‘Yes … Well, you might be right there. After all, you’ve got that really cool nickname, haven’t you … Paddy?’
‘Ah … now that might have been a mistake.’
‘You think?’ Kelly said in mock surprise.
This time the two of us laughed a little. Then the silence poured back in like sand into a hole and smothered us both.
Kelly looked down again at her bag and shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe Razza, can you? Wasn’t he … incredible? How could he do that-just come in at the last minute and everything?’
‘Well, it’s easy for him. He’s a child of the universe, you know.’
‘Really?’
‘Yep – he told me so himself.’
Kelly grinned and nodded. ‘Now that I can believe.’ Then her eyes focused on something behind me. ‘Speak of the devil,’ she said.
I looked over my shoulder. At the far end of the playground Sally and Razza were standing together searching the crowd.
‘I’d better get going. Sally’s parents will be waiting for us at the car.’
She stood up. We were facing each other.
‘Well, thanks again for the tickets. I really had a fun night. And tell your dad I thought the band was great, OK?’
‘OK.’
‘So … I guess I’ll see you around … with debating … or whatever …’
Kelly waited as if she expected me to say something. And I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell her not to go. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t think I could survive till debating started next year before I saw her again. I wanted to tell her that there was no way I would ever talk football with my mates if I could talk to her instead. I wanted to tell her how great she was, how beautiful she looked. I wanted to tell her about her eyes and her smile and how I only felt alive when I was near her.
I opened my mouth to speak. ‘OK,’ I said.
She gave a half-smile and moved past me. ‘Right … Well, I …’ Then she stopped. ‘Oh … Wait … I almost forgot.’ She reached down into her bag, pulled out her diary and slid a small slip of paper from between its pages. ‘I thought maybe Razza might want his poem back-you know, that maybe now there’s someone special he could give it to.’
Kelly held out Razza’s poem, but before I could take it, she frowned and slowly drew it back. Her head was bowed. She was staring at the four lines written in pencil on the other side. ‘What’s this?’ she said. I watched as Kelly’s eyes traced the words on the page. When she’d finished she looked up at me for a moment then returned to the lines and read them aloud in her soft, creamy voice:
‘The weatherman tells you if you ask him –
Will it be rainy or will it be fine?
The weatherman uses charts and tables,
But the weatherman’s daughter … makes the sun shine.’
I held my breath as she closed the diary gently around the poem and placed them both in her bag. Then she looked up and took a step forward. All I could see were her ice-blue eyes and all I could smell was her perfume. It crossed my mind that this would be a very bad time to pass out.
As I was trying not to think about that, Kelly placed her hands lightly on my shoulders, leant forward and pressed her lips gently on mine. That’s when the rest of the world disappeared and every cell in my body erupted in a massive Mexican wave. It was like suddenly discovering a hundred new levels to your favourite computer game, only better – much better.
It only lasted a second. Kelly stepped back, drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. I wanted to breathe too, but either I’d forgotten how or it just didn’t seem necessary any more. She smiled and I felt like someone had speared a fence post through my heart.
‘Now look what you made me do,’ she said.
She held up her palm and opened and shut her hand like a little Muppet. ‘ ‘Bye Ishmael.’
I tried to say goodbye back but apparently someone had removed my voice box and forgot to tell me.
Kelly was only a few paces away when she stopped, twirled around and held up her index finger. ‘By the power vested in me,’ she said in her best debating voice, ‘I hereby declare that tomorrow will be clear and sunny.’
Then she gave a little bow and laughed.
It was the sound of the universe unfolding as it should.
47.
JUST CRAZY ENOUGH TO BE TRUE
I sat down on the retaining wall in a daze as Kelly headed across the playground towards Razza and Sally. I watched as they chatted and laughed together for a moment before Kelly pointed in my direction and both the girls gave Razza a hug. Then Kelly grabbed Sally’s arm and they ran down the path that led to the car park.
Seconds later Razza bounded in beside me. ‘Maaaaaaate! What an awesome night, eh? Wicked!’ Even for Razza the smile on his face was enormous. I thought for a moment about checking to see if it met at the back of his head.
‘Yeah, just a shame that Sally’s not as smart as we thought she was.’
‘Hey? What d’ya mean?’
‘Well, she’s got the hots for you, hasn’t she, so she can’t be too bright, right?’
‘Why you …’ I found myself in a headlock while Razza pretended to throw wild haymakers at my skull. ‘Take that, you scumbag!’ Suddenly he stopped. ‘Hey, I got something huge to tell you man, huge!’
