Extreme!

by J A Mawter

  Mrs Burridge frowned, twitched her nose and pursed her lips reminding Mio of a Japanese mole fossicking for insects. Mio waited. Time stood still for her. Her gaze was lowered, but out of the corner of her eye she saw the headmistress stand up. Mio’s fingers had lost all feeling as she gripped her chair. Finally, Mrs Burridge cleared her throat and announced, ‘I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You can have till four o’clock tomorrow—Friday. If you find out more well and good, but if you don’t…’ She cleared her throat again, ‘I’ll have no hesitation in taking this further.’

  A reprieve!

  Mrs Burridge had to strain to hear the words, ‘Domo arigato [Thank you very much]’.

  Chapter Eighteen

  That afternoon after school the kids decided to hang out at the Van. Mio doubled on the bike with Clem, who detoured via home to pick up some ingredients for their after-school snack.

  Between the bike, the food and Mio, Clem was finding riding quite a challenge, but she hung in there, pedalling determinedly.

  Soon everyone had arrived and four bikes were chained to the bumper bar.

  ‘Whatcha got?’ asked Bryce. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘I’m making honey milk balls,’ said Clem. ‘Now, be patient.’

  The boys sat glued to Clem’s every move, eager to eat, but Mio sat staring into space, mulling over her disaster of a day. She barely registered the cup of oats and cup of powdered milk that went into the plastic bowl Clem had also brought. In fact, for the first time ever she didn’t want to be at the Van. She was itching to get home to see if the JEAAG people, or Sachi, had replied. When Mio saw Clem add some peanut butter and honey to the mixture her mind was made up. She’d abandon the Van and walk home. ‘I’ve got some things to do before the meeting tonight,’ she announced. ‘Homework and stuff. I’ll see you at the council meeting at six on the dot, promise.’

  As Clem mixed the ingredients together she worried about her friend, hoping she wasn’t caving in under all the pressure. ‘Take it easy, Mio. Mum’s driving us tonight. Let me know if you need a lift.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ said Mio. ‘But thanks.’ And she ducked through the doorway and headed on foot for home.

  Grabbing a plastic spoon from the storage suitcase in the Van Clem began rolling the mixture into generous-sized balls and offering them to the boys. The powdered milk and peanut butter stuck to the roof of their mouths, clumpy with oats.

  Darcy spat his out onto a plate saying, ‘It’s like eating Plaster of Paris.’

  Clem flared. ‘That’s the last time I’m cooking for you!’

  ‘Cooking. You call that cooking? I call it eating a bowl of cement.’

  Bryce grinned and grabbed another ball saying, ‘Best cement I’ve ever had.’

  ‘I can cook!’ Clem yelled at her brother.

  ‘Can’t.’

  ‘Can.’

  ‘You cook like you ride—with a lead foot.’ Darcy had gone too far.

  ‘We’ll see who has a lead foot. I challenge you to a ride-off. Best trick wins.’

  Darcy grinned. ‘You’re on. Where do you want to go?’

  ‘Pump to the Jump,’ came the instant reply.

  Tong and Bryce had no choice but to say they’d go too.

  Between the road with a steep descent and the sloping stone wall, the support fence with its ledge and sheer drop to the street below, Pump to the Jump was the perfect place for a ride-off.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ said Darcy.

  ‘Yeah, let’s.’

  Clem stuffed the containers, bowl and jars in her backpack and followed her brother out the door.

  As the kids rode down the street, it felt strange to them to be riding as a foursome, like a bike missing a tyre.

  ‘Nothing like riding freestyle,’ said Darcy, enjoying the sun on his face and the wind tickling his hair. ‘Freestyle means you…’

  ‘Ride like you want to ride,’ finished Clem.

  ‘Be who you want to be,’ agreed Bryce.

  Tong raised his voice to the heavens. ‘Be free!’

  The kids rode down the streets, zooming along the flats, jumping up curbs, holding the perfect wheelie—doing bunnyhops and can-cans and barspins, claiming the streets as their own.

