‘Bugger.’ I put down my coffee cup. Then I turned and followed the smell back into my bedroom.

I hadn’t made the bed. I hadn’t had time. That’s why the contents of the kitchen bin had been dumped, not on my quilted bedspread, but on the tangle of sheets and blankets underneath. The bin itself lay on the floor, leaking a rancid goo.

Aaron, I thought.

2009

2009

‘DO YOU KNOW what this is?’ My palms smacked together.

‘Clapping!’ Phoebe cried.

I cupped my ear. ‘Where’s your hand? I can’t hear you unless you put up your hand.’

Her pudgy little arm shot into the air. ‘A clap!’

‘Yes. It’s a clap. And what’s this?’ I pointed at the wall.

George yelled, ‘A map!’ then quickly, guiltily raised his own hand.

‘That’s right.’ I gazed down at the sixteen restless little bodies on the floor in front of me. It was our second day together, and I was still working my way through the endless list of assessment activities. ‘Can anyone think of another word that sounds like map? Or clap?’

When no one answered, I began to beat out a rhythm on my chair leg.

‘Tap!’ Amber shrieked. Then she blushed and cringed and thrust her hand over her head. There were about twelve glittering hairclips in her crisp brown curls.

‘Tap. Yes.’ I ticked her off my mental list, conscious that some of the kids were squirming. A few were completely at sea, eyes blank, mouths ajar. Caleb was rocking from side to side, humming to himself as he picked at a scab. Kayla was fiddling with her shoelace, her upper lip shiny with snot. She was the only child in the class with pierced ears.

Aaron was rolling around, prodding Luke with his foot. As Luke edged away, Aaron rolled closer.

‘Aaron. Can you think of a word that sounds like tap?’ I asked.

‘Ooooh! I can!’ Phoebe rose to her knees and waved at me wildly. ‘Cap! Cap!’

Aaron made a farting noise. Oscar laughed.

‘Maybe you’re getting a bit angry?’ I said to Aaron in my calmest voice, shooting Oscar a look. ‘Shall we do some volcano breathing?’

Half the class immediately began to puff away, using a technique we’d already covered. I’d told them how to ‘breathe out the angry bits’, hoping to provide Aaron with at least one anger-management tool.

But he ignored me, climbing to his feet and trotting towards my desk.

‘If you want some time out, Aaron, you can use the tent,’ I suggested. Phoebe’s raised hand was practically up my nose.

‘Lap, miss! Lap! Lap!’

‘That’s good, Phoebe, but let someone else try. Aaron? Remember what I said about my stapler? My stapler has a red dot on it. That means you can’t touch it without permission.’