‘Great.’
‘Jack, what do you think of this?’ Anna asks. It’s a blue ribbon.
‘Great.’
‘Jack, what do you think of this?’ Samantha asks. It’s a green ribbon.
‘Great.’ I think my brain has melted. My eyes are glazed. Rob’s still mowing the lawn. It’s the longest mow ever. Why has he left me stranded? I want to mow too. Oh no, Nanna’s turn.
‘Jack, do you need a drink. Juice?’
Sigh. I love Nanna. ‘Yessssss. I’ll make some for everyone. Just need to squeeze some oranges.’ It’s my smart plan. I’ll take ages and ages to do it. The juice is a bonus.
I’m at the fridge, slowly getting out oranges. Slowly cutting them. Slowly squeezing them in the juicer. Slowly getting glasses. Slowly pouring it out. I stand watching them. They’re laughing and chatting about the invitations for my thirteenth birthday. The most important thing in the world. Suddenly, a warm feeling passes through me like sunlight. I pick up my camera. Click. Click. Click. Samantha notices and makes a face. Click. Click. Click. Nanna’s laughing so hard she sneezes glitter all over her cookies. Click. Click. Click. Mum fluffs her hair.
I shout out the window. ‘Fresh orange juice.’ Rob waves. ‘Rob, the grass is screaming for help. If you don’t stop, it’s going to look like your head.’ Click. Click. Click. Screaming grass.
‘Keep the juice for me. Nearly finished.’ Rob gives me a how-smart-am-I look.
‘You know, the invitations are pretty much done, Rob.’
‘Oh, is that right?’ Rob turns off the mower. ‘Then the lawn’s done.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Dead and buried, more like.’
There’s a major post-invitation clean-up going on. I’m in charge of the garbage removal. ‘Make sure you put that in the recycling bin, Jack.’
‘Mum, as if I wouldn’t. You’re talking to a scientist here.’
It’s done. Tidy, clean, ready. Anna has the pile of cards. ‘Jack, you sit on the lounge.’ I do what I’m told on this mad invitation-card day, especially by Anna. Samantha is Anna’s assistant. Rob arrives. Everyone’s here and ready.
We’re all looking at Anna. ‘I know we’ve annoyed you, Jack.’
‘Nooo . . . Not true,’ I lie.
Everyone laughs. ‘Yeee-esss . . . True, true, true.’
‘OK, a bit true.’
‘But we want your birthday to be the best ever, because,’ Anna blushes, ‘you are the best.’
I go red. Mum giggles and nudges Rob. I give her a glare. Mum stops giggling. Anna turns to Samantha, who hands her an invitation. Anna holds it up, displaying the front. It glitters and sparkles. There’s a hole cut in it. You can see the miniature surfboard. Across the front is School’s Out in flowing capitals.
Samantha opens it and hands it to Anna. Inside is a beach scene with sand, shells and seaweed. It reads:
Surf’s In
Get Amped
For The Endless Summer
At Jack’s thirteenth
You’re invited to drop in and ride the wave
Anna and Samantha are jumping up and down. ‘Do you like it? Do you? Do you?’
I like it.
I’m making a list of people to invite to my birthday.
Christopher, Paul, Leo, Anna, Maggie, Samantha, the whole soccer team. I can’t leave anyone out. Should I invite the footy team? Well, Paul’s coming. I like some of the other guys but . . . I’ll think about it tomorrow.
OK, back to what I do every night. Look for Dad. I press Search.
Chapter 15
The Eagle
My door creaks open. ‘Jack, you’re late for your paper run.’
‘Go away, Mum. Paul’s doing my paper run today.’ Groaning, I roll over. Mum closes the door. I was up super late last night. Thought I had a lead. Sleep. Sleep. More sleep.
‘Jack, Jack, Jack. Breakfaaaaast,’ Samantha screeches down the hallway. I open my eyes. Look at the clock. 8.15 am. Close my eyes.
The door bangs open. ‘Breakfast, lazy. Get up. We’ll be late for school.’
I chuck a pillow at Samantha. ‘Go away.’ She doesn’t.
Mum’s hair fuzzes through the door. ‘What’s wrong, Jack?’
Oh no, she’s on my case. Groan. ‘Headache, Mum.’
Rob arrives. ‘What’s up?’ I jam my other pillow over my head but I can tell they’re all just standing there. Ugh.
Nanna waddles through the door. ‘Jack.’
‘Anyone else want to come in?’ I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of my bed. ‘You win. I’m getting out of bed.’
