Tall Story

by Candy Gourlay

  I crawled up to the TV on my knees. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was a long moment before I realized the voice whimpering was mine.

  The commentator droned on over more pictures of crumbled buildings, trees snapped like twigs, bodies. I searched the faces of the people being interviewed. Auntie? Uncle? Old Tibo? Jabby?

  But I didn’t recognize anyone else.

  San Andres was not the only village hit by the earthquake. I recognized San Isidro. Camachile. Santa Rita. All of Montalban had been reduced to ruins.

  The commentator chattered on but only one word rang clear in my head.

  Earthquake. Earthquake. Earthquake.

  What have I done?

  4

  Andi

  Saint Sim’s was the usual.

  Everyone was laughing and talking and comparing MP3 players and copying each other’s notebooks. You really wouldn’t think, to look at the playground, that hundreds of people over on the other side of the world had just had their lives crushed by a horrible earthquake.

  And the weird thing was, everybody probably knew about it. Everybody had glanced at the newspaper headlines or heard the radio in passing or glimpsed something as they changed channels on the TV. Hundreds of Casualties in Massive Philippine Earthquake. But ‘hundreds’ are not people, are they? And blank faces on TV are not people either.

  I shook myself. Andi, I told myself sternly, don’t think about it. Don’t drive yourself crazy. Think about something else. Think about basketball.

  Huh. Basketball.

  Bernardo was telling me this morning that high school league basketball in the Philippines had such a following that it was shown on television. And the team captain was a hero. And not just the whole school but the general public and the sports press turned out to watch all the games, and there were cheerleaders and drums and blaring horns.

  It’s not quite like that in London.

  The Americans invented basketball. So it couldn’t compete with English sports like cricket, football and rugby. But then school cricket, football and rugby didn’t make it to TV either.

  That’s why even though the new gym was smart and had all the right lines, it wasn’t designed to have an audience. In fact, there was barely enough room for the players to sit on the sidelines, let alone cheerleaders.

  And yet.

  When I walked into the gym at lunch time, the gym endlines were crammed so full of sixth formers that the referee had to patrol the sidelines, threatening anyone who stepped over the boundary.

  Rocky waved cheerily from where the Souls were bouncing up and down on the end line, eager to get on with it. ‘Andi! Andi!’

  I hurried over. ‘Rocky, this is massive!’

  Rocky winked. ‘I spread the word in the sixth form that we were going to blast the Colts with a secret weapon.’

  ‘Secret weapon? You must be kidding!’ Bernardo was their secret weapon? Bernardo was purely decorative. Weren’t they planning to, erm, shoot some balls as well? Score some goals? Isn’t that how you win a game?

  Rocky grinned. ‘Shock and awe. We’re gonna shock and awe them with our giant.’

  Louie suddenly appeared. He threw an arm around me as if we were best friends for ever. Someone made loud kissing noises. Lucky I couldn’t see who it was because if I had, he wouldn’t have been able to crawl on the court once I’d done with him.

  I shrugged Louie’s arm off, my nose wrinkled. His uniform was already drenched with sweat and the game had not even started yet.

  ‘Man, look at that giant!’ someone said and the crowd erupted in cheers and whistles.

  ‘Here he comes!’ Rocky said and we all turned towards the entrance, expecting to see Bernardo towering over the crowd.

  But instead of Bernardo, the Colts made their appearance.

  And leading them was a giant.

  Well, he wasn’t a giant like Bernardo. He was tall. Properly tall.

  But where Bernardo had string beans for arms, he had rocks bulging under his skin. His chest was hard and massive. And when he moved, parts of him rippled. Rambo without the guns.

  If Rocky thought Bernardo was going to shock and awe the Colts, he was mistaken.

  I glanced at the Souls.

  They looked shocked.

  And awed.

  So did the spectators.

  The Colts jogged onto the court. The rest were tall too. Trees with hairy legs. They were not as tall as Bernardo but he would have looked like a joke standing next to them.

  They began a warm-up shooting drill.

