Extreme!

by J A Mawter

  ‘Or taking on the skaters.’

  Mr Lark sat nodding in agreement, but the nods changed to head shakes as he said, ‘Realistically, a “bikes only” park wouldn’t work either. The skaters and board riders will want to conquer that new terrain, too. It’s human nature. But it is really important to have a practice place you can identify with. Somewhere to hang out with other like-minded souls. I should know. It’s how I feel when I’m with the ’Nam vets. We’re mates. Shared the same experiences. With them I can be me. Talk or not talk. Play cards or not play cards. It’s all good. Yes,’ he said rubbing at a pretend speck in his eye then staring out the window. ‘You need to be with your own kind.’

  The kids sat in silence, allowing him his own private place. Now that Mrs Lark was gone, he retreated there more and more. After a few moments he shrugged, then grinned, as if to acknowledge their respect.

  Mio said, ‘We’re studying the Vietnam war at school. We’ve all been given a topic to talk about. Mine’s about a soldier’s uniform. Their boots, hats, that sort of thing.’ Suddenly her face lit up. ‘You wouldn’t have a uniform I could borrow to show the class, would you, Mr Lark?’

  ‘I do. But it’s a bit worn and torn, too fragile to take to school. Wouldn’t want it to get more damaged.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mio’s face fell and she folded her hands in her lap.

  Mr Lark looked at her downcast eyes and slumped shoulders. ‘Hang on a moment,’ he said and disappeared off to his bedroom, only to emerge a few minutes later to say to Mio, ‘Hold out your hands.’

  Mio looked up, her eyes clouded with confusion, but did as she was told.

  With as much care as a father handing over a newborn he placed something in Mio’s hands. What she saw was pretty unremarkable. There were two silver metal discs, one on a long chain and one on a short chain which was attached to the longer chain.

  Mr Lark reached out. Slowly he traced his fingers over the imprint of letters and numbers on each disc. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then recited each one. His surname, initials, date of birth. His service number, blood grouping and religion. Then his voice faltered and stopped as tears rolled down his cheeks. This time he made no effort to wipe them away.

  Mio knew that the chains and discs had a significance that was far stronger than metal. She wondered if all soldiers felt the same. ‘I can’t take these,’ she said. ‘They’re far too precious.’ She reached out to return them but Mr Lark stepped away saying, ‘Precious? Yes, but they won’t break. Take them. And tell your class that next time they see a dog tag or a war memorial with thousands of names…Tell them that each name means so much more than mere engravings. Each name is a person. Each name was a son or a brother, a husband or a grandfather.’ He cleared his throat before continuing. ‘Or a mate.’

  Bella came and sat at Mr Lark’s feet, her eyes raised in question. With great tenderness she placed her paw on his leg. ‘She’s reminding me they’re called dog tags,’ said Mr Lark, blowing his nose in his hankie.

  The kids laughed. The painful moment had passed.

  ‘Now, Mio,’ said Mr Lark, ‘you don’t need me to tell you to guard these with your life.’

  ‘Īe,’ said Mio, shaking her head.

  Chapter Three

  Petition to Allow BMX Bikes into Wheels Skate Park Organiser: Mio Shinozaki

  At school the next morning Darcy began to read aloud, ‘We, the undersigned, support the use of BMX bikes in the aforementioned park…’ He looked at Mio and laughed. ‘A-fore-men-tioned! What’s that? Four men shunned?’

  ‘No, silly. I wanted the petition to sound like a legal document, not like some hand-written note from a group of stupid kids.’

  ‘I like this bit,’ said Clem, continuing to read. ‘It is a misconception that BMX bikes in skate parks are dangerous. BMX bikes are just as manoeuvrable as skateboards, scooters and in-line skates, and the added bonus of brakes makes them even safer.’ Clem thumped Mio on the back saying, ‘I like the brakes bit. This sounds so professional. It’s fantastic. Mio, you’re so smart.’

  A slight frown lined Mio’s brow. Back home in Japan it was a compliment to be called smart. Here, however, the word had sometimes been used against her. But one look at Clem’s smiling face told her this was no insult.

  Darcy pointed to the second paragraph. ‘I like this part about other cities have public skate parks which permit BMX riders, so we should all be treated equal. If being sued is such a problem we just have to find out how those other cities handle the insurance and stuff. Mr Lark might work on that.’

