by Tiffiny Hall
I can’t believe how excited I feel telling her this. For the first time in my life, I belong to something, and it’s not just a book club or choir, or a group of fakeys like Elecktra’s friends, but a ninja clan.
‘You should have told me the legend,’ I say. ‘And what’s going on with Hero. No wonder he hates me. He’s samurai!’
‘Shhhhhh,’ Mum whispers. A cloud moves over the moon, ushering a foreign darkness across her cheeks. She looks transformed — young, threatening and ruthless, but still looking around feverishly. What is she so afraid of?
Mum reaches up and pulls my hood back over my head. She looks over her shoulder, then stands up. She gives me the look I grew up with: Do not disobey me. I’m longing to know where I came from, why I have these powers, but before I can say anything, Mum launches at me with the sword.
I leap backwards, just in time to avoid my stomach being slashed. ‘Mum!’ I scream. Tears spark in my eyes.
Mum is unperturbed and runs at me at full speed, as if the roof was made of slippery ice. I tell my body to be still and quiet, but the fire returns and there is no way to extinguish it. Mum bends her knees to jump and, as she takes off, I reach up and grab her ankles. With a flick of my wrist, she’s spinning in the air. She releases the sword and I catch it, jump high, my knees lifting up to my ears, and land with my feet either side of her cheeks, yoking her neck to the ground, the point of the sword an eyelash from her retina.
We stare each other down until a sound in the bushes below distracts me. She flips me over by sweeping my heels, and before I can breathe, I feel the pressure of the sword pinning down my shoulder. Mum’s blonde mane flickers around her shoulders like fire. My heart stops.
The sword is powerful, her most deadly weapon: a long blade with a red leather handle and Japanese writing at the tip. It is the sword I saw in my memory earlier today, when I was strapped to her back and she was fighting the samurai. I’ve never really asked her any questions before. Aside from the self-defence training she taught Elecktra and me, I know very little about martial arts. But now I want to know everything.
I don’t dare swallow or take my eyes off her. Her bottom lip quivers, her breath smells of Hulk juice, words form on her tongue. I open my ears to hear her clearly. ‘It’s finally happening,’ she says.
Then she kisses me on the head and says, ‘I have to leave. Tell your sister to behave,’ and backflips away onto a neighbour’s roof.
I watch her soaring over the rooftops until she disappears, a shadow slipped into darkness.
ELEVEN
Saturday breakfast is usually wholewheat blueberry pancakes with beetroot and honey muffins. But today Art is making pancakes the ordinary way out of a shaker bottle and Elecktra is sponging them in maple syrup that she found in the bowels of our kitchen cupboards. Last night feels like a dream. I rub the small hole in my skin where the tip of Mum’s sword nicked me. I can’t have dreamed that. Her attack has turned my bones to foam. I feel like I’m drowning in disbelief.
‘So Mum’s gone?’ I ask Art.
‘She’s away on business again. Won’t be back for a while,’ he says.
‘How long?’ I ask.
‘Few weeks. She’ll send us SMS updates as usual, but she said she’ll be out of range for the most part.’
This is not unusual for Mum. She often disappears for weeks at a time. We have no real idea where she travels to, but it must be somewhere in Asia because last time she returned with a black eye and told us she’d fallen off a rickshaw.
‘What does Mum do again anyway?’ Elecktra asks, as she does whenever Mum goes away. She can never remember.
‘Your mother is a very successful financial advisor,’ Art says. ‘You know that.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Elecktra says, sucking maple syrup out of her nails. When she’s done, she sprinkles icing sugar onto a bowl of cereal.
‘We’re not allowed cereal for breakfast. “Cereal killers” — full of sugar, remember?’ I say, repeating what Mum tells us whenever we rebel against her zero-sugar warrior diet. It’s beginning to make more sense to me now.
‘Elecktra offered to make breakfast,’ Art says, waving his spoon at me. ‘A day off won’t hurt.’ He carries his own bowl of cereal and icing sugar to the table. Art had to give up sugar when he met my mother and he’ll take any excuse to have a taste again.
‘Relax, Rox,’ Elecktra says.
‘You relax,’ I shoot back.
