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  ‘It’s four o’clock, Jarrod. Detention started half an hour ago,’ says Mr McDougal, ignoring the piece of paper.

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘What happened to your hand?’

  ‘I …’ You can see his eyes darting, searching, his brain ticking. ‘I cut it trying to get my bag out of my locker, sir.’

  Mr McDougal sighs. It’s so obvious Jarrod is lying.

  ‘Just sit down, Jarrod,’ he says, shaking his head.

  ‘Whatever you say, sir.’

  He walks to the back of the classroom and slides into the chair beside me. ‘What’s happening, Romes?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ I say. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Me and Wehbe happened.’

  ‘George Wehbe? From year nine?’

  ‘He fights like a girl. Makes you Lebs look bad.’

  ‘Wehbe’s half your size.’

  He grins because he knows it’s true. It wouldn’t have been a fair fight. Poor George would’ve been kicked around like a football.

  ‘So what happened?’ I ask.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Then why’d you punch on with him?’

  He glances at Mr McDougal then mouths a couple of words. I have no idea what he’s saying. He’s barely moving his lips. But he’s nodding proudly, and smirking.

  ‘I don’t get you. Say it again.’

  ‘Fight club!’ he snaps, eyes wide.

  Mr McDougal stands up and clicks his fingers. It’s a reflex action. All teachers have it. ‘You up the back!’ he calls to no-one in particular. ‘Keep it down, please.’

  He sits back down.

  ‘What fight club?’ I whisper, thinking I have to tell Diz about this as soon as I get out of here. This is big!

  ‘My fight club.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since last week. It’s on every Friday after school. Behind the seniors’ toilet block. Two boys. First one down loses. Guess who’s champ so far?’

  I shrug. Obviously it’s him but hey, it’s his moment. Let him show off.

  ‘Me! I won last week and I won today.’

  ‘Yeah?’ I fake a smile.

  ‘Hey, I heard Zac got suspended.’

  ‘Yeah, so?’

  ‘When’s he back?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘You going to Danni’s sixteenth tonight?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is Zac?’

  I sit up straight. First Dane wants to know if Zac is going, and now Jarrod? This is suss.

  ‘Why the interest, bro?’ I say, folding my arms and leaning back in my chair.

  Jarrod grins. ‘You’ll see.’

  4

  At home, Dad’s sprawled on the lounge, watching TV. His dirty ashtray is on the floor beside him, next to his empty coffee mug. Teta Josephine is in the kitchen, making malfoof. Her hands move quickly as she rolls cabbage leaves around the rice and meat mixture before lining them up in her orange Bessemer pot. Her floral apron is tied firmly around her wide belly. It’s been the same scene since Mum got sick and Teta moved in with us to help out. It’s not a bad thing, I suppose. There’s something comforting about your grandmother being in the kitchen, cooking for you.

  I just wish that it was Mum. I wish I could hear her singing while she did the washing-up. I wish I could hear her asking Dad to come and taste something, and then watch Dad pretend to choke after he swallows a spoonful, making me and Mum laugh every time. I loved Friday dinners the most. Everything left in the fridge was thrown into a wok and called a stir-fry. It tasted all right – some of the time.

  But with Teta, it’s all business. No-one goes near the kitchen when she’s preparing food. If you want something, you ask her and she’ll get it for you.

  I prepare myself for a lecture from Dad when I ask about going out. But to my surprise he’s in a good mood. Or at least he seems to be. He’s watching Funniest Home Videos and laughing. Unusual for Dad. He’s barely smiled in the last five years. Everything changed after Mum died.

  ‘Dad, can you give me, Diz and Zac a lift to the party tonight?’

  He sits up slowly. Anyone would think he weighs 100 kilos the way he pulls himself up, but Dad’s so lean he could’ve been a jockey. Luckily for me, I did not inherit his genes. At sixteen I’m already taller than him.

  He swings his legs to the floor and rests his elbows on his knees. He looks up at me, baffled. ‘What party?’ he says.

  ‘Danni’s sixteenth, remember? I told you about it. You said you knew her uncle.’

  His eyes blink rapidly as he tries to recall the conversation. I watch and wait, hoping he doesn’t change his mind about letting me go. Dad’s weird like that. He’s hard to pick. One minute he’s happy, the next he’s going crazy at you, or at life. Everything is an effort for him. Even me.