  Mio printed her name and signed her signature with a determined flourish before passing the pen to Clem. Darcy, Bryce and Tong added their names. ‘Just wait till I’ve finished. There’ll be hundreds of names on this list.’ Taking the petition from Tong, Mio strode over to her first student conquests of the day.

  By the end of recess there were over thirty names on the list. Mio should have felt proud of this achievement but she didn’t. She was smarting at all those who’d refused. Reasons varied from an emphatic ‘BMXers can go to hell’, to a lazy ‘Can’t be bothered’. She consoled herself with the fact that she was about to give her talk on soldiers’ clothing and should at least be able to enlist the support of most of the students in that class.

  After talking about shirts and shorts, trousers and jackets, hats and helmets and berets, boots and belts, Mio removed Mr Lark’s dog tags from a black cloth pouch. She waited for silence, then held them up to the class and continued. ‘This is a military dog tag. The military dog tag, or identity disc, is made out of stainless steel so it won’t rust. It’s a form of identification. Each soldier carried two tags so that if he got killed in battle one tag would remain with his body and one would be taken by a surviving soldier to report the death. It would then be passed on to their next of kin.’

  Leks, a small and intense boy up the back piped up, ‘In Battlefield211, this computer game, you have to do whatever you can to keep your dog tags but if you knife someone, you get to take theirs. I’ve got heaps.’

  Mio managed to keep the irritation from her voice at the intrusion. ‘Thank you for sharing that fascinating piece of information, Leks.’ She cleared her throat and went on. ‘It’s said that the surviving soldier put one dog tag between the upper and lower teeth of the dead soldier so it wouldn’t easily dislodge.’ Mio jangled the dog tags in her hands. ‘Normally, they’d have silencers around these to stop the noise. These tags belong to my good friend Mr Lark, who’s kindly lent them to me so I can show you guys today. He says to remind you that each tag means more than letters and numbers stamped into metal.’

  ‘We’ve got my grandfather’s dog tags at home,’ said one girl.

  ‘So have we,’ said a boy.

  A few other heads in the room nodded as well.

  ‘My big brother collects dog tags,’ said Leks. ‘Pays a lot of money for them.’

  Ignoring him, Mio carried on. ‘So, you’ll know then that each tag belonged to a very special person.’ The whole class nodded, including their teacher. With a bow and a round of applause Mio returned to her seat. When the bell rang she stood at the door, collecting signatures as students filed out. But when Leks asked to hold the dog tags Mio pulled back. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘No.’

  Leks snatched for the black pouch, tucked in the palm of Mio’s hand. She jerked away saying, ‘I was told to guard them with my life.’

  ‘I won’t hurt them.’

  ‘I know, but I promised Mr Lark.’

  Leks shoved past, saying, ‘Hope your dumb petition doesn’t work.’ As he strode down the corridor he stopped and turned. ‘You goody two shoes. Why don’t you go back to Japan?’

  Clem looped her arm through Mio’s, saying, ‘Don’t worry about him. He’s just throwing a tantrum. He’s nearly as good as Bruno or Tim.’

  Mio ignored the barb, then smiled at the image of Clem’s younger brothers, mid-cry. ‘That’s saying something,’ she said. ‘Those two are The
Tantrum Kings.’

  After lunch the kids decided to separate and take pages from the petition around individually. Tong stuck with Bryce as he didn’t trust his English enough to be able to convince others to sign. Not surprisingly, Bryce headed for the canteen where he knew that kids seated at tables would make easy targets. Darcy went for the playing fields, buzzing with training sessions at this time of day, while Clem headed for the library, thinking, Even non-sporty people would sign a petition.

  That left Mio, who had already picked her way over most of the school grounds and was racking her brains for somewhere to go. When the quiet was jarred by one long, then two short bells, she knew exactly where to target. Detention. There were bound to be kids there.

  When Mio arrived at the Detention room she found one or two kids loitering at the door and several inside. There was no sign of the supervising teacher on duty so Mio strode up to the front desk and rapped it with her hand. ‘Can I have your attention?’ she asked and went on to explain the reason for her visit and to ask that they sign her petition.

