Page 28 of Connectio
“My mum has pink ones,” Hannah adds.
“Hands up if you have questions,” I remind them.
“These are my new gloves.” Dylan straps them on and punches the air in front of him.
“Whoa, Muhammad Ali! Be careful. We don’t want anybody getting hurt.”
“I won’t punch anyone.” He punches the air again, his demeanour overly confident. “I’m not allowed to, unless it’s self-defence or I’m in the ring.”
“In the ring?” I nearly choke, a little surprised. Surely not. I can’t for the life of me imagine one of “my” kids in a boxing ring.
“Yeah, but I’m too young for the ring. I gotta be ten.”
Jesus! Is that all?
Jet sticks his hand up.
“Yes, Jet, you have a question?”
He nods. “Can you do an uppercut, Dylan?”
Just as Dylan punches toward the ceiling, Oliver curses under his breath, except it’s loud enough for me to hear, which means the students hear it too.
I stand up and make my way to the back of the room where he’s clearing out the sink. “What’s wrong? I’m fairly sure the entire class heard that S-bomb.”
“Everything is wet.” He holds up a set of containers.
“That’s because you left them here on Friday.” I point to the faucet, which is dripping much more than usual. “And because that’s still leaking.”
He huffs, moves the containers aside, and angrily flicks on the tap. Water bursts from the faucet like a fountain and hits me in the face. I scream and hold my hands up to block the spray, but there’s too much.
“Shit!” he says.
I step aside, but the water spurts out toward the carpet, so I take one for the team and, once again, use my hands and body as a shield. I’m already drenched, so why the hell not.
“Quick! Turn it off!” I yell.
“I can’t. The tap broke off.”
“What?”
From his dry position a few feet away, he holds up the rusted brass lever that used to be attached to the sink.
“So? Don’t just stand there; do what you did at your Nonna’s house.”
“Huh?”
“You fixed her leaking tap, didn’t you?”
Oliver appears to search his mind for what I’m referring to, but I’m fairly sure—given his Dumbo expression—that he has no idea, because it never happened.
“Uh… er….” He steps back and scratches his head just as George—Mr Tims—and Carly rush around the corner.
“Wow!” George gives the kids an excited but reassuring smile. “It’s raining in your classroom. Cool!”
I laugh a not-so-funny laugh at the oldest teacher at our school while unsuccessfully trying to stem the flow of water with my hands. “A little help, please.”
“I’ll call a plumber,” Carly says and rushes out of the room.
