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  ‘Okay, stop for a second, Romeo,’ Constable Graham cuts in. ‘When did this all start?’

  ‘Well … it actually started a couple of weeks ago. It was between me and Palmer.’

  ‘Luke Palmer?’ Constable Miller says, writing quickly on a notepad.

  I nod. They must have spoken to others already. ‘We had a punch-up at school. But then he dog-shot me. So then I …’

  ‘Hang on. Before we get to this dog-shot, let’s go back a bit. What was the fight at school about?’

  ‘Hasn’t Palmer told you already?’

  ‘Just tell us your version, Romeo.’

  Dad walks around and stands beside my head. He strokes my hair and says, ‘Tell them everything, son. It will help with their investigation.’

  This icky sweet performance by Dad is creeping me out. I take a deep breath but it hurts below my chest so I exhale slowly. I sip the water the nurse left with me and try to focus on the cop’s questions.

  ‘From the beginning, Romeo.’

  I tell them about the punch-up at school and the dog-shot that followed. I give them what I know about fight club and details of the planned fight between me and Palmer, how it was supposed to settle everything. The only thing I can’t help with is the brawl.

  ‘I swear I didn’t know there was gonna be an all-in brawl. I knew lots of kids were coming to watch but I didn’t know everyone was gonna jump in like that.’

  ‘Did anybody know?’

  ‘Jarrod, maybe … and Zac? I can’t say for sure,’ I tell them. It’s dobbing, I know. But I’m so over it, I don’t care whose names I mention.

  The cops listen, straight-faced and unsmiling, Constable Miller writing hurriedly until the sound of a gentle voice breaks the meeting.

  ‘Excuse me, officers, I’m Doctor Tan. I need to examine my patient.’

  The doctor is short, about the same height as Dad, and has a very thick head of hair.

  Constable Graham shifts his feet. ‘All right, I think we have enough for now.’

  ‘Who will you speak to next?’ I ask.

  ‘Investigations like this take time,’ he says as he and Miller walk away. ‘It may be you again.’

  I wish I could grab my phone off Dad and text Diz. He needs to know I told the cops everything. Otherwise he might make stuff up to try to cover for me.

  ‘I’m Doctor Tan, Romeo. How do you feel?’

  I shrug. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Good,’ he says, shining a bright torch into my eyes. He studies me closely. ‘Well, you have a couple of fractured ribs and you’ve suffered a concussion. I’ve no doubt that head is aching, and you’re probably feeling a little lightheaded, confused. Do you remember what happened?’

  I nod.

  ‘Do you know what day it is?’

  ‘Friday.’

  ‘Can you tell me where you are?’

  ‘Hospital.’

  ‘Good. Okay,’ he says, making notes on his clipboard. ‘I’d like to keep you here under observation for a few more hours, Romeo. But after that I think you’ll be right to go home. Any questions?’

  ‘Yeah. Do you know where my friend Diz is?’

  ‘Diz?’

  ‘Aziz Mansoor,’ I say.

  The doctor smiles. Not the cheerful kind of smile where your eyes squint and sparkle. It’s a polite one, a stretch of the lips.

  ‘Is Diz your friend, Romeo?’

  Dad cuts in. ‘More like a brother, actually,’ he says, his voice cracking.

  The doctor nods, stretches his lips again. There’s a pause, and then he says, ‘Romeo, Diz didn’t make it, I’m sorry. He died a short time ago.’

  My throat muscles tighten. I stare with disbelief at the doctor. My head starts spinning all over again. It’s a mistake. The doctor has made a mistake. People don’t die from a school fight. They just don’t.

  ‘It was a head injury sustained during the brawl. There was massive internal bleeding in and around the brain. We’ve not yet established if the brain injury was caused by a severe blow to the head, or a fall.’

  I can’t take my eyes off the doctor. My mind’s gone numb. My body’s gone numb. But I can’t stop staring at him. Why can’t I stop staring at him? I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do.

  ‘Romeo? Are you okay?’

  I don’t answer.

  ‘Romeo? Romeo, I’m going to take this water from you,’ he says, easing the paper cup from my hand, ‘and call Nurse Anne. She’ll have some medication for you.’

