Mac Slater Coolhunter 1

by Tristan Bancks

'Ohhhhhhh. I think you've busted a rib.'

  'C'mon, get up. We've got work to do.' I held out a hand and he grabbed it. I pulled him up then I climbed up to the loft myself, bringing down one of our older flying bike prototypes. I passed it down to Paul.

  'If we can get a bike in the air by Friday, I reckon New York's ours,' I called down to him.

  'Wipe "no" and "impossible" from your vocab. That's what your old man said.'

  'I didn't think you believed in things like that – little mottos and stuff,' I said. 'I thought "Impossible" was your middle name.'

  'Shut up. I want this thing to fly as much as you. I'm just a realist. But if we've got to get this up and running in three days, there's no time for reality. We've just got to go for it.'

  I wandered towards the back of the loft space.

  'Remember the old MacPaul Flyer?' I called out.

  'Yeah.' Paul laughed.

  We'd modelled our very first flying bike on the Wright brothers' Wright Flyer, the first powered aircraft to land safely with a pilot. Or something like that. The problem was that the wings were gigantic and you pretty much needed to be at a major international airport to have enough space for take-off.

  I climbed over bits of MacPaul Flyer wings and a never-miss basketball we'd been trying to develop. I shoved aside a rocket that we'd abandoned when we realised how much propulsion you needed to get something like that into space. We were only eight when we built it but we hoped to get back to it some day.

  'Are you still up there?' Paul called.

  'Yeah, hang on.'

  Right up at the back of the loft I saw another one of our prototypes.

  'You want me to bring down The Flying Man?' I asked Paul.

  'No way. That was shocking,' he said. With The Flying Man we'd tried to combat the big wing problem by creating these little snap-out wings, Transformers or Buzz Lightyear-style. To make a long story short, they were total poo. They looked good. But I nearly died when I tried to fly off the roof of our bus and hammered myself on the compost bin.

  I scooped up some other bits of different inventions and climbed back down to the workshop.

  'Why did we start building a flying bike?' I asked. 'I can't even remember anymore.'

  'Flying transport for kids,' Paul said. 'Something as easy and safe as riding a regular bike. Roads are dangerous and there's all that space up there not being used.'

  'A solo flying machine powered by renewable energy,' I said. 'That's what we always wanted. So what went wrong on Sunday?'

  'Wind,' said Paul. 'The wing didn't deal with the wind.'

  'So how do we do it differently?'

  'You need stability. Think about it. If you had three wheels rather than two you could focus on getting the wing steady rather than steering the bike.'

  'Yeah, that's good. And the solar panels sucked,' I added. 'Too weak.'

  Paul pulled out the workbench stool and grabbed the sketch of Sunday's bike from a folder. I got busy on the bike frame, knocking out the dings and pulling the bent forks off. We worked side by side together till late into the night, like real inventors. Like men.

  All I wanted in the world was to find enough cool stuff around town to survive in the competition till Friday. Then we'd have our shot at getting the bike in the air in front of hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of people. That was the dream.

  20

  Wednesday

  6:12 a.m. I was up early and conned Mr Kim into firing up one of the web computers. He wasn't too happy about it but I'd been thinking about something all night and I had to check it. I knew the results from yesterday wouldn't be online till eight so I googled 'cool'. When I thought about it in the night, I realised I wasn't even sure what the word meant. I found a bunch of Wikis and dictionary defs but I found this answer in a chatroom and I liked it best:

  'It means doing your own thing and not conforming just to make other people happy. Work out your own opinions, respect people and follow your own thing. Otherwise you're not human. You're a photocopy.'

  I took a look around to see if Mr Kim was about to boot me off but he was out in the kitchen chopping stuff up. So I cracked open my blog and just started freewriting on 'cool'. Here's what I wrote:

  what is cool?

  ive never even thought about what cool is before. i mean why would i? cool's just ... cool. like hot but different. less intense than hot. but definitely not cold. maybe it's something to do with music? but what kind of music? and is cool sporty or not sporty? my mum told me that salvador dali this artist with a weird moustache reckoned the next big thing in fashion was whatever was out of fashion now. so maybe he thought uncool was cool. so did that mean my dad is cool? because he's so not-cool. but then his lightning farm is cool. so is it only certain uncool things that are cool?

  maybe cool is on the inside. but then cat seems to think cool is all about outside stuff.

  a list of stuff i think is cool:

  movies, flying, creating, inventing, new york city, hokkien noodles, yellow cabs, things that move fast, adrenaline, dreaming, doing your own thing, writing my blog, jewels i spose in a kind of uncool way, the beach, cat ... but is cat really cool? why? she thinks im a loser. ive got to try 2 not like her but i cant stop thinking about her. im an idiot.

  cat if you're somehow reading my blog im only kidding about liking you. you're actually a freak.

  i just surfed round n found this thing on 'flow' on the web. this is what cool really is ... flow is when you're so into something you forget about time. you love it so much that time just disappears. everything else disappears. like when i'm creating stuff or working on a new idea or flying. FLOW is my idea of cool.

  till whenever.

  mac.

  21

  Coolhunting

  8:13 a.m. Paul and I had been out for ages scoping the streets of Kings. For a town that was supposed to be one of the hottest places on earth right now it sure seemed cool-starved from where we were standing. Yeah, there were whales cruising by, dolphins and the shipwreck round at Samsara, surfers out at The Rock – but we were looking for something explosive and different to anywhere else, something we thought was the greatest thing we'd ever seen. I knew that I'd know something was cool when I saw it but I just wasn't feeling the vibes.

