Or nuclear disaster. She’s a real light-hearted sort of person.’

‘Sounds like it. Not a job I’d envy. What would you do anyway? In the event that the whole human population faces extinction?’

‘Are there zombies involved?’

‘No zombies.’

‘Is Will Smith there?’

‘No Will Smith.’

‘Bear Grylls?’

‘No Bear Grylls either, my friend. Just your sorry skinny arse. I’m serious. What would you do?’

‘I don’t know. I’d try to help my family, I guess. Beyond that? I really don’t know. You’re putting a kind of dampener on my morning with this stuff, you know that?’

‘I’d say your morning was already on the damp side.’

‘Very clever. What would you do? Mass destruction, you’ve only got a screwdriver and a box of sultanas on hand. Go.’

‘Sultanas? Eeeew. I would stab the nearest person with the screwdriver and eat them instead of the sultanas.’

‘You don’t really do things by halves.’

She laughed and I liked that I could make her do that. ‘Precisely, my friend. Seriously, should we be worried? And would the government even tell us if we should be? I think they’d put on a smiley face just to avoid panic.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘Are you going to the march tomorrow?’

There was a march planned for the city. The idea being that if enough people turned up with placards our government would impose trade sanctions against the offending country.

‘Dunno. It’s not as if the government’s going to notice. And as if they’d stop testing missiles just because Australia doesn’t want to play any more.’

‘You don’t think there’s any point.’

‘Not really.’

‘Right. What do you think would happen if everyone had that attitude? Apathy is what leads to this stuff in the first place.’ She wasn’t smiling any more.

‘I take it you’re going?’

‘Yes I am.’

‘And your opinion of me has just plummeted.’

She narrowed her eyes and gave me a half smile. ‘Yes, but not beyond repair.’

The bus pulled up at the school. We got off and started to walk in together.

Lucy nodded toward my sketchbook. I carried it under my arm in the hope it made me look thoughtful.

‘Give me a look,’ she said.

‘What? Nah. It’s boring as.’

Her mouth again curved into that mischievous smile. It was a total turn-on and she knew it. ‘Come on, a peek.’

‘Nah. Hey, did we have homework for English?’

‘You’re trying to change the subject.’

‘I’m not, I—’

She reached over, snatched the sketchbook away and skipped a few metres ahead. She opened it up and my heart ended up somewhere near my tonsils.

‘Hey,’ I said, trying to laugh convincingly. ‘Come on, hand it over. You don’t want to see it, it’s crap.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much.’

‘It’s just roughs for my major work – a graphic novel. The characters are based on people I know.’

‘Is that guy our bus driver?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Wow. You’re right, it is crap.’

‘Hey!’ I elbowed her and she laughed.

‘I’m joking. It’s really good.’

She kept leafing through the pages, they were dog-eared and almost etched through with ink where I’d reworked stuff over and over. I tried to get the book back but she dodged away and kept looking. I swallowed hard.

‘That’s all really, there’s nothing else…’

And then she got to the page. She stopped walking. I felt myself melting with embarrassment. I wanted to seep into the ground. She looked at the drawing without speaking. I’d sketched her one day when I was sitting behind her on the bus. It was of the side of her face and neck. My breath felt all boxed up and tight in my chest.

She turned her lovely eyes up to me and bit her lip.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m not stalking you, really. There’s this famous drawing by a French guy, Toulouse-Lautrec. It’s a profile of a woman called Madame Lucy. I was thinking about it once when I was sitting behind you and… I’m sorry.’

She smiled slowly. ‘Well, it’s not very good,’ she said. ‘I’m not that pretty.’

I gently took the book from her. ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

She grinned and looked away. Then she elbowed me in the ribs. We walked in silence until we got to her homeroom for roll call.

‘If your mum calls and tells you that chaos is going to break out, will you let me know?’ she asked.

‘I’ll let you know. Bring your screwdriver.’

She smiled.

‘See you after homeroom?’ I asked.

‘Indeed.’

Our school was one of those classy places built in the seventies: brick buildings with tiny windows and ceiling fans instead of air conditioning. The rooms smelt of pee and mildew, and were carpeted in industrial polyester carpet the colour of baby vomit. What the place lacked in style it made up for in location: the grounds were carved into the top of a mountain ridge and overlooked a valley of bush. Instead of the standard tree-less bitumen grounds of most schools, we had acres of grass and trees. (Too many trees – the science block fried in a bushfire three years ago.) The room I was in for homeroom was right on the edge of the bush. In summer it was a sweatbox and the air was so shrill with cicadas Mr Effrez would swear at them and shut the windows. In winter it was quiet and we were lucky each period was only forty-five minutes because any longer sitting in one spot and you’d freeze your arse off.

Lokey was already inside when I got to homeroom. He was in the back row, his usual position. His feet were up on the desk, which meant Effrez was nowhere to be seen, yet.

‘Hey,’ he said.

I dropped my bag and took a seat next to him.

‘Hey.’ I tried to appear casual.

