Free The Whole of My World by Nicole Hayes Page B

Panthers’ win so at least I’ve got that out of the way. ‘You got a game?’ He’s wearing his tracksuit and there’s an Adidas sausage bag by his feet, its corners frayed and torn.
    â€˜No,’ he grins. ‘Thought I’d go fishing today.’ He digs out his footy, raising it like a trophy. ‘My fishing rod,’ he says, spinning it in his hands.
    I knock it out of his grip and we both leap up to grab it before it falls off the platform. I get there first.
    â€˜Idiot!’ he says, laughing.
    â€˜What?’ I offer an innocent smile and handball it to him at close range. Hard. He fakes injury, coughing and spluttering, then handballs it back, neat and straight.
    The train finally pulls up and we find seats in the middle of the third carriage. I always choose the third carriage from the front – for good luck.
    â€˜So much for running after school,’ he says, not looking at me. He’s called twice this past fortnight to organise a run, but I’ve fobbed him off. The whole hand-tingling thing is messing with my head. I think he knows I’m avoiding him but he probably thinks it’s about the Raiders. I feel bad about that, but better he think it’s about football than the other stuff. Everything would be easier if we kept it all about the footy. ‘Mick’s up for a big one today,’ I say, changing the subject.
    â€˜Bloody Edwards again?’ Josh says. ‘What’s so special about him?’
    â€˜He’s cool.’ I shrug. ‘And really nice.’
    Josh tilts the footy onto the tip of his finger, spinning it before it falls and lands on my lap. I grab it before he can. ‘Nice? How would you know if he’s nice ? He could be a mass murderer when he’s not playing footy.’
    I laugh. ‘Yeah right.’
    â€˜Or a devil worshipper. Or a . . .’ Josh looks around for inspiration. ‘A secret Warriors supporter on his days off.’
    It’s really hard to hate Josh. Seriously, I’ve tried. ‘I talk to him at training,’ I say, unable to stop the chuckle that escapes. ‘They’re all nice.’
    â€˜You get all that from how they sign your autograph book?’
    â€˜We talk a lot. About all kinds of stuff.’
    Josh grabs at the ball, but I baulk, holding it just out of reach. ‘What stuff?’ He looks away, acting all cool, but I can tell he’s mad.
    I don’t know why exactly, but it feels good. ‘You know . . . footy, of course. And WA. School. Lots of stuff.’
    â€˜So instead of training – the reason they’re actually there – they hang around chatting with the fans. About school. And stuff .’ His tone has changed, and suddenly it’s not funny anymore.
    â€˜It’s no big deal,’ I say, lying. It’s easily the most important thing that’s happened to me all year. The best thing.
    â€˜Does your dad know you’re mates with these guys?’ Josh snatches the ball back from me with more aggression than needed, if you ask me.
    â€˜What?’ I rub the back of my hand theatrically, making sure he knows he was being too rough. It didn’t hurt. But it could have.
    â€˜Sorry,’ he says, looking like he means it.
    I nod but am too annoyed to ease the moment.
    â€˜You didn’t answer my question,’ he says eventually.
    â€˜What question?’ I refuse to help him.
    â€˜So your Dad’s fine about you hanging out with these . . .’
    He trails off, searching for a word. ‘These . . . men ?’
    His attitude reminds me of things I don’t want to remember. ‘Of course he is,’ I snap. ‘Mick’s just a friend. They all are.’ But my voice is unnaturally high and thin. I look out the window, hoping he’ll get out soon.
    We pass two stations before anyone speaks. ‘Shell?’ Josh says softly.
    I slowly face him, prepared to fight even though the