Extreme!
Page 13
At five o’clock precisely Mrs Shinozaki entered the Reception area and announced, ‘I have come to collect Mio Shinozaki.’
Mio noticed that she had not referred to her as her daughter and tears stung her eyes. But after everything that had happened, what could she expect? Mio cringed at the disgrace she had brought to her family. How could she put her parents through this?
Without one glance at Mio, Mrs Shinozaki bowed to the secretary, turned and left. Mrs Shinozaki and Mio walked one in front of the other, the silent corridors emphasising the gulf between them. Not one word was spoken as Mio emptied the contents of her locker into her backpack. It was as though in her mother’s eyes she did not exist. This was the price that must be paid till she found the dog tags and solved all this mess.
Once home, Mio knew that if she was to bridge the gulf between them she would have to do so Japanese style, not Western style. She walked up to a vase of flowers and picked one out, explaining to her mother, ‘It has wilted.’
Mrs Shinozaki said nothing.
Mio rearranged the remaining flowers, saying, ‘I have little skill in such things.’ She kept her eyes lowered, focusing on each stem in her hand.
‘They look splendid,’ said her mother and left the room.
To an outsider it was an odd, non-supportive conversation but to Mio and her mother it was perfect communication. For Mio, she must rearrange her life, as she had done with the flowers. For Mrs Shinozaki it was best that Mio face the truth on her own but conceal it from everyone else, just like she herself had reacted.
Mio smiled to herself at the brevity of their conversation. It was so Japanese! Picking up Yuki, Mio walked to her room and closed the door. She flung herself on the bed, clasping Yuki to her chest and burying her face in the silky fur. Only now was there space and time for tears.
Mio felt a tidal wave of homesickness, or Japan-sickness as she sometimes referred to it. How she missed Sachi and her friends, the activities they shared, even cram school. She missed the order to her life, the traditions. Red-bean desserts! Here, she’d tried so hard to fit in. Put up with Clem and Darcy’s arguing, Bryce’s singing and Mr Lark’s weird cooking. She remembered when she’d first arrived how everyone talked down to her and how sometimes she wanted to scream, ‘I’m foreign, not stupid!’ or ‘I’m not deaf!’ That was before she started at The Met. In Japan, there may have been more pressure to behave in a certain way or have certain attitudes, but at least there she felt like she was being looked after. She sighed as she concluded that here, it was as if no-one cared.
They didn’t even follow the tradition of omiyage [gift giving]!
Mio realised that in Japan she had been a child, but here she had been forced to become an adult, to cope with absent parents and with no family to turn to. She had paid a huge price to move countries.
With a heavy heart Mio pushed herself up from the bed and wandered out to the computer in the study. Slowly she logged on, opened her emails and looked at the tally. Another fifty-four hate emails from victims of her hacker. Still nothing from Sachi. But one from JEAAG!
Dear Mio,
At JEAAG we are a dedicated group founded to counter the proliferation of spam. Although not involved at an individual level global security is of paramount concern. Criminals exploit online vulnerabilities and commit criminal acts. It would appear that you have been the victim of identity theft.
‘Identity theft!’ gasped Mio, startling Yuki. ‘Like having your passport or credit cards stolen?’ She voiced her thoughts out loud. With a raggedy heart beat she read on:
Because we are developing technological countermeasures against email abuse we have decided to assist you this one time.
‘Kyaa! [scream!]’ More tears flowed but this time of happiness. Finally, someone was going to help her! Mio scrolled down the page.
All computers using the internet are assigned a different numeric Internet Protocol (IP) address while online, similar to country, city, street, and number addresses for houses. The victim’s logs list the computer address from which unauthorised access was gained. The owner of the network computer used for unauthorised access to your computer is Juhan Jaan Tamm.
Mio scrutinised the name, sifting through her memory. Juhan Jaan Tamm. She could not place it, knew no-one by that name. No-one.
Mio, to prevent this from happening again the solution is simple: change your password immediately!
