CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

I go to lunch and see the boys already sitting down. Archie glances up as I come over, and I see a small frown crease between his eyes.

"Hi, Arch, guys. Sorry I've been such a boring pain in the a.r.s.e. What's been happening?"

Archie's face splits in a grin, the crease disappearing.

"Nothing much, man, but it's a pretty special day today."

"Why?"

They look at me and laugh. "You must have been out of it, dude," says Tim. "He's been talking about it every day since last week."

"Exactly one month," says Archie, quietly, and though those big white teeth of his are neoning in my face, I see the tears in his eyes.

"That's amazing, Arch!" I reach over and slap him on the back, but even though my grin is almost as wide as his, my chest tightens. What am I going to do without him? As though he knows what I'm thinking, his smile fades.

"Yes, it is, but the bad part is that I won't see any of you mob. I won't even be able to visit because I'm heading straight back to Carnarvon."

Aaron sticks his head forward from where he's sitting slumped at the far end of the table. "Don't think about coming back in here, Arch, even to visit. Once you're out, stay out. Forget this place and mixing with any losers like us."

"We're not all losers," Johnno breaks in. "There's no way I'm coming back in here." He's more animated than I've ever seen him. "My Dad's got me a pre-apprenticeship set up for when I get out. Just because I acted like a loser once doesn't make me one forever."

"Good luck to you, then," Aaron mumbles and sags back, his head down.

We munch away for a while, and then Tim says, "I'm out six months after you, Arch." We all look at him, surprised. He reddens a bit then, and keen to take the attention off himself, asks, "What about everyone else?"

It's something we've never talked about. Seems to make it harder somehow.

"Three months," says Johnno. We go around the table till it comes to me.

"No idea," I say as casually as I can. "When they're ready."

Only Archie knows why I'm in here, but it dawns on the others that I've done something pretty d.a.m.ned serious. There's an awkward silence.

"Neil will be here," Archie breaks in.

"For how long?"

"Another three months here, and then maybe he transfers to prison."

Another silence, more sombre this time. "What did he do?" Tim says-not the way he had said it to me so long ago but quietly, sadly.

Aaron sits forward again and looks at Archie, who looks down at the table and picks at the edge of his place mat, and then he whispers huskily, "He grabbed a girl walking along the street one night, and he and his mates took her and raped her. The thing is he kept her locked up for three days before she got away."

I feel my guts clench in disgust, but at the same time, I think, Who am I to judge him? At least she lived. I push the thoughts away.

"You probably heard about it. It was on the news, but they didn't say much about what happened to her-just that she was home safe. The thing is his age would have meant he got off fairly lightly from the rape charge-the other guys were older-but the kidnapping, he did alone, and that's a really serious charge." Archie sighed. "So G.o.d knows how long he's got to go."

"Deserves it," Aaron spits out. "Imagine if that girl had been your sister or friend."

Tim blurts out quickly, "This is meant to be a happy day! One month for Archie! What are you going to do first, Arch? Go to the movies? Hungry Jacks?"

"No way," Archie laughs. "I'm staying outside as much as I can. I just want to look up and see the sky above me and no buildings around me. Breathe clean air. Give my mum a hug. Sit and have some good tucker with my relations." He stops and grins wryly. "Make sure none of the kids in my mob end up here. Frighten the c.r.a.p out of them. Tell them whatever I have to in order to help 'em learn good stuff to do instead of having 'em do rotten, stupid things because they're bored."

We nod, and then lunch finishes. I have plenty of study to do, but I can't concentrate, so I just relax and go over what Mr P said. But what the heck did he mean about grabbing the steering wheel of my mind?

It doesn't take long to find out. The next morning, when I go to the cottage, there are pillows and cushions on the floor in a circle, and the chairs are pushed back out of the way. Mr P is already there, and he smiles at me when I come in and stand, puzzled, with my books.

"Ah, you're here, Luca. Now we can start. Everyone kick off your shoes and sit on a cushion. Make sure you're comfortable." There are groans and moans as the boys flop down on the floor. "No, don't lie on the floor, you slobs; like this." Mr P sinks down onto his cushion, back straight and legs folded underneath him.

"It looks weird! I can't do that!" protests Norbert.

"Give it a try. You sat like that when you were a baby!"

We all frown at one another, and Mr P laughs. "Come on, or would you rather get back to your work?"

Everyone scrambles into position. It looks strange but feels okay. As long as your b.u.m is up higher than your feet, you tip forward a bit and your legs balance you when they're folded. Mr P's knees are flat on the floor, but most of ours stick up at different angles.

