Extreme!

by J A Mawter

  ‘Ni [Two]. The emails were abusive. San [Three]. Some emails were threatening.’

  ‘Maa nante koto nanda! [Oh, my God!]’ By now Mio’s head was about to explode. It wasn’t her. She hadn’t done this.

  ‘Shi [Four]. Mrs Burridge intends to notify the police. Did you send the emails, Mio?’ probed Mrs Shinozaki.

  ‘Zettaini chigaimasu! [Absolutely not!]’

  Mio’s father leant towards her as he asked, ‘Dare? [Who?]’

  Mio sat on the lounge shaking her head as if to clear away everything she’d just heard. But the words reverberated around her skull as if Oni [Japanese demon] himself was chasing her soul. ‘Shirimasen [I don’t know].’ She looked from her father to her mother, then back to her father. ‘But I intend to find out.’

  Before she was sent to her room Mio made a hasty phone call to Clem to arrange for everyone to meet early the next morning, then wrestled with more demons all night.

  Chapter Eleven

  That morning on her way to the Van Mio was so distracted she pulled out in front of a car and was startled to hear the screech of brakes, then a horn. A hand gesticulated wildly. She’d shrugged an apology and waved to say thanks before noticing the number plates. Green! Mio knew it was a silly superstition but just as powerfully she knew she was going to have yet another, very bad day. With infinitely more care she negotiated her way along the city streets.

  Clem rushed from the Van as soon as she heard Mio pull up, asking, ‘What’s happened?’

  Darcy’s matching reddish-blonde head poked from the door as he added, ‘Yeah. What’s going on?’

  After one look at Mio’s face they pulled her inside the Van. As quickly as they could Tong and Bryce chained up their bikes and went in also.

  ‘The whole world’s ganging up against me.’ Mio looked drawn and pinched as she told the Freewheelers about the emails.

  ‘Someone’s hacked into your account,’ said Darcy.

  ‘But why?’ asked Clem.

  Mio shook her head, saying, ‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’

  Tong asked, his voice more a whisper, ‘What in email, Mio? What email say?’

  Mio twisted her sleeve around and around a finger. ‘I don’t know! According to Mum the emails were abusive, some even threatening, but she couldn’t tell me what they said. Mrs Burridge wouldn’t say over the phone. She’s asked them to come in at half past nine this morning. Me, too.’ Her voice caught in her throat.

  Clem patted Mio’s arm. ‘We’ll get to the bottom of this real quick. You’ll see.’

  Mio flinched from Clem’s hand, her eyes wide with doubt as she shrugged her disbelief.

  On his upturned milk crate Bryce stared out the window, deep in thought.

  ‘Seems like I’ve made an enemy,’ said Mio.

  Clem would have liked to dismiss this as just a run of bad luck but between the stolen tags and the gum in the lock and now this, coincidence was slipping further and further down the list of possibilities. ‘But who?’ she asked.

  ‘And why?’ added Tong.

  ‘Wonder if it’s to do with the petition,’ said Bryce. ‘Maybe a skater who doesn’t want it to get up?’

  Mio frowned as she considered the possibility. ‘I guess…’

  ‘You didn’t force anyone to sign,’ said Darcy. ‘It’s not as if you threatened to karate-kick them or anything.’

  ‘No.’

  Tong sighed, then asked, ‘What your father and mother say, Mio?’ He could imagine what his own parents would say. The disgrace to himself. The disgrace to the family. Tentatively, he asked, ‘They okay?’

  Mio shook her head. ‘All the evidence points to me.’

  Bryce snapped back to the conversation. ‘But spoofing’s rife. The “From” field of an email can easily be altered; it’s no indicator of who sent the email.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Darcy. ‘Anyone can pretend to be anyone on the Net.’

  ‘There must be some way to trace a sender,’ said Bryce.

  ‘Of course there is,’ said Clem. ‘It’s called email tracking. The school might be able to help. You should ask at the meeting this morning, Mio.’

  ‘I guess…’

  On the way to school Mio braced herself for the morning ahead. She’d heard about this sort of thing happening to others, but had never been a target herself. She remembered one girl when she was at school in Japan who was always getting a hard time—kids calling her names, spreading rumours, not speaking to her. The girl ended up leaving. In fact, the whole school was glad to see the back of her, Mio included. But now the same thing was happening to her! From experience Mio knew it was important that she did not stand out. Not like that girl had stood out. It was vital to blend in with the group.

