He strained to recognise the footsteps. Taj or Dad? ‘Oi, KD.’ Khaden breathed out. ‘In my bedroom,’ he called, still playing the guitar. Taj stood in the doorway. ‘Sounds good.’ ‘Meh.’ Khaden stopped strumming and rested his chin on his guitar. ‘First time I’ve tried it.’ Taj walked across the room and sprawled on his brother’s bed, arms clasped behind his head. ‘Meyer rang this morning. What’s he, the vice-principal or something?’ Khaden tensed. ‘Year coordinator.’ Taj nodded and turned to look out the window. ‘So?’ ‘So what?’ ‘So, what did he want?’ Khaden’s palms felt sweaty. ‘Easy, tiger,’ said Taj. ‘Easy? If he speaks to Dad—’ ‘Mate, if he’d spoken to Dad, you’d know about it by now.’ Khaden placed the guitar on the stand. ‘You don’t get it, Taj. Meyer asked me why I wasn’t at school yesterday, and if our stories—’ ‘What did you tell him?’ Taj’s calm was driving Khaden nuts. ‘That I had gastro. Again.’ ‘And that’s what I told him.