  ‘I remember,’ Teta says. She limps into the room, drying her hands on a tea towel. Her arthritis must be playing up. I help her into her armchair. ‘I heard Romeo tell you last week, Sam,’ she continues in half-English, half-Arabic. ‘It’s for Janet’s daughter. You know Janet – you’ve worked with her brother Tony. The electrician, from Zgharta?’

  I look at my grandmother, astonished. It freaks me out how she knows what village in Lebanon everyone comes from. I mean, she struggles to remember English words even though she’s been here for more than forty years, but she always remembers who came from where and who’s related to who.

  Dad doesn’t answer. He’s tuned out. I know he switched off the moment Teta mentioned Janet. She was Mum’s friend, and a regular at the hairdressing salon where Mum worked. That’s how my parents met. Mum had just finished her apprenticeship and Dad was one of her first customers. A year later they married – eloped, actually. Dad thought the family would have a problem with Mum being an Ozzie. He thought they’d want him to marry a Lebanese girl. But everyone was cool about it.

  You’re wondering about Mum being Ozzie and me being Leb, right? Well, it’s kind of weird but I’ve never been seen as Australian. Everyone tells me I’m Lebanese, even though I was born here. I mean, I definitely look more Leb than Ozzie. I’ve got Dad’s dark hair and olive skin. But my eyes are Mum’s, hazel like a roasted pistachio, she used to say.

  I miss my mum. I don’t even know her family. Her parents are dead and I hardly remember my Aunty Trish. She lives some kind of hippie life in Queensland. She visited us a few times when I was little, and Mum used to go up north and visit her. Girls’ weekend, Dad would tell me when I asked why we couldn’t go too.

  When Mum died, Dad let his hair grow. He wore it in a ponytail for ages, until Teta made him go to the barber. Since then he’s kept it short, but he’s never gone back to how he was before.

  ‘Sam?’ Teta says, bringing his attention back.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Take your son.’

  Dad sighs. ‘Get my shoes.’

  5

  Rocking up to the party in Dad’s work ute is embarrassing. Not because it’s overloaded with buckets, spirit levels, trowels and everything else a tiler uses, but because the muffler’s stuffed and it’s bloody loud. It rattles and clunks and screeches when Dad brakes. There are kids being dropped off at the same time and they’re checking us out. I pretend not to notice. Diz doesn’t care – he’s hitching up his jeans, smoothing his shirt and smelling his underarms. But Zac? Well, Zac stares down the other kids until they look away.

  ‘Do I look good or what,’ Diz says, flexing his imaginary biceps.

  I check him out, squeeze his arm. ‘You’re sexy as, bro. If I was a chick, I’d jump you right now.’

  ‘This body is not for sharing, bro.’

  Zac steps between us. ‘Can you two stop acting like idiots?’

  ‘Okay, Dad,’ Diz says, patting the top of Zac’s head. Zac slaps Diz’s hand away. He hates it when anyone uses his short height in their jokes – especially Diz, who’s taller than all of us.

  It’s cold and I should’ve brought a jacket but I wanted to s
how off my new T-shirt. It has the coolest picture of Bob Marley I’ve ever seen. His dreadlocks are wild and multicoloured. It’s as if electricity is shooting through them. The bloke might be dead but no-one has dreadlocks like Bob, and no-one sings reggae like him. He’s classic.

  ‘Hi, guys,’ Danni says as she opens the front door and hugs each of us.

  ‘Happy birthday, Danni,’ I say. ‘You look good.’

  I like Danni. She’s a nice Leb chick. Decent and respectable. What we call MM – Marriage Material. You’d only go for her if you’re looking for a serious relationship, if you’re the committed type. That’s probably why she’s never had a boyfriend.

  ‘Thanks, Romeo. Go straight to the back, guys. Grab a drink.’

  She means Coke, Fanta, Solo. Every party invite says ‘No Alcohol’ or ‘Strictly No Alcohol’ but there’s always someone who sneaks it in. Lebs aren’t really into grog – it’s mainly the Ozzies, and sometimes the Fobs.

  The backyard is lit by floodlights. A bonfire blazes in an old steel drum near the back corner, warming the air and casting light on the green Colorbond fence. There are about sixty, maybe seventy people here. More girls than boys. Mostly Lebs, some Fobs, only a few Ozzies – and no Luke Palmer, thank God. Some people are dancing, but most are standing around chatting.

