy training?' she smirked.
    'Dad'll flip.'
    'Dad has already flipped. Anyway I don't care,' she answered, even though she held the ciggie outside. 'Do you think they cared when they dragged us here?'
    'Did we have a choice?'
    'You know what Becky said?'
    'Becky! When did you talk to Becky?'
    'Last night.' Kylie stubbed out the ciggie and put the butt in a jar. 'I rang her from Brianna's.'
    Kylie opened a drawer, placed the jar of butts inside and shoved a piece of gum in her mouth. 'You want some?'
    I shook my head. 'Brianna . . . that's the girl whose place you stayed at last night.'
    'Derr, Tom. Genius.' Kylie started brushing her hair. 'Brianna said I can ring from her place any time. She can't believe how Mum and Dad just got up and made us all move. She said she would've . . .'
    'Hang on!' I butted in. 'You told Brianna about, about . . .?'
    'About everything. Yes.'
    And now we weren't playing tiptoe, and I wished we were.
    'Shit!' I sat on the bed and put my head in my hands.
    'Tom?'
    I heard myself groan. 'No!'
    'Tom?'
    'Why did you have to go and do that, Kylie?'
    'Do what?'
    'Tell.'
    'Look, Tom, some of us need to talk about it.'
    'I don't.'
    'No, you just go round with a . . . a black cloud hanging over you. I can't just shut down and –'
    'You don't even know this girl.'
    'So?'
    'So – why tell her that stuff?'
    'Why not? I mean, hasn't anyone asked you why you've moved here?'
    'No!' I suddenly shouted. 'And if they did I wouldn't tell them. It's none of their business. I don't feel the need to blab. All that crap, we did that back home with the counsellor. That was bad enough. How do you know you can trust her, I mean . . .'
    'She's my friend, Tom! Remember those things – friends, huh?'
    'You don't even know her.'
    'Don't start preaching to me, Tom!' She jumped off the bed. 'Just because you're so paranoid. People are going to find out sooner or later.' Our foreheads were almost locked together. 'Don't you get that!' She pulled away and walked to the bedroom door. 'Get out,' she spat. 'I don't want you in here. You're such a downer, and I don't need it!'
    The talk at school amongst the blokes was rugby and who'd be selected for the firsts. It was so familiar it was weird. Everything else was different: the town, the school, the faces; and yet the talk was the same. I knew St John's footy trials were next week too. Matt told me in an email. I still hadn't replied to his first one, there was no point. I didn't have anything worth saying.
    'Footy trials coming up,' Rory told me as we walked to English.
    Rory was the man with the info. If I was interested in listening to him I'd know everything by now. He was like the Bennie's and Coghill crash-course master. Thanks to him I was getting acquainted with my new classmates.
    Simon Whelan was a sick perve. Sally Cross from my home-room class had a tattoo of a butterfly on her arse, which her mother didn't know about. Mrs Spielman our English teacher sold one of her kidneys to pay for her daughter's wedding. And Ben McNally, the quiet kid with the blinking problem from Year Ten, made a bomb threat to the post office last year. It made the front page of the local paper but he never got caught.
    'I see your sister's teamed up with Brianna and her lot.'
    'Yeah.'
    I didn't want to say much. I wasn't sure what this Brianna chick was capable of.
    'I saw them hanging around Burger King on Friday night,' Rory said. 'I'd tell her to be careful of those girls.'
    'Yeah?'
    Mrs Spielman waited at the door as we filed into class.
    'How you doing, Mrs Spielman?' Rory said, then whispered, 'See, I told you, she doesn't look well, does she?'
    'What do you mean about Brianna and the others?' That was all I wanted to know. Mrs Spielman looked perfectly healthy to me.
    'They're just a bit odd.'
    'Odd?'
    'Troublemakers. Shit-stirrers. You know, too big