Nanna has tears in the corner of her eyes.
‘Nanna don’t cry. I’ve only got a headache.’
Wiping her face, Nanna pats my hand. ‘Maybe Jack needs a day off school. He doesn’t take days off often. And I’d like company today . . .’ Nanna’s voice peters out. She looks at Mum, then at Grandad’s photo on my wall. Mum puts her hands to her mouth and gives a small gulp. She looks at me, then Samantha.
‘Both of you can take the day off. Be with Nanna. It’s a special day. To remember Grandad.’ Mum puts her arm around Nanna. ‘Wish I could stay, but I have to work. I’m going to think about him all day.’
I think about the date. Five years today. I feel his hand around mine like that last time.
Rob and Mum head off to work and Nanna gets busy. She packs a bag of cookies, checks her handbag, and rattles her house keys before she drops them inside the bag to be lost forever between tissues and combs and lipstick and a photo album of us. She checks her teeth are in, nods at me. ‘Time to visit Grandad.’
Slinging my camera over my shoulder, I get a fold-up chair from the shed. I lean it against the wall, dig into my pocket for my phone and message Anna:
Jack: Won’t be at school today. Seeing Grandad’s grave with Nanna & Sammy. Can you tell Chris & everyone?
Anna: Oh Jack. Wish I could come.
Me too.
Samantha sits next to Nanna on the bus, holding the bag of cookies.
I stand, peering out of the window. ‘We’re here.’ I point to the gravestones dotting the hill.
The bus jerks to a stop. Nanna nearly crashes to the floor, but I grab her arm, so she crashes into Samantha, who stops her from toppling over. ‘Are you right?’
‘Right as rain.’ Her eyes twinkle. ‘As long as you both are here.’ Samantha hugs Nanna, which is one of Nanna’s favourite things in the world.
Puffing, Nanna waddles up the hill. Grandad’s grave is right at the top, overlooking a bay. I unfold the chair next to it. ‘He always wanted a sea view. Now he’s got one forever.’ She heaves herself into the chair then points to the cookies. ‘We can all have one. Oh, put out some for Grandad too. He’d like that.’
‘But the birds will eat them.’
‘Maybe he is a bird now.’ Nanna holds out her hand to the sky.
‘He’s an eagle, Nanna.’ I crumble some cookies and put them near the headstone. ‘He’d see everything from here.’
‘Grandad does see everything.’ Nanna smiles at me.
Nanna gets up from her chair and pulls out weeds from the side of his grave. Samantha and I help. A shadow ripples over the grass. I look up. A sea eagle is soaring above the hilltop, gliding right out to sea.
Nanna stands up. ‘Let’s see where he’s flying.’ She holds Samantha’s hand. ‘Are you coming, Jack?’
‘Just want to stay here for a while.’
Nanna nods and wanders slowly away with Samantha. I watch the eagle, then take out my camera. He’s like a king, gliding over hills, diving, swooping, climbing again. I zoom in until I feel like I’m flying with him. A pain shoots through my head and I let go of my camera. It drops, swinging from the straps. Holding my head, I lean on Grandad’s grave. Whispering, I press my head against the stone. ‘Why are you here? Grandad, you promised you wouldn’t leave me until I didn’t need you any more. I need you.’
Chapter 16
Walk in My Shoes
‘Missed you yesterday, Jack. Are you right?’ Mr Angelou says.
‘I’m right, sir. Family stuff.’ He doesn’t look sure. ‘I’m good, sir.’
As soon as I get to my desk, Christopher whispers. ‘Your Grandad? Are you OK?’
I nod. I don’t want to talk. I get out my pen. When I look up, Anna’s turned around. She mouths. ‘Grandad?’ I feel a lump rising in my throat.
‘Ethics today. Open your work. To Kill A Mockingbird.’ Mr Angelou waits until we’re all paying attention then gives us a section to re-read in groups. He wanders around making sure everyone’s focusing. After a while he sits down with the whole class and asks, ‘Why do you think that Atticus Finch, a white lawyer, defended a black man in a racist country town?’
George Hamel whispers, ‘He’s colourblind.’ Winger swallows a laugh, nudges Hawkie, who swallows a sneer, who nudges Paul, who pretends he didn’t hear.
Mr Angelou gives them a stare. ‘It’s class time. Do any of you have an answer?’
George, Winger and Hawkie stop whispering. They shake their heads. ‘Jack. What do you think?’