‘Both of you relax,’ Art says. ‘Go put a yellow ribbon in your hair,’ he tells me.
‘Why?’ My hand’s shaking as I take celery out of the fridge to prepare the Hulk juice. Even though I don’t really like Hulk juice, the ritual makes me miss Mum less. Now Mum’s gone, what do I do about my ninjaism?
‘Yellow to honour your solar plexus. To calm you down,’ Art says.
If Mum’s not going to give me answers, I’ll have to ask the internet. I sit down with my laptop.
Mum doesn’t talk much about her ninja days or where she was born. Sometimes I’ll see her practising her stances on the clothesline in Ms Winters’s backyard and she always makes the bed using ninja techniques: a knife-hand strike to fold the corners, outside block to hook the corners, then a spear-hand strike to smooth the sheet down, followed by a spinning hook kick to slam the pillows against the headboard. She once told me that it was hard to retire her ninja suit and she still craves it. Sometimes I’ll catch her doing the housework with a T-shirt on her head, the arms tied around the back of her neck and only her eyes visible through the neck hole. I know she has to make a conscious effort to walk slowly in supermarkets, not climb the shelves or leap from aisle to aisle, and to be patient in traffic and not lose her temper. Mum can have lethal road rage.
As I trawl through the internet, I discover that, once upon a time, the ninja nemesis was the Giant White Tiger. I wonder if Mum ever fought a tiger. These ancient tigers could fly and also had powers of invisibility. The ninjas and the Giant White Tigers finally reconciled, so now the ninja enemy is the samurai. We are mortal enemies, which means we must kill each other no matter what. I click the mouse furiously as images of ninjas in their black uniforms and red samurai with their powerful swords invade the screen.
The ninja clan fights with stealth and skill, the samurai fight with sword. Samurai have always hated us for fighting in the shadows, but that’s the only way we know how. I learn that we were poor farmers who couldn’t afford metal for swords. Unlike the samurai, who came from the Japanese military class and wore clothes coloured with bright red expensive dyes. The samurai value honour over everything; they’ll cut their own throats before dishonouring their clan. They live according to the Bushido code that means ‘Way of the Warrior’. I search ‘Bushido code’ and realise it’s a code of conduct similar to the European etiquette of a man opening a door for a lady — and still exists in dojos today.
Ninjas, on the other hand, weren’t upper class. They won’t open doors for you, but blow them up instead! They were from feudal Japan and nicknamed ‘stealers’. Espionage and assassination were their speciality. Their stealth warfare led to stealth weapons such as nunchucks and ninja stars. They achieve a mission by whatever means necessary; sneak attacks, poison, seduction and spying are all fair game, but for the samurai, those tactics are loathed. Legend has it the best ninjas can turn invisible and fly.
My heart pounds. I’ve never seen Mum flash invisible. I’ve never even seen her fly before. I continue reading, my mind pummelled by information.
There are more samurai than ninjas because, in the 1600s, the samurai set out to annihilate all the ninjas. Ninja and samurai clans still exist today, fighting in secret, protecting their family honour and their clans, like the Mafia.
The war between ninja and samurai clans changed the role of the ninja — the samurai became the warrior cast and ninjas had to go underground. They went from warriors to secret police, but as the older generations of ninjas died, there were fewer young men prepared to do the har
d training it takes to become a ninja. Poverty forced the boys to give up spying and training and go to work instead, leaving their wives at home. So it became the women’s job to train their little ninjas. They would train several hours a day. Hence ninja was passed on mostly through the females.
My nose is almost touching the screen when I finally find the legend of the White Warrior, a special warrior who has the power to control the elements of martial arts: wind, water, earth, fire and invisibility. ‘The White Warrior must consume the Tiger Scrolls to unleash their powers,’ I read aloud. ‘There is only one White Warrior born every century. He is the most venerated and hunted human on the planet.’
My eyes widen. No wonder Jackson wants to find the White Warrior! The ninjas haven’t been safe for eighty-seven years.
I lean back in my chair to take in the information, and even with all this research, my mind swims to thoughts of Jackson. I’ve never been friends with a boy before and the excitement of this overpowers the fear of samurai finding the White Warrior first. I pick up the phone next to my bed and dial Cinnamon. She answers.