Mio googled in the name Juhan Jaan Tamm but came up with nothing. There was no record of this person. He or she was a complete mystery. Quickly she printed off a copy of the reply from JEAAG then sent an email thanking them for their help. She left her password as it was. It was her only link with this person who was pretending to be her.
Mio heard her father arrive home, closed the computer, and snuck back to her room. She sat on her bed to await a summons, guided by a lifetime of lessons in loyalty, discipline and respect. An hour later she was still waiting. Her back ached and her neck felt stiff but still she sat. She heard her parents’ brief patter, the clink of dinner dishes, the drone of the TV, but no knock on the door from her father.
Mio couldn’t even imagine what he was thinking. His only child, expelled. And for such terrible crimes. She hoped the stress of it all wouldn’t give him a heart attack. Nor her poor mother either, who would be doing her best to act as the buffer in the family.
By nine o’clock Mio was resigned to the fact that her father would not see her. Papa used distance to discipline, not discussion, just as he’d experienced from his own father as a child. She decided to write him a letter, explaining how she got in such a mess and enclosing the printout of the email from JEAAG. At least she finally had some tangible proof that someone had ganged up against her. She slipped her letter and the email in an envelope then crawled into bed.
As Mio lay curled on her side she thought of her vow to be like the samurai warrior. She didn’t feel like a samurai. She felt like a hinin [non human], someone to be despised. For a long time she lay wrapped in misery but then she realised that despite all their virtues, the way of the warrior wasn’t so great. The way of the warrior meant certain death and for Mio, death wasn’t on the agenda! So, she made herself a new vow. ‘My new email name will be something unique to me. No more pretending to be something I am not.’ So, who was she? The answer came immediately. As of tomorrow her new email name would be wavedancer, because that’s what she did when she was on her bike—dance the concrete waves of walls and ramps, ledges and pipes.
It felt right.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In the morning, Mio posted the letter under her parents’ door, as well as a note explaining she was going to the opening of Wheels Skate Park. She also told them she would come straight home afterwards. She was going to add, please don’t worry, but didn’t. Why would they worry about someone who didn’t exist?
Mio ate some rice, egg and pickled vegetables for breakfast, fondled Yuki’s ears for luck, then left the apartment before her parents stirred. Without her bike she had a good hour’s walk ahead of her and besides, she still needed to get some sturdy cardboard to make her protest sign. She’d already thought of her slogan: Girl who rides.
As she walked Mio puzzled about Juhan Jaan Tamm, this person who called themselves Cinderella. She knew nothing about Juhan, but she did know a lot about Cinderella. In fact, it occurred to her that at this very moment, she could be the Japanese Cinderella. She thought of the story she’d been told many, many times as a child. The story of Ubakawa [The Bark Gown], and how a samurai’s daughter had run away from home, just like she’d done this morning. She thought of how this girl had taken refuge under Kannon’s altar and how Kannon had bestowed upon her a bark gown and directed her to a warrior’s house. Today, Wheels Skate Park would be Mio’s warrior’s house.
In the Ubakawa story, the girl had tended fires dressed as an old woman. Mio wondered what fires she, too, would have to tend today. In the real story the warrior falls in love and they have a
happy marriage with many children. Mio sighed. How would her Cinderella story end?
But at least she’d heard from JEAAG! At least they’d confirmed that someone had stolen her identity. This Juhan had stolen her identity and sent nasty emails from her address, calling themselves Cinderella. Suddenly, Mio stopped. A laugh burst from her lips as she realised how appropriate it was. Cinderella had her position in her family taken away by her wicked stepmother. Wasn’t this Western story the classic case of stolen identity? Mio could not help but admire this Juhan’s cleverness.
She arrived at Wheels Skate Park with half an hour to spare and stopped in front of a huge banner.