Christopher swings his chair towards me. Why’s Mr Angelou asking me? I don’t feel like talking or thinking about this now. Everyone’s staring at me. I’ve got to say something. ‘Um, well. Atticus Finch, he’s a quiet family guy, you know? A single dad in a small town where black people are treated unfairly. The white guys try to beat up this poor black man, who’s just trying to look after his family. Atticus defends him because it doesn’t matter what colour you are. Everyone deserves a fair go.’
‘That’s right, Jack. Everyone deserves a fair go.’ Anna smiles at me. That lump in my throat is rising again.
Mr Angelou points to the board. ‘You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . Until you climb inside of his skin, walk around in it.’
‘What does it mean, to “climb inside of his skin, walk around in it”?’ Mr Angelou looks at Winger sitting next to him. ‘Winger?’
Winger has no idea. He shrugs. I squint at Hawkie with his bandaged nose, then at Christopher. Winger doesn’t care.
‘Come on. You’re inside someone’s skin. Standing in their shoes. What do you think?’
I fiddle with my pen. Shoes. I don’t want to be in Christopher’s shoes. He’s scared. Rob’s shoes? Mum’s shoes? Nanna’s? I’ve got to think. Do I want to even stand in my shoes? I have to find the answers.
The bell rings. Mr Angelou sighs. ‘We’ll continue this in our next Ethics class.’
Lunchtime. The new kid in class, Freddie, is standing at his desk holding his footy ball. I can tell he doesn’t know where to go or what to do. ‘Come on, Freddie. A pile of us are going to kick a ball around on the sports field. Tag footy.’ He falls over his feet getting out from behind his desk. A yell comes across the room. ‘Freaky Freddie.’
I turn around and yell back. ‘You’re the freak.’ There’re laughs and Freddie laughs too. ‘Come on, mate. Girls versus guys touch footy.’ The girls are pretty good at kicking. I’m not a bad kicker either. I’m getting a bit sick of being in the reserves for footy. Thinking of changing back to soccer. I’m good at that. Mum’ll be happy. Rob won’t. I don’t want Rob to think I’m a loser.
I bite into my sandwich as we race ahead. Christopher stops. I stop. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Forgot my lunch. Hey, but don’t wait for me.’ He chucks the ball to me. ‘I’ll be there soon.’
‘OK. Catch you in a minute.’ I wolf down the rest of the sandwich as I race with the guys to the field. I wave at the girls.
‘Girls against boys,’ Maggie and Anna call out together.
‘Haven’t got a chance,’ I shout back.
The teams line up. Paul calls out. ‘There’re more girls on their team. How unfair is that?’
‘Chicken, eh?’ Maggie hoots.
Paul and I crow together. ‘Watch out for the roosters.’
‘See who’s crowing after the game,’ the girls shout back.
The coin’s tossed. Anna calls heads. Girls win the toss. The ball’s in play. There’re kicks, runs, steals, passes. Anna kicks a huge one. Paul lunges and blocks. Cheers. Goal, goal, goal. Boys jump in the air, slapping hands.
Mrs Banneker wanders over. She’s on lunch duty. The ball’s going fast down the line. Maggie’s got it. ‘Go girls,’ Mrs Banneker shouts.
‘Is that fair, Mrs B?’ I yell as I race to catch the girls.
‘All’s fair in love and war.’
‘But it’s sport.’ I run backwards raising my hands to Mrs Banneker.
Eleven all. Mrs Banneker points to her watch. ‘Bell’s rung. Last play.’ The girls control the ball and run. Anna kicks a goal. Girls scream. Girls leap into each other’s arms. I stand there gobsmacked. Anna can do anything. What a kick. Then I grin: except maybe bat in cricket.
‘Good play by everyone.’ Mrs Banneker smiles. ‘Boys too.’
I’m never going to see Mrs Banneker in the same light. How’s my work going to cope? As far as I can see, Ponto’s a male. I’m shaking my head, when I suddenly remember. Where’s Christopher? Oh, I see him coming our way. I race towards him. ‘What are you? A snail?’ Christopher stares at his shoes. ‘You’ve missed the whole game.’ He looks up and I see it. A crack right across one lens of his glasses. ‘What happened?’ Then I notice a red scrape right along his arm.
‘It’s nothing.’ He slides his arms behind his back.
I see Winger with George Hamel and their mates. ‘It’s them, isn’t it?’
Christopher shakes his head. ‘No.’
‘I’m going over. We can stand up together. They can’t kill us.’