  It’s easy to spot Danni’s relatives. They’re the ones frantically putting food on the table. Except her grandmother. She’s sitting in an armchair by the back door, watching everyone as they come through. She’s a creepy old woman with grey hair and a hard, crabby-looking face. She’s got squinty grey eyes and the corners of her mouth are permanently turned down. And, like most Lebanese women whose husbands have died, she’s wearing black from head to toe. Of course, we say hello to her, shake her hand. Kiss both her cold cheeks. Then we ask how her health is, how her family is – it’s expected if you’re an Arab. I mean, come on, as if we’re interested. But, being Lebanese, she probably knows our families and she’ll badmouth us if we don’t follow Arab protocol. All Arabs know each other, or of each other, and most Arabs gossip. Teta would have a fit if she heard I was rude to someone, especially an oldie.

  ‘There’s Nat,’ Diz says to Zac once we’ve moved away from Danni’s grandmother. ‘At the drinks table, talking to Dano.’

  Zac rises onto his toes to get a better look. ‘Bloody Fob,’ he says, and heads straight over there. Diz and I tail him, weaving our way through the crowded party. I know Zac is going to say something – or do something. And if he punches on with Dane, everyone will curse the Lebs for ruining the party.

  ‘What’s happening, Dano?’ Zac says coolly, slapping Dane’s fat arm.

  ‘My man, Zac. What’s doing?’ Dane holds out his fist. ‘Dice me.’

  Zac doesn’t respond. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to knock fists with Dane.

  ‘Come on, bro,’ Dane pleads with a big smile, flashing his straight white teeth.

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because we’re mates.’

  Zac’s eyes stay firm, his face unreadable. It feels like hours before he finally accepts, tapping Dane’s fist with his own, a sign he’s keeping cool. So far.

  He turns to Nat, who’s staring at him, unimpressed. He goes to kiss her but she ignores him. Instead, she gives Diz and me a smile.

  Nat’s a nice chick. She’s good-looking and she’s a brain. Nothing like her Fob friend Sally, who’s a bossy chick, and heading straight for us. Or should I say stomping. That girl could be a body builder. And the oversized jumper she’s wearing makes her look twice as big. Sally’s Maori but speaks with a put-on American accent. How lame. I can’t believe Nat is friends with her. ‘Hey there, boys. How are you all?’ Sally says, linking Nat’s arm with her own. ‘FYI, Danni’s parents are cutting the cake at eleven because they want everyone out by eleven-thirty. Nice shirt, Romeo, but aren’t you cold?’

  Diz spits a laugh. ‘Sally wants to keep you warm, bro.’ He puts his arm around my shoulders and nuzzles into my neck, pretending to smooch me.

  ‘Shut up, will you,’ I say, shrugging him off.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Sally protests. ‘I was just going to get him a jacket from Danni’s brother. But anyway, whateverrrrr.’ She rolls her eyes and pouts her thick lips.

  ‘You wanna drink or something?’ Zac asks Nat.

  ‘No. I’m right, thanks,’ she says coldly, raising the can of Coke in her hand.

  ‘I already got her one,’ Dane says, grinning.

  Idiot! That’s like admitting he’s coming on to Nat. He can’t seriously be challenging Zac.

  ‘Did you?’ Zac’s jaw tightens. ‘You know what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think Jarrod’s looking for you,’ Zac lies, eyeballing him.

  ‘Yeah? Didn’t know he was here yet.’

  ‘He is. Saw him when we came in.’ Zac steps closer to Dane. His chest is out. Fists tight. ‘So what do you wanna do? Hang here or go find him?’

  Dane looks at me, then at Diz, then back at Zac. If I was him, I’d run. Zac might be smaller than Dane but he’d knock Dane flat. Zac’s brother is a boxer, and everyone knows Zac spars with him all the time. Dane wouldn’t stand a chance.

  All eyes are on Dane.

  ‘Yeah, all right, I’ll go find Jarrod,’ Dane says at last, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

  ‘Good man,’ Zac says, fake-grinning. ‘I knew you Fobs were smart.’ He slaps Dane hard on the back as he’s walking off, just to let him know who’s boss. Then he mumbles a few Arabic curse words under his breath.

  ‘That was mean, Zac!’ Nat spits. ‘We were just talking.’

