‘Dylan! Wake uuuuup!’
Dylan wakes with a start.
Did someone just shout my name?
‘Wake up, Dylan! I know you’re in there!’
The yelling comes from the backyard, but who on earth is it? Dylan slowly pulls himself out of bed and rubs the sleep from his eyes.
‘Come on, Dylan. Get out here with your clothes on!’
Dylan pulls on some clothes, curious to know who would be screaming at the top of their lungs so early in the morning. He glances at the clock on his bedside table. It’s only seven in the morning.
‘Dylllllllaaaaaaannnn! Get out of your stinking bed!’
The voice seems to be coming from the backyard. Dylan crosses his room, opens the door, threads his way through the house, opens the back door and steps outside to see who it is.
Kevin.
Of course it is. He’s perched on top of the old rusting caravan that sits in the backyard. Bleary-eyed, Dylan looks at him like he’s a crazy person. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m helping you practise for Sydney.’ He shows Dylan a number of paper planes he has already folded.
Dylan is, to say the least, surprised.
‘I’m being supportive. That’s what mates do.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Dylan guesses that is what mates do. ‘Thanks, man.’
‘Now get your skinny arse up here.’
Dylan doesn’t have to be asked twice. He climbs the ladder and joins his buddy on top of the old caravan. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Kevin that he’s not sure he’s even going to Sydney. It’s a bit upsetting so he doesn’t want to think about it let alone talk about it.
Kevin passes Dylan a piece of A4 paper. He uses everything he’s learnt so far and makes a plane. He pinches his nails along the folds to make the creases sharp and aerodynamic like his mum taught him, then carefully folds a tail into the back of the plane to give it stability like he learnt when he and Kevin escaped the rocket and became mates, then builds flaps into the wings like the ones on the war plane that saved him and Grandpa from the enemy fighters. He then turns to Kevin and holds up the plane. ‘Ready?’
Kevin nods. ‘The suspense is killing me.’
Dylan launches the plane. It flies but not well enough. ‘Well, that blew chunks.’
Kevin passes him another piece of paper. ‘Then do it again.’
Dylan nods and does it again.
Kevin watches. ‘Talking about things that fly, did you know that ducks have three eyelids?’
Dylan can’t help but laugh at the random piece of information. ‘I did not.’
‘Well, they do. I like to think of it as a miracle of nature.’
The two boys make and throw planes for hours. By the time they run out of paper at least two hundred planes litter the backyard. It looks like it’s been snowing.
Dylan folds a plane with the last piece of paper.It is the best-looking one so far and yet again he can’t help but think that practice makes perfect. He feels its weight, pulls his arm back and launches it.
It rockets across the yard, soars over a bunch of trees then flies out over the street. They watch it go and go and go. They glance at each other then slide down the ladder and take off after it. Eyes locked on the plane, Dylan sprints hard. In spite of his frequent trips to the pie shop and the fact he’s not exactly nimble, Kevin does his best to keep up. He points at it, amazed. ‘Excuse me, stewardess, is there a movie on this flight?’
They laugh and run on as the plane gradually loses altitude, then lands on the dusty beige roadway. It must have flown a hundred metres, though, of course, it was wind assisted. Either way, it’s a huge improvement over Dylan’s first throw that day. And he’s happy with it. ‘That was okay.’
Kevin nods happily. ‘My work here is done.’
‘Thanks, man.’
‘Any time.’
They amble back to the house and pick up the paper planes spread across the backyard. Dylan notices his father at the back door of the house and their eyes meet. They haven’t spoken properly since their argument. Dylan’s no longer angry about being grounded and missing out on Sydney. And he’s not angry his father forgot about the competition either. He knows he didn’t mean to forget. He never forgot before, when he was happy. Dylan wonders what he can do to make him happy again, make him want to spend time with him.
After a moment Jack turns and moves back into the house. Dylan watches him go, then continues to pick up the planes.