  ‘Not signing anything,’ said one girl. ‘I’m an inline skater and I hate the way you BMXers think you own the skate parks. Great big posers you are with your flash bikes weaving in and out. Think you’re so great mowing us down.’ She hoicked up her skirt to show a painful looking, strawberry black bruise on her thigh. ‘That’s how I got this hipper.’

  Another boy growled, ‘Us skateboarders feel the same. Lost count of the number of times you guys made us bale and slam.’

  A third took up their cause. ‘You seem to go out of your way to make us eat dirt. I say BMXers out!’

  ‘BMXers out!’

  ‘BMXers out!’

  The seven or eight kids took up the chant, making noise with whatever came to hand; foot stamping, hand clapping, thigh slapping. The noise grew louder and louder.

  Mr Ravine, a basketball coach, appeared at the door, blowing his whistle furiously. The kids took off. Led by the girl with the supposedly-bung hip they scrambled past Mr Ravine and scooted round the bend to disappear down a corridor before he could register that they had gone.

  The only one left was Mio.

  Mr Ravine snatched at the papers in her hand, scanned the petition, then looked up with eyes narrowed in anger. ‘This makes a mockery of detention!’ Mio watched his hands shake.

  ‘I can explain,’ she began, but Mr Ravine cut her off. ‘You’ll be explaining all right. Explaining to Mrs Burridge.’ Mio gulped at the thought of having to face the headmistress of The Metropolitan School.

  She wanted to say, I didn’t do anything wrong, but growing up in Japan had taught her to act otherwise. How often had she heard the saying, The nail that sticks up will be hammered down? So, despite the words swirling like a whirlwind in her head she said nothing to defend herself.

  And she continued to say nothing when Mrs Burridge gave her a detention, even though the whirlwind was now twisting like a tornado.

  Mio hung her head as she trudged back to her locker. How was she going to face her parents? How would she explain a school detention? In Japan students never got a detention; it interfered with their right to attend class. All the teacher had to do if kids misbehaved was do the batsu sign, make a cross with their arms, and it was enough to make them stop.

  When Mio got close to her locker she pulled up in shock. ‘Nande kuso? [What the hell?]’

  Someone had used a permanent texta to write ‘SK8TR H8TR’ in large black letters on the door. Mio blinked in confusion. What was going on? Who’d written such a ridiculous thing? Mio wasn’t getting the petition together because she hated skateboarders. She was getting the petition together because she loved riding!

  But as she crept closer something else sent her stomach plummeting. The locker door was ajar. Mio inspected the contents. It was obvious that someone had rifled through everything but as far as she could tell, it was as she’d left it. Then a thunderbolt hit her. The black pouch.

  It was gone.

  Chapter Four

  That afternoon, by the time Mio arrived at the Van her face was pinched and her hair dishevelled. The Freewheelers took one look at her and ushered her inside.

  ‘What happened to you?’ asked Darcy.

  As Mio told them about her locker and the stolen dog tags her eyes glistened with tears. Bryce leant over as best he could in the cramped conditions and attempted to give her a hug while Clem offered a tissue. Mio brushed them both away. She sat rigid, a silent ball of misery, as the others tried to work out what to do.

  ‘Did you report it to Mrs Burridge?’ asked Clem.

  Mio shook her head, trying to work out how to explain that she couldn’t face Mrs Burridge, not after that other dreadful matter of the detention.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Darcy. ‘This is serious.’

  ‘Not just serious,’ said Bryce. ‘Those dog tags mean the world to Mr Lark.’

  Clem’s brow furrowed. ‘Not just the world. Those tags are Mr Lark. They’re who he is.’

  Mio bit the inside of her lip as she tried to contain her grief, hoping the physical pain would relieve her anguish.

  ‘Mio? What they write on your locker?’ asked Tong. ‘I no understand.’

  ‘SK8TR H8TR.’ She shook her head at the ridiculousness of it all. ‘I don’t hate skaters.’

  Bryce clicked his fingers. ‘Well that narrows things down. Whoever took the tags must be a skater, which means about a quarter of the school is under suspicion. Hey, that only leaves a couple of hundred kids to eliminate.’

  Clem groaned. ‘That’s far too many. I say we go back to school and tell Mrs Burridge. Demand a locker search. Maybe even go to the police and report it?’

