Smashed by Mandy Hager

entirely one way. I’ve stuck by them, defended them when they’ve done stupid things like setting science labs on fire and Gladwrapping the staff toilet seats. The fact they knew me was probably their one redeeming feature in the eyes of the school. And Mum and Dad stood up for them! Told the school principal to take a hike when he phoned them and suggested they ‘were not the most suitable of friends’.
    What am I supposed to do? Lie back and just take all this — accept I’m a walk-over like some mindless ant who doesn’t give a damn if their nearest and dearest proceed to eat them live? They’re prepared to hang bloated on the ceiling of their ant nest just in case their fellow ants decide they need an extra snack when food is scarce. Well, bugger that.
    I can’t even add up the times I’ve included Don in family stuff when I’d rather not have but couldn’t resist the tragic way he’d mope and fish for invitations cos his own home life’s just so septic. He’s not only come to my birthdays, but weaselled his way in to Mum’s and Dad’s quite frequently, and always comes to Rita’s too. It makes me sick. Just when did he start liking her? Christ, he’d better bloody like her — the thought that he’d do that to her and not even like her is even worse … Well,maybe not. Hell, I dunno.
    I slam my fists into my pillow, imagining Don’s smarmy mug. Pulverising it. Muttering every evil witch-doctor curse I can dredge up as my hands fly. ‘You lying, cheating, perving —’
    ‘Toby?’ Rita’s standing at my bedroom door and I’m shocked to see it’s light outside. She’s looking at me, puzzled. ‘What happened to your face?’
    Face? Oh yeah. ‘I had a run-in with a fence.’ Now that she’s reminded me, it hurts like hell. The grazes pull my skin tight, and talking only makes it worse.
    She nods and turns to leave.
    ‘Rita — wait!’ I drag myself upright.
    She isn’t keen to stay — hovers in the doorway, her arms across her chest, on guard.
    ‘You want to talk?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Is there anything I can do?’
    As soon as I say it I know it’s pathetic. I remember when Mum’s sister died, her friends would drop in food and ask her this same question. She’d always say politely, ‘No’. But one day I guess it got too much for her, cos she cracked and said to someone, ‘Could you talk to God and ask him for my sister back?’ Rita’s looking at me like she’s remembering Mum’s answer too.
    ‘I mean …’ I say. I want to think of something really brotherly and helpful, but I have no idea what.
    I’ve never seen Rita look so closed before. It’s as though Don’s stolen the light out of her eyes; replaced it with a steely flint. ‘Forget it,’ she snaps. ‘It’s no big deal.’ She runs her big toe along the join in the carpet. Shrugs. ‘I’ve got to get to school.’ And with that, she leaves.
    I can’t bear all these road blocks, so drag myself out of bed and chase after her. She’s standing in the middle of her bedroom, just staring off into space. ‘Hey sis …’ I try to hug her, but it’s like embracing a fencepost. ‘Somehow or other I’ll make him pay.’
    She stirs a little when I say this — turns just enough so I can see the deep blue of sleeplessness under her eyes. ‘I’m okay,’ she says. ‘I just wish everyone would leave me alone.’ She pulls away to collect her schoolbag off the bombsite of her floor, and then turns back to me. ‘Just don’t go telling this to all your friends …’ She doesn’t meet my eye. ‘If word gets out, I’ll never, ever live it down.’
    I think of Carl’s brotherly concern and almost tell her, but realise I can’t face her going psycho when she finds out I’ve already blabbed. ‘You gonna be okay at school?’
    She snorts. ‘It’s athletics day. I’ll be out of there by lunchtime.’
    ‘If anybody gives you trouble, tell me, eh?’ I put onmy best Mafia voice, and swagger like a gangland boss. Usually