Wheels Skate Park Grand Opening
10:00 am Ribbon Cutting Ceremony
10:30 am Riders Ages 9 and Under Only
11:00 am Riders Ages 10–13 Only
11:30 am Riders Ages 14 and Over Only
Mio gave a wry smile. At least there was one good thing about not being allowed to ride today. She wouldn’t have to be lumped in with the ten year olds! She stood back to survey the scene. Already there was quite a crowd. They’d come in all shapes and sizes, wearing a range of gear from baggy jeans and t-shirts to the full regalia of knee pads and shin pads, helmets and wrist pads. Most had skateboards but there were some in-line skaters and scooter riders, too. A smattering of parents with youngsters huddled off to the side.
The official party arrived in a procession of cars. As they alighted Mio recognised all but one from the council meeting and concluded she must be Bronwyn Lindsay, the local government member. She ducked her head and lowered her gaze, not wanting to draw attention to herself at this point in the proceedings. In ones and twos the official party made their way to the opening ceremony dais. Representatives from the building company were there, too, proudly wearing their uniforms. Even someone from the Planning Authority. Plus, there was someone with a camera to record it all for the local paper.
Mio looked for her friends, aware that there was safety in numbers, but they hadn’t arrived yet. She checked out the park. It really did look magnificent. How she itched to conquer the boxes and ramps, pipes and rails. The vert wall looked scary but she could cope with that. Mio grinned as she saw there was even a section of ramps in a wave. ‘Wavedancer is coming,’ she whispered to them.
A police car pulled up, obviously sent as insurance against trouble. Two police officers got out but kept their distance. This was meant to be a fun day and that’s how they wanted to keep it. Their job was to stand back to ensure that the proceedings went smoothly and no-one got hurt.
Soon the park was swarming with kids, impatient for the ceremony to begin or, more to the point, to be over with. To Mio, the growing numbers looked quite daunting. What would six be like against 106? Again, she looked for the other Freewheelers, but there was still no sign of them. She glanced at her watch. They were cutting it very fine!
Councillors began to assemble on the dais, with Bronwyn Lindsay and the chairwoman taking pride of place in the centre. Music blared from speakers; hip-hop music, tunes like war cries that would excite the crowd.
It was now ten o’clock and everyone was assembled. Everyone, except the Freewheelers. Where were they? Apprehension dripped down Mio’s neck. The music suddenly stopped, the silence louder than the lyrical rhythms and beat of the bands. The council chairwoman approached the microphone, cleared her throat and the ceremony began, her first duty being to welcome the local government member, Bronwyn Lindsay, and thank her for attending.
Mio looked down at her one puny placard. The others hadn’t even bothered to turn up. She felt abandoned, deflated.
So much for her peaceful protest.
Then suddenly there was a murmuring from the crowd behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Mio glanced over she couldn’t believe her eyes. They’d arrived. There was Mr Lark waving his placard: BMX: Recreation not Segregation. That’s so-o-o-o Mr Lark, thought Mio with a smile. And next to him was Darcy waving his sign which read Arrest me. I ride a bike. Provocative, but appropriate. Her eyes jumped to Clem whose slogan read Bike, Blades and Boards Unite, then to Bryce’s Spoked. Simple but eloquent. And last was Tong’s Bike Rite. She wondered if that was one of his famous spelling mistakes but decided she liked it anyway. It worked just as well as ‘Ride’ or ‘Right’.
Mr Lark and the Freewheelers began to walk the perimeter of the park. The skateboarders turned to watch the procession. A lump formed in Mio’s throat. The peaceful protest was working. She checked out the police officers poised at the gate entrance; they seemed guarded but relaxed.
‘So far, so good,’ Mio whispered to herself.
And then she saw another three cars pull up. She braced herself for trouble. She expected to see a lot more skateboarders tumble out, a whole new backup support crew. What she saw was definitely a back-up support crew, but a crew of a different kind.
