by , Sammy J;
‘You are!’ said Louise. ‘Now, please take a seat while we perform our confronting adaptation of Macbeth. It’s set on a bus.’
‘Why do we have to set all our plays on a bus?’ whispered Gordon.
‘Where else do you suggest we set them?’ snapped Louise.
‘Settle down!’ cried Erik, scurrying up the aisle. ‘I don’t think our friend is in the mood for Macbeth. Perhaps we should start with a tour instead?’ He put his arm around Justin and began walking him down the bus until they came to a girl in a purple beanie who was scribbling on a sketchpad.
‘This is Sally,’ said Erik. ‘She runs our Art Department.’ Sally smiled. On the seat beside her sat a huge stack of paper, pencils and paintbrushes. ‘We’re completely out of red paint,’ Sally said apologetically, ‘but you should find most things you need here.’
Erik hurried Justin forward. ‘Next up,’ he said, ‘is the Drama Department. You’ve observed some of their work already.’ He gestured to a pile of clothes and wigs. ‘Please help yourself to any costumes; whatever you need to express yourself.’ He swung his torch across the aisle. ‘And over here is Rob, who runs the Music Department.’
‘G’day!’ Rob hopped to his feet and shook Justin’s hand. ‘Good to have you on board, so to speak.’ Rob looked about fourteen, with bright red hair and round cheeks that seemed to shine when he smiled – which, as far as Justin could tell, was always. Justin spotted a collection of instruments piled on the seat next to him. ‘Any requests?’ asked Rob.
‘I’ll request that you keep the volume down,’ replied Erik. ‘Noise travels at night.’
Rob gave a jolly smile and nodded. Justin followed Erik as he continued down the aisle. ‘Now, it gives me great pleasure to welcome you to our library. Well, what’s left of it.’
Justin inspected the back row, which was entirely covered in perfectly organised rows of books. A girl with short dark hair and black, thick-rimmed glasses sat by the window. She shone her torch straight at Justin. ‘I’m Denise. The librarian. You can borrow four items at a time, but you have to return them within two weeks or you’ll get a fine.’ She held up a glass jar filled with coins and shook it loudly. Justin smiled. Denise didn’t. She was, without doubt, the most serious teenager he’d ever met.
‘And finally,’ said Erik, straightening his bow tie, ‘I should mention my own department. I specialise in the learning of linguistics by fostering a lateral and literal love of language in literature.’
‘He means English,’ said Rob, grinning. ‘Not that you’d be able to tell.’
‘Right,’ said Erik, ignoring Rob. ‘That concludes the tour.’ All of a sudden, his manic energy seemed to vanish. ‘There is, however, one more thing. We want to tell you a story, Justin.’
‘I thought you said we weren’t doing Macbeth?’ said Louise.
‘Not Macbeth!’ replied Erik. ‘We have a far more important story to tell.’ He turned to Justin. ‘How much time do you have, comrade?’
Justin looked around at the six strange, funny, friendly kids on the bus and smiled.
‘All the time in the world,’ he replied.
‘Then please be seated,’ cried Erik, pushing Justin into an empty seat, ‘as we present The True History of Mount Willow Secondary School.’
Next time you’re on a bus, try singing a song at the top of your lungs. You’ll get some strange looks. You might even get asked to leave. This is called being a public nuisance. Then try getting on another bus, and do the same thing – but this time, hold out a hat as you sing. This is called busking.
There’s a very fine line between being a public nuisance and busking, but only one of them will earn you money.
In an instant, the bus sprang to life.
Sally, the artist, leapt onto her seat and began unfurling a curtain from the baggage compartment.
Rob, the musician, picked up a violin and began tuning it.
Denise, the librarian, handed out scripts.
Louise and Gordon, the actors, bickered over which costumes to wear.
And Erik, who appeared to be directing the whole affair, plonked himself on the seat next to Justin. ‘It’s nice to finally have an audience,’ he whispered. ‘We’re getting sick of performing to ourselves.’ He turned to the others. ‘Everyone ready? Right then – lights out!’
