Free Jasper Jones by Craig Silvey

there’s no chance of that. Jeffrey is ushering me out the door like we’re fleeing a fire. He yells behind him: “Ma! We’re going into town to play some fucking cricket!”
    We pause.
    “Jeffrey! Wait! Okay? Wait!” his mother yells sternly. I detect a moment of panic on Jeffrey’s face when Mrs. Lu charges down the hall. But she holds out two cold flasks of water and smiles as she shuts the door.
    “You should have seen your face!” I say.
    He laughs as we run out into the street.
    ***
    Jeffrey tosses a polished red ball in his hands as we make our way into town, snapping it with his wrists and his fingers, fizzing it into the air. The seam is a whirring blur.
    I don’t especially dislike cricket, but it requires some special kind of pathology to give it the kind of devotion that Jeffrey shows. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m rubbish at it. I am really bad. Of course, being born without courage has proved to be a significant hindrance, but mostly it’s the fact that my limbs have never acted in accordance to what I intend for them. It’s like they’re being controlled by some vindictive puppet master.
    But Jeffrey Lu is uncanny. His skills are so impressive, I’m not evenenvious. The things he can do with that red rock in his hands are amazing. Really. And his batting is incredible, he’s so compact and powerful. Despite being roughly the size of a garden gnome, Jeffrey can manage to be intimidating. He’s not so affable with the pads on and the bat in hand. He’s like an animal, aggressive and focused. Or some kind of sword-wielding hero. You can’t put the ball anywhere when his eye is in.
    Granted, I’m not much competition for Jeffrey, but I think if he ever gets the chance to play a real game, he’s going to be brilliant.
    We walk slowly, favoring the shade. Although it’s late afternoon, it is still stupidly sultry. It’s a dry and inert heat that seems to press from all sides. Jeffrey is dwarfed by his gear bag.
    “See, I was thinking,” he says, catching the ball and thrusting a finger into the air. “The thing about Spider-man is that he is completely useless outside of New York City.”
    “How do you figure?”
    “Well, okay, par exemplarrrrr: if he were to fight crime here in Corrigan, he’d be rubbish. There’s nothing for him to swing between. He needs a …”
    “An urban environment?”
    “Exactly, sir. I mean, who is Spider-man going to save in the Gobi Desert? Or Antarctica? He’s rooted.”
    “True,” I say. “But he still has sweet powers.”
    “I understand
that
, Chuck, but they are rendered virtually ineffective by the environment. He’s immobile. All you need is a camel or a husky sled and you can outrun him. He’s nothing. And he’s sticking out like a dog’s bollocks. Suddenly he’s just a weird-looking guy with snot shooting out of his wrists.”
    I think about it.
    “Fair point,” I say.
    “Of course it is. And that’s why Superman is the
best
superhero,” Jeffrey says, and tosses the ball high in the air. “He’s all-terrain. He can cover the globe in a second. He’s the greatest. Simple.”
    “I disagree.”
    Jeffrey drops his ball.
    “What? Excuse me? You
what
? How could you
possibly
disagree with that? You’re an idiot.”
    “Think about it, you little bigot. Superman is boring. He’s
too
accomplished. There’s nothing interesting about him. There’s no story. He’s too good. It’s not even an effort for him to apprehend criminals or save children from fires. In the end, they had to invent some stupid arbitrary green mineral to give him a weakness. Whatever. It’s boring. You know it.”
    Jeffrey squints at the sun and groans with his mouth open.
    “Chuck, you’re a fucking
communist
. Firstly, he
does
have other weaknesses.”
    “What? Bullshit. Name one.”
    “Love,
okay
, dick
head
. Obviously. His family. Lois Lane. They can be used against him.”
    “I don’t care for Lois,” I interject.
    “Because you’re