  Tong was thinking the same thing—that Mio should not attract any more attention to herself.

  Clem, however, was thinking just the opposite and said, ‘Mio, you should make as much fuss about this as possible.’

  ‘No,’ said Mio, her voice steeled with urgency. ‘No way.’

  ‘But you’re being victimised.’

  Mio tried to make light of it by saying, ‘It’s probably some joke, that’s all.’ She could feel fear gurgling inside her and prayed it wouldn’t bubble to the surface.

  When she arrived at Mrs Burridge’s office at 9.25 am, after being excused early from Science, Mio could see her parents seated stiffly on two chairs in the waiting room. How small and timid they looked against the dark wood and leather, she thought, and how bad it was that she was the one responsible for their discomfort. She lowered her eyes as she walked towards them and bowed.

  Then they were summoned.

  Mrs Burridge held out her hand to Mio’s father, taken aback when it was ignored. A flustered Mrs Burridge tried to bow. Mr Shinozaki bowed back. Mio noticed with amusement that her father’s bow was not as low as Mrs Burridge’s. She also noticed that although her father’s mouth was turned up in a smile of greeting his eyes were hooded and icy. Her mother’s face stayed blank.

  After the formalities were over Mrs Burridge began. Sitting ramrod straight in her chair she said, ‘I am most displeased with Mio’s behaviour.’

  Here we go, Mio said to herself.

  When Mio’s parents said nothing, Mrs Burridge went on. ‘Students in this school are not allowed to harass another—whether that be in person or by any other means.’ She paused, but still the Shinozakis said nothing. Mio’s cheeks tinged with red but Mrs Burridge could not tell whether this was from anger or embarrassment. Mrs Burridge blustered on, her voice growing louder and louder. ‘We at The Metropolitan School have clear and succinct policies about bullying and this,’ she waved her hand at a sheaf of emails, ‘is a blatant example of that which we are trying to stamp out. There’s been far too much of this unacceptable behaviour at our school lately. I intend to put a stop to this if it’s the last thing I do.’

  Why does it have to be me who is made an example of? thought Mio. She flared on the inside. This was so unfair.

  Mrs Burridge cleared her throat. The Shinozakis’ silence was unnerving. Mistaking their lack of response for guilt she reached for her handkerchief and blew her nose to fill the silence.

  Another insult to her family. Mio repressed a smile. She restrained herself from leaning over to pick up the papers, even though they were the incriminating evidence against her.

  At last, her father gestured to the emails and said, ‘May I?’

  Mr Shinozaki began to read. Every so often he would tip his head backwards and audibly suck air in through his teeth. Not a good sign, thought Mio. She glanced at her mother who sat still, feet crossed at the ankles, her hands resting in her lap, as composed as if she were waiting for a symphony to begin.

  After several minutes Mr Shinozaki placed the emails back on the desk and began to speak. Each word was chosen and delivered with care. ‘It is most unfortunate for your students to receive such disturbing emails.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘E
ven more unfortunate for those who have received threats…’

  ‘What kind of threats?’ asked Mio, to which Mrs Burridge chided, ‘Now, Mio, don’t pretend you don’t know.’ Mio was imagining death threats, and was greatly relieved to learn from her father that they were vague and non-specific. Heavily accented he had read: I’m gonna get you. You’re gonna get it. That sort of thing.

  Mrs Burridge then added, ‘Look at the sender address. There’s our evidence in black and white.’

  Black and white. Images jumped into Mio’s head:

  Suddenly, Mio couldn’t remember the word for grey. Her heart thumped as she sifted through her brain. Midori—green. Aka—red. Kiiro—yellow. What was grey? Surely, she couldn’t be forgetting her own language already? Her father’s voice pierced her addled brain. She looked up and blinked. Everyone was looking at her as if waiting for her reply. ‘Sorry? What was the question?’

  ‘Who knows your email address?’

  Mio was about to say, ‘No-one’, but then she remembered. ‘Clem knows it. And Darcy, of course. And Bryce and Tong.’