The bus was plunged into darkness.
Then Rob began playing a haunting tune on the violin.
‘Spotlight up!’ whispered Erik.
From the back of the bus, Denise switched on a torch and aimed it up the aisle, where Louise and Gordon were now standing, side by side.
‘Welcome to Mount Willow Secondary School,’ said Louise solemnly. ‘Where local students have been educated for over one hundred years!’
‘Except the ones who go to Pine Valley High, which depends on your catchment zone,’ murmured Gordon.
‘No improvisations, Gordon,’ called Erik. ‘We’ve discussed this.’
‘Sorry,’ said Gordon sheepishly. Louise pushed him aside, holding her ponytail up under her nose to imitate a moustache.
‘My name is Mr Douglas,’ she said in a deep voice, ‘and I was the first principal of this school. My hobbies included reading, music and poetry. I wanted Mount Willow Secondary School to celebrate the creative spirit of children!’
Gordon appeared again, reading from a script. ‘True to his word,’ he said, squinting at the page, ‘Principal Douglas established extracurricular art and music classes for all students, as well as lunchtime singalongs.’
‘Didn’t you even learn the script?’ whispered Louise through her moustache.
‘I didn’t know I was playing the narrator!’ said Gordon defensively.
‘Continue the scene!’ cried Erik, shaking his head.
‘And every lunchtime, Principal Douglas could be found playing chess with students in the library,’ Gordon went on.
Justin’s eyes widened. They were clearly making this story up, but he was enjoying the fantasy regardless.
Louise, still playing the old principal, suddenly jumped onto the seat in front of Justin. ‘Without culture, we are nothing!’ she boomed, as Denise’s torch struggled to find her.
Gordon clutched his script. ‘Then, at age eighty-eight, Principal Douglas died from a bowel complaint.’
‘GORDON! NO IMPROVISATIONS!’ Erik barked, startling Justin.
Gordon grinned. ‘Sorry. He died from a heart attack.’
With this, Louise launched into an extended and rather unnecessary death scene, stumbling back and forth up the aisle with her hands clasped to her chest before finally falling backwards over a seat. Rob accompanied her with some dramatic violin flourishes.
‘But despite his death,’ said Gordon, as Louise caught her breath, ‘the school continued to go from strength to strength, inspiring generations of students to become actors, musicians and writers.’
Justin felt a tinge of sadness. Had these kids been so broken by Mount Willow that they’d invented an entire fictional backstory?
Rob swapped his violin for a banjo and began playing an upbeat tune as Gordon continued reading. ‘Future principals also encouraged creativity, and for decades, nothing much changed.’
‘Well, they did paint the Music Department green in 1962,’ said Sally. ‘Which was really popular.’
‘And they started serving fruit in the canteen in 1997,’ added Denise. ‘Which was really unpopular.’
Gordon waited patiently, then continued.
‘But apart from that, nothing much changed for over one hundred years. Then, ten years ago, a dark force entered the school.’
Rob picked up a set of bongos and began playing a spooky beat. As spooky as you can be on the bongos, that is.
‘Sally – set change!’ whispered Erik.
‘Sorry!’ Sally reached up an
d pulled a rope. Behind Gordon, a large sheet unravelled, decorated with giant red flames. Justin could see why they were out of red paint.
‘Hang on, I’m not ready!’ said Louise from behind the sheet.
Erik clicked his tongue impatiently. ‘Amateurs,’ he muttered.
Suddenly Louise emerged, wearing an oversized suit and shining a torch on her face.
‘My name is Dr Featherstone! All shall cower before me,’ she rasped, doing her best impression of the principal.
The drumming increased in intensity as Louise stomped up the aisle. She was certainly committed to the role.
‘Now watch as I TURN THIS SCHOOL AROUND! Music, Drama and Art classes are hereby BANNED,’ she sneered.
Justin shifted uncomfortably. His outer clothes were drying, but his triple-layered underpants were still drenched.