  He hangs the clipboard on the end of my bed, stretches his lips once again and leaves.

  Dad remains standing, his head down, staring at the floor.

  ‘Dad?’ I whisper.

  No answer.

  ‘Dad, look at me … please.’

  He looks up. His eyes are watery.

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘I wanted to tell you myself, son. I just didn’t know how.’

  I lie there, paralysed, my thoughts scrambled and foggy. This isn’t real. It has to be a dream. Please, God, let this be a dream.

  Diz, dead?

  It’s not true. It can’t be. But tears are spilling from my eyes and I’m crying.

  Dad tries to put his arm around me but I pull away. ‘Don’t touch me,’ I snap, wiping my face.

  ‘It’s okay to cry,’ he says, trying again to hold me.

  This time I shove him. ‘How would you know?’ I demand. I’m suddenly furious with him. ‘You never cry for Mum.’

  Dad stares at me, stunned.

  Behind him, Nurse Anne is walking towards us.

  ‘Okay, sweetie, I have your medication,’ she says, stepping between me and Dad.

  I take the two tablets and swallow them one at a time.

  ‘Good boy. That should help settle you. You’ve had a rough day, haven’t you?’ she says, stretching the sheets up over my chest. ‘Would you like to talk to someone, Romeo? A grief counsellor, perhaps?’

  I shake my head. ‘Can I have some more water, please?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  When she leaves, I notice Dad is gone.

  35

  I’ve been told to stay in bed. Three days, the doctor insisted – or until my headaches are gone. But if they continue I’ll have to go back to hospital.

  It’s too quiet in my bedroom. My body aches from the hits I copped and if I breathe too deeply, I get this sharp pain where my ribs are fractured. Being in bed this long has made my skin itchy too. I’d go on my computer but the screen still hurts my eyes and, anyway, it’s even more painful than being in bed – mentally. There are heaps of tributes to Diz. I went on the day I came home from hospital. Saw a slide show made by some girls from Saint Adele who used party photos. I laughed at one picture but somehow ended up crying, and then I couldn’t stop.

  Diz and I used to play a game. We’d hold each other’s arm and bite it. The first one to pull away lost. The picture was of me and Diz, our teeth fixed into each other’s flesh. The look on our faces was of pain and joy. Diz won that time. He cheated, pinched my arse with his other hand. The slide show finished with his smiling face and the words RIP Diz across the bottom.

  I sit up in bed. I draw my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. My hand tightens around my phone and I will Diz to text me. I wish it with all my mental power. I want him to reply to the messages I’ve sent him. I want him to be alive. ‘Text me, text me. Please, bro, just text me,’ I whisper.

  I wait for his reply, knowing it won’t ever come but still holding on to my phone and hoping it will.

  How can I know he’s dead and still hope he isn’t, all at the same time?

  I think about walking to his house. If I get up, get dressed and head to his house, maybe he’ll be there. Maybe he’ll be waiting for me in his room and we can muck around, have a laugh about everything that’s happened. But I don’t move. I can’t move. I know he’s not there. He’s never going to be there again. And I hate knowing that because I do
n’t want him to be dead. Holding my phone to my chest, I squeeze it tighter. Text me, bro. Please, Diz, text me, text me, text me.

  My bedroom door opens, startling me. I quickly dry my eyes on my sheet. Teta walks in carrying a tray of stuffed zucchinis. The smell makes me want to vomit. My stomach hurts, I can’t eat a thing.

  ‘You hungry, habibeh?’ she says.

  I shake my head.

  ‘Let me feed you.’

  ‘No, Teta,’ I say, kicking the blankets off. ‘I can feed myself.’

  ‘That’s what you said yesterday. And the day before. But you don’t eat.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Please, habibeh. Starving yourself won’t change anything. Aziz is with God now. You have to eat.’

  ‘No! I don’t have to eat!’ I snap, regretting it immediately. Yelling at my grandmother is not cool. I pause, take a breath. ‘Please, Teta. I’m not hungry.’

  Teta shakes her head and places the tray on my desk. She steps over to my bed and stands there, looking at me. Her face is full of worry and sadness. It makes me uncomfortable but I don’t have the energy to do anything about it, so I turn away and stare at the wall. She leans over and kisses my forehead, pausing as she holds her lips against my skin, feeling for a fever. But I groan and shrug her away.

