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pointed out his unimportance to him.
    “Because in their country there mightn’t be a line,” Tara Finke says.
    “They just want to come here because we’re the land of plenty,” this girl who always states the obvious says, stating the obvious.
    “Yeah, plenty of bullshit,” Thomas Mackee mutters under his breath. Tara Finke and I look at him, surprised, while Brolin comes stalking down the aisle to write in Thomas Mackee’s diary for language.
    “I agree with Thomas,” Tara Finke says.
    Thomas Mackee looks horrified. “Don’t.”
    “Don’t what?”
    “Don’t agree with me.” He looks around at his friends, and with his finger twirling around his head, he makes the “she’s cuckoo” sign. They snicker with him.
    “We have a responsibility,” she continues without missing a beat.
    “What? To let terrorists into the country?” Brian Turner asks.
    “I thought we were talking refugees, not terrorists,” Thomas Mackee says.
    “See, you agree with me,” Tara Finke argues.
    “I do not agree with you. I just don’t agree with them,” he says, rolling his eyes.
    “In what way don’t you agree with me?” she snaps. “We’re saying the same thing. That there’s plenty of bullshit here and that refugees aren’t terrorists.”
    Brolin grabs Tara’s diary to record the “bullshit” because it gives him a purpose.
    “We’re the only democratic country in the world that puts children in jail,” she says, looking around at everyone.
    “It’s very easy to express outrage from your comfortable middle-class world, Miss Finke,” Mr. Brolin says, pleased with himself.
    “Well, that’s pretty convenient,” she says sarcastically. “Shut the comfortable middle class up and rely on the fact that the uncomfortable lower classes in the world aren’t able to express outrage and offer solutions. They’re too busy trying not to get killed.”
    “I don’t like your tone,” he says.
    “My tone’s not going to change, Mr. Brolin.”
    “You have to question where you get your facts from,” Brian Turner says.
    “Where do you get yours? The Telegraph? Today Tonight? Your parents? Well, my mum works for the Red Cross Refugee and International Tracing Agency, and she goes and visits the people in Villawood every two weeks. We don’t put on our uniforms just when it suits us, and I resent someone stopping me from saying what I believe just because I live happily in the suburbs.”
    Mr. Brolin looks uncomfortable. He’s saved by the bell, and he’s out of there before we even pick up our books.
    Ryan Burke, a guy from my English preliminary extension class, approaches us, smiling.
    “We’re trying to get a social-justice group thing happening around here,” he tells us. “You interested?”
    “Sounds cool,” Tara says.
    “Oh shucks. Wish I belonged,” Thomas Mackee snickers as he passes by with his posse.
    “Ignore him,” Ryan Burke says, walking alongside us. “He’s just trying to rebel. His mother’s high up in antidiscrimination.”
    “That should come in handy when he gets discriminated against for not having a brain,” Tara says before leaving us for her design and technology class.
    We’re outside our English preliminary extension room and end up sitting together.
    I like Ryan Burke and his group. They can be cool and take their work seriously at the same time. Even the slackers like them, although once or twice there’ll be a dig about their dedication. These guys feel just as comfortable surfing as they do going to the theater. They like girls but don’t feel the need to date them, and at first they were the hardest to get to know because they had so many female friends from outside the school. More than anything, they enjoy each other’s company, and although there is a lot of tension between them because of their competitiveness, they’re the type of guys you like to see around the place.
    Ryan Burke is good-looking. He has that golden-haired look, with a gorgeous smile.