  Swish. Swish. Swish.

  Not a single miss.

  Rocky swallowed.

  5

  Bernardo

  I closed my eyes.

  Please, please. Make them safe. Make them safe.

  Auntie Sofia.

  Uncle Victor.

  Jabby.

  Old Tibo.

  Please. Please. Please.

  But the wishing stone lay in my hand, inert.

  No spark.

  No heat.

  No life.

  Grant me this wish.

  Please. Please.

  I pressed it against my forehead.

  It was smooth and hard and cold.

  So cold.

  I dropped it on Andi’s bed and leaned weakly against the bed frame.

  Downstairs, I heard the Darth Vader ring tone go off again.

  I made my way down.

  It flashed on the shelf. After the missed call, I had plugged it in to recharge. The ring tone had extra urgency.

  It stopped ringing as soon as I picked it up. There were five missed calls now.

  They were all from Jabby.

  6

  Andi

  It was a disaster.

  It was a massacre.

  The Colts owned the Souls.

  No sooner had the Souls gained possession of the ball than one of the Colts plucked it away and passed it down to Rambo, who reached up and STUFFED it in the basket.

  Stuffstuffstuffstuffstuffstuffstuff.

  Rocky was running up and down the court like a headless chicken and Louie was a waterfall of sweat, which was kind of ironic, considering he barely got a chance to run with the ball. When they did get the ball, they only managed to skim the basketball hoop or hit the referee or throw it into the crowd – throw it everywhere but into the goal.

  The crowd watched silently. You could feel them clench their teeth every time the Colts’ ball plopped through the basket and they cringed en masse every time the Souls missed.

  Stuffstuffstuffstuffstuffstuffstuff.

  The Souls were so dead.

  But it was not the game that was worrying me.

  Bernardo had not turned up.

  Where was he?

  Maybe he’d got cold feet. Maybe he’d seen the Colts and realized the futility of it all. Maybe Mrs Green was keeping him prisoner in the school somewhere. Or maybe … maybe he’d heard from the Philippines.

  I began to shoulder my way through the silent crowd.

  We should have told him. We should have called him downstairs last night. We should have stayed at home instead of going to school to play a stupid basketball game.

  Mum was so wrong not to tell him about the earthquake.

  Bernardo would blame himself.

  I burst out of the gym double doors, panting. I needed to find Bernardo, but how? Where was I going to start?

  My mind was a blank.

  ‘Andi!’

  The tall thin figure crouching behind the double doors straightened up hastily.

  ‘Mrs Green?’

  I stared, incredulous. She must have been watching the game through the glass panels on the doors.

  Mrs Green’s cheeks glowed red but she quickly masked any embarrassment with her usual tight smile.

  ‘Mrs Green … have you seen—’

  But she interrupted. ‘Andi, I was very sorry to hear about the earthquake yesterday. I hope your family in the Philippines is safe and please let Berna
rdo know that I totally understand if he didn’t feel like coming to school today—’

  ‘Isn’t Bernardo with you?’

  She looked nonplussed.

  ‘Why, no. He didn’t come in this morning. I thought he didn’t come in because of the – because of the—’

  The doors burst open.

  ‘ANDI!’

  It was Louie.

  ‘Rocky sent me to get you.’ He bent over and pulled his shirt off in one movement. It was soaking and the sparse triangle of hair on his chest glistened with sweat.

  ‘Louie Robins, put your shirt on this minute!’ Mrs Green reached to grab the shirt.

  But Louie wouldn’t let go. ‘Andi, they’re KILLING us out there. We need you!’

  I stared at him. What did he mean?

  Louie stamped his foot like a toddler who’d been refused a sweet. ‘ANDI!’

  Mrs Green put her hand on his shoulder and shook him. ‘Louie, explain yourself properly. You’re not making sense.’

  But he was so beside himself he just waved the shirt at me.

  Mrs Green peered at him like she was examining a cockroach on the wall.

  ‘I don’t understand …’ I stuttered.

