Mr Bambuckle's Remarkables on the Lookout

by Tim Harris

I clutched the crayon and did my best to scrawl the letters of my name. I could see Wendy out of the corner of my eye. She was scribbling in a folder, taking notes.

  ‘Why the need to test?’ I asked.

  ‘We have to make sure you’re meeting the outcomes,’ said Wendy. ‘Every child has to do the same –’

  ‘It’s not really fair,’ I said, cutting her off. ‘Kids shouldn’t be made to do all this stuff so adults can tick a couple of boxes. It puts too much stress on us to perform. Elephants look funny.’

  Wendy closed the folder and gave a half smile. ‘That’ll be all for now, Gabby.’

  Mum was a little disappointed when my results were sent home.

  ‘Gabby,’ she said, ‘I’m concerned about your report. You shouldn’t still be writing your Ks back-to-front, especially when you’re so exceptional at other things like talking. I have high expectations of you, young lady.’

  ‘I’m four and a half,’ I replied. ‘It’s not a big deal. Can we go to the beach tomorrow?’

  ‘Not when there’s study to be done,’ said Mum. ‘You’re gifted. You start school next year and you need to focus on your grades.’

  ‘That’s your concern,’ I said. ‘Just because I’m good at speaking, you think I should be good at everything. You wanna know something? I’m not! Can I have a nap?’

  Although Dad was more relaxed about my report card, he wasn’t happy with my tone. He seemed pretty stressed lately too. ‘That’s no way to speak to your mother, Gabby. Go to your room at once.’

  Grace watched in silence from the lounge.

  I marched down the hallway to my room and shut the door. I was beginning to resent the fact that words came so easily to me. It was making the rest of life difficult. Grace had the right idea – she spent her days filling blank pages with made-up stories. Her silence made her invisible.

  Or so I thought.

  One afternoon, I could hear Mum and Dad talking in the kitchen.

  ‘Gabby is a bright little girl,’ said Mum. ‘She’ll excel at the right school if she applies herself.’

  ‘Grace will too,’ said Dad. ‘Her writing never ceases to amaze me. But try not to set the bar too high for them. Don’t forget – they’re just kids.’

  Mum ignored the advice and began researching which school we should attend. Unsurprisingly, she chose the most expensive and prestigious school in Blue Valley in the hopes we would flourish there.

  We didn’t.

  Not really.

  Going to a posh school doesn’t make you a genius. It just increases the pressure to perform because there is money involved. Our parents were forking out truckloads for Grace and I to attend Blue Valley Grammar, and Mum expected results.

  ‘Gabby, your speaking is strong, but maths is letting you down,’ she said.

  My sister had the opposite problem.

  ‘Grace, we’re worried about your report too,’ said Mum. ‘Your writing is great, but you need to start talking sooner or later.’

  While Grace would make sounds – such as humming if she was in a good mood – she refused to talk. Mum had taken her to every speech pathologist in Blue Valley, but they all said the same thing. ‘There is nothing wrong with her vocal cords. She is simply choosing not to talk.’

  I was the only one who knew about Grace’s vow of silence. She had written me a letter, telling me she could speak but wanted to remain quiet. She explained that she didn’t like the anxiety she felt every time Mum quizzed us about our grades. It was her way of making a point – a silent protest.

  But the intensity of expectation only grew the older we got. With every test result came a stern talking-to from Mum.

  A few weeks ago, before we moved to this school, Mum was really hounding us. ‘Eighty-three per cent in writing is very good, but you have better in you,’ she told Grace. ‘I have high expectations of you, young lady.’

  ‘And Gabby,’ she said, looking at me, ‘you have better results in you too. Fifty-six per cent for writing is –’

  ‘A strong-ish pass,’ I said, not letting her finish. ‘I worked my butt off for that exam. You even made me stay home when all my friends went to the movies. I tried my best. Talking doesn’t make me clever at everything – I’ve told you that before. Octopus ink is yucky.’

  Usually Dad would stick up for us and remind Mum not to put too much pressure on us, but he was working late at the office and hadn’t been around much recently.

