you met me for the first time: fucking dope-smoking Californian who says fuck a lot. Bet you fucking did.’
He has a point, but I choose not to answer.
‘And why did you tell him’—I lower my voice and nod towards the chess fan—‘you’re Canadian?’
‘Just in case. Americans aren’t always popular with these guys. Like I said, everyone generalises. Ethnic cleansing; major bad-ass generalisation.’
I tip my coffee cup up as far as it will go and drain the last of the sweet milk from the bottom.
‘Plus I don’t consider myself to be American.’
‘Why not?’
‘I was adopted. Rumour has it I was a Vietnam war baby. Guessing my old man was out there. Met a woman, left me in her, then split.’
Now I see there could be a slight Asian look to Kim. Olive skin, dark hair and eyes.
‘I put up with some shit when I was a kid. Always been a bit bitter about the great old US of A.’
A silence rides the heat between us for a second while Kim stares at the chessboard.
‘So why did you disappear so early the other night?’ Kim asks, changing the subject. ‘I thought you were enjoying the music and you were on for some filth with Naomi.’
‘Music was good. But I’m not interested in Naomi. And I’m still tired too. Getting used to the culture change is knackering, I suddenly needed sleep.’
—You wanted to be alone with me, tell him.
I shake my head and hope she’ll rattle back below to keep him company.
—Alone with me and my sexy little body and not so shiny bright teeth.
‘You guys have a good night?’ I ask, ignoring her but also enjoying the thought of her sexy little body. I then fight the bitter sickness that fizzes in my stomach. I can’t ever have that body again.
‘Yeah. Jussy ended up with some whore from Top Club and went off to some hotel. Julie did some E and danced like a frenetic chimp all night, while Marty sat and watched her. Naomi and me got a taxi back at about three.’
‘Jesus. Is that a normal night?’
‘Yep. Pretty much. Julie’s become a bit of a drug fiend recently and Jussy-boy loves these Indo women. I do too, but wasn’t in the mood.’
I nearly ask if anything happened with him and Naomi, but it’s not my business and I’m not interested. Kim’s opened up enough already. I don’t want to get any closer to him. I’m not ready for good friends.
I smile when I suddenly think of my old friends back in England reading books, going to the cinema, drinking Bacardi-and-Cokes and even, in extreme rebellious moments, smoking the occasional spliff. If they saw New Me now, hanging out with these guys, all of whom seem to be motivated by hidden demons, they wouldn’t recognise me. Just how I want it to be.
—Is it?
—Yes it bloody is.
‘We better go, man. Only half an hour ‘til the next class.’
We pay for our coffees, say bye to the chess players and duck out from beneath the canopy and its shade into bright white daylight. The sun lays its weight on us as soon as we’re under it. The stench of the piles of rubbish that lie up side streets and on corners is ripe. Exhaust fumes stick to the inside of my nose. We zigzag through the traffic to get across the road and go into the school. Albert is at the front desk. The sweat patches on his shirt are bigger and wetter than ever. We nod at each other.
‘Pak’s little ass-licker,’ says Kim as we make our way to the staff-room.
‘I did wonder.’
Fifteen minutes later I’m in class looking at twelve students aged between about seventeen and thirty. They are male and female, mostly Chinese-Indonesian. This is a level seven class, second to top because they’ve completed all of English World’s homemade course books. Their English is pretty good when they actually speak. This is my second time with them; the first was long and quiet and painful, but today I have an extra face sitting before me.
‘Johnny, isn’t it?’ I ask.
‘Yeah. How are you?’ asks the leather-jacket-clad Jimmy Dean from my first night. He is sitting slouched in his chair, which is up on two legs and leaning back against the wall.
‘I’m OK. Good to see you.’ I stand behind my desk and open my course book. ‘How are the rest of you?’
Silence. I look at today’s chapter: Exercise 1 – Reading – Swimming With Dolphins.
Jesus, another long day ahead.
‘Right. What’s this?’ I draw a rough likeness of a dolphin on the whiteboard.
Silence.
I turn back to the board and sigh.
—Stick with it, numbnuts.
I close my eyes and rub my chest.
—Laura Laura Laura. Not now please.
—Teaching is easy. Make ‘em smile.’
—How can I make ‘em smile when you’re talking to me? Please be quiet. Stay down there with him like you’re supposed to.
‘Have you ever kissed a girl?’
‘What?’
‘Have you ever kissed a girl, sir?’
‘Oh. Yes, sorry, Johnny, yes I have.’ I turn and come back into the room. Every pair of eyes is on me, suddenly interested and paying attention, something that hasn’t happened so far. Johnny is still leaning back in his chair, twirling a toothpick or something in his mouth to perfect the image.
‘For how long?’ he asks.
‘Sorry?’
‘How long did you kiss her for?’
‘I kissed her more than once, Johnny, and more than one girl.’
He falls forward, his chair banging down onto all four legs.
‘Really?’
I look at him to see if he’s trying to wind me up. His face is dead set and eyes wide. He’s being serious.
‘Yes, really. Now, this is a dolphin.’
‘How many?’
‘I don’t know. A few.’
‘Three? Four?’
‘Maybe more. Why?’ I put my board pen on the desk and sit down. ‘Have you kissed a girl?’
‘Yes,
