The Beauty Is in the Walking by James Moloney Page B

back?’ I asked, once I’d explained.
    Svenson glanced at his watch. ‘Time’s getting away. I’ll stop at the supermarket.’
    More than that, he went in for me – even paid out of his own pocket. He really was on board with the whole thing.
    Amy was already outside the post office and looking every way at once until she saw me in the Mazda.
    â€˜I thought you’d changed your mind,’ she called when I’d extracted myself from the passenger seat. ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this. Is this knife okay?’
    She held up a steak knife like the ones they flog on late-night TV. It looked ready to slice through the flimsy bag she’d dropped it into.
    â€˜Perfect. Put it in this,’ I said, giving her one of the sturdy zip-locks Svenson had bought.
    She went back to staring up and down the street, reminding me that only two of us had turned up so far and the whole thing would fizzle if it stayed that way.
    â€˜You don’t think this’ll be like the birthday party that nobody came to, do you?’ I asked.
    Amy put her hand on my arm in a way she’d carefully avoided in the school yard. ‘If it’s a party, then you should expect people to come late,’ and despite her own nerves she sent me the cutest wink.
    I wanted to kiss her, there in the street – just go for it – but before my uncooperative legs could move me that half-metre closer, she pointed behind me. ‘There’s Bec.’
    Alicia and one of the other girls appeared round the post office corner soon after, and when Dan and Mitch arrived together I knew the protest would definitely go ahead.
    Dan made a show of lifting the shirt from his waistband to reveal the handle of a knife.
    â€˜Concealed weapon,’ he said wickedly.
    â€˜Careful you don’t cut your balls off,’ Bec shot back and that set the tone. We were all nervous as cats and the best way to cut through was to laugh. Dan, especially, was enjoying himself, playing up for the girls and helping the others arrange their knives inside the bags.
    While I watched him entertain the girls, I noticed more school uniforms across the road. They weren’t kids from my English class.
    â€˜What’s with them?’ I asked Amy.
    â€˜Word’s been tweeted around. Bec and I texted a few ourselves.’
    â€˜Are they going to join in?’ I was thinking about the plastic bags. Svenson had bought a packet of twelve.
    â€˜No, they’ve come to watch,’ said Amy, as though she’d been over there to ask and that was the way it played out.
    â€˜Jacob,’ said Alicia Greaves, who took me aside and spoke softly, seriously, in contrast to Dan’s antics. ‘I just got a text. The other two aren’t coming. Sorry.’
    That left Chloe to arrive and, from the worried expression on Alicia’s face, I guessed she and her companion would back out if Chloe didn’t turn up to bolster their courage. But there she was, stopping briefly to let a car pass in the wide street. I wasn’t sure where she lived and guessed by her flushed face and the heaving of her shoulders she had run part of the way.
    â€˜Sorry, sorry, got held up,’ she said as she strode over the last few metres of bitumen and finally stepped onto the footpath so we were again the same height.
    About then, Mr Webster came out of the police station and, seeing so many of us clearly up to something, he stopped for a closer look. He saw the knives and his eyebrows just about shot up through his hairline.
    Dan held his plastic bag in front of his face. ‘We’re making a point,’ and in case Mr Webster had missed the joke he touched his finger gently to the tip of the knife.
    Mr Webster turned away and I knew that even if my picture didn’t end up on the front page of tomorrow’s paper, my parents would hear about it anyway. There was no going back and, besides, a guy was heading across