  ‘Just promise me you’ll nail the big exam next week,’ growled Mum.

  ‘Like that’s even possible,’ I said. ‘Nobody knows what it will be! Not even the teachers. How are we supposed to study for something the government is keeping top-secret? I smell bacon.’

  ‘Don’t be naive,’ said Mum. ‘You know the last six years have switched between maths and writing. We’re all expecting it to be a writing test this year. The principal emailed the parents to tell us –’

  ‘What if they surprise us with maths again? Or science?’ I said. ‘Talking isn’t going to help me with those subjects. Maple syrup looks like honey.’

  Mum frowned. ‘Just promise, okay? You know this is the biggest assessment of the year.’

  ‘We’ll try our best,’ I said half-heartedly.

  Grace gave a hopeful thumbs up. I could tell she was nervous. The countdown to the secret exam was on.

  Not many people care about the secret test the government makes us do. The teachers hate it. The students hate it. Even the school gardener hates it, though I’m not sure why.

  Our stony-faced teachers ushered us inside the school hall. The desks had been separated to prevent anyone from copying, and we were placed in alphabetical order. At least I was next to Grace.

  The principal, Mrs Tilly, was holding a huge stack of exam papers. Her eyebrows were furrowed into the shape of a frustrated ‘V’. ‘The government, in its infinite wisdom,’ she said, ‘has decided to spring a nasty surprise on us this year.’

  I looked at Grace. She shrugged her shoulders. She was as clueless as me. What ‘nasty surprise’ could possibly be worse than an exam nobody knew anything about?

  ‘This year,’ continued Mrs Tilly, ‘the test will consist of two parts.’

  A ripple of nervous twitches flickered across the hall. The students didn’t like the sound of a two-part exam.

  ‘The first component is creative writing,’ said Mrs Tilly. ‘You have one hour to complete your work.’ She divided the stack of papers between the teachers and they started dumping them on our desks.

  Grace leaned over and tapped me on the arm.

  ‘What is it?’ I whispered.

  She pointed to my pencil and shook her finger.

  ‘But I have to use it,’ I said. ‘Mum will kill me if I don’t write anything.’

  Grace pointed to me and shook her finger. Then she pointed to herself and put her thumb up.

  ‘You’ll do the test for me?’

  She nodded willingly.

  I imagined Mum frowning at my writing results.

  ‘Yeah … okay,’ I said.

  Mrs Tilly tapped a bell. ‘And your time starts … now.’

  Grace motioned for me to pretend to write on my test. She then started on her own.

  After about half an hour, she looked around to check that none of the teachers were watching. She slid her completed test onto my desk and took my blank paper. She winked at me and started to write again.

  I read through Grace’s story and her writing was nothing short of amazing. It was hard to believe she was now writing for me. She has such a gift for language – just not the spoken type.

  After another half hour, Mrs Tilly rang the bell. ‘Your time is up,’ she said. ‘Please have your tests ready for collection.’

  We sneakily swapped back our papers and I had a quick scan over what Grace had written for me. Needless to say, she totally nailed it.

  I pictured Mum beaming at me when the writing results were sent home. ‘Thanks, sis,’ I whispered to Grace. �
�I owe you one.’

  Mrs Tilly clapped her hands for attention. ‘The second component of the exam involves public speaking.’

  I couldn’t believe my ears. Did she just say ‘public speaking’? Finally, a test I could excel in. On my own!

  Grace started biting one of her nails.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I whispered. ‘I owe you one, remember?’

  Having a last name that starts with ‘W’ has its advantages. The public speaking test was completed in alphabetical order, so Grace and I were right near the end. It gave me plenty of time to come up with a plan to step in for my silent twin.

  Each student had to talk for two minutes on a random topic that Mrs Tilly drew from a hat. A teacher from another school wrote our marks on a test form and handed it in after the speech.

  The other great thing about alphabetical order is that ‘Gabby’ comes before ‘Grace’. It was perfect for my plan.

  ‘Gabby Wu,’ said Mrs Tilly, ‘it’s your turn to speak.’

  I walked to the front of the hall and faced the audience.