  Louie began to pull his shorts off. There was a blue Smurf pattern all over his boxers. I was so shocked I didn’t even think to snigger. Instead of stopping him or averting her eyes, Mrs Green snatched the shorts and shirt away from him and grabbed my hand.

  ‘Mrs Green!’

  ‘Quick, to my office, it’s just round the corner.’

  ‘But …’

  She glared at me.

  ‘Andi Jones, are you not paying attention? The Souls need you. You are going to put on Louie’s uniform and save that game.’

  7

  Bernardo

  Jabby. Jabby.

  Icy sweat trickled into my eyes. I fumbled with the phone. Call him. Tell him it will be OK.

  Do you need help, Jabby? Where are you?

  But my fingers scratched uselessly against the keypad, grotesque claws, my hands were twisting, curling, hardening. The phone fell to the living-room floor with an obscene clatter.

  It was happening again.

  Ma, where was Ma? Ma, help! But my vocal cords produced no sound.

  I was bent down, down, the world riding my back again. And there was a shrill screeching noise, like a thousand bats ejected from deep inside a cave. And I realized it was humankind shouting in horror … because I was buckling under the weight, it was so heavy; I could not hold it up, and the Earth was falling.

  It slid down my back, quivering like a giant jelly. Earth and rock, tree and root crumbled through my wooden fingers.

  Down, down.

  It landed on the ground with a great crack, red tongues of flame licking out of the fractured shell.

  And the screeching became higher, sharper, thinner, piercing my eardrums like a knitting needle.

  8

  Andi

  It had worried me at first. At one point, Mum actually apologized. ‘Andi, I didn’t change shape until I was fifteen. I’m sorry. It’s in our genes.’

  All the girls my age were wearing junior bras and training bras and crop tops. They had all grown hips and bumpy little chests while I had remained as straight and flat as a plank.

  Or a boy.

  So Louie’s basketball kit fitted me perfectly.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  I stared into the mirror in Mrs Green’s office and tried to ignore the fact that the shirt was soaking wet with Louie’s sweat and pungent with Louie’s smell.

  Mrs Green’s reflection gazed at me critically from over my shoulder.

  ‘You need something. Something to make you look less like a girl. Give me a second.’

  She began to rummage through her desk, opening and closing drawers.

  I pretended to examine myself in the mirror. But I was really studying a framed picture hanging next to it. It was a group picture of a girls’ basketball team. The teenage girls in the picture had weird blow-dried hairstyles from some long-ago era. In the front row, a ball clasped in front of her, was a young Mrs Green, the tight little smile unmistakable in the smooth face, the short iron-grey bob replaced by a blonde perm. In a discreet little frame next to it was an autographed photograph of Michael Jordan. To my biggest fan, it said.

  Mrs Green, a basketball fan? Was that why she always just happened to be prowling around the gym, catching me out? Maybe she was shooting hoops when nobody was looking!

  ‘Here.’ She held up a tube of hair gel. ‘Confiscated this from one of the girls the other day. Some children cannot tell the difference between a classroom and a hairdresser’s. I’m sure she won’t mind donating some to a worthy cause.’

  She squeezed a dollop onto her hands and began to muss my hair. ‘There!’

  It was rich, Mrs Green complaining about hairdressers. The pointy hairdo may have been a bit naff but it wasn’t bad. She had turned me into a short version of Tintin, but with freckles and dressed in a basketball outfit. She could probably get a job in a cheapo barbershop somewhere, hairdressing prepubescent boys.

  ‘Put this on.’ She handed me a headband.

  I put it on. Now I looked like Tintin as the Karate Kid.

  I turned to her. ‘Mrs Green … I … uh …’

  She whirled me round by the shoulders and pushed me towards the door. ‘I’ve seen you shooting your magic three-pointers, Andi. Go and save the Souls.’

  So I went.

  And as I went, something crossed my mind.

  When Bernardo had presented me with the wishing stone, I had wished I could play point guard for the Souls.

  Now my wish was about to come true.