‘Yeah well, Razz, I’ve got something huge …’
But Razza’s limited attention span had been deflected somewhere else.
‘Prindabel! My mega main man!’
Ignatius was carrying a load of T-shirts across the playground. He flinched when he heard Razza’s voice, then edged cautiously towards us as if he was approaching a dangerous beast.
When Razza leapt up Ignatius froze like a startled deer.
‘That poem – I owe you big time, dude. Big time. You really came through, bro. Thanks heaps, man,’ Razza said, spreading his arms wide.
Ignatius backed off in terror, holding his bundle of shirts in front of him as if he was fending off an assault.
‘Zorzotto, no! Back off! I did it for me – and everyone else – but mainly me. You’re even more of a pain when you’re depressed. You don’t owe me anything-nothing at all.’
Razza let his arms fall slowly to his side and nodded seriously at Ignatius. ‘Right … sure,’ he said. ‘No worries, man. I get it. You’re just not into open displays of affection. I understand. I’m totally cool with that.’
An uneasy feeling of déjà vu crept over me.
‘Although …’ Razz said, peeking up slyly, ‘could I just do this?’
And before Ignatius could react, Razza had grabbed his head, yanked it forward and planted a long juicy kiss on Prindabel’s high, wide forehead complete with appropriate sound effects.
‘Mmmmmmmmmmmmummnmnmwuwaaaaaaaaaa!’
When he was finally released, Ignatius reeled back as if he’d been shot, and a mulberry-coloured circle like a bullet hole began darkening in the middle of his brow.
‘That poem, man … I take it all back, Prindabuddy. You’re not a nerd at all, dude – you’re way cool. Man, you’re so cool, I could fill you up with water and use you for an ice tray.’
Ignatius had the same expression on his face that I’m sure a certain Doctor Frankenstein wore when he discovered that bringing something back to life is not without its risks. He turned to me. The plea of ‘Do something!’ was screaming in his eyes.
I shrugged my shoulders and smiled at him.
Razza rapped him on the chest. ‘You and me, Iggy. I’m telling you, dude, we’re blood.’
Ignatius gave a sickly grin then scuttled off as Razza shouted after him, ‘I love you man!’
Then he spun back around. ‘Now wait till you hear my awesome news – it’s about Kelly.’
‘Well actually, I’ve got something …’
‘Just wait up, dude,’ Razza said, thumping his hand on my shoulder. ‘Before you go crapping on about how you got no chance with Kelly and how nothing will ever happen wi
th the two of you because she’s perfect and you’re a lump of wood, at least listen to what I’ve got to say, OK?’
‘But that’s …’
‘Aaaaaaahhh!’ Razza said, clamping his hand over my mouth. ‘Just listen, OK?’
I closed my eyes and nodded helplessly and he took his hand away.
‘Dude, you are so going to love this. Sally says that Brad and Kelster are splitting up. That’s right. It’s history, man. She reckons they don’t have much in common or something. Apparently they’re still gonna be friends and everything, but tonight was sort of like the final fling. Anyway, I don’t reckon old Brad will be too cut, because Sal says Kelly’s setting him up with Jess, who apparently is chomping at the bit. So mate, that’s not just a window of opportunity – that’s a Grand Canyon of opportunity! And you know what else?’
I rocked my head from side to side.
‘Poetry mate – it works!’
‘Yeah, but wait till-’
I found myself slapped in another mouth clamp.
‘For once in your life just listen to me, dude. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve got first-hand experience. Prindabel’s poem, mate – it worked, it really worked. Miss Tarango was right. Chicks dig poetry. I’m telling you, man, if we can just come up with the right poem for Kelly, you’d be in mate, you’d be definitely in!’
A pair of high-beam eyes blazed at me. I peeled Razza’s fingers off my mouth like they were octopus tentacles.
‘So let me get this straight. What you’re telling me is … that if I came up with the right poem … You think that I could actually win Kelly over?’
A head jiggled before me like a jackhammer.
‘You know what, Razz?’ I said. ‘I reckon that’s just crazy enough to be true.’
He gawked at me in shock. ‘What … You mean … you actually agree with me … about Kelly … and poetry and everything?’
‘Yep, I actually do … I guess you could say I’m totally cool with that.’
For the first time in my life I’d taken the wind out of Razza’s massive sail.
‘Well … let’s not get too carried away here. This poetry writing … it’s tricky stuff, you know.’
‘Are you kidding me? Aren’t you the Razzman, famous author of “Hot or what!”?