‘Don’t, Jack. Don’t.’ His voice cracks. ‘If you do, they’ll do stuff.’
‘What can they do?’ I head towards them.
Christopher grabs my shirt. ‘Don’t. They’ve done it already. Painted . . .’ he stammers, ‘chink . . . over the bakery wall again. My parents pretended that they weren’t scared, but they were. It took them to bad places in Vietnam. To the war. We painted over it but . . . they’ll do it again. Please, just leave it. Please don’t.
I stop. ‘Look, I’ve been there. We’ve got to do something.’
‘I know. Just not now.’
We walk to the boys’ toilets. There’re gravel bits and blood stuck in Christopher’s elbow. He won’t talk about what happened.
Ping. Ping. I look at my phone and frown. Facebook messages:
Legend: C betta now. 4-eyes.
Noddi: Saw arm?
Coola: Speling mate! Ha! Saw it off?
Likes: 22. Shares: 6.
Can’t sleep. I’m on the computer searching. Where’s my dad? I’m sick of dead ends. Go to bed. Can’t sleep. Get up. Look through my telescope. There’re lots of stars tonight. It’s a half-moon. Go to bed. I close my eyes. All I can see is Christopher’s broken black glasses. They look like monsters. I jump up. Anna’s looking at me from my photo wall. I put my hand on her picture. I go back to bed, but this time it’s the pool. George Hamel and Winger are there. The pool. I don’t want to remember that day. What they did. Finally, I fall asleep.
Out of the pool. ‘Dressing rooms,’ Mr Angelou shouts. ‘You’ve got ten minutes.’ The showers, Should I go in first? Second? Last? Mr Angelou’s shouting at us to move it. I head for the middle dressing room. The boys jam into the other two dressing rooms and I can hear them throwing things and shouting. George Hamel’s voice echoes against the walls. I can’t help shuddering. Why do they hate me?
I’m alone in the middle dressing room. My head’s throbbing. I get changed as quickly as I can. Panic. Don’t cry, Jack. Don’t. Almost dressed. A white blob catapults over the partition and slides down it. Another blob hits my back. I don’t understand. Why? Why? Should I shout at them? Should I bang on the wall? But there’s only me in here. What will I do? There’s jeering. ‘Bum Head’, ‘Butt Head’, then a hailstorm of spit. I can’t move. I can’t breath
e. It’s so filthy. So disgusting. A big one lands on my shoe, splattering like egg white. I stare at my shoe. I grab my stuff and race out of the dressing rooms.
* * *
Panting, I sit up, leaning on my hands. The pool. No one’s ever going to bully me again. I can’t stand by. Christopher’s my mate. I’ve got to do something.
Chapter 17
The Shoebox
What a rotten night. Glad Paul’s doing the paper run this morning. Mum’s gone already. She’s dropping Samantha at her before-school gym class. Rob’s left for work. It’s just Nanna and me on the porch. Nanna sips her milky tea. I take out my camera. Click, click, click. A series of Nanna looking, smiling, thinking, sipping . . . her wrinkly eyes, her hands around the teacup, her sore feet in sandals, the crinkles at the side of her mouth, the jam stain on her blouse, her locket with Grandad’s picture.
‘Are you wearing your purple undies, Nanna?’
She chuckles, flicking up her skirt. Click. Click. Click. Yes, they’re purple.
As I head off, I look back at Nanna in the garden, watering the sunflowers and daisies. I’m so lucky she’s here.
I arrive outside the Tran Bakery and wait for Christopher. He sticks his head out of the shop entrance. His glasses are still cracked. He jumps when he sees me. ‘It’s just me. Thought I’d walk with you to the bus stop today.’
He looks around for my tag-along sister. ‘Where’s Samantha?’
‘Before-school gym class. Mum dropped her off.’ He’s still looking around. ‘There’s no one else here.’
He stammers. ‘I know that.’
‘Hey, Christopher. I’m here.’ He’s quiet as we walk towards the bus stop. ‘My birthday invites are coming soon. They’re pretty amazing, but I didn’t make them. I’m not talented enough. The girl club did—Anna, Samantha, Nanna and Mum. They had fun doing it. Too much fun.’
‘I am glad.’ Christopher’s speaking in a strange jerky way.
There are a couple of guys waiting for the bus. ‘Hey, let’s stand over there.’ We plonk our bags in a quiet spot under a tree. ‘I’m showing Mr Angelou the film of the game. The whole film. You’ve got to stand up for what’s right.’ I wait.
Being Jack Page 7