The sun has set and Kevin, who is almost as gassy as that particular star, has gone home. Dylan sits on his bed, thinking about how much he enjoys having a good mate. It just makes life more fun. It’s great to have someone to talk to about stuff, especially if they’re naturally entertaining like Kev. He used to talk to his mum about stuff all the time. And his dad too actually. It’s funny. He went from having two great people to chat to – to Kevin. Not that there’s anything wrong with the Kevster, but it’s not quite the same.
There’s a knock at the door.
‘Come in.’
A little sheepish, Jack enters the room and plonks down on the bed beside Dylan. He holds the letter inviting Dylan to the Australian Junior Paper Plane Championships. Dylan’s surprised he kept it. Jack studies it, then elbows his son playfully – and Dylan elbows him back, happy the ice has broken between them.
‘So you reckon the ute will make it to Sydney?’
Dylan looks at his dad and nods, grinning from ear to ear. He’s going to the paper plane championships, and even better, his dad is coming with him.
Jack’s ute thunders along the dusty beige road that cuts through the empty beige landscape. It’s a long way to Sydney but Dylan’s looking forward to spending the time with his dad. He gazes out the window and is sure he glimpses Clive, high above, keeping pace with the ute until the bird turns and swoops away. Just as he thought, he is a bit sad to be leaving the bird.
Dylan looks at his dad. ‘Thanks for doing this.’
‘My pleasure, mate.’ Jack flicks on the radio – and is obviously happy with the song that plays. Dylan’s pretty sure it’s by a band called Old Chisel. His dad has loved them forever.
The trip from Waleup is a long one but Jack’s old ute handles the journey well when you consider the thing was not only built before Dylan was born, but before Jack was born. It’s almost forty years old and has been in the family for years, since Grandpa bought it back in the 1970s.
It’s also covered in red dust and is by far the dirtiest car on the Harbour Bridge right now. Through the windscreen Dylan looks up at the towering bridge and takes in the complex structure. He sees a beauty in how the metal pieces converge and overlap and join to hold the giant bridge aloft. It’s quite something and makes him think about the complex paper folds that keep his planes aloft.
He looks past the bridge at the city of Sydney, with all the glittering skyscrapers that rip into the blue sky. He always thought Perth was a large city but this is so much bigger. He especially loves Sydney Tower, which pokes up above the other buildings and looks like a giant burning torch.
Ten minutes later the ute pulls up outside a pretty posh hotel. A banner hangs above its entrance:
AUSTRALIAN JUNIOR PAPER PLANE CHAMPIONSHIPS WELCOME COMPETITORS
Dylan feels a buzz in his chest. He can’t remember feeling so excited. And the fact that his dad is here to share it with him, well, he’s really looking forward to the experience. As Grandpa sometimes says, ‘Happy days!’
Twenty minutes later Dylan walks through the lobby and onto the giant patio that overlooks Sydney Harbour. All the competitors and some parents are gathered around a small stage. Jack didn’t come down from the room because he wanted to rest after the long drive.
The only people Dylan recognises are Jason and his father, Patrick. He quickly realises that Jason is pretty much the coolest kid there: tall, smartly dressed, expensive haircut, with the confidence that he’s the best and will win the comp easy-peasy. Dylan wonders
if he’s a good guy or not.
Maureen, the competition’s coordinator, who seems like a very nice, very excitable lady in her mid-thirties, steps onto the small stage and speaks into a microphone to the crowd. ‘Welcome, welcome, welcome! You have all been chosen for this competition because you have a great gift. The ability to turn this–’ She flamboyantly pulls a piece of paper out of thin air, ‘–into this.’ In a few quick movements Maureen expertly makes a plane, a really interesting tube design that Dylan has never seen before.
She holds it up. ‘In 1999 this plane took me not only to the national finals but to compete in the World Junior Paper Plane Championships in Cape Town, South Africa.’
Jason laughs at this. Everyone glares at him, including, Dylan notices, his father, Patrick. ‘What? It’s such a lame-looking plane I thought she was joking.’
‘Boo!’ one of the kids calls out. Then others join in, ‘Boo! Boo!’
Jason’s not having it. ‘Oh boo, yourself.’
