Free New Boy by Nick Earls

I think he knows what I’m here to say.
    So I’m not wrong. And that’s a sickening thought.
    â€˜Poo sausage. Someone told Lachlan Parkes about boerewors and called it poo sausage.’
    â€˜Um, yeah. But it was funny.’ Max slides his feet back on the concrete. The lace is still untied.
    â€˜Not the way he talked about it.’
    â€˜But I said lots of good things.’ He starts to frown. ‘I said it like I did yesterday, as a joke. Lachlan made me tell him what happened.’ He’s talking quickly, breathing quickly. ‘I had to tell him stuff.’
    â€˜So he could then use it against
me
? Why else would he ask you that stuff? You think he likes South Africa? You think he’s interested? Lachlan Parkes? He was always going to say something stupid.’ My best day in Australia is spoiled. ‘Surely you know that he’d –’
    Max talks over me. ‘I had to tell him.’ He looks smaller than usual, scrunched down on the seat. He glances down at his feet.
    â€˜Really? Had to?’
    He doesn’t say anything more.
    The siren goes for us to head upstairs.
    I wonder what else he’s said, and who he’s said it to, and why. Max seemed totally impressed with the food yesterday and now, instead of telling everyone how good it was, he’s turned up to school with his ‘poo sausage’ line ready to go.
    A girl steps between us, heading for the stairs. I turn and follow her.
    For the rest of the day, I can’t keep ‘poo sausage’ out of my head.
    At the start of lunchtime, I decide to go to the library and speak as little as possible. But on the way there, Lachlan walks past, holding a sandwich near the back of his pants and saying in his stupid version of a South African accent, ‘Let me know if you’re hungry, Hershie, and I’ll make you a snack.’
    I don’t know where Max is, and I don’t care.

On Tuesday it gets worse. I turn up to school ready for it, maybe even looking for it.
    At the first break, I come out of the toilet and Lachlan Parkes and his friends Josh and Ethan are right outside.
    â€˜Just having something to eat, were you?’ he says. It’s yesterday’s dumb joke, back again. I move to step past him, but he blocks my way and says, ‘Not going to answer me? Not going to say anything, Hershey Fondee Murphy?’
    It takes me a second or two to realise it’s my name, in that joke accent. Then Ethan repeats it and laughs. They start chanting it, ‘Hershey Hershey Fondee Murphy.’ They move in around me and start nudging me, still chanting. First just the three of them, then four, then five. People I don’t even know start doing it.
    I must step back because I bump into the wall. They take a step closer.
    Then I notice Max is nearby, just beyond them, looking at me, saying nothing. Lachlan sees him too.
    â€˜Come on, Max,’ he says. He walks over and gets behind him, putting a hand in Max’s back, shoving him towards me. ‘You know you want to.’
    â€˜No, I . . .’ Max moves, stumbles.
    One of Lachlan’s friends bumps into him. Max looks small among them. He’s frowning and his lips look pale.
    Lachlan jabs him in the ribs. ‘Say it, Maxie.’
    I see Max’s lips move. ‘Hershey Hershey Fondee Murphy.’
    I want it to stop. I shout, ‘Voertsek!’ and then realise how Afrikaans it sounds and probably is.
    â€˜Fart sick,’ Lachlan says, and his friends laugh.
    Nothing is right, nothing I can say, and Max isn’t helping me. He’s one of them. He told Lachlan the ‘poo sausage’ stuff and now he’s next to him, playing his game and making me feel like an idiot.
    It all gets jammed in my head, and I have to get out.
    I shove Lachlan hard.
    He trips and falls over. He hits the ground with a thump and rolls onto his side. Everyone goes quiet and steps back.
    Lachlan gets up, wiping