Free Riddle Gully Runaway by Jen Banyard

bite, and added through his mouthful, ‘Course, he didn’t know it would end up in the newspaper.’ He held out the squashed sandwich remains to Pollo. ‘Want some?’
    â€˜Err, no thanks.’ Pollo folded her arms. ‘I still don’t get why it’s Benson who gets to feel sorry for himself.’
    â€˜Haven’t you ever done something you wished you hadn’t?’ said Will.
    â€˜I get cranky with Dad sometimes,’ mumbled Pollo.
    â€˜Well, what if, instead of coming back into your real un-cranky self afterwards, something happened and you got stuck being cranky?’ Will leaned towards Pollo, his eyes spooky-wide. ‘It’s like a nightmare. You know the sort of person you really are but no one else seems to. Soon everybody’s treating you like you’re a crank, even though you know deep down you’re not.’ Will popped the last of the sandwich into his mouth. ‘You’d be pretty keen to get your old self back, wouldn’t you?’
    â€˜I’d definitely want my old self back.’ She pulled outher notepad and pencil. ‘So your theory is that Benson got this idea of himself as a thief —’
    â€˜A scumbag.’
    â€˜â€” a scumbag … and then, between his uncle and us, he couldn’t get his old self back? He got stuck feeling like a scumbag?’
    Will shrugged. ‘I reckon that could be it.’
    Pollo shook her head. ‘I’d just tell my uncle or whoever to go count the holes in a crumpet.’
    â€˜Not everyone’s as … as … sure of themselves as you,’ said Will.
    Pollo eyed him sideways from beneath her beanie. After a moment she huffed, ‘You might have shared all this wisdom of yours earlier.’
    Will gazed at the scenery skimming past. ‘Didn’t know I had it until now.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    Benson, in a long rubber apron and rubber boots, leaned against the cyclone wire fence that cut off the abattoir from the surrounding farm. The spring sun was warm on his shoulders and the song pulsing through his iPod brought happy memories of rehearsing in Kal’s garage with the band. But the stink of the slaughterhouse nearby stuck like glue in his nostrils no matter what track was playing.
    A little way off, the workers who liked a smoke with their mug of morning tea — which, as far as he could tell, was everyone but him — huddled in a grey haze, swapping jibes and laughs, the women in a clump to one side of the courtyard, the men in a clump on the other.
    He was hungry but no one was handing out scones and jam, that’s for sure. At Gran’s place, he’d nevereaten so much excellent food in his whole life — one good thing about staying there; the only thing other than Gran herself. When his mum landed in hospital just as his suspension was about to kick off, and with his dad away up north, everyone thought it would be such a great idea for him to go and stay in Riddle Gully. Everyone but him. It had turned into a nightmare. Uncle Orville collected him and lectured him all the way to Riddle Gully, shutting up only for that half hour he’d had business at Maloola. But it got way worse once they were at Gran’s place. Whenever Gran gave Benson a hug or told him a story about when he was little, his uncle got angry, or made out she was old and stupid and had her facts wrong. He acted like he was jealous … like he was worried Gran mightn’t have enough love to go round.
    Benson didn’t care what his uncle thought of him. But when he talked to Gran like that … man, it made him want to give him one. But all Benson could do was sit there and say nothing, ’cos if he did say anything to defend Gran, it just made his uncle carry on worse. He felt like a total mongrel either way.
    Nah, he just raked up trouble at Gran’s. Even without that girl writing her story in the newspaper he couldn’thave stayed. He