  ‘Have you had a fight with any of your friends?’ asked Mrs Burridge.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes!’

  Mrs Burridge’s lips morphed into a thin line. ‘They wouldn’t be foolish enough to tell anyone your email address, would they?’

  ‘Of course not.’ The Freewheelers weren’t stupid.

  Except one!

  Mio’s eyes widened. One Freewheeler was stupid. Very stupid. And that Freewheeler had handed out numerous copies of her email address in History just in case someone found out something about the stolen dog tags.

  Mio’s father noticed the turmoil in her eyes. ‘Something disturbs you, Mio. What is it?’

  Mio’s heart started pounding again. The last thing she wanted was to have to confess to losing Mr Lark’s dog tags.

  ‘Tell us. What is it?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Mio sat resolutely in her chair, realising that information which might help her in this situation would create another headache twice as big.

  Dissatisfied by his daughter’s reluctance to explain, but accepting the situation, Mr Shinozaki turned to Mrs Burridge and said, ‘In this day anyone can set up an email address and call themselves by any name. Yours, Mrs Burridge. Mine. Or Mio’s.’ He did not look at Mio. ‘My daughter says she did not send these emails and after having read them I’m inclined to agree.’ Mio started to feel a little hopeful.

  Mrs Burridge stood up, her chair scraping in her agitation. ‘That’s what every parent says about their child, Mr Shinokazi…’

  Mio’s father made no effort to correct the error. The insult to his name was too great.

  Mrs Burridge continued, ‘From recent experiences at our school, we have found that every student is capable of sending hate mail.’

  Mr Shinozaki was leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed.

  Surely he hasn’t gone to sleep? thought Mrs Burridge.

  If she’d looked closely she would have seen the imperceptible nods of his head and known he was listening. But all she gave was a cursory glance. Mio almost giggled when her headmistress leant forward and tapped her father’s sleeve in an effort to wake him up.

  ‘Ara! [Oh!]’ Mr Shinozaki pulled back in shock—one should never presume to touch another in this way—but as he did so he knocked a glass of water into Mrs Burridge’s lap.

  ‘Aaaaghh!’ screamed Mrs Burridge, scrabbling to get to her feet, with all the decorum of an ostrich.

  Mrs Shinozaki’s eyes sprung open, but she remained in her seat, saying nothing.

  Mio didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This meeting could now officially be declared A National Disaster Zone. Later, when the Freewheelers listened to her tale, they roared with laughter, doubling up again when Bryce did a Mrs Burridge impersonation, but sobering quickly when Mio added, ‘I’ve been put on probation. One more incident and I have to leave The Met.’

  ‘Leave The Met?!’ exclaimed Clem. ‘They can’t make you.’

  ‘Oh, yes they can.’ Mio sighed and sank onto a bench. ‘There’s enough evidence against me.’

  ‘What evidence?’ growled Bryce. ‘Some stupid emails.’

  ‘Stupid would be good. Abusive and threatening are not so good.’

  Darcy slouched against the wall, his hands tapping in frustration. ‘Which brings us back to the question…Why would anyone do such a thing? What’s their motivation?’

  ‘Jealousy.’

  ‘Hate.’

  ‘Revenge?’

  Darcy whacked his fist into his palm. ‘Revenge for what?’

  Mio broke the ensuing silence. ‘The only thing I can think of is the petition. Someone doesn’t want me to go ahead with the petition.’

  ‘Skaters!’ said Darcy. ‘Dirty, rotten, scum-of-the-earth skaters.’

  When no-one replied Darcy got to his feet. ‘I’m going to take that petition to the council meeting tomorrow if it’s the last thing I do.’

  Clem placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder. ‘And I’ll be with you.’

  ‘And me,’ said Bryce.

  ‘Me, too,’ said Tong.

  Mio looked around at her friends and held out her hand. Four hands plonked themselves on top.

  Freewheelers!

  Chapter Twelve

  That afternoon the kids headed back to their Van. To Mio, it now felt more like a sanctuary than a meeting place. She smiled as she took in the familiar surroundings—the TV table, the milk-crate seats, the battered old suitcase for storing stuff—and she felt safe.

  ‘Everyone sit!’ announced Bryce when the last of their bikes had been secured.