‘It’s Rox,’ I say.
‘Where have you been? I thought we were going to see Elf?’ she mumbles. I can tell she has food in her mouth.
‘I’m so sorry, I forgot! I got caught up.’ I dig my nails into my legs.
‘But you spit swore. I can’t believe it, Roxy,’ she says, still chewing.
‘We can go next week. Promise.’
Cinnamon doesn’t say anything, but she never stays mad for long. I desperately want to tell her that the reason I forgot to hang out was the war between ninjas and samurai over the hunt for the White Warrior, but I’m not sure she would believe me. So, knowing she’ll be interested, I mention Jackson.
‘I met a boy,’ I say.
Cinnamon gasps. ‘A boy?!’
‘Yeah, a really cute boy,’ I say. Telling Cinnamon feels like opening a present; I’m ecstatic with anticipation. This must be why Elecktra prefers to talk about boys all day with her friends than actually date them.
‘What’s his name?’ Cinnamon asks.
‘Jackson Axe. He has blond hair. He’s in Elecktra’s year,’ I say.
Silence.
‘You like an older guy?’ Cinnamon says slowly.
My heart sinks. He would never think I’m hot like my sister. He thinks I’m adorkable. A boy in Year Ten would never go for a little Year Seven — especially a girl who gets worst dressed every casual clothes day and has visibility issues. At least I could get us into the movies two for the price of one.
‘Can I meet him?’ Cinnamon squeals.
‘Soon,’ I promise. ‘But you’ll have to play it cool.’
‘Ice cold,’ Cinnamon agrees.
Suddenly, my bedroom door explodes inwards; Elecktra’s frame fills the doorway, a towel turbaned over her freshly washed hair.
‘I’m going to the DVD store in ten minutes, wanna come?’ she asks.
I’m amazed she is even asking me to go with her. ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Can I choose?’
‘Depends.’ She shrugs. ‘If it’s got vampires or pirates, then no. But if there’s a wedding, or a proposal, or a makeover scene, then yes.’ She smiles.
Lecky can be nice. If only she realised that you don’t have to be mean to get attention. She can be silly, vain and ridiculous, but when no one else is around and it’s just us, I feel like I’m the only person who really gets her. It’s a love-hate thing. It’s a sister thing.
At the DVD store Elecktra heads straight to the romantic comedies and selects an old classic, Father of the Bride. The movie was made before she was born, but Elecktra loves Steve Martin and the chaotic wedding preparations. She is obsessed with weddings and has already designed her own wedding dress. She has locked me in as a bridesmaid on one condition: I wear a red dress. Of her choice.
I head over to the action movies section where I pick up a Jackie Chan film — the one with Jet Li. The cover shows Jet Li doing a kick through the air. I love this film.
Elecktra comes over and takes the DVD from me.
‘You and Mum are just the same,’ she says. ‘Just because you look alike doesn’t mean you can fight like her. She dyes her hair to be like me, remember?’
‘No, she doesn’t,’ I say.
Elecktra sighs. I know she hates looking different from Mum and me.
‘Don’t you want to watch something romantic, with no fighting?’ She holds up my Jackie Chan movie in one hand and her chick flick in the other. I look at the two films in her hands; they couldn’t be more opposite, just like me and Elecktra. She likes chick flicks, I like action. She is blonde, my hair is black. She is tall, I am short. Her bedroom is a bomb site, I’m a neat freak. She is popular, I’m not. Could we be more different? We have the same mother, but sometimes Elecktra acts like she’s come from outer space. She can be so alien to me. Elecktra rattles her film, trying to persuade me.
‘Come on, Cat, the father is so nice in it,’ she says. ‘He just wants his daughter to have the most beautiful wedding ever.’ Her eyes dim a little. Sometimes I see a hint of sadness simmering under the surface of her confident exterior, as though she wears a mask.
‘How many times have you seen it?’ I ask.
‘Not enough. Oh, come on,’ she pleads.
I think Lecky loves the film because despite all her wedding plans she still doesn’t know who will walk her down the aisle. I think we have both always hoped our real father would be at our weddings.
‘I guess we could watch both,’ I say.