  I don’t mean to hurt my grandmother’s feelings. But I swear, my head is going to explode. Diz can’t be dead. He just can’t. I don’t want him to be dead. No-one dies from a stupid fight. I need to know how it happened. I need to know who did it.

  I hold my gaze on the wall until I hear Teta leave the room.

  My phone vibrates. For a split second I actually think it’s Diz, but it’s Stef. She’s been texting me, filling me in on what’s happening at school. Things are crazy. She reckons the media have been hanging around, trying to get exclusive interviews with those involved.

  I glance at the clock beside my bed. The lunch bell would have just gone.

  I blink away the tears that rush to my eyes.

  Tomorrow is Diz’s funeral.

  36

  Diz’s funeral swarms with people, hysterical people with bloodshot eyes. The Lebanese women wear black and wail and cry. Diz’s aunties slap their heads and moan, ‘How could someone so young die? Why have you done this, God?’ His cousins call his name as if searching for him. I can barely see Diz’s parents or his brothers. Heaps of people crowd them.

  Outside the churchyard, boys from school line the road on both sides. They stand in silence with their heads down and their hands behind their backs. It’s a guard of honour. They’re like toy soldiers in their blazers and ties, watching the procession of funeral cars pass. Each wears a black band around their arm, a sign of respect for their fallen bro.

  Zac, Robbie, Ants and I are here with our families, who all know each other. But we don’t sit with them. Instead, Robbie, Ants and I wait outside by the church doors. I can’t handle being inside. Can’t cope with the crying. It isn’t much better outside but at least it’s less crowded. Mr Gibson is with us. For support, I guess. Brother David and a few other teachers are in the church. Zac’s inside the church too. I can see him through the open doors, sitting alone in a corner. His shoulders are slumped and his head hangs low.

  I can also see Stef from where I stand. She’s sitting with a few girls on one of the back pews. Every now and then she glances at me and smiles a sad little smile. But I don’t smile back. My lips won’t move.

  ‘How are you holding up, boys?’ Mr Gibson asks.

  Robbie shakes his head. ‘I keep thinking we’re gonna go back to school next week and everything’s gonna be normal again.’

  ‘But it’s not,’ Ants says flatly.

  ‘What about you, Romeo?’

  I shrug. Slide my hands into my pockets. I can’t talk. I don’t have any words. It’s too hard believing it’s him in that coffin. I turn away and close my eyes. It’s better if I can’t see anyone.

  ‘Romeo?’ I hear someone call.

  As I look up my heart starts pounding. My body stiffens and my hands form fists inside my pockets. Palmer and Smitty are walking up the church steps. What are they doing? They don’t belong here!

  ‘What the hell?’ Ants mumbles. He and Robbie stand on either side of me.

  ‘Are they for real?’ Robbie whispers. ‘I’m gonna smash ’em, I swear.’

  Mr Gibson holds his arm out in front of us. ‘Now, boys …’

  ‘It’s all good, sir,’ Ants says, pushing his arm down. ‘Nothing is gonna happen here. Not today.’

  ‘Not ever, Anthony.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I meant, sir.’

  The two Ozzies reach the top of the stairs and stand before us.

  Luke looks weird in his neck brace, as if someone’s crammed his head into it. He sniffs, then clears his throat. His eyes dart all over the place.

  ‘Mate, I …’ He sniffs again, but this time he fixes his eyes on me. ‘I’m sorry. Everything got out of hand and I … I just want things to be cool between us.’

  Smitty steps closer. ‘Yeah, me too,’ he says in a shaky voice. ‘Diz was a good guy. And your best mate. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that …’

  Robbie lowers his head, pretends to rub his neck as he whispers, ‘They’re full of crap, Romes. Turn your back on them.’

  But I stand, frozen. I’m shocked and confused. The last thing I expected was an apology. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to feel. Do they have the right to be here, at Diz’s funeral? They weren’t his friends. They’re not my friends. But they’re here. And they’re standing in front of me, apologising. That has to mean something.

  Mr Gibson steps forward. ‘Luke, Ben, you’re doing a good thing here, boys. But maybe a funeral isn’t the best place. Maybe you can talk later?’