  Mrs Tilly reached into the hat, her fingers fumbling over the final topic slips. She clasped one and drew it out. ‘You’ll be speaking to us about the importance of recycling,’ she said.

  I took a deep breath and grinned. The words flowed from my mouth like music. I was in my chatting element.

  I timed my speech to perfection, finishing at exactly two minutes. The rapturous applause from my classmates told me I’d smashed it out of the park.

  ‘Well done, Gabby,’ said Mrs Tilly proudly. ‘You may return to your seat.’ She glanced at the teacher from the other school, who was enthusiastically ticking boxes on my score sheet.

  Just before I reached my desk, I deliberately tripped over a table leg. I crashed into Grace’s seat, and we tumbled over each other, rolling onto the floor in a confusing tangle of twins.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Mrs Tilly. ‘Girls, are you all right?’

  I nodded silently and picked up Grace’s seat.

  Grace – like only a twin can – knew exactly what I was planning. She straightened herself up and moved across to my chair, sitting down with the confidence of a girl who had just nailed a two-minute speech. We had switched places.

  Mrs Tilly, thinking I was Grace, invited me to the stage. ‘Do your best,’ she said under her breath. ‘I know this sort of thing is hard for you.’

  The audience was looking at me differently this time around. It was as though they were offering sympathy with their eyes. In that moment, I knew what it felt like to be Grace.

  ‘You’ll be speaking to us about native animals,’ said Mrs Tilly.

  I cleared my throat. ‘While I usually prefer to remain silent,’ I said, ‘the topic of native animals is enough to warrant hearty discussion.’

  Mrs Tilly put her hand to her chest. ‘Bless you, Grace,’ she said, just loud enough so I could hear.

  Grace winked at me from my desk. She had saved my skin in the writing test, and now it was time to return the favour.

  When Grace and I were called to Mrs Tilly’s office a few days later, I was sure it was because we’d been caught. My gut pinged with regret – I knew it was the wrong thing to do and I had never felt so scared in my life. I clutched Grace’s hand tightly and knocked on the door.

  Mrs Tilly opened up and smiled kindly, inviting us in. It wasn’t the sort of welcome a principal gave if you’d been found cheating on a government test. What was going on?

  Mum and Dad were in her office too. They were sitting in chairs opposite Mrs Tilly’s giant oak desk.

  ‘Girls,’ said Mrs Tilly, ‘your parents are here today so that I could share some sad news …’

  I glanced at Grace. Were we in trouble? What would our punishment be?

  Mrs Tilly sensed our uncertainty and she looked at Dad. ‘Perhaps it’s best if you break the news, Mr Wu.’

  Dad swallowed hard. ‘Grace and Gabby, you know how much your mother and I love you and value your education here at Blue Valley Grammar …’

  Mrs Tilly nodded as though it were the right thing to say.

  ‘But last night we made the decision that I’d quit my job so I can spend more time with you girls. We’ve all been working too hard. It’s time to start living more,’ said Dad.

  My head began to spin. This was completely unexpected.

  ‘I don’t want you to worry,’ continued Dad. ‘We’re going to be okay, and I’ve picked up some part-time work down the road. But, unfortunately, this means that your mother and I can no longer afford to send you to Blue Valley Grammar.’

  A brief silence filled the room.

  Mum and Dad stood up and shook Mrs Tilly’s hand. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for the girls,’ said Mum.

  Mrs Tilly gently motioned us towards the door. ‘It will be our loss. We will miss Gabby’s bubbly energy and Grace’s wonderful … er … conducting skills. Now, before you go, the government was kind enough to grant us early access to their test results. I’m thrilled to let you know that both girls scored over ninety per cent on each exam.’

  ‘Over ninety per cent!?’ I squealed.

  Mum jumped into the air and did so many fist pumps it looked like she was in an imaginary fight. ‘YES! YES! YES!’

  ‘Well done, girls,’ said Dad.

  Grace grinned at me.

  Mum stopped fist-pumping and apologised for the commotion.

  Mrs Tilly held the door open for us. She shook our hands and wished us all the best at our new school, then whispered, ‘I didn’t realise your mother cared so much about test results.’

