I don’t think Jarrod realises the spell has failed until much later in the day during a practical PE lesson. We’re doing gymnastics and the boys have to form a pyramid with their bodies. Jarrod, not largely built like Pecs or some of the others, misses out on the ground level. After a lot of huffing and macho snorts Pecs settles down and the bottom row is ready. Callum and Todd climb on next, leaving the inside position for Jarrod. As he starts to climb I hear a few sniggers. It’s not nasty stuff, just Jarrod’s reputation preceding him. He’s clumsy, and everyone knows it. He’s continually misplacing things and tripping himself up. He’s not wearing his glasses now, but it would make no difference even if he was.
He’s on top of Pecs’s and Ryan’s backs and he’s looking good so far. The class starts cheering and whistling. He buries his head with an embarrassed smile. Ms Milan tells everyone to quieten down, but she’s laughing a little herself. It’s good-natured and the atmosphere in the gym is relaxed.
Ben Moffat is the smallest sixteen year old boy I’ll probably ever meet. He had leukaemia when he was a kid in Year 2, and the chemo and radiation treatment slowed his growth. For all that he’s small, he’s physically fit, and it’s no effort for him to climb up to the first level. It’s only when he tries to balance on top of Jarrod and Todd that Jarrod somehow loses his balance. One knee drops, which causes him to tilt sharply sideways. Ben Moffat hurtles backwards, the pyramid collapsing in a domino effect; and Ben nearly drowns under a mass of human flesh. Ms Milan is quick to pull and push until she gets to him. She’s pretty sure his ankle is only sprained, but she wants an x-ray just in case. Her main concern is the possibility of a cracked rib.
She lays blame nowhere, but Jarrod’s apologising anyway. Ms Milan sends someone to the office for help, dismissing the rest of us to the changing rooms.
Jarrod’s still sprawled on the heavy blue mats, his head buried in his hands. He looks up slowly and catches my eye. There’s recognition in his look and bitter disappointment. I smile and shrug. At least we tried. But he looks so depressed I feel like saying something comforting. Of course I don’t. Goodness knows how he might react with the others looking on. Until just then, he hadn’t acknowledged me in any way.
Tasha doesn’t hesitate though. She rushes to him and helps him up. He smiles and thanks her. My teeth gnash together. The whole sickening scene spoils the rest of the day.
Later, Jarrod catches up with me just outside the school grounds. We walk in silence for a while, heading home, but there isn’t a second I’m not aware of him. He makes me tense, and even though I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again, I just have to know what he’s feeling inside. So I probe, very carefully, into his mind.
Surprisingly there’s no resistance this time, and stranger still, I sense the walls aren’t there because that’s how he wants it. There’s disappointment I realise, deep concern, and confusion too. There’s a lot of doubt and I gather from this his belief in magic has shrunk even further. The spell has only made things worse.
He knows I’m in there yet he doesn’t stop me. It’s as if he wants me to sense his mood, understand what he’s feeling. It’s easier for him this way, rather than have to find words to explain himself. And this makes me angry. I can’t believe he lacks the courage to air his own feelings. What’s the matter with him?
The tension grows so thick I just have to say something or explode. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mutter grumpily. ‘About the curse, and the spell that didn’t work.’ He shrugs as if he doesn’t care, which is a cover up for his real feelings, and this makes me angrier still. ‘It’s not the end of the world, for heaven’s sake!’
He shifts his backpack, reaching in for a bottle of water. ‘What do you suggest now?’ He takes a long guzzle. ‘Should we sacrifice a virgin? What if you make me bathe in the water and eat the dirt? Or should we shave off my hair and feed it to a goat?’
‘You don’t have to be a total jerk.’
He groans loudly in self-disgust, snatching his drink bottle with his other hand. ‘I know, Kate. I’m sorry. None of this is your fault.’
His switch to self-pity is absolutely sickening. I hate this part of him. I have to snap him out of it somehow. ‘Wake up, Jarrod, it’s not your fault either!’
He doesn’t believe me. Since acknowledging the possibility of a curse he’s planted the entire worry of his family’s troubles on his own shoulders, taken responsibility personally for all that afflicts them, past and present.