Gordon returned to the spotlight. ‘The Evil Featherstone soon replaced the entire school curriculum with Sport, except for a bit of English, Maths and Science – which he had to include or it would no longer legally be considered a school.’
Louise pushed in front of him. ‘Remaining teachers have a choice – teach the new subjects, or be fired. MWAHAHAHA!’ She walked backwards, laughing, tripped over Gordon, then scurried behind the curtain.
The bongos stopped as Rob grabbed a saxophone and began playing an some inexplicably smooth jazz. Sally pulled another rope, and a cardboard sun dropped from the roof.
‘But little did Featherstone know,’ said Gordon, ‘that a small, secret network of staff and students were working to save the school!’
Louise appeared again and snatched the script from Gordon. ‘You’re reading too slow. I’ll do the last bit.’ She looked at the page and raised her voice. ‘They gathered up as many books, musical instruments and costumes as they could, and carried them to the old school bus …’ She climbed onto Gordon’s shoulders as she spoke. ‘Then together, under cover of darkness, they pushed the bus across North Field and into the shadow of Mount Willow …’ The saxophone music soared to a climax. ‘Where the bus now remains, keeping the creative flame burning until Featherstone’s reign of terror comes to an end, and the school is restored to its former glory!’
‘The end!’ cried Gordon, seconds before his knees buckled.
Louise, Gordon and the cardboard sun all fell to the floor as Justin politely applauded.
‘I don’t know why I bother,’ muttered Erik. ‘Let’s schedule more rehearsals immediately.’
‘So, Justin,’ said Louise, dusting herself off. ‘What did you think?’
Justin thought for a moment. It wasn’t exactly the best play he’d ever seen, but he didn’t want to risk upsetting his new friends.
‘It was definitely the best play I have ever seen performed on a bus,’ he said diplomatically. The others laughed, even though Justin hadn’t been joking. ‘How did you come up with it?’
The others stopped laughing.
‘We didn’t come up with anything.’ Erik looked deadly serious.
‘This story is true.’ Denise looked even more serious than Erik.
‘But … hasn’t Mount Willow always been like this?’ asked Justin. ‘What about the school motto – Sport Before Thought?’
‘You mean the new school motto,’ said Denise. She ran her finger along a row of books and pulled out a small red volume, then handed it to Justin. ‘This is the Mount Willow Student Handbook from ten years ago.’
Justin squinted at the front cover. The logo was the same – a willow tree, though this one was a little faded – but beneath it, the motto was different:
Brain Before Brawn.
Justin gasped.
‘Please be careful, it’s the last remaining copy,’ said Denise. ‘All the others got destroyed when Featherstone arrived.’
Justin gingerly flicked through the pages of the book until he spotted something towards the back – an entire page dedicated to the rules of chess.
Justin realised his hands were trembling.
‘Did … did they really used to play chess here?’ he asked.
Erik smiled. ‘Some of us still do.’
Sally and Rob gathered around as Erik reached into the baggage compartment above their heads and carefully retrieved an ornate wooden chess board. Intricate, sculpted pieces were balanced delicately on top of it.
‘This belonged to Mr Douglas, the first principal,’ said Erik. ‘Look – he even inscribed a poem on it.’
Justin gazed at the board. Around the edge, in old cursive handwriting, he read:
In chess we find the perfect game It’s like a gym, but for the brain.
‘Please don’t touch,’ added Denise sternly.
‘At least, not until it’s your go,’ said Erik. ‘We each take it in turns, and we only make one move per week. That gives us ample time to plan. As you can see, the white side has captured more pieces, but the black pawn is about to reach the other side of the board. Which means—’
‘It will become a queen,’ said Justin with a huge grin.
Erik flung his arms out in jubilation. ‘Correct!’ He stepped forward and put both hands on Justin’s shoulders. ‘You’ll fit in well here.’
Justin couldn’t quite believe what was happening. He was trying to appear calm, but his heart had already hit the dance floor and was busting out some sweet victory moves.
He surveyed the board. ‘How long have you been playing this game?’