  ‘Where is our new school?’ I asked, suddenly realising things were about to change.

  ‘Just down the road at Blue Valley,’ said Dad.

  ‘That’s where I used to go,’ said an unfamiliar voice.

  I turned around to see who had spoken. A girl with bright eyes waved at me. Her brown hair was tied up with a pretty red ribbon. ‘It’s a wonderful school,’ she said, ‘because there’s a remarkable teacher there. Keep an eye out for Mr Bambuckle.’

  Mrs Tilly smiled. ‘And you must be Scarlett Geeves. Your teacher sent us a glowing report of you. He made it impossible for us to turn down your enrolment here.’

  Scarlett beamed with a strange confidence I don’t think I’ve ever seen in a girl my age before. She didn’t look the slightest bit worried about starting a new school.

  It was the opposite of how I was beginning to feel.

  Scarlett stepped between me and Grace and whispered, ‘Mr Bambuckle told me I would meet some twins one day. He gave me a message for you. He told me to tell you … live life.’

  ‘Live life?’ I whispered back. ‘What does he mean?’

  ‘He knows everything,’ said Scarlett. ‘You’ll work it out.’

  ‘We must get going,’ said Dad. ‘We have an appointment soon with your new principal, Mr Sternblast. You start there today.’

  We walked towards the car and I turned around to look at Blue Valley Grammar for the last time. ‘Does changing schools mean there’s less pressure on us to get top results now?’ I asked.

  The question seemed to take the wind out of Mum. She stopped and turned to face us, then leaned down to pull Grace and I in for a hug. ‘Now that you mention it,’ she said softly, ‘I want to apologise for the way I carried on in there … I just couldn’t help it when I heard your results. I was so proud of you.’

  For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘I’ve been putting too much pressure on you both,’ continued Mum. ‘When your father and I made the decision about his job, we also promised to ease up on you. There’s more to life than exams. I’m sorry for the way I’ve expected so much of you.’

  Did Mum just say that? Her honesty triggered something deep inside me and a sudden wave of emotion surged through my body. It was like two tsunamis – one of love and the other of truth – collided in my heart. ‘There’s something I need to say to you too,�
� I said. ‘Grace and I swapped places in the test so we would score higher. We’re really sorry.’ I blinked away a tear and could see my sister doing the same.

  Mum squeezed us tighter. ‘It’s my fault you did that.’

  ‘We’re going to live life from now on,’ said Dad.

  Live life. That sounded familiar.

  ‘It all starts this evening,’ said Dad. ‘We are going to spend more time together as a family, and tonight we are taking you out to trivia!’

  I liked the new Mum and Dad. Things were looking up.

  Grace gave everyone a huge high five and grinned from ear to ear.

  ‘So,’ I said, as we hopped into the car, ‘trivia night, huh?’

  ‘You bet!’ said Mum. ‘It’s going to be fun. Especially when we win.’

  ‘About that,’ I said, ‘considering how much older you are than Grace and I, and your level of general knowledge …’

  ‘Yes?’ said Mum.

  ‘We have high expectations of you, young lady.’

  The last thing Gabby expected when she finished her story was rousing applause from her new classmates. They clapped and cheered and patted her on the back, as though she had just scored the winning goal in a grand final.

  ‘Oh …’ said the talkative twin. ‘Thank you.’

  The teacher pulled a green apple from one of his jacket’s many inside pockets and took a bite. ‘Thank you for that wonderful tale, Gabby. We are all the wiser for having heard it.’

  The bright chirrups of a blue jay filled the classroom. Dodger soared in through an open window and landed on Mr Bambuckle’s shoulder. The bird whistled in his ear.

  ‘How very exciting,’ said the teacher. ‘It seems Slugger and Carrot have good news.’

  Seconds later, the boys walked into the classroom with a spring in their step.

  ‘We saw Vex!’ exclaimed Carrot.

  ‘Well?’ said Myra, who was pleased her credit card had been put to good use. ‘Where is he?’

  Slugger put his arm around Carrot’s shoulder. ‘What my buddy means is that we saw him on video – CCTV footage.’