"Don't worry about what you look like. Just get comfortable. Your legs will flatten down in a while when the muscles stretch a bit."

The guys start laughing and saying "Om", trying to look saintly, and Mr P just waits. When it quiets down, he says, "Close your eyes. I want you to concentrate on the other senses." His voice is soft and low. "First, touch. Concentrate on your feet, your ankles, the contact with the floor-and let them relax," and so he goes slowly, from our toes to the tops of our heads. Then it's taste, the inside of the mouth, the tongue lying soft. Then sound-no thinking about it, just experiencing it. It's pretty restful, really, slowing down everything like that.

Finally, he gets us just to concentrate on our breathing, counting each breath slowly to 10 and then starting again. The thing is to follow your breath and not start thinking about anything else. Man, that's hard! It sounds so easy, but just try it! I get to four or something and then I'm thinking about what maths I need to do today or about Archie leaving-anything but counting my breaths.

Mr P must know what's happening because he says, "Don't worry when your mind wanders. This takes practice. Just become aware you are following your thoughts, let them go and start counting again."

After a while, he tells us to open our eyes. My G.o.d! Half an hour has gone by! It felt like it has only been 10 minutes. Everyone looks a bit stunned.

"How was that, boys?"

We go around in turn, and everyone says pretty much the same thing-how hard it was to stop thinking! "I'll never be able to do that," Norbert says, shaking his head. We all nod.

"You probably said the same thing the first time you got on a bike or started learning to read. You'll get better the more you practise. Now we'd better start some work."

We go to our desks. Everyone is very mellow, and it's much quieter than usual. Ten minutes before the siren goes, Mr P asks us to pack away. We look up at him, surprised-he usually goes to the wire-but we do as he asks.

"How did your work go today?" Mr P asks.

"I got heaps done," I say. "More in one hit than I usually do." The others murmur agreement.

"Why do you think that is?"

"Well," says good old Norbert, "it was like we'd had a chill pill before we started, so I guess even though none of us seemed able to quiet down our thoughts to count to 10, they were still quieter than usual, so we could just concentrate on what was in front of us." That sounds about right to me, and I see others nodding.

"That's after one 30-minute session, boys. Try it for the rest of the day. When you're eating lunch, concentrate just on your food-the flavours, the textures, the smell-instead of wolfing it down and thinking about something else. If someone speaks to you, give them your whole attention rather than thinking about your response or about something else."

The siren rings but no one moves. Mr P raises his eyebrows.

"Sir," I say, knowing I speak for the others, "can we start the day off the same way tomorrow? We easily made up the time."

"Of course," he smiles, "but remember, you can do this anytime. You can always practise being present-your mind in the here' and now' and not in regretful thoughts of the past or even hopeful thoughts of the future. Just here. Now."

Walking out the door, something hits me. Mr P really practises what he preaches; it's why I talked to him so easily yesterday, why I feel so good around him. He just listens so well. It seems like he's drinking in every word, not thinking about anything else like I guess most of us do. I know I get distracted pretty easily, at least. It's such a corny thing to say about a person-"He's really there for me"-but with Mr P, he really is. There is nowhere else for him. I smile to myself. So that's what he meant by taking the steering wheel of my mind!

Lunch is just ham sandwiches and some fruit, but I take my time and let the bread soften on my tongue, the saltiness of the ham starting my mouth watering. I finish one mouthful completely before taking another. The others are prattling away, food hanging out of their mouths as usual, but I resist the urge to join in and keep chewing away, relishing every bit of flavour. Finishing a banana and reaching automatically for another one, I realise I'm full-my mouth isn't on auto pilot-and I sit back, content. Tim is talking to me under his breath-he can be such an idiot-but I fight down that thought and try listening to him.

"Luca, I'm really worried about Aaron."

"Where is he?" I ask, turning to look, surprised I hadn't noticed him missing.

"He's over in the infirmary. He collapsed in cla.s.s this morning. I reckon they know he's on drugs but can't work out where they're coming from. Johnno heard him telling Archie that the way to make the time go fast in here is to be high all the time and it's worth doing anything to get his hands on the stuff."

"I think that guard..." I start, but Tim breaks in.

"Johnno saw the guard coming out of Aaron's cell when he was on the laundry shift. He snuck off real fast. Guards aren't meant to be in there with the doors closed. Who else could it be?"

I remember the day of the footy game and the way the guard had hovered around Aaron, touching his shoulder-too close to him, way too close.