  ‘This is keeping it real,’ said Darcy. ‘Riding for fun.’ He lifted his handlebars into a rolling wheelie and with rider and bike in perfect balance cried, ‘Freewheelers.’

  Clem, Bryce and Tong joined him, four wheelies maintained at the same speed, not needing to accelerate to keep their balance. After coasting like this for five seconds, ten, even more, they dropped their front ends, each nailing the landing as smooth as butter.

  Now, that was what riding was all about—balance and self-belief and the determination to pull off a trick. Just you and your bike, conquering the road or the wall or the stairs, with the feeling that that one moment in time was all that counted.

  When they arrived at the jump, Clem opted to go first. Pedalling down the road she turned hard right and zoomed up the wall. At the top she lifted into the air, taking both feet off for a no-footer before twisting and going back down the wall. From here she hopped to grind on the fence, jumping off and doing a superman impersonation before she landed.

  Bryce and Tong broke into applause.

  ‘You’ve been practising,’ said Darcy, and Clem glowed with the compliment. ‘My turn.’

  Like Clem he pushed his bike up the road to be in a position to build up speed. Like Clem he rode down the steep street, but unlike Clem Darcy rode no-handed.

  Clem groaned. Already he was showing her up and he hadn’t even started. How she wished Mio was there. It felt so weird without her.

  As he drew level with the wall Darcy jumped and turned in mid-air, his feet flying off the pedals as he twisted his body like a corkscrew before landing and whooshing up the wall. At the top he hopped and balanced on the rim before dropping off. Then he flew down the wall and jumped for the fence, taking his grind for as long as it would go before getting back on the fence, accelerating and doing a downside tailwhip, his body spinning 180 degrees one way and his bike spinning 180 degrees the other way, to nail his landing on the footpath below.

  ‘Hardcore!’ cried Bryce, bounding up to slap him on the back.

  ‘You ride like a butterfly,’ said Tong and to the tune of ‘Frère Jacques’ he broke into song:

  Tong looked sheepish but held his head high. It was a long, long time since he’d sung ‘The Yellow Butterfly’ but it brought back a flood of memories. If he closed his eyes he could still see his grandfather singing and playing the dan tranh, a plucked zither with seventeen strings. He could hear the music swirling, the melody advancing and receding, with a flowing, wave-like motion.

  Darcy laughed saying, ‘I’ve never been called a butterfly before but I’m taking that as a compliment.’

  Clem turned to Tong and demanded, ‘What about me? Do I ride like a butterfly?’

  Tong was searching for the right words when Bryce butted in. ‘Clem, you’re more like one of those little hummingbirds.’

  ‘Meaning she’s got a big beak?’ asked Darcy.

  ‘No!’ Bryce gave him a gentle clip over the ear. ‘Meaning that she’s fast and agile, with good endurance and power.’

  Clem swelled to full height, poking her brother and saying, ‘Thank you, Bryce.’

  Bryce broke into a grin as he added, ‘And there’s always such a thing as hummingbird cake which I saw on a cooking show on TV.’

  ‘All roads lead to food for you, Bryce,’ said Clem.

  ‘Also known as The Cake That Doesn’t Last.’

  ‘Just like Clem,’ said Darcy. ‘No staying power.’

  Bryce shook his head. ‘On the contrary, the cake which has nothing left-over at the end. Clem gives all she’s got and she has nothing left over at the end.’

  Darcy groaned and said, ‘That’s stretching it,’ before clapping his hands. ‘Now that this mutual admiration society is over and it’s obvi
ous I won the trick, we’d better get going. There’s things to do before that meeting tonight.’

  The kids headed home, agreeing to meet in just over an hour in front of the council building.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When Mio arrived home the first thing she did after greeting Yuki was race to the computer. Once it was turned on, she was shocked to see the same screen saver as she’d seen at school. Normally, the screen displayed a Japanese garden. When Mio sat in front of it she could almost feel the spiritual beauty of the garden, with its oriental pagodas and blooming cherry trees. But today that beauty was replaced by the harshness of the bright red circle, the logo for The Metropolitan School and the BMX slogans.

