My Private Pectus by Shane Thamm Page A

but do you know what guys really get up to in the army?’
    â€˜What?’ Sam asks.
    â€˜You don't want to know,’ Lisa says. ‘But you only have to look it up on the internet. They drink too much, they hate women, hate gays.’
    â€˜Hate gays!’ Mike laughs. He comes over to me and rubs my head with his fist. ‘You better watch out, then, Sticks.’
    â€˜Rack off, I'm not gay.’
    He hisses with laughter and puts both hands out like scales. ‘Not gay,’ he says, raising one hand, ‘can't get laid,’ and raises the other.
    Ryan and Lisa burst into laughter. Sam half smirks.
    â€˜Something doesn't sound right!’ Mike goes on. Then he looks at me. ‘Come on, Sticks,’ he says. ‘Just joking.’
    Then Gez steps in. ‘Does anyone want to see the car?’ he asks. I'm relieved when they say they do.
    We head downstairs to the garage. When Gez gets to the car he waves his arms at it like a game-show host.
    â€˜Are you serious?’ Lisa blurts. ‘It's a piece of junk.’ But the moment she sees his wounded face, she gasps, wraps her arms around him, pecks him on the cheek and says, ‘I'm kidding, it looks fine. Can't wait till it's going.’
    He forces a smile.
    â€˜How much work does it need?’ she asks.
    â€˜Heaps,’ I say.
    â€˜Nah, not really,’ he says. But considering the wheels are propped against the wall, the door seals are hanging from the frames and it's missing a front fender, it's a bit hard to believe. He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing at the scene.
    â€˜Not as much as it looks,’ I say, coming to his rescue. ‘We've fixed most of it up already. We'll have it going in no time.’
    â€˜Yeah,’ he says. ‘Two weeks, three at the most.’
    Lisa tries to hide a smirk with her hand. She walks around the garage, taking a closer inspection of things: the posters of beach breaks on the walls, girls in swimsuits. Ryan follows and asks about yachting at Pumicestone, which sends Lisa off on stories about Christmas holidays with her family. I listen, fascinated. I've never owned a Beamer, a yacht or a flashy unit in a Kings Beach high-rise.
    Then I look at the boys. They hang off her—her friendly smile, tight waist, and her jeans that fit like a glove. It's as if Sam isn't even here. She stands not far from me, shuffling her feet in silence. I watch her, thinking she's not attractive, hardly worth a second glance. But at the same time I think, I bet I know how you feel. She catches my gaze and gives me a smile.

taking it to the top
    I sit on the couch as Roger Pask and Dad go through insurance paperwork at the kitchen table. Normally when Roger comes over I retreat to my bedroom because he likes to ask me questions about school and girlfriends. I hate talking about school and never have girlfriends. This time he gets me before I have the chance.
    â€˜Jack!’ he calls.
    I look up.
    â€˜Got a girlfriend yet?’ he asks.
    I don't move.
    â€˜Oh c'mon, mate, you know I'm not serious,’ he says. I let that go by in silence as well. ‘Jeeesus, Brian, that boy of yours,’ he says to Dad. Then he calls out again. ‘Could ya get us something to eat?’
    I gesture at the kitchen, but he says, ‘We're working here. Help us out for a second, would ya?’
    Dad raises his gaze from the paperwork.
    I get up and head into the kitchen. I open a cupboard and stare at the half-empty shelves and out-of-date packages. ‘What do you want?’ I ask and turn around. Roger chews his tongue, considering.
    â€˜Crackers and dip. Have you got any cheeses?’ I look at Dad and Roger suggests, ‘Camembert?’
    â€˜Beer?’ I say, pretending I don't know better, and pull a six pack of Fourex Gold from the fridge.
    â€˜Yeah, that too,’ Roger says. But when I hand him a stubby and nothing else he pulls a face like I've forgotten something. He