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the whirr of the ceiling fans and the occasional whoop of victory from the common room. The place had the feeling of naïve trust he’d found in the shops and houses he’d robbed — like it was too easy to shatter somebody’s sense of security. Walking from room to room he noticed every dorm was different. They had their own individual character. Walls were covered with posters of movies, TV shows, music bands, sleek carsand steamy babes or basketball, football and comic cards. There were models, fishing rods, designer shoes, bomber jackets, caps, books, letters from home, a golf club, footballs, soccer balls, basketballs and — oh man! — chewing gum stuck under nearly every bed. In ten minutes, Brett had scored some gum (uneaten), a Violet Crumble, seventeen bucks ninety in change and yes-oh-yes a pack of smokes and a new lighter. There was a lot of expensive junk too, but he had to leave it because it was too hard to stash away without being caught.
    Pocketing the loot, Brett walked into the last dorm. It was different from the others. Whereas they had two, three or even four beds, this only had one. Underneath it were dirty shirts, shorts, socks and shoes. On the walls were posters of rock bands, football stars and one of those nerdy periodic tables normally seen in science labs. Several biology textbooks lay open on a desk, sentences underlined with lead pencil and smudged by an eraser. Above these, a set of shelves displayed a lot of big trophies, pennants and yellowed newspaper clippings.
    The room’s owner was a jock. That wasn’t hard to tell. He had a stack of photos and autograph books signed by players from his beloved rugby league team. What interested Brett more though were thetrophies. By the looks of them, the guy was a top player himself. He’d won awards for Best and Fairest, and Best Player of the Series. With so many trophies Brett was surprised the guy wasn’t playing professional. That, or opening a trophy shop himself.
    He picked up one to check out the engraved name.
    â€˜Joshua —’
    â€˜Collins.’
    Brett jumped. He turned to see who had busted him and saw Josh himself standing in the doorway.
    â€˜What are you doing in my room?’
    â€˜Just looking,’ Brett shrugged.
    â€˜Looking for what?’
    â€˜For, er, a tissue.’
    â€˜Funny place to look for one,’ Josh said, snatching the trophy away.
    â€˜I was only having a look.’
    â€˜Well my stuff isn’t for looking at. Neither’s my room. Now leave.’
    Glaring at Brett, Josh placed the trophy back on its shelf. He didn’t frighten Brett, however. Pretty boys never did. If it came down to blows, Brett reckoned he could knock this kid out.
    â€˜Now!’
    â€˜All right, all right,’ Brett said.
    He’d walked to the door when Josh added, ‘Therebetter not be anything missing from here — or else.’
    Brett pulled up short. ‘I said I was just taking a look round.’
    â€˜Yer, right.’
    â€˜You saying I wasn’t?’
    Josh crossed his arms. ‘Oh sorry. My mistake. You were looking for a “tissue”.’
    â€˜And I found one. Right?’ he said, holding up one of his own.
    â€˜Why didn’t you steal the whole box while you were at it?’
    â€˜Steal? Mate, there ain’t anything in here worth stealing.’
    â€˜So you were in here looking through my stuff!’
    â€˜Like I said —’
    â€˜Forget the act. I’m not stupid. You wouldn’t be in this place if you weren’t up for some kind of charge.’
    â€˜Oh, and what are you in for, Mr Perfect?’ Brett shot back.
    â€˜I’m not in here for anything. I’ve served my time. I work here now on my own free will.’
    â€˜What as? A moral guidance counsellor?’
    â€˜No, a stablehand. I help Sam round the property. He gives me food and a place to stay in return.’
    â€˜The