  Mio clicked on the internet and was relieved when her email program came up. Her eyes raced down the screen, scanning for messages. There were seventy-six in all, which was strange, very strange. Many of the senders were unknown to her. At last she found an email from Sachi. Sachi liked to practise so it was written in English. Mio Shinozaki, it said. Nothing like To My Best Friend, or To my e-Pal which she normally got. Using the mouse, Mio clicked on the message and began to read.

  You make bad relationship with each other. Do not contact me. No email. No phone. Sayonara

  Mio sat there in shock, the words dancing in front of her eyes. She and Sachi had been friends since yochien [kindergarten]. They’d gone to the same sho-gakko [elementary school]. Shared study and clubs. They’d learnt swimming and calligraphy together. Laughed at the same jokes, had a crush on the same boy. It was incomprehensible that Sachi didn’t want anything more to do with her. What had been in that email that was so hateful? So hurtful?

  Mio decided to take this further. Her friendship with Sachi was too important to give up on. She emailed again, apologising for the second time and explaining that there was a person pretending to be her. She signed it, Your friend, Mio and prayed that soon it would be true again.

  Next, Mio looked for an email from JEAAG. Nothing. She sighed, and decided to re-send the original in case they hadn’t received it. Things often went missing in cyberspace.

  But when Mio turned her attention to the rest of her emails it was she who wished she’d go missing. Being gobbled up by cyberspace was preferable to sitting here and reading these, she thought.

  Student after student had responded to the abusive emails, supposedly sent by her, calling her names that were unrepeatable and telling her to watch her back. Mio was stunned. After reading five or six emails she deleted them all, then regretted it immediately and retrieved them from the trash can. Marking all emails as ‘Read’ she shut down the computer. For a moment she contemplated the idea of closing her email address and opening a new one, starting with a new slate, but then she thought that the only way to discover who was sending the emails was to keep her account open.

  Mio sat there, staring at the blank screen, thinking that this couldn’t be happening—not to Mio Shinozaki, excellent student, faithful daughter, friend and Freewheeler. Why? What was the reason for this? She knew that in life, challenges were meant to be character-building but she also knew she’d had enough. Surely she’d shown them that not only was she tough, could show kindness and respect, she also had omoiyari [thoughtfulness for others]. She felt torn. The Japanese Mio would withdraw under all this pressure, but the Western Mio wanted to fight back. She thought about her life now, about being a Freewheeler and what that meant, and knew what she must do. She eased off the chair and stood up, throwing back her shoulders and holding up her head. She was going to fight back! And where better to start the fight than at the meeting tonight.

  At six o’clock precisely all the Freewheelers had shown up at the council chambers. And at 6.03 pm Mr Lark hopped off a bus. Mr Lark! The last person Mio wanted to see. At this thought Mio shivered with guilt, for Mr Lark was the nicest, kindest old man, and without him they wouldn’t even be at this meeting. Besides, in his sports jacket, tie and shiny shoes he lent them an aura of respectability that they could surely use.

  As always, Clem ran up to him, throwing her arms about his waist and squeezing hard. And as always, Mr Lark squeezed back. Then he pulled away and asked, ‘Got the petition?’

  ‘Here,’ said Mio, waving the sheaf of papers at him.

  Mr Lark rubbed his hands, eager for the battle to begin. ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  Darcy answered for the five of them. ‘Ready as we’ll ever be.’

  They stepped inside the council chambers, trying to make as little noise as possible as they went to the public gallery.

  Twelve councillors sat at tables positioned in the shape of a horseshoe. The kids checked them out, like prisoners in a dock looking for a sympathetic juror. Nine women and three men. Mio wondered if this was a bad sign. The majority of people who used a skate park were males, so the majority of people sympathetic to their cause would be male. With so many female councillors, the odds were stacked against them.

  A few more people sat in the public gallery—a husband and wife team, a man in his thirties and an elderly woman wearing a crocheted hat.

