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boss’s pet in other words.’
    â€˜I’m nobody’s pet. Sam’s my friend.’
    â€˜Some friend. He locks you up here in this prison with everyone else. What’s the matter? Your parents don’t want you anymore?’
    Josh went all quiet and his eyes narrowed. He looked as if he wanted to knock Brett flat. Brett just wanted him to try it.
    â€˜Get out of my room!’
    Brett leaned against the door frame. ‘No.’
    â€˜Get out!’
    â€˜Why should I?’
    â€˜I said get out!’
    â€˜Make me.’
    Fists clenched, Josh stormed towards Brett but stopped when the corridors echoed with excited voices. The first group of guys walked past Josh’s door, unaware of what was about to happen. One or two looked inside and said g’day to him. Others slowed a pace when they saw Brett.
    The two of them stared at each other until another voice shouted down the corridor, ‘Frog, have you got my bat?’
    Brett looked over his shoulder at the sound of his roommate’s name. It was his excuse to leave. ‘Catch you later,’ he said.
    â€˜Count on it.’

‘Great,’ Frog said, his bony shoulders sinking. ‘Just when I thought I had a room to myself.’
    With a deep sigh, he walked over to the bag sitting on the end of Brett’s bed. He lifted the zipper, causing Brett to tense at the doorway. Little thief! But instead of opening it and rifling through it, Frog just turned the tag over to see who owned it. ‘Brett Dalton,’ he said. Not recognising the name, he dropped it then saw his mess thrown on the ground. He sighed again then picked the bundle of clothes up in one big scoop to dump it on his side of the room. At least he’d got the hint.
    Frog, like Sam had said, was tiny. Just under one hundred-and-forty centimetres, he had big round eyes, long fingers, knobby arms and legs, and short, spiky, dark hair that ended in a long sweaty fringe.He wore a dark blue polo shirt with light blue sleeves and grey board shorts decorated with a jumble of purple and orange shapes that reached his knees (the usual bad clothes every twelve-year-old seemed to wear). But he didn’t look twelve. More like nine or ten. He was only a tadpole compared to the fifteen, sixteen, seventeen or even eighteen-year-old guys Brett had seen walking down the corridor. He could see why the others picked on this kid.
    â€˜This Brett better not chuck my stuff on the ground or smoke in here again,’ Frog said to himself. ‘Or I’ll punch him one if he does.’ He shook his head and slammed his clothes shut in their drawers.
    â€˜Frog!’ a voice called from the corridor. ‘Hurry up! We haven’t got much time!’
    Robbie looked up at the sound of his name. And stopped. His big round eyes widened so much, Brett thought they were going to fall out.
    â€˜You gonna punch me one, huh?’
    â€˜No,’ Frog croaked through a gulp.
    â€˜That’s good then. I wasn’t planning on going to hospital on my first day.’ Then, pushing himself from the door frame, Brett asked, ‘Can I come in? I mean, that’s if it’s safe.’
    Embarrassed, Frog grinned weakly. He crouched down to pick up the rest of his mess and put it away.Brett didn’t know what scared this kid more: catching him out, or realising his new roommate already knew his nickname.
    â€˜You’re Brett, huh?’
    Brett sauntered over to his bed and tucked his cigarettes, lighter and Violet Crumble into his bag. He pocketed the gum. That was for later. ‘Yep. That’s what it says on my bag.’
    The kid paled and Brett half-grinned.
    He sat on his mattress as Frog walked behind his own. Once there, he sunk slowly to the ground, one eye on Brett and one eye on what he was looking for.
    â€˜So the rumours are true,’ a deep voice said from the doorway. ‘We do have some new raw meat.’
    Frog jumped and hit his head