  ‘Why?’ asked Darcy, lowering himself onto a crate. He was getting taller now and his legs didn’t tuck under like they used to.

  Bryce laughed. ‘’Cause I don’t want you to keel over with shock.’ He reached for his backpack, teasing, ‘Guess what we’re having to eat?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Something we haven’t had for a very long time.’

  ‘Flutternutters?’ asked Clem, who was extra fond of the peanut butter and marshmallow spread.

  ‘Further back than that!’ And with a flourish Bryce pulled from his bag…

  Baby food!

  With complete seriousness, Bryce handed each person a tub of pureed apple and a spoon adding, ‘With thanks to baby Liv.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding!’ said Darcy, handing his back.

  ‘Normally, that’d be the case in our house too but Liv hates these pureed apples. Won’t touch them. Which is why we’ve inherited them.’

  Darcy pulled a face. ‘The only one who still eats this stuff in our household is Drew.’

  Bryce pretended to look offended, then he snatched the tub from Darcy’s hand announcing, ‘More for me, then.’

  Clem peeled the foil top off her tub and licked it. She grinned at Bryce, saying, ‘I love this stuff!’ Then she scooped up a spoonful and popped it in her mouth. ‘Oma and Opa serve this as a dessert. They call it apfelmousse.’

  At the mention of apfelmousse Darcy took his tub back, saying, ‘Never said I didn’t want it,’ and peeled off the lid.

  Mio and Tong traded quizzical looks at the sight of their friends eating pureed baby apple. What had the Freewheelers come to?!

  ‘Something wrong?’ asked Darcy, smacking his lips.

  ‘Not quite the seaweed-flavoured noodles or sukiyaki-style beef with rice gruel that I got as a baby,’ joked Mio.

  Tong shrugged, trying not to offend. ‘Jackfruit better. Or lychee. Or rambutan.’

  Clem frowned as she asked, ‘What’s a rambutan?’

  Tong searched for the words. ‘Hairy lychee.’

  ‘Oh.’

  At Bryce’s insistence Mio and Tong opened a tub and sampled the baby food. The apple tasted tart, yet sweet, and they soon found it sliding down. Mio shook her head as she said, ‘I can’t believe that tasted so good.�
�

  ‘Me either,’ agreed Tong.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m eating baby food again,’ said Darcy, at which Clem reached over and tousled his hair, saying, ‘I always thought you were a big baby.’

  ‘Am not.’

  And then it was on.

  Darcy grabbed another tub of apple, peeled off the lid, then scooped some up, using the spoon like a slingshot to shoot it at Clem. ‘Apologise,’ he said as he watched the goop of apple slide down her cheek.

  ‘Will not!’ Clem grabbed the last tub and spoon, and armed herself likewise.

  Mio and Tong melted against the wall, trying to avoid being targets but Bryce decided to join in. The apple pinged off his spoon, landing with bullseye accuracy in the middle of Darcy’s forehead. Never one to miss an opportunity, Clem lobbed another spoonful and this one landed in Darcy’s hair.

  Darcy responded in the only way he knew how. By-passing the spoon, and with an ingenious double-flick of his hand, he managed to cover both Clem and Bryce with the contents of his tub. Then he shot out the door before they could retaliate.

  Immediately, they gave chase, running round and round Linley Park till, with a bit of teamwork from Clem and Bryce, they managed to bale him up in a tunnel.

  ‘What now?’ asked Bryce.

  Clem stuck her head inside the tunnel. ‘Apologise, Darcy, or else.’

  ‘Or else what?’

  ‘Or else I’ll get you. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But, Darcy Jacobs, you’re going to have to watch your back!’

  ‘Boo hoo, I’m scared,’ said Darcy, rolling out of the tunnel and standing over his sister.

  Clem loomed closer. ‘You should be.’ The pair went eyeball to eyeball, the threat hanging in the air, neither of them daring to blink. It was a duel that went back to their childhood. Eventually, they broke apart and returned to the Van. ‘Mr Lark’s expecting us,’ announced Clem when everyone was inside. ‘He’s got all that information for us, remember?’

  The kids looked at each other then back to Mio, the problem of the missing dog tags unspoken on their lips.

  ‘I can’t face him,’ she said.