Margaret Wild - One Night

KIT'S WILDERNESS, David Almond

TENDING TO GRACE, Kimberly Newton Fusco

SHATTERED: STORIES OF CHILDREN AND WAR Jennifer Armstrong

THE GIVER, Lois Lowry

REMEMBRANCE, Theresa Breslin

GHOST BOY, Iain Lawrence

THE GLASS CAF, Gary Paulsen

BRIAN'S WINTER, Gary Paulsen

THE BABOON KING, Anton Quintana

FRENCHTOWN SUMMER, Robert Cormier

BURNING UP, Caroline B. Cooney

for Diana Kidd,
who was a good friend
and a lovely writer

GABE collecting girls

First Saturday in summer,
Johnstone Public Swimming Pool
now called
Johnstone Park Aquatic Center
to match its glitzy new image.
I'm sitting here, in my sunglasses,
checking the pool.
Target: collecting girls.

A surly waitress slaps down
a cappuccino, weak as cat's piss,
slopping into the saucer.
I give her my devastating smile,
and she stares at me,
mouth hanging open.
For a moment I consider coaxing
her into a smile,
but I can't waste time.
I turn to survey the poolside.
To the right the high-diving pool
young boys jostling,
eager to show off.
Straight ahead the Olympic pool
two lanes reserved for coaching.
To the left the heated pool,
and the little kids' pool.
Then the grassy banks
rolling down to the bay,
and clusters of girls and guys.

I dig out some coins
and leave them on the table.
I catch the waitress looking at me,
her face wistful.
I shouldn't have smiled.
Of course I could invite her
to the party tonight, but I don't want
the bother of looking after her.
Better not.

I saunter down the steps,
scan the main pool
for chicks on their own,
or with their girlfriends.
At the deep end, squealing,
are a couple of possibles.
I may come back to them later.

GABE so bram says

Tonight the party will be
at Chris's house,
as his parents are away for the weekend.
He's done as Bram told him
informed the neighbors
he's having a small gathering,
assured them the music won't be too loud,
promised that everyone will leave by midnight.

Even if they do complain later,
there will be no evidence of a party,
not even debris in the vacuum cleaner.
Chris's parents will feel relieved
he took such good care of the house,
he'll get off with nothing worse
than a mild reprimand.

So Bram says.

Bram's planning is impeccable.
His before photos
capture a house precisely.
The placement of ornaments,
the slant of a rug,
even the contents of the fridge
are noted and photographed,
so by the end of the party
everything can be put back in place.
He gloats
that prideful householders
have no idea
their beloved home
has been at his mercy.

GABE alluring

Bram's sought out guys
who are magicians
at mood lighting,
wizards at spinning just the right tunes.
He takes an empty room,
and transforms it into an alluring place
where the beat enters your bloodstream,
and softly colored lights
stroke faces and bodies.

Al says it's like a dream,
a good dream.

GABE hard glitter

The sun's making my head throb.
I hate pools.
That hard glitter of water,
choking smell of chlorine,
workaholic swimmers toiling up and down,
kids shouting, dive-bombing,
sneakily pissing in the water,
radios blaring,
mums and dads with little kids
hogging the picnic tables and the shade,
the stink of stale fat from the cafeteria,
and planes screaming overhead
every sixty seconds,
just about blasting everyone out of the water.

I descend another flight of steps,
reach the grass,
and throw myself onto my towel.
Nearby is a weary-looking woman,
and a slender girl, about fifteen,
with a baby, milky-white.
The girl looks fed-up,
and so does the baby.
It has a large, lolling head and flattened face.
Amazing how alien small babies look.
And thereexcellent!high on the grassy bank
is a group of four girls,
without guys.
I'm just about to pounce,
when the baby wails.
The girl swears,
and shoves a bottle in the kid's mouth.
It squirms, kicking froggy legs,
and yells louder.
You little shit! hisses the girl.
The venom in her voice
makes me freeze.
I imagine what I would do
if someone spoke like that
to this little girl I know, Baby Boboli.
I'd probably kill them.
The girl doesn't see me watching,
but the woman does.
Embarrassed, she reaches over for the baby
and rocks it.
The girl snatches up her swimming cap,
springs to her feet,
and dashes away.

I gaze back at the four girls,
catch the eye of the dark-haired one,
and wave an unlit cigarette at her.
She nods, smiling shyly.
I give them the usual enticing spiel
the party'll be smart, exclusive,
with good music, great guys,
no parents, no problems.

Gabe dives into the water
and collides
with the girl,
the one with the baby.
Sorry, he splutters
and offers her his beguiling grin.
She ignores him,
her face set,
and torpedoes away.
She swims as if she is alone
in the pool,
in the world,
and wants nothing to do with anyone.
Not Gabe.
And especially not that baby.

As a boy
Gabe loved the story
of how his dad and mother first met.
At a summer festival
she was down by the harbor,
arranged on a rock,
gazing out to sea.
Such a parched-looking mermaid!
Pale, dry skin, sun-bleached hair,
fishtail rustling
like autumn leaves.

I circled her,
tried to make her smile,
but she didn't blink an eyelid.
I hung around for hours,
until at last she slipped off her tail,
and I offered to buy her a drink.
She was the thirstiest person I've ever met!
That day, on the seventh glass,
I asked her to marry me,
and I kept on asking
until she said yes.

Now that Gabe is older,
he thinks,
What an idiot!
A thirsty little mermaid
and a builder on dry land
how on earth
could that ever have worked?

Gabe's dad
has a crookback and a missing finger.
He doesn't seem
a very romantic figure
in his stained overalls and work boots.
But, even after all these years,