New Boy by Nick Earls Page A

times to get it right. At least she tried.’
    â€˜So we’re teaching them South African food, then?’ Dad says. ‘Some of them must be okay if they want to try that.’ He takes a step towards the back door, groaning as he heaves Hansie forward. Then he stops and looks over his shoulder, in my direction. ‘I want to hear about that presentation you did on Cape Town. It sounds like you did a very clever job with that.’
    â€˜Ball,’ Hansie shouts. ‘Let’s go.’
    Dad drags him to the backyard, with Hansie laughing all the way, standing on Dad’s foot and gripping his thigh.
    We kick the ball around until the sun sets and Dad starts the braai. He stands there with a beer while Mom makes a salad and Hansie chases lizards in the garden. It’s a moment that would feel like home for me, no matter where we were. Beyond the fence, there are still adjustments for me to make, big and small, and our new world has its own adjustments to make to me, but right now I don’t care.

Straight after the braai, I have a Skype call to Richard. It’s raining in Cape Town. He turns the computer around to show me the grey sky.
    â€˜It’s going to be like this all weekend, apparently,’ he says. ‘Hockey’s been cancelled already.’
    Skype doesn’t do rain well, but the view looks pretty miserable.
    He asks what I’ve been doing and I tell him all about the quad bikes.
    He swivels the computer back around to face him. ‘You have a friend who has his own race track?’
    â€˜That’s right.’
    â€˜What kind of people are your friends there? Do any of them have planes or islands or anything? Did you race? Did you win?’
    â€˜I did okay.’
    I’d stopped thinking about racing early on. It wasn’t about beating other people. I couldn’t have beaten Max anyway – he’s really good. It was just about the four of us gunning those excellent quad bikes, churning up dirt and letting the engine rip. I won enough today, doing that, and doing it with them. I’ve been winning enough for a few days now.
    â€˜How’s Hansie going?’ Richard picks up the mug that’s near him on the table and takes a drink.
    â€˜Dad’s back from the mine, so he’s pretty happy today.’ That’s true enough. ‘Other than that, most of his problems seem to be solved by chocolate.’
    Not solved, perhaps, but chocolate doesn’t seem to hurt. I don’t know how to explain how it works to Richard, all of this. Every day has steps forward and steps backward and sometimes leaps. I miss him. I miss the whole city, even the bad bits. But I know why we’re here.

As Mom parks the car outside school on the first day of the new term, kids I don’t know or can’t recognise under their big hats are laughing with each other as they walk in. I don’t quite own this place yet the way they do, but maybe I will. At Bergvliet I did. I think I can here too.
    When I go to put my bag in the rack before finding the others, Ms Vo is there with Max.
    â€˜Mr Browning has a job for the two of you,’ she says.
    Max tells me what he knows on the way there. There’s a new boy, and for some reason we’re sharing the job of being his buddy. Mr Browning is waiting outside his door when we arrive.
    â€˜Come in, boys,’ he says. ‘Thanks for doing this, Herschelle. I think it could be good to have your African perspective.’
    He pushes the door open and, inside, the new student stands up from a chair. He’s thin and as tall as Mr Browning, and he has very black skin.
    â€˜This is Roy Wek,’ Mr Browning tells us. ‘He’s from South Sudan.’
    â€˜And also Kenya on the way here,’ Roy says, smiling. He sticks out his hand for us to shake.
    Mr Browning tells Roy that Max has lived in the area all his life, but that I’ve recently arrived from South Africa. ‘We