  Bryce snorted, saying, ‘As if they’d take us seriously.’

  ‘What if we get Mr Lark to report it, then?’

  ‘Mr Lark!’ Mio’s face went white. Even the hands covering her face leeched white, turning her into a stone statue.

  Clem glanced around the group; concern was etched in each and every face. ‘How do we tell Mr Lark?’ she whispered.

  Tong huddled into his shirt and took in huge gulps of air. The memory of the time he had had to confess to Mr Lark about losing his bike still made him breathless. That was hard, but what Mio had to do would be much, much harder.

  ‘Do we have to?’ asked Bryce.

  The others turned to him, brows raised in question.

  ‘Do we have to tell him?’ repeated Bryce. ‘Why not find the dog tags and return them with him none the wiser?’

  Mio glanced up. The idea was certainly appealing, but should they hide the loss? ‘It’s dishonest,’ she eventually decided.

  ‘Bull!’ exclaimed Darcy. ‘Why put one of the nicest old men in the world through torture, when we could easily stall him a bit till we get to the bottom of this?’

  Bryce nodded at Darcy, saying, ‘I’m with you. The less drama the better.’

  Tong nodded, too. ‘I with you. No tell Mr Lark.’

  ‘But what if we don’t get them back?’ asked Clem.

  Darcy’s lips set firm. ‘We’ll face that when the time comes.’

  Mio shuddered, then rose to her feet. ‘C’mon. Let’s get back to The Met.’

  It was a very dispirited group of riders who made their way back to the school. Even the downhill ‘Pump to the Jump’ failed to spark their enthusiasm and where the road branched into a wonderful downhill glide they opted for the higher, more level path. Normally it would be a race to see who could zoom along the retaining wall below and catapult the furthest into the air, before nailing the perfect landing and riding away. But today, no-one was thinking of conquering the skies.

  They rode like robots, their minds focused on the challenge ahead.

  By the time they reached the school the whole place looked deserted, except for some cleaners and a security man.

  ‘Whatchu want?’ asked the man.

  ‘Something’s been stol—’ began Mio but Bryce cut her off with, ‘Left s
omething in her locker. We’re just going back to get it.’

  The security man’s eyes narrowed as he sized up the situation.

  Clem took off her helmet, saying, ‘We won’t be long. Promise.’

  And at the sweetness of her smile the security man mellowed. ‘Just a few minutes, then. But be quick. Head’s about. School’s outta bounds after five.’

  With cries of ‘Thanks’ and ‘You’re a champ’, the kids left their bikes leaning against the stairs and went inside.

  The building felt chilled and no longer welcoming. In place of the familiar rumbles of talk and laughter there was now a vacuum of silence. The kids scooted down the corridor to Mio’s locker, haste tempered by their need to keep quiet.

  ‘Shhh,’ warned Darcy as Bryce tripped on a sweatshirt that was littering the floor.

  ‘So-rry!’ whispered Bryce.

  As Mio strode along, a lemony smell assaulted her nostrils. She turned back to the others, saying, ‘The cleaners have been here.’

  ‘We should ask them if they’ve found anything,’ said Clem and when Darcy gave her a withering look she shrugged saying, ‘Anything’s worth a try.’ The sound of singing floated from the library, the words indecipherable. ‘I’ll go ask them,’ said Clem and peeled away in search.

  The others clustered around Mio’s locker. The black ink saying SK8TR H8TR slashed across the paler school grey paint.

  ‘Open it,’ said Darcy who was hoping it was all some big mistake and that Mio would find the black pouch and dog tags tucked away in some unexpected nook or cranny. It often happened to him: he’d look and look and couldn’t find something then along would come Clem and she’d point it out right away. His mum called it having a ‘boy look’.

  Mio plugged the combination into the lock and the door sprung open. Her usually neat books lay higgledy piggledy, some open, pages bent. Mio reached in and began straightening them up but Darcy stopped her. ‘Take it all out and start again,’ he said.

  Mio pulled out the contents in one clump, then Darcy inspected the inside of the locker, running his hand into every corner and crevice. ‘Nothing,’ he announced. One by one Mio replaced her belongings, shaking each as she went to make sure nothing was caught inside.