Dylan looks at Jason, disappointed. Guess he got his answer on whether Jason’s a good guy or not. It appears he’s rude as.
Maureen ignores Jason and tamps down the booing. ‘Anyway, many of you have travelled great distances to be here. Some from very far away indeed. Let me introduce you to our guest from Japan, Kimi Muroyama.’
Dylan looks across the patio and sees Kimi, a girl about his age, who stands with her mother. Her beaming smile grabs his attention immediately. She’s dressed very colourfully, like she just stepped out of a comic book. Dylan has never seen anything quite like her funky style before. It’s completely different from the beige world he’s used to.
‘Kimi is Japan’s current paper plane junior champion and is here to observe our competition.’
The group claps and Kimi steps on to the stage and takes a small bow. Maureen bows back. So Kimi bows again. So Maureen bows once more. And then Kimi bows again. And then Maureen tries to bow again but gets dizzy so she passes Kimi the microphone.
Kimi says something in Japanese and everyone applauds. Dylan’s not sure why because nobody knows what she said, but he thinks it’s because they’re impressed she can speak Japanese at all, which is a very hard language to learn apparently.
Then she speaks in English, ‘I am so glad to be here because Australia is home to my favourite bird, the emu, which, of course, can’t even fly. And I’m really excited to meet all of you and see your fantastic planes.’
Everyone claps again and Dylan thinks it’s because they’re impressed she can speak two languages when lots of people, like his good mate Kevin, are battling to understand one.
‘Okay, everyone, get yourselves ready. The competition starts in two hours!’ The excitable Maureen launches her plane and it majestically soars above the kids’ heads then sails out over the harbour and off into the distance. Dylan watches it go, amazed. Its radical tube design means it flies like no other paper plane he has ever seen. Even Jason, who was rude about it earlier, seems impressed.
Back at the hotel room, Dylan is on a mission. He’s extremely keen to get to know Kimi. It comes as a bit of a surprise because he’s never wanted to get to know a girl better before. Ever. He’s not sure why he feels this way about her specifically but he goes with it. He has an idea of how to make a memorable introduction, maybe even impress her a little, but it won’t be easy.
He makes a beeline for the hotel phone, though before he can get to it his father lassoes him into a photo in front of the Sydney skyline with the world’s oldest instamatic film camera. Click. ‘Got it?’
Jack seems to be in a chipper mood. ‘Yep.’
‘Cool.’ Dylan passes him a folded piece of paper. ‘The competition starts in two hours. Here’s the schedule. The kids are catching a ferry to the venue so parents need to find their own way.’
‘Ta.’ Jack takes it and slips it into his back pocket.
Dylan heads for the phone again. ‘Okay, gotta make a call.’
Jack’s surprised. ‘What? To who?’
Dylan’s embarrassed and doesn’t really want to talk about it. ‘Just a girl.’
‘A girl? Oh.’ His dad’s taken aback. ‘Well, okay. I guess I’ll give you some privacy.’ He exits, bemused.
Dylan waits for him to leave, then picks up the hotel phone and rings the hotel reception. The phone is promptly answered by an operator. ‘How may I help you?’
‘I’m here with the paper plane competition. I’d like the room number of a guest so I can leave a message. Her name is Kimi Mur . . . odovish–’ Dylan stops, realises he can’t remember how to pronounce her surname. ‘No, it’s Kimi . . . Mariah Carey? No, that’s not right. Ummm, Murojosham? No. Murofidama?’ He’s just guessing now, slurring the surname and hoping that’ll be enough to get the information he needs.
‘Muroyama?’
‘Muroyama!’
‘Room 1612. Dial the hash key first.’
‘Ta, mate!’ Dylan puts down the receiver and smiles. ‘Excellent.’ His plan is coming together.
Out on the balcony he stares at a blank piece of the hotel’s stationery. What should he write to her? He takes a second to decide then draws a picture of an emu flying and writes a note under it: DO EMUS DREAM OF FLYING? Okay, it’s not Shakespeare, or even Wimpy Kid, but he reckons, hopes, she’ll get the joke.
