WRITERS ABROAD MAGAZINE
meet some genuinely nice man in the future and not all of them are rats, but I've no
idea if this is true and based on the experiences she and I have had in our school the
chances don't look good. So I say nothing, except ‘Revenge?’
She hardly meets my eye but gives me the faintest of nods.
‘You keep him talking. When you see Caroline and me and I give you the nod,
start working your way over to the food table, near the punch bowl. Make sure he is
following you, as fast as you can. OK? I'm off to talk to Caroline.’
When I get to her Richie has gone. There is no doubt he is circulating between
the three of us. It’s hard to stop her eating. In the end I have to take the fork away
and force her to put the plate down. I think she might start crying. I doubt Richie had
much success here. But at last I think I’ve made myself clear. She nods with
understanding and pushes a last minute vol-au-vent into her mouth.
We make our way back to banana split. Dancers part either side of us as we
clear a way across the floor. I nod, and banana split raises her glass to Richie and
nods towards the drinks area. She leads, he follows. As they get close I motion to
her to hurry. She is almost running, hampered by the yellow sheath but pursued by
Richie. She sidesteps and Caroline and I move in either side of him.
It works like a dream. We hardly need to lift him.
F=ma.
Force equals mass x acceleration and Richie is head first in the bowl of punch.
I'm pleased to see I was right. It is large, about the size of a barrel. As he pulls
himself out covered in bits of orange, pineapple and cherries, he's looking less like
tiramisu and more like trifle.
People begin to clap and congratulate Caroline and me. Which is odd, because
I’m not usually popular. Perhaps at long last someone else in school besides me is
appreciating Newton’s laws of motion.
7|Sept 2014