‘This one started three years ago,’ said Erik. ‘Although the game before that lasted seven years. So I’m told.’
‘Of course, we weren’t here back then,’ said Sally. ‘We’ve just heard the stories.’
‘And now it’s our job to pass those stories on,’ said Louise. ‘Before it’s too late.’
Justin felt a sudden chill. ‘I – I don’t understand?’
Erik sat down in the seat opposite. ‘Justin, we are the custodians of creativity at this school. We’re the only ones keeping the true spirit of Mount Willow alive. But we can’t do it alone, and we’re running out of time. I’m in Year Ten; Denise is in Year Eleven.’
‘I should be in Year Twelve,’ Denise said glumly, ‘but they kept me down because I failed basketball.’
‘The thing is,’ continued Erik, ‘soon we’ll have left this school. We need others to keep this bus going. That’s why you’ve been picked to help us.’
Justin gulped. ‘Who picked me?’
‘Miss Granger, of course.’
Rob lowered his saxophone. ‘She’s on our side. She finds the kids who belong here. Seeks them out. It was her idea to call it the Athletic Muscle Bus. It’s the perfect anagram.’
Justin scratched his head. ‘Anagram?’
Erik smiled. ‘Sally, would you care to explain?’
Sally plucked a sketch book from her seat. ‘An anagram is when you make different words out of the same set of letters.’ She scribbled the words ATHLETIC MUSCLE BUS on a page, then began writing underneath it. ‘So if you rearrange these letters, you’ll find you’ve actually arrived at …’
Sally turned the page around to reveal three words:
ULTIMATE CHESS CLUB.
Justin’s brain felt numb. It might have been the chlorine.
Erik put a hand on his shoulder. ‘So, comrade, our question is – are you willing to help us? Before those of us who can’t run, jump, throw, kick or paddle have their spirits crushed forever?’
Gordon nodded. ‘Will you help us find others who can make this bus their home?’
Justin peered through the window into the endless night. Something felt different now. He felt different. It wasn’t just that he’d found some friends. It wasn’t just that those friends played chess.
It was the fact that, all of a sudden, he had a purpose.
He’d spent his first day of high school
running away from things. Now, suddenly, he had something to run towards.
Or, rather, someone.
‘I’ll be right back,’ he said, bounding out the door.
He’d never run so fast in his life.
If anything was going to keep Eliza Burton at school, Justin thought, this bus might just be it.
What’s the most expensive thing at your school? The photocopier? The entrance gates? The principal’s car? At Mount Willow Secondary, it was a three-hundred-year-old piano. It was once owned by the British explorer, Lord Flugenheim (before he got squashed by a gum tree). He had it transported from London as a gift to his wife; but this backfired when her beautiful playing attracted the attention of a charming bushranger, who convinced her to join him for a life of crime. The first thing she stole was her own piano. Sometimes, late at night, Lord Flugenheim would hear it being played in the distance, and a small tear would roll down his cheek.
The quadrangle was eerily quiet when Justin returned.
He was trying not to get his hopes up.
Sure, he’d found a magical paradise full of like-minded souls, and sure, it had a Music Department on board, and sure, Eliza wanted to study music, but that didn’t mean she was going to abandon her plans to run away from school.
Still, it was worth a shot.
He just had to find her.
Justin crept along the wall of the canteen, poking his head around each corner that he came to. There was no sign of the Night Patrol, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
He scurried across to a portable classroom and peered inside, where a group of exhausted students were playing indoor tennis. They’d lined the desks up in the middle of the room to simulate a net, and were now huddled by the wall waiting patiently as two older students played a never-ending rally. Justin noticed one child asleep on his feet. By the door, a member of the Night Patrol watched the game, gripping a walkie-talkie in his hand.
In the next building a basketball net was screwed to the wall, and over twenty boys and girls had formed a human pyramid beneath it. Justin watched in horror as an older boy stepped up the pyramid as if it were a staircase, then slam-dunked a ball through the net. He then stepped down, grabbed the ball, and repeated the process. The children clenched their teeth as he trod on them.