Elecktra narrows her eyes. ‘Okay,’ she agrees, ‘but you have to let me buy us some chocolate as a treat and not tell Mum.’
She gives me a little grin as she puts out her pinkie finger and we pinkie swear like we used to when we were little.
Walking home with Elecktra, she asks me if I thought the new guy working at the DVD store was cute, and as usual I have to say I didn’t notice … because it is true. She teases me and calls me hopeless and we laugh and talk like sisters should.
And for a moment, I feel as though I could tell Elecktra about what I’m going through. Maybe she has experienced ninja too and didn’t tell me about it.
I’m deep in thought when we arrive home. I see the note on the front door before Elecktra even notices it. It has my name on it. I rip it open, but as soon as I read it I feel my heart clunk and I’m thrown straight from a rom-com into a horror film.
I know what you are. You will never be safe again — I’ll make sure of it. And if I find out you’re even looking for the White Warrior, I’ll hurt you. H.
My body writhes with fear at the thought of seeing Hero at school on Monday. There’s no escaping this now. Clearly I am turning ninja and can’t turn back. The only person who can help me is Jackson.
TWELVE
Elecktra slams the front door, then waits at the gate for me. She’s wearing red boy’s boxer shorts underneath her school skirt, and after waiting thirty seconds, she walks off. Today I won’t be walking to school with Lecky. I’ve found a better way.
I stuff my ninja uniform into my backpack and open my bedroom window. I pull the ninja hood over my head. It totally complements my school uniform. Elecktra would call it ‘ninja chic’. I take a deep breath and launch myself out of the window onto the roof. Leap over Ms Winters’s house, then the next house and the next. I jump over gardens, kick over trellises, flip over fences. I feel light, agile, fast and furious. Going to school ‘the top way’ totally beats taking the ‘bottom way’ — down there with Elecktra, where insults seem to pile up like hard rubbish on the nature strips and in the gutters. I’m going to fly to school every day from now on. Flying at this speed, the wind stings my eyes. I’m so high I can smell the rain in the clouds. Up here, all my problems seem to shrink. I refuse to be invisible. I refuse to live one more day being bullied by Hero and his clan.
I leap off the last house and land on the footpath three blocks from school. I remove my ninja hood and pack i
t into my school bag. I see Elecktra sauntering ahead and walk the rest of the way behind her.
I walk to Gate Two to wait for Jackson. No one makes Gate One first week of school — except Elecktra, that is. He’s already there, on the footpath. He looks so handsome in his school uniform and I’m not the only one to have noticed. Girls are swarming around him, trying to get his attention. Even those who seem not to notice him are only doing it for effect.
I cup my hands to my mouth and call, ‘Jackson!’
When he looks up, those fiery eyes hit me in the gut.
‘Heyeee!’ Elecktra screams. ‘I know you!’ She swaggers towards him. ‘I know a friend of yours,’ she says.
As I stand with the Gate Two wimps, geeks and misfits, all nervously building their courage before they run the gauntlet of Hero’s spit brigade, I see Elecktra touch Jackson’s arm. Seeing him with her tightens the fabric of my heart; a stitch pulls.
‘Jackson!’ I yell again.
When he links arms with Elecktra and steps through Gate One, the fabric tears into a gaping hole.
I’ll give you something you really want, I remember Jackson saying. Well, he has just proved he can deliver.
Cinnamon runs over. ‘Where is he?’ she pants excitedly. I hardly notice her. I can’t take my eyes off Elecktra and Jackson. Cinnamon follows my gaze.
‘That him with Elecktra?’ she asks thinly.
I nod, damming the tears by refusing to blink.
‘Sorry, Rox,’ she says, rubbing my back. ‘Lecky seems to get them all.’
Not this one, I think. I swallow hard, blink, a tear glistens on my cheek.
The boy I like could end up with my sister and Hero’s message is still firing at the front of my mind. He’s going to make life hell today and if I knew how to be a ninja I could cope with it, but I don’t. I’m a pathetic Gate Twoer who can’t even tell a guy she likes him.
When I turn to Cinnamon, I see her hair is as wild as ever; thick curls sail in the wind. Parts of her face are painted monster green.