‘Well, yeah …’
‘And am I or am I not Ishmael Leseur, the first-born son of Ronnie “The Red” Leseur, the Towering Inferno-lead singer and chief songwriter of the Dugongs?’
‘You are …’
‘Then who knows what we can do when we combine our superpowers?’
Razza’s eyes grew into plates. ‘Hey, that’s right! That’s absolutely right. You and me, man – the dynamic duo! Come on,’ he said, dragging me up. ‘We gotta get out of here. I just remembered, your folks have got the search party out for you. I told them you were probably making out in the dark with some hot chick.’
I rolled my eyes and laughed. ‘Ha! That’ll be the day.’
‘Soon, dude, soon,’ Razza said, pushing me ahead of him into the playground. ‘Just you wait. All we need is a wicked poem, and I’ve got some awesome ideas already. Like how’s this for a killer rhyming omelette?’
Then he clasped both hands high on his chest and bellowed out into the night,
‘I’ve got the hots for a chick called Kelly
She’s better to look at than the telly!’
There was only one thing I could say to that as the Razzman and I charged like lunatics towards the glowing lights of the gym.
‘Rigid, dude! Totally rigid!’
48.
PS
P.S. Just in case you were wondering, Kelly Faulkner was wrong about the weather. When I woke up the next morning it was raining and it rained non-stop all day.
But not on me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My heartfelt thanks go to all my family and friends but especially to my ‘fabulous’ wife Adriana and to Meg and Joe. Even if it was possible to do it without you guys, what would be the point?
I am forever in debt to the good folk at Scholastic Australia and the wonderful women at Omnibus Books for everything they have done and continue to do on my behalf. In particular, a super-sized thanks to my supportive and confidence-boosting publisher Dyan Blacklock and my hard-working and wise editor Celia Jellett.
Once again my gratitude and admiration go to my brilliant son Joe for creating another wonderful cover, for designing the Dugongs logo and for his invaluable advice with the drafts.
Joe and I would particularly like to make mention of all those who gave such generous assistance in making the cover photograph possible, including Mount St Michael’s College Ashgrove and Taylor Range Squash Club, for letting us make a mess of their floors; our neighbour Darcy for the extended use of her drumsticks; and my mad friends Chief, Mozz, Gregoire and the Human Domino for revealing their inner Dugong to the world.
Finally I’d like to give special and long overdue thanks to all my guitar buddies through the years – Rob, Steve, Greg, Bernie and Joe – who have helped make music such an important and joyous part of my life. Hey, maybe it’s time for a reunion concert …
Also by Michael Gerard Bauer
The Running Man
Don’t Call Me Ishmael!
Teachers’ notes for The Running Man, Don’t Call Me Ishmael!
and Ishmael and the Return of the Dugongs are available from
www.scholastic.com.au
The first Ishmael book
Don’t Call Me Ishmael!
There’s no easy way to put this, so I’ll say it straight out. It’s time I faced up to the truth. I’m fourteen years old and I have Ishmael Leseur’s Syndrome. There is no cure.
And there is no cure for not fitting in. But that won’t stop Ishmael and his intrepid band of misfits from taking on bullies, bugs, babes, the Beatles, debating, and the great white whale in the toughest, the weirdest, the most embarrassingly awful … and the best year of their lives.
… an intelligent book by the author of The Running Man. The language is clever, cheeky and humorous …
Good Reading, 5-star review
Engaging characters and their brave, inventive and foolhardy ways of counteracting a school bully make for a novel that is laugh-aloud funny.
Katharine England, Advertiser
Somehow my brain refuses to produce the appropriate superlative for this book. ‘Absolutely hilarious’ is altogether too feeble …
CBCA (SA Branch) Newsletter
Children’s Book Council of Australia’s Book of the Year (Older Readers): Short-listed (2007)
New South Wales Premier’s Literary Awards: Short-listed (2007)
Selected for ‘The White Ravens 2007’ at the Bologna Book Fair
Copyright
Published by Scholastic Australia Pty Ltd
PO Box 579, Gosford NSW 2250.
ABN 11 000 614 577
www.scholastic.com.au
Part of the Scholastic Group
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SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Text copyright © Michael Gerard Bauer, 2007.
Cover and text illustrations copyright © Joe Bauer, 2007.
Print edition first published in 2007 by Omnibus, an imprint of Scholastic Australia.
This electronic edition published by Scholastic Australia Pty Limited in 2012.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, unless specifically permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968 as amended.
EPUB/MOBI eISBN 978 1 921 98870 7
nbsp; Michael Gerard Bauer, Ishmael and the Return of the Dungongs
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