‘What’s up? Your grin is freakin’ me out, man.’

‘Nothing.’

‘Oh, come on.’ Lokey jabbed me in the arm. ‘Is it a chick? Who? What have you done?’

‘A gentleman never tells,’ I said.

‘Serious?’

‘Serious.’

‘You are a total wanker,’ Lokey said and took his feet off the desk as Effrez walked in the room.

‘Ah, my faithful pupils,’ Effrez said.

‘Sir.’

‘What are you doing in here? Bell hasn’t gone yet.’

‘It’s raining, sir,’ Lokey replied.

‘That it is. You don’t appear to have defaced anything, so I’ll let it slide. How are you going with Heart of Darkness, Mr Findlay Heath?’ He put his briefcase on the desk and unwound his scarf from his neck. He actually managed to wear a scarf and look more like a poet than a wanker. He was a mixture of Professor Snape from Harry Potter and Badger from The Wind in the Willows. Other than taking our class for homeroom, he refused to teach anything other than senior English.

‘Good, sir,’ I replied. I’d read four pages.

‘Excellent. You know that the essay is due in a week. I’ll be interested to hear your thoughts.’

So would I.

The bell rang and students filed into the room. Effrez leaned on the front of his desk and watched everyone take their seats. He didn’t have to call for quiet.

‘And how are we all today?’

The tone was more menacing than conversational. Effrez folded his arms, eyes scanning the class as if looking for prey.

‘All looking very relaxed, aren’t we? Anyone got any idea what is happening out there?’ He gestured toward the windows. ‘You know, out in the world? Out there beyond Facebook and your smart phone and whatever reality television show they happen to be spoon-feeding you these days?’

No one made a sound. It was safest not to when Effrez was having one of his ‘episodes’. Morning announcements began to crackle through the intercom but he turned the volume down. Then he smiled and sat in his chair as if he was about to tell us a nursery story.

‘Did you know, dear pupils, that there are two countries out there – neighbours – who don’t like each other very much? They both like to puff out their chests and show how big and tough they are. Well, one of them has some special missiles, not very nice ones, and they are going to test them. It would be nice to think that our government, good honest folk that they are, would put their hand up and say that Australia will impose sanctions unless the tests are abandoned. But they won’t. Don’t want to jeopardise all those big trade dollars, do they? Have any of you heard about this?’

Half the class raised their hands tentatively.

‘Well, that’s better than none. Assuming you’re being honest. I suggest the rest of you pull your heads out of your arses.’ Mr Effrez walked to the door and shut it. ‘And who is going to the march tomorrow? Come on.’

Nobody moved.

‘WHO IS GOING TO THE PROTEST?’

The class shuddered.

‘Have I taught you nothing? If you have anything vaguely resembling a spine, you will go. I want to be asked why none of my pupils were in class. If I hear any of you are at school tomorrow, I will be bitterly disappointed.’

He strolled back to the window, hands in his coat pockets.

‘Not everyone’s as relaxed as you lot about all this. There’s a group of activists building a self-sustaining settlement – complete with underground water-table access – outside the city. They believe that climate change is going to cripple our resources, either global warming, or more terrifying, nuclear winter if there is a full-scale nuclear war, which there may well be. Any of you heard about these people?’

Lokey raised his hand.

‘Mr Loke? Wonders will never cease.’

‘Saw it on Today Tonight, sir. My dad said they’re a bunch of commie hippies.’

‘Did he now? Do you even know what a commie is, Alexander?’

Lokey grinned. ‘Someone who drives a Kombi van, sir?’

‘Ahhh, very amusing. I’d rather be with a bunch of commie hippies than rely on our government if it were a matter of life or death.’

The bell sounded.

‘So,’ said Mr Effrez. ‘To conclude, tomorrow, come to the march. Don’t just bugger off to Westfield.’

I spotted Lucy in the corridor. She smiled and walked over.

‘What did your class do?’ she asked. ‘I could hear Effrez through the wall.’

‘He wants us to wag tomorrow,’ Lokey said.

‘No kidding?’ She looked at me. ‘I’m not the only one, then.’

‘He’s a freakin’ nut job,’ Lokey said. ‘Talking about some hippies starting a freakin’ commune.’

Lucy looked puzzled.

‘It’s not important. You coming to bio?’

‘Unless it’s been cancelled. We live in hope.’

At recess Lokey and I went to our usual spot behind the science block with some other guys. Our group had semi-merged with Lucy’s, but I didn’t sit with her, trying again to play it cool. I saw her briefly in the corridor after third period and she winked at me, which I definitely didn’t handle as coolly as I would have liked. I went to English, where I bluffed my way through a conversation about Heart of Darkness before spending the rest of the period reading an article on climate change that Effrez had photocopied out of The Monthly magazine. (He was introducing us to investigative journalism, something I’m pretty sure wasn’t part of the syllabus.) After English was modern history where I sat next to Lucy and didn’t learn a thing I was so bloody distracted.

By lunch the rain had cleared and I kicked a ball with a few guys