  We'd filmed a chubby couple eating chocolate croissants and making out on the rocks at Little Cove, a street-cleaner picking up tourists' wrappers and junk, a Doberman sniffing a Labradoodle's bum in the park, a woman in lycra stinking of perfume charging up the beach, barking something about real estate into her mobile, two backpackers with drool hanging from their mouths sleeping on the beach, a bunch of drowned sewer rats on a surf lesson and rich folks jamming their faces with nineteen-dollar waffles at a café. Clearly all the cool people were still in bed.

  'Let's go check the results,' I said to Paul and we crossed Beach Road towards the sand. The beach was the fastest way to school on foot.

  That's when we saw Cat. She was hanging on the corner near the Beach Cafe – black jeans and T, black spiral speared through her left ear, silver lip-ring, black-and-white check Converse sneaks, camera in hand. She was about the coolest thing we'd seen all morning.

  'Can I shoot her?' I asked Paul.

  'Be my guest,' he said.

  'With the camera,' I said.

  'No, let's go. It's after eight. I don't want to hear the result from her unless it's a win,' Paul said.

  We turned to cross Beach Road again when we heard the dreaded cry:

  'Bonjour, losers.'

  We stopped, turned and Cat was standing there, holding something out to us. A piece of paper.

  Paul tried to stop me but I walked over to her.

  'Have you seen the latest?' she asked, straight-faced.

  I held her gaze for a few seconds then I snatched the paper. I didn't want to look. But I had to. Paul scowled at Cat and peered over my shoulder.

  Our vid had 21422 votes! But Cat's fashion thing had 39 746. We'd made up a ton of gro
und on Monday's results but we'd still been slaughtered.

  Cat said, 'I really feel for you guys. I mean, that's totally sweet, you thinking that lightning is cool but I really don't think you quite get coolhunting.'

  I scanned the sheet for the comments:

  is this guy kidding? lightning farming is insane. no one knows where or when lightning is going to strike, so how do you get a reliable source?

  – GeekSpace9, Mt Victoria, Australia

  I disagree. It could be a viable alternative energy. Check out the farm at www.mobilelightningfarm.com.

  – Tad Cunningham, Little Rock, Arkansas, USA

  How hot does cat look in her vlog?

  – RockRollHarlen, Tromso, Norway.

  This is crackpot science from the lunatic fringe.

  – TasminDarko, Pretoria, South Africa

  i go 2 mac slaters skool n someone told me tha crazy lightning guy is his dad and hes done time. anyone know what for?

  – Chingy736, Kings Bay, Australia

  Who cares about all that? Was it a cool video? Yes. So shut up and enjoy. I'm lovin this kid's brand of geek chic.

  – ZenSimple, Bristol, UK

  Cat interrupted with: 'Did I tell you? I'm having a party Friday night. A little bon voyage before I head off to NYC. Filthy Lemonade are playing. You guys can watch it on the web.' She smiled and walked off.

  'Cow,' said Paul.

  'But did you see her teeth? They're, like, perfect,' I said.

  'Stop,' Paul snapped at me. 'She hates us. If she wasn't crushing us in this competition she'd have Egghead kill us. She is not a nice person.'

  I watched her walk away. 'Yeah, but "nice" isn't everything,' I said.

  Paul slapped me on the back of the head.

  'I'm kidding. Sorry.'

  'And Filthy Lemonade?' Paul said. 'Who the hell are they?'

  'I dunno, aren't they on Triple J and stuff?' I asked.

  'Great. I'm depressed. We gotta get to school,' Paul said.

  We took the beach route and Paul moaned the whole way about how it was all over for us. I pretended that it wasn't, even though we'd scoured the whole town and it was a cool-free zone.

  About halfway, I saw a rainbow-coloured kite in the sky up ahead. Next minute we saw Jewels running towards us – purple headband, school uniform, purple Doc Martens – breathless.

  'I've been looking for you everywhere. There's something you've got to see.'

  I was kind of surprised she was so sparky after she'd walked off from me at lunch the day before.

  'What is it?' Paul asked, flicking his hair back, trying to look fresh for Jewels.

  'Come see. You'll love it.'

  She grabbed my hand and dragged me. Paul looked a little jealous and followed close behind.

  'I hope he's still there. This is so you guys. You have to film it for your thing.'

  As we closed in, I saw what was going down. The kite, almost the size of our bike wing, was attached to a guy with a harness. He had a handle out front to control the wing then he had a skateboard strapped to his feet, carving up the beach. And it wasn't just any old skateboard. This thing had super-chunky wheels and, judging by the amount of air he was getting, it was ultra-light.

  He'd skate along the hard sand, work up some speed, then kick the board in the air and fly for three or four metres before landing it again. He even pulled off a somersault.

  'This is hectic,' Paul said.

  'It's lychees,' I said.

  'It's elephants and zing.'

  That meant it was good.

  Me and Paul sat there in the dune and watched for ten minutes, jaws open. Paul shot a bunch of it. I wanted to ride that thing so bad. Jewels tried to talk to us and I shooshed her a couple of times. After a while I turned around to her and she was gone.

  I stood and waved my hands, trying to flag the skate guy down. A minute later he saw me and skated over, ripping massive air and sliding to a stop in front of us, spitting a light coat of sand over our bare feet. The guy was about our age, maybe a year older. He had thick, jet-black hair sprouting from his helmet, long shorts, odd socks. I hadn't seen him 'round before.

  'Hey,' he said.

  'What is that thing?' I asked him.

  'Kitesk8 board,' he said. 'With an "8".' He carefully steered the kite wing down to the ground.

  'I need to ride that,' I said, moving in to touch the wheels.

  'It's harder than it looks,' he said.

  'I'll work it out,' I said.

  'You ever handled a kite?' he asked.

  'Yeah, we're working on a flying bike,' I said.

  'You're those guys? I saw what happened on Sunday.'

  'Yeah, well, that was an accident. Bit of bad luck. Can I have a ride?'

  'No way,' he said. 'I