  ‘He was trying to come on to you!’

  ‘No, he wasn’t!’

  Sally decides to open her big mouth. ‘God! So what if he was, Zac? You don’t own Nat. She’s not your property.’

  ‘Shut up, Sally. It’s none of your business.’

  Nat’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of their sockets. ‘Don’t talk to my friend like that.’

  ‘What? Nat? Are you serious?’

  ‘Yes! I am!’

  Sally butts in again. ‘You’re so immature, Zac. Seriously, how old are you? Zero? Let’s go, Nat.’

  Sally yanks Nat by the arm and stomps off.

  Talk about telling it straight.

  6

  Chris is an awesome DJ. He might be chilled at school, but when those headphones go on, he turns into a crazy rapper. He’s probably the best-looking Leb in our group, with his sculptured jaw, average-sized nose and blond highlights. Girls are always flirting with him. Chris wants to be an actor. He’s going to LA when he finishes school. Reckons he’ll have a better chance getting work there.

  ‘Chris!’ I shout over the loud music. ‘Danni said you were looking for us.’

  ‘I’m looking for Zac,’ he yells, removing his headphones. ‘Is he here?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s behind the shed, having a smoke,’ Diz shouts. ‘Why? What’s up?’

  ‘Jarrod wants him.’

  ‘What’s with that?’ I say. ‘He asked about him at detention today.’

  ‘You heard about his fight club, right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Diz and I say at the same time, leaning even closer to Chris, keen to hear what he knows.

  ‘Jarrod wants to fight him.’

  ‘What?’ Diz cries. ‘Zac will smash him!’

  ‘I know. Jarrod’s trying to be a hero. He’s telling everyone it’ll be the fight. You know, toughest Fob versus toughest Leb.’

  ‘Jarrod’s lost the plot,’ Diz says, shaking his head. ‘Fight clubs are for show ponies. Zac doesn’t need a fight club to prove he can take him. Forget it. He won’t do it.’ ‘Hey, Chris,’ I shout, scrolling through the songs on his laptop. ‘You got the song “You’re Beautiful”?’

  It’s a song Stefanie likes. A slow love song.

  Diz shoots me a frown. He’s figured out why I want this song. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Are you jealous I might h
ook up tonight?’ I tease, wrestling him playfully.

  ‘Hey! The hair, bro, the hair!’

  Do anything you want to Diz, just don’t touch his hair. It’s thick and wavy but he spends ages straightening it. Then he plasters it with firm-hold hairspray.

  ‘Listen to me, Romes. Don’t be a dickhead about this,’ he says.

  ‘Come on, Diz. She was only with Palmer for three weeks. That doesn’t even count.’

  Chris cuts in. ‘If you’re talking about Stefanie, she’s got itchy eyes for you. She keeps looking this way.’

  I’ve noticed that too. When she was walking to the bathroom with Nat and Sally she turned and looked at me. Twice. I know because I was looking at her.

  ‘Did she break up with Luke Palmer?’ Chris asks.

  ‘That’s what I heard.’

  ‘Good. What was she doing going out with that Ozzie anyway? She’s Leb, isn’t she?’

  ‘Half-Leb,’ I say. ‘Her dad’s Croatian or something.’

  ‘Well, she deserves better. Palmer treated her like crap. You know he left her at the movies by herself once. Kept texting her saying he was coming back.’

  ‘Where’d he go?’

  ‘They reckon he was seeing another chick.’

  ‘What a dog!’ Diz belts out, shaking his head. ‘Don’t you reckon Romes should wait a bit, Chris? Go in slow, know what I’m saying?’

  ‘Nah, I think the man’s in love,’ Chris says, slapping my back.

  ‘In looove? Romeo’s in looove?’ Diz starts singing. He throws his arm around my neck, pulling me into a headlock.

  ‘Come on, bro,’ I say. ‘I just wanna get to know the chick. Relax.’

  ‘So go for it,’ Chris winks. ‘I heard she’s been asking about you anyway.’

  I heard that too.

  7

  I find Stefanie by the bonfire, warming her hands. She looks hot in her skinny black jeans, her brown curls bouncing when she moves her head. She’s definitely the best-looking chick here.

  ‘Stefanie.’ My voice comes out a little high.

  ‘Oh, hi, Romeo,’ she says, her face glimmering gold with firelight. ‘Long time, no see.’