Mr Jacobs was the first to leap out, then Mrs Jacobs and the rest of the Jacobs tribe. Mrs Jacobs opened the boot and one by one handed everyone their placards. Mio laughed out loud to see what the Jacobs clan had to say. First was Jonas, tossing his favourite ball in one hand and his We’re on a Roll placard clutched in the other. Next came Mr Jacobs with his BMX Parents Pay Taxes Too, and five-year-old Bruno sucking his thumb and proclaiming he was BMX User Friendly. Four-year-old Tim could barely hold up his sign as he still carried his favourite blankie in his arms, but Mio could just make out the words Parks are for People. She laughed again. So much thought had gone into their slogans. Mrs Jacobs carried the baby, Drew, in one arm and waved her Mutual Respect placard in the other. And Bella ran between legs, barking every so often to show her support, her protest coat saying, of course, BMX Beagle.
From the second car came Bryce’s dad and step-mum, Cara, baby Olivia clutched in her arms. Mr Tarrant held his placard aloft and as he waved it from side to side Mio smiled at the appropriateness of it all: More Skateparks. Less Street Kids. And she laughed at Cara’s placard which said BMXers need a home. Mio watched as Bryce waved to his family and felt a stab of pain. Only a few months ago Bryce was the family outcast. Today, it was her.
And finally, from the third car came Tong’s beaming Auntie Kim-Ly and Uncle Hai. Their signs were made of white cardboard taped to two sticks, but the simplicity of design didn’t matter as their message was loud and clear: Riding Bikes = Healthy Childrens. As they hurried over to join the others, the Freewheelers cheered. Between them they had their own protest rally.
Mio watched as the families mingled together outside the enclosure, united in their desire to keep their kids off the street. The council officials and government member watched, too, surprised by this show of family solidarity. But one family was missing and the emptiness of their space matched the emptiness of Mio’s heart.
The skateboarders and skaters were restless. This was not what they’d hoped for the opening of their park. They began to flip and twirl their boards in their hands. Bryce read the mood turn. It was time to try something desperate. He walked behind the utilities block and retrieved his bike from where he’d hidden it. Slowly, he wheeled it inside the skatepark and held it out to the crowd. A gasp went up, then low-volume grumblings. He grabbed the microphone from the chairwoman and in a loud voice he said, ‘This is bashed and battered but it keeps this real.’ Then he invited everybody to, ‘Join me in my protest rap. It’s called “’Cause That’s Where We At”.’
Everyone was caught by surprise by this turn of events and no-one moved as Bryce sang:
‘What we live through we are, neva mind the scars
Dints on our frame, cracks in our name
Now raise your voices and sing along with me
Now raise your voices and repeat after me
Ev’ry dent, ev’ry dint
Ev’ry scratch, ev’ry crack
Let’s not be jealous
’Cause that’s where we at
Doesn’t matter if the dints are there,
mea
ns we’ve been a bit devil-may-care
Scars in our heart like marks on the ground,
grinds and picks and marks so profound
Ev’ry dent, ev’ry dint
Ev’ry scratch, ev’ry crack
Let’s not be jealous
’Cause that’s where we at
Some people need to quit being hate demons
specially when they got no good reason
We all use balance and self-belief,
ridin’ together will be a big relief’.
Mr Lark turned to the others and laughed. ‘Bit different to the protest songs of our day: “Give Peace a Chance,” “Blowin’ in the Wind” and Cat Stevens’ “Peace Train”.’ But the song served its purpose. The boarders and skaters and scooter riders grew still. Most took notice, for here was someone speaking their language. We all use balance and self-belief, ridin’ together will be a big relief.
Some of them agreed and joined in. It was a thin chorus, but a start…
Ev’ry dent, ev’ry dint
Ev’ry scratch, ev’ry crack
Let’s not be jealous
’Cause that’s where we at.
Mio burst with pride. This was everything she could have hoped for. Everything, except that two people were missing. From the corner of her eye Mio could see Dunk Dog swarming through his pack, urging those singing to ‘Shut up’. But then she noticed another car pull up. As much as she wanted to get to Dunk Dog, she stood frozen as she recognised the car. Her parents! They must have read her letter and the JEAAG email.
She watched as her father climbed from the car, stiff with dignity. She watched as her mother clucked about him, then stood back deferentially. And she watched as her father removed a placard from the passenger seat and held it up.