Issue 4 2010 - Learning and teaching portal - Victoria University

Little Shot
Fiona.L.Browning
Sharon’s dead. That was how the day started. It was like I’d heard the shortest Chinese
whisper in the world. Girls huddled in clusters, arms encircling each other, seeking to
ward out the words. Boys stood alone or in pairs—silent stoic statues. Teachers hovered,
shepherding their charges towards their common rooms. I heard them as they walked past.
‘Such a waste of a young life.’
As I stood, stunned, in my locker bay, the words besieged my mind. Sharon was dead.
Forty-eight hours earlier we had all been celebrating. The first musical ever to be staged at
our school had concluded its fairytale run of three glorious days. Sharon was in charge of
the stage crew. She was a tiny, bubbly fountain of cheek, and one of those kids we junior
kids looked up to. It would be wrong to paint a picture of Sharon as the perfect student,
because she was far from it. She was always late to class, more often than not wagged last
period on a Friday, and had a running date scheduled with Miss Smith for lunchtime
detentions. But she was fun, and lovable and always looked out for us younger ones.
Being a super-nerd, I wasn’t much into sports, which Sharon loved, so I didn’t get to know
her until she was made Captain of my house. But she apparently knew me. She made
herself known to me at the swimming carnival. Some smart arse had put me down to do the
1500m, and five minutes before the race there she was dragging my sorry butt to the pool.
‘But I can’t swim that far,’ I implored, ‘I never signed up for this race. I can’t do it.’
None of it mattered. Before I knew what was happening I was standing on the block, with
four other kids and Sharon standing behind me, cheering for all she was worth.
I sometimes wonder if fate brought us together that day. Somehow, with Sharon walking up
and back with me, I finished the race. I was dead last, and held up the whole carnival with
my lousy time, but Sharon didn’t care. I’d done it. As I staggered up the steps, Sharon was
waiting for me with a towel. She smiled and thumped me on the back.
‘Way to go Little Shot!’ she said, and then repeated the whole process again with another
unwilling aquatic hero.
From that time on I knew I wanted to be like Sharon. Whenever I bumped into her at
school, she would give me a flash of her ever-present grin and say, ‘Hey Little Shot.’ I
wanted to know why she called me that, but with her in year eleven and me in year eight,
just her noticing me was one of those ‘oh-my-God-she-spoke-to-me,’ kinds of things which
left me incapable of a reply.
When the play was announced and Sharon was made stage manager, it was only natural for
all of her protégés to sign up to help. For over four months we worked with her, painting
scenery, making props and laughing as she goofed around with staff and students alike.
The week before the play she called us all together and announced that she was assigning a
couple of assistants to help her run the communications centre. As this was before mobile
phones, it meant manning the walkie talkies and carrying notes to the actors during the
performances. It seems inconsequential looking back now, but being picked for the job
made me feel so important, and for a chubby, A-grade nobody, that was a rare thing. .
On the final Saturday night, Sharon was even more vivacious than usual. As soon as the
lights in the gym went up and the audience left, she went into full party mode. Even though
teachers and parents there, Sharon managed to down a couple of UDLs and danced herself
silly. It was the era of Boy George and Bon Jovi and the girl got down. God, I so wanted to
be like Sharon. Just before she and a group of year elevens left for their own party, she came
up to me. She signed my program, gave me a hug and said, ‘Later Little Shot.’
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