"You're probably right. How about I say something to Mr Khan? If they do a blood test on Aaron, they'll know he's on something, and if I tell them where it's coming from, they'll stop him."

Tim looks at me, a mixture of disbelief and panic in his eyes. "Man, you can't do that! They'll know it was you!"

"So what? Surely they'll get rid of the guard, and that'll be that."

He shakes his head emphatically. "You just don't get it, do you? That guard will be supplying plenty of guys in here. They won't be happy if their supply dries up. But that's not the main thing; you'll be a dog, a rat."

"What do you mean?" I burst out louder than I had meant to, and several heads swing my way. "The guard's the one doing something wrong, not me!"

"Doesn't matter. You never dob anyone in, even if it's a dirty pig like him."

"But he'll be gone," I persist, "and Aaron will be safe!"

"Maybe. But you'll get bashed, and the guards will all hate you. You never dob, no matter what."

"Okay, I get the bit about the drugs drying up if he goes, but what's it to the other guards?"

"He's one of them, and that's that. He'll lose his job, and it'll be down to you. It's not Fairyland in here, Luca. There are rules you don't break, and the main one is you don't ever be a dog. No one will speak to you-no one. Even Archie."

"Even you?"

"Even me," he nods without hesitation.

Perplexed, I shake my head. "Well, I'll be out of here within the year. I'll be in prison."

Tim shakes his head. "You don't reckon guards know other guards, crims know other crims? There's no network like the one in prisons. Then you'll really be in the s.h.i.t. You'll get stuck in a cell with some filthy, violent pig, you'll get all the worst jobs, and the other guys will either keep away from you or give you a hard time. No one wants a dog for a friend in prison. They might be thought of as a dog too, so something gets said that shouldn't be said, and they get blamed along with you. Birds of a feather and all that."

He's silent at last, and lunch finishes. "Just remember, if you think a juvenile detention centre is tough, you'll feel like you're going to die in prison. Don't make it a certainty. Keep your mouth shut."

I'm the last to leave the table, and Archie raises his eyebrows at me as he pushes in his chair. "Lost in thought, Einstein?"

"Just thinking about Aaron."

"It's a good thing he's in sick bay. They might get him off that c.r.a.p now if only that scungy guard will keep away from him."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

The next morning, I cross to the cottage as soon as I've cleaned up and knock on the door. It's so quiet! I can usually hear the boys mucking around, clearing up their breakfast things and laughing and joking. The door swings open. It's Jason. He smiles at me in his shy way and motions me inside. The boys are on the cushions, eyes closed, legs crossed. I pull off my shoes, grab a cushion, sit down as quietly as I can and wait till my breath calms down, and then I start counting to 10 like Mr P showed us yesterday.

We hear the front door click, but n.o.body moves. We hear Mr P's shoes on the floor, and then he sits down and everything is silent once more. My breathing is slow, and my mind is soft, just floating on each breath. I have never felt so calm.

After a while, Mr P begins speaking. "Just let your closed eyes rest on a point somewhere in front of the bridge of your nose. Keep breathing slowly and let you mind be still now. No need to count. Just observe your mind. If a thought pops up, let it pa.s.s gently. Don't follow it. Just watch it go as if you were standing in a high window, watching a pa.s.sing parade. A thought might intrude into your mind, but just let it pa.s.s. Keep breathing and watching for the breaks between thoughts."

This is harder than counting, but it is so good to have that night start to replay in my mind as it's done thousands of times and to just let it go-just watch it dissolve while I'm sitting calmly, breathing quietly. It's gone.

"Okay, boys. Open your eyes." We sit there, smiling. Once again, we talk about what it was like. Some boys say nothing. I'm one of them.

"Don't just keep this for here. If you wake early, sit on the floor on your pillow. Even five or ten minutes, if you can."

As we start getting up from the floor, Norbert says, "Sir, it's good to sit quietly, but what is really the point of it?" We stand still, and Mr P waves us to our seats.

"Good question. Can you keep it till tomorrow? There's one more step to this that might help answer that question."

We start work quietly. We've all got a fair bit to do now-revision, checking notes, going over old exam papers. Not all the boys are doing exams, but the year is coming to an end, and they have modules of work to finish for their courses.

That afternoon, in the gym, Owen comes over to Archie and me and says, "You've got permission to see your friend." We put down the weights and follow him down the corridor. We sit on the bench outside the sick bay door while Owen goes in.

"He must be pretty right if they're letting us see him," Archie says. He looks happy, but his right leg is twitching fast, up and down, up and down.