  Talk about what? The fight? Diz? How stupid we all were? Every time I see Palmer I’m going to think of Diz. When will it stop? Then, weirdly, I swear I’m hearing Diz’s voice. Relax, bro. Get some chi in you.

  ‘Is that cool, Romeo?’ Palmer says.

  I shrug. I mean, of course it’s not cool. Nothing is. But all I want to think about right now is Diz.

  Robbie leans into my ear. ‘What’s wrong with you, bro? You should tell them to get lost.’

  He walks away. Ants follows him, shaking his head.

  37

  I can tell from Mrs Mansoor’s screams that Diz’s coffin is coming out. Her wailing sends chills down my arms and legs. My throat muscles tighten. The rest of the congregation wails with her, but Mrs Mansoor is the loudest by far.

  ‘My son,’ she moans, ‘don’t leave me, son. Take me, God, why didn’t you take me? I’ve lived. My son is too young …’

  Her distraught pleas set off a new wave of weeping among the women. I struggle for breath; the lump in my throat can’t be swallowed away.

  Mr Gibson squeezes my shoulder. ‘It’ll be okay, son.’

  It doesn’t feel okay.

  ‘Romeo.’ Stef approaches and slips her hand into mine, squeezing it. ‘I can’t come to the burial. Mrs Turner said I have to go back to school with the girls. Will you be all right?’

  No, I won’t. I’ll never be all right without Diz. I want to tell Stef how much I miss him already. How I ache for his friendship. I want to fall into her arms, hold her, cry with her. Instead, I just nod.

  •

  The only sounds at the cemetery are Father Michael’s voice and a sighing wind weaving between the people gathered around the burial plot. I feel a dull ache when I realise Diz’s grave isn’t far from Mum’s. I can see her angel tombstone from where I stand.

  Not many people are at the burial. Diz’s mum isn’t here. They wouldn’t let her come. They said it would be too hard to see her youngest son lowered into the ground. She might leap into the grave or have a heart attack.

  When Father Michael makes the final sign of the cross, the women start their crying again. And when Diz is lowered into the ground, they scream. By the
time the first handfuls of soil are thrown into the grave, they are howling as their minders gently pull them away, calming them, shushing them.

  I stay, watching everyone leave.

  I stay, even as the sound of cars driving off fades.

  Even Zac, Robbie and Ants are gone. But I can’t move. I can’t leave Diz behind.

  ‘Habibeh, everyone is gone,’ Teta says finally.

  Dad takes her arm. ‘Come with me to Karen’s grave, Mum,’ he says. ‘Let’s give Romeo a bit more time.’

  Dad never visits Mum’s grave. As far as I know, anyway. Only Teta and I visit her. Every Mother’s Day we take the train to Lidcombe station then walk a kilometre through the cemetery. It would be easier if Dad drove us. But he never comes.

  Nursing my still-sore ribs, I kneel on the artificial grass mat surrounding Diz’s grave. It’s coarse and prickly. Like my heart. I sit back on my heels and stare into the hole. There are so many flowers I can’t see the wood of Diz’s coffin. I picture him under it all, lying in a box. Dead. My heartbeat quickens and I cry out. Hot, stinging tears spill down my face. The weight of my body sinks into the ground as I weep.

  ‘I miss you, bro. I don’t want you to be dead,’ I cry, my words choked and broken. ‘I want everything to be normal again. I’m begging you, bro, please come back. Please, Diz. Please don’t be dead.’ I shut my eyes and sob. I sob so hard, my body shudders with every gasp. I sob for Diz, my mate, my brother.

  I drag myself to my feet. I slip my hand inside my jacket and pull out a packet of salt and vinegar chips. ‘Here,’ I say, tossing them gently into his grave. ‘These are for you, bro.’

  38

  I have a constant headache. Sometimes it’s just a dull ache, but sometimes the pain comes in waves, shooting up the back of my head and peaking at the front. The medication prescribed by Doctor Tan hasn’t helped.

  ‘I made eggs, come and eat,’ Teta says, stepping between me and the TV.

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Please, habibeh, give me the remote,’ she says. ‘You have to move. Every day you sit. It’s not good.’