  9

  Bernardo

  The Earth lay on the ground, a broken egg, yolk the colour of blood oozing slowly out.

  And then there was a bright light. So bright. I tried to open my eyes but it scorched my eyeballs. I turned my face away.

  ‘Pupils are dilating. Hello, hello, anyone in there?’

  ‘Huh?’ I tried to open my eyes. The light had gone away. A dark blur, eyes, nose and mouth moving in the shadows.

  ‘Do you know your name? What’s your name?’

  I screwed my eyes shut. What was my name? The answer came slowly to my lips. ‘B-Bernardo.’

  ‘Bernardo! Good. Bernardo, you’re in an ambulance. You collapsed. Don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of this. Your mum is here.’

  Mum’s voice floated in the distance. She spoke in Tagalog. ‘I’m here, Bernardo. Just rest, darling. Don’t worry. We’ll be at hospital soon.’

  But the Earth! It fell! And … and …

  ‘NARDO!’

  Suddenly Jabby’s face was pushed up against mine. There was a bloody bruise on his forehead, yellow and violet with swelling. A fine grime covered his face. I could smell his sweat, his fear. Dirt crumbled from his hair. He coughed. ‘Nardo, help. Help me.’

  And then he tumbled away from me. I sat up, tried to grab him, tried to stop him from falling, but then there was only the paramedic, urging me to lie down again, and Ma, her eyes wide with alarm, hand over mouth.

  There was a popping noise, like someone had burst a balloon next to my ears.

  I cried out, blind with sudden, excruciating pain.

  ‘It’s all right, Bernardo,’ the paramedic said. ‘Lie back. Everything is going to be fine.’

  But I felt like I was going to die.

  10

  Andi

  ‘You’re dead!’

  Whack. Rambo probably didn’t mean to hit me. It was probably meant to be a secret little nudge. The way you do when you’re panicking because someone’s about to snatch victory from you.

  It was Souls: 28, Colts: 30.

  If Rambo could just unbalance me a little bit, get the ball back to their goal, they had a chance of scoring in the last minute, and the Souls would have no time to take the game back.

  But Rambo was more used to nudging raw beef t
han pushing someone as tiny as me around. So he overestimated his strength.

  I went flying.

  ‘FOUL!’ Rocky screamed.

  The referee blew his whistle and the crowd went mad.

  I had two free throws. It was only for a point each but they were points in the right direction. I could tie the score.

  Looking back, I don’t know why nobody questioned my appearance on the court with Louie’s name and number on my back. The referee must have been asleep or blind or both. And the Colts didn’t even raise a squeak.

  They probably took one look at eeny meeny me and thought, no problem.

  And then it was too late.

  Because. I. Don’t. Miss.

  The Souls knew the drill. They just had to keep feeding me the ball.

  The Colts were big and burly but they were too dumb to work out that a small person like me would shoot from the three-point line. Over and over again, the Colts bunched up under the goal, waiting for one of us to come close enough to shoot, only for me to pound it in from far, far away.

  Swish. Swish. Swish.

  I was glad for the headband. It mopped up the sweat that dripped endlessly down my head, which was getting stickier and stickier as my perspiration mixed with the cheap hair gel Mrs Green had put on my hair.

  Rocky’s dreads were standing on end, the atmosphere was so electric.

  As we took our positions for the free throws, Rocky sidled up. ‘YOU, Andi-Pandy, are my secret weapon!’ He grinned. I could smell the relief on his sweat.

  Surely Bernardo would be here by now. Scanning the faces on the sidelines, I recognized some kids from my class, waving like demented fans. And Mrs Green was screaming at the Souls to get some boys down to the halfway line. She acted as if she was their coach.

  But there was no tall dark head poking above the crowd.

  Bernardo, where are you?

  Something must have happened to him.

  Rambo loomed just to my left. He smirked. ‘No chance, pretty little boy,’ he said. ‘You’ll screw up and then we’re taking that ball.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and lift some weights?’ I said. Bernardo, not long now.