  At 6.10 pm the chairperson declared the meeting open and a record of attendance was noted, plus one apology for an absence. Then mention was made to issues resolved from the last council meeting and the items for the evening’s agenda were announced. At the mention of ‘Opening an After School Care Centre’, the husband and wife leant forward in their seats. When the ‘Budget Amendment to the Youth Arts Centre’ was announced the man in his thirties started to nod. Mio wondered what the old lady was here for and was surprised when she reacted to the item, ‘Noise Exemption for the non-complying outdoor event known as the Rock My Baby Concert’.

  The kids grew nervous. Their time was fast approaching. Could they resolve this issue in the few minutes of allocated time? Before they knew it, Public Question Time was announced. Just as suddenly, the chairperson declared, ‘There are no questions from the public.’

  Mr Lark leapt to his feet saying, ‘Excuse me, your honour, but a question was submitted this week.’ He had no idea if you called the chair of the meeting your honour, but it sounded good.

  The chair readjusted her glasses and announced, ‘Silence in the public gallery.’

  Darcy couldn’t contain himself. He stood beside Mr Lark and said, ‘It’s about Wheels Skate Park. We put in a question.’

  ‘Young man, further disruption from you and you’ll be asked to leave the gallery.’

  Mio stood up and raised her hand. She did not speak. She waited. Clem, Bryce and Tong did the same. Soon, six hands were raised to the ceiling, six pairs of eyes glued to the chairperson.

  ‘Questions related to Development Applications are not accepted,’ she announced.

  Mio spoke out, ‘But this is not about a Development Application. The application was approved and the development went ahead.’ She half-expected the chairperson to have her dragged from the gallery but nothing happened so she proceeded. ‘This is about a change of mind—changing Wheels Park for skateboards, in-line skates, scooters and BMX bikes to Wheels Skateboard Park, BMX bikes now excluded.’

  ‘We want to know why,’ said Darcy.

  ‘And what can be done to change this,’ said Clem.

  The chairperson removed her glasses and using them like a pointer she said, ‘The decision was made on safety grounds.’ She jabbed her glasses at Mio. ‘Safety of our community is our first and foremost priority. Our advisors have informed us that allowing BMX riders in the park increases the risk of injury to others. Not to mention the destruction they cause to the park.’

  Mr Lark was ready for this. He cleared his throat and said, ‘As a man who has fought for his country, a man who has the great fortune to know these fine young people, I’d like you to consider some possible alternatives.’

  The chairperson wriggled in her seat. Although she thought this whole issue was a waste of time, she also understood the debt society owed to these returned service people. Surely she could give him a few minutes of he
r time. Placing her glasses back on her nose she leant back and instructed Mr Lark and the Freewheelers to proceed.

  In a loud, clear voice Mio read:

  Establish a code of conduct, or skate park etiquette, for all users.

  Compulsory attendance of all user groups to complete a program in skate park etiquette.

  Develop a schedule or timetable so that different groups have access at different times.

  Either a no-peg rule, or skate park friendly pegs for BMX bikes.

  Promote use of correct safety gear with on-the-spot fines from skate park staff for those who don’t comply.’

  Mio noticed that some of the council members were nodding and her hopes lifted. She held up the papers and informed them of the 248 signatures of support on the petition. The chairperson tapped the table when she’d finished saying, ‘You have made some very valid points and I am inclined to agree with you. What I propose is…’

  Before she could continue there was a commotion at the side of the room. Another group of kids had entered the meeting and heard their proposal, and were now advancing into the room.

  The Freewheelers couldn’t believe it. What amazed them wasn’t the fact that each kid carried a skateboard, it was the fact that each kid wore a white bandage, some wrapped around arms, others wrapped around heads, with the occasional leg bound up. One adventurous boy had wrapped his whole body.

  ‘Order, order,’ called the chairperson as other council members got to their feet.

  Tong looked at Mio wide-eyed and asked, ‘What happening?’

  Mio bolted from the public gallery, saying, ‘I don’t know but let’s find out.’