Scan

Eyes scan the playground.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A stretch of cold tar, pasted with a faded white hopscotch and a giant technicoloured snake. A basketball hoop with no net hangs on the horizon. Its early. There aren’t many about. Two girls dance to silent music next to the toilet block. A teacher struts across to the staff room. The junior cricket team swish and swat in the nets. None of your friends are here.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Target sighted.

New kid in year 6, your grade. Smallish guy. He trots in from the carpark, square school bag bouncing on his back. He’s an easy option, probably hasn’t made any friends yet. He didn’t say much in class yesterday, maybe he’s stupid? Oh well, if he’s not you can call him a geek.

A group of year 3 girls get out a skipping rope. Some year 5 boys start a game of handball. 1, 2, 3 people show up and are added to the list of reserves. A pair of kindy kids hang off the rail of the balcony while their parents chat idly in a cloud of rusk sticks and cheap jewellery . Keep watching, keep scanning. None of your friends are here.

The new kid stalls, drops his bag against a wall. Now’s your chance; go, GO! Three girls in your grade flounce up. An audience, perfect. Make your move, a few steps forward and…

Damn, he’s getting away. Follow at a distance, you don’t want to look desperate.

Towards the cricket nets he shuffles uncertainly. Try to look cool as you pursue your victim, watch from afar –not too interested, remember!- as he asks for a go. He’s going to bowl… this could be really good or really bad. Prepare your line; sarcasm? No, it’s the cricket team, the sporty kids aren’t smart enough. Go for the simple aim and fire, wait for the mistake and then… BAM! Hit it with all you the ammo you’ve got. An imitation might be in order…

He takes a run up. Arm curls, then straightens and the ball shoots down the pitch and shatters the wicket. The cricket team claps and pats him on the back. Maybe he wasn’t such a great target after all. Retreat, before they notice you. Back to the drawing board.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The tar fills up. Laughter drifts from the play equipment behind the sports storeroom. Year 1 kids dash in zigzags in a hectic game with no real rules. Year 2 girls congregate around their young teacher, offering to carry keys or books. Year 5 guys try to flirt coolly with the short-skirted girls of their grade. He steals a bag and she gives chase, feigning anger but loving the attention. Keep watching, keep scanning. None of your friends are here.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Target sighted.

Smallest girl in your grade. She stumbles into your ambush. Perfect set up. You have to move quick, the moment won’t last long. Her pigtails fly as she hits the ground, bag tumbles and books fly. Quickly! A delayed response is usually worse than none at all. Flip through your mental thesaurus; clumsy? Doesn’t quite do it. Lumbering? Nah, she beat you in the cross country, remember? Uncoordinated? She probably doesn’t even know what it means. Best to go simple, just laugh and point out the obvious. Steal her folder. Come get it…or are you afraid you’ll trip again? And laugh. It’s perfect.

Quick scan. The year 5 kids are curious. A mother glances, then disregards as your prey restrains the tears. The coast is clear, move in for the kill.

She climbs to her feet, quick, grab the folder! She throws a look. Not you; it says. Snatch the folder! It’s a few steps away…

Large hands lift it from the ground. Large hands, much stronger than yours, back off. Now. He’s tall and slim and tough. He’s stolen the opportunity from you. He hands the folder to her and she blushes and smiles. He gives you a glare. Don’t just stand there like an idiot! Withdraw! Immediately!

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The wasteland is alive with the uniform colours and the more unique shades of hair and eyes and skin. Year 4 girls chant and clap hands on the benches. Several year 3 boys clamber and cluster around their friends new puppy. A mum pushes a stroller across the uneven gravel and a dad catches up to a kid that’s forgotten his lunch. The principal tells a year 1 kid to put on a hat. Year 1 girls gallop, pony-like, shaking their manes and whinnying shrilly. Keep watching, keep scanning. None of your friends are here.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Target sighted.

There he is. He trudges through the gates, school cap pulled over his flabby face. That’s a good line, make sure you use that later. This one’s easy, there’s no way you can miss this one. He’s a big enough target, that’s for sure. He slogs across the playground…towards the…library! Move in, move in! Cut him off, quick. Your defences don’t hold in the library, and there’s no one to watch and laugh at your wit and charisma and intelligence as you open fire on him. No wait… he changes course sightly… the canteen? It’s a good sign; Eating already, fatty? It’s looking hopeful… but what if he hits the library?

Hold your nerve… wait until you’re sure…yes! Missing the library stairs he shifts his excess of weight towards the canteen window.

Target sighted.

Target locked.

“Eating already, fatty?”

He blinks. Says nothing. Laugh at him.

“This is what, your fourth breakfast?”

Heads turn, congratulations! They’ve noticed you! Now say something smart, show them how quick you are...

They drift away. Why aren’t they watching? I’m about to take this kid down. Again. A chip packet rolls tumble-weed style across the playground. Turn as the other kids in your grade head off together.

The bell goes. Fatty walks away.

Eyes scan the playground.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A stretch of cold tar, pasted with a faded white hopscotch and a giant technicoloured snake. A basketball hoop with no net hangs on the horizon. School’s started. The last few students waft towards classrooms on a breeze of words and whims. The groundsman strides across your field of view with a garbage can.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You may as well stop scanning. None of your friends are here.