He signs it with his name then looks over the balcony. Woah. It’s a long way down. His room is fifteen storeys up. He then calculates where Kimi’s room should be. ‘Room 1612. That’s gotta be three rooms across and one level up.’ He can just see it. It’s quite a way away. He realises this crazy plan isn’t going to be that easy to pull off. He takes the piece of paper with the picture drawn on it and folds it into a plane with wide wings. It needs to catch the wind exactly right to stay aloft. So he must use the breeze perfectly. He takes a measurement of the wind with a wet finger, waits for the right moment, draws the plane back then releases it into the sky.
It soars away from the building, then pauses and curls back as it’s swept along on an updraft. It makes an elegant arc through the sky and glides straight towards Kimi’s room and the open sliding door–
Thunk. It misses the opening by five centimetres, hits the doorframe, drops to the balcony, blows over the edge and tumbles to the ground sixteen floors below.
‘No!’ Dylan watches his plane fall. Extremely disappointed, his head slumps to his chest as he moves back to the table, grabs another piece of paper and draws the picture once more.
Two minutes later he throws the new plane. Again it arcs through the air, again it catches the breeze, soars high and again it heads straight for Kimi’s open sliding door–
Thunk. Again it slams into the window. Again it tumbles to the ground sixteen storeys below.
‘Come. On!’ Dylan moves back to the table, grabs another piece of paper and starts again. Third time’s the charm, surely.
He throws the newest plane. Again it flies perfectly, again it arcs elegantly, again it catches the breeze – but this time it hovers through the open window. ‘Yes!’ Dylan is pumped. He loves it when a plan comes together.
The plane lands softly on the bed – right beside Jason who plays on his iPad. He turns and looks at it. At first he’s a bit confused by it, then he sees the emu picture and he’s intrigued.
On the way to the competition’s venue, a ferry ploughs across glistening Sydney Harbour as hundreds of yachts with colourful sails dot the water. The ferry is packed with kids, and it’s madness. Kimi sits alone at the front of the ferry and folds a small piece of origami-sized paper into a tiny plane. She fires it away from the boat. It curls out over the water then flies back and lands in her hand.
Dylan watches from the walkway behind her, amazed by the display. He’s curious to know if she received his paper plane letter. Then he realises that if she did, she probably didn’t have a clue who ‘Dylan’ was so he really should introduce himself.
He takes a breath and tries to work up the courage to say hello. He steels h
imself, slaps his cheeks with his palms – but can’t seem to do it. ‘Come on, mate. You speak to people every day. This isn’t so hard.’ He forces himself to move towards her. ‘Okay, I’m going in, just keep it cool and casual, cool and casual.’ He tries to look cool and casual. Unfortunately he looks flustered and awkward. Kimi turns to him and he instantly loses his nerve, pivots away – and steps behind a large metal column. His lack of courage horrifies him.
‘You know I can see you, right?’
Oh no! That’s her!
What should I do? I can’t stay here. Can I? No, I can’t. She’ll think I’m even more of an idiot than she already does.
He steps out from behind the column and acts surprised. ‘Hey! I’m – I was just checking out this . . . column.’ He inspects it carefully, finds it to be in order, nods to himself then turns to walk away.
Clang. His knee slams into the column and he doubles over in pain, his voice a croak. ‘That’s not good.’
Kimi is concerned. ‘Are you okay?’
He isn’t but plays it off. ‘I’m fine.’ His voice is still a croak.
‘That looked like it really hurt.’
It did but he won’t let it show. ‘Only a flesh wound. You know I’m usually a lot smoother than this.’
It would seem she doesn’t believe him. ‘Really?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not at all.’
She smiles at this. ‘You look like you’re in need of medical assistance.’
Dylan shakes his head. ‘Nahhh, I’m good. I’ll walk it off.’ He doesn’t want to show any more weakness so he straightens up and hobbles towards her with a noticeable limp, then sits on the bench nearby and extends a hand. ‘Hi, I’m Dyleup from Walan–’ He stops himself, horrified. ‘I mean, Dylan from Waleup.’
Paper Planes Page 5
