The Yearbook Committee by Sarah Ayoub

up.
    â€˜Mo, getting chicken sandwiches doesn’t count as “going out”.’
    â€˜We can watch the footy at your house after. That counts.’
    â€˜I can’t, man, sorry,’ I say. ‘Mum’s not well.’
    â€˜Still? Some virus, bro.’
    â€˜Yeah, I think it’s more than just a vi—’
    Christa clears her throat and looks pointedly at me, and I notice the long line of customers waiting for their drinks to be made.
    â€˜Sorry, man, I better get back to it. I’ll call you.’
    Mo waves as he leaves.
    After we’ve closed, Christa tells me her car’s on the other side of the park; she wanted to avoid paying for parking, which I can’t blame her for.
    â€˜I’ll walk you to your car,’ I tell her. ‘It’s dark.’
    â€˜That’s OK,’ she says. ‘I’ll be fine by myself.’
    The part of me that just wants to get home wants to believe her, but I know I’ll feel guilty if I leave her to walk alone.
    â€˜Honestly, I’ll feel more comfortable if I go with you,’ I tell her.
    â€˜OK, thanks,’ she says, looking relieved.
    I’m walking back through the park afterwards when I notice a kid being flanked by two guys, who are gripping his arms. As I get closer, I realise it’s Sammy.
    â€˜Oi,’ I call out, ‘what are you doing?’
    â€˜Mind your own business, dickhead,’ the shorter guy says.
    â€˜Juice Man!’ Sammy calls out. ‘They won’t let me stand here.’
    â€˜It’s OK, buddy,’ I tell him, approaching the three of them. ‘Come on, guys, let him go.’
    â€˜Hey, man,’ the taller one says, putting his hand up, ‘we were just trying to, um, play a game of footy, and he wanted to stand in the goal.’
    Sammy shakes his head violently from side to side. ‘Nah,’ he says, ‘they don’t even have a football.’
    The shorter guy looks to his friend in panic, but his friend calms him down with a small gesture of his arm.
    â€˜Our mate’s bringing the footy. The kid was just getting in the way, that’s all. No harm done.’
    I look at Sammy. ‘Did they hurt you?’
    Sammy looks frightened enough, but shakes his head.
    â€˜He shouldn’t even be in the park at this time of night if he’s . . . sick,’ the shorter one says.
    â€˜Yeah, we were just trying to help him,’ the other says coolly. ‘Seriously.’
    I’m not buying it.
    â€˜It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s probably too dark to play,’ the taller guy presses. ‘But still, maybe you should take him home.’
    I give him a suspicious look and it makes him want to try harder.
    â€˜I’m Mike,’ he says, extending his hand. ‘I gotta run. But like I said, no harm intended. Just wanted to make sure he was safe.’
    They both head off, whispering loudly. I hear the shorter one asking whether the kid saw anything, but Mike just shrugs and says no one would believe ‘someone like him’. I shake my head in disgust and turn back to Sammy.
    â€˜Why are you in the park all alone?’ I ask. ‘Come on, let’s go call your parents.’
    He shakes his head.
    â€˜No?’ I ask. ‘Well, you can’t stay in the park on your own, buddy, it’s dangerous. Does anyone know you’re here?’
    Another head shake.
    I sigh and rub the back of my head. ‘OK, how about we get an ice-cream, and we can come back and sit on the ledge there near the statue of the ANZAC soldier? That’s my favourite spot in the whole park; it always makes me feel better.’
    He nods and we cross the road, heading to the gelato shop. I buy him a kid’s size chocolate and get myself a crème caramel in a waffle cone, and then we cross the road again. While we eat, he talks about video games and SpongeBob SquarePants and his carer, Elliott (who plays Xbox with