Steal My Stuff: February 2011

'That's two shots for me!'

Callum slithered to the back of the table and pulled out the white ball. He placed it near the line without much thought before quickly smacking it as hard as possible. It clattered into a small clump of coloured balls, dispersing them.

'You ruined your clump!' said Jarrad, watching on, the tip of his cue rubbing against his double chin.

'Nah, don't need it. You only need that when you're playing against a better player.' He grinned and smacked the white ball onto the yellow number one, which bounced against the pocket and then popped out. 'Argh!'

'Ha! Better player, hey? You haven't even sunk a ball!'

Jarrad shuffled to the table, his baggy pants making a ruffling noise. He surveyed the table expertly, his head swivelling in quick, stiff movements. Only three “bigs” left. 'If you want any tips, I'd be happy to oblige.' He smiled, peering at Callum with the outside of his eye.

A slight bend at the waist, a smooth movement with the cue, and a light tap sent the white ball gliding across the table to the maroon number fifteen, sending it into the side pocket with ease. The white ball rolled a little further, resting against the cushion, in line with the number fourteen.

'Did you want my autograph now, or should we wait till I flounce you?' scoffed Jarrad.

'Blah, blah; just play!' said Callum, shaking his head. 'Fast game's a good game.'

Short, shallow breaths blew stray dust from the freshly chalked tip of Jarrad's cue.

'Oh, come onnnnn,' droned Callum. 'Just play already. I still gotta revise for Learning Percep.'

'Heh, you haven't done that either? When's your tute? Tomorrow?'

'Today. Straight after lecture.'

Jarrad put away the fourteen ball and watched the cue ball bounce against the pocket before breaking free and gliding to the middle of the table. 'Cutting it fine,' he said.

'Nothin' different. But I'm hearing the tap.'

'The what?' said Jarrad, missing his shot.

'The tap. You know, when you're 'sposed to be doing something but you cee-be-eff doing it, and you get this tapping in your head. Tap, tap, tap.'

Callum walked to the table casually, his lanky arms flailing below him. He looked over at Jarrad and played a blind shot while continuing to talk. 'The tapping gets louder and louder until it changes to a voice telling you to just do it and stop wasting time. That's even more annoying!'

'You should do what I do,' said Jarrad, lumbering toward the table. 'Bastard!' He snarled at Callum's lucky snooker, tilting his head to the left and then the right, looking for an angle. 'Whenever I'm supposed to be doing something, like uni or whatever, and I ceebs doing it, I'm always motivated to do something else. It's like my mind is playing its own little practical joke on me. So I figured out a way to trick my mind.'

Jarrad wiped some sweat from his lower lip and, with raised cue, played down on the cue ball, creating enough spin to curve around and hit his own “big” orange ball. 'Woo!'

He continued: 'So yeah, if I really need to do an assignment, I'll force myself to believe that my room really needs to be cleaned. Like fully cleaned, top to bottom. That kinda crap. That way, my mind will be happy for me to do anything but clean the room. So I feel more motivation to study. It thinks I'm just procrastinating. Stupid thing.'

'Excuse me?' thought Jarrad's mind. 'You're calling me stupid?'

'That's not a bad idea,' said Callum. 'We should probably go to lecture after this.'

'You think I don't know what's going on?' said Jarrad's mind. 'You think I don't let you do whatever you want? Of course you don't – you can't even think. I can!'

'Maybe,' said Jarrad.

'And I'm not annoying,' said Callum's mind, timidly. 'I just want what's best for us.'

Jarrad took distracted aim and miss-hit the cue ball, causing it to veer into the eight ball. His eyes widened as the eight rolled effortlessly and cleanly into the side pocket.

'Yeah!' shouted Callum, rising up in triumph. 'Too easy!'

'Off to class?' said Jarrad, annoyed.

Callum was already racking up another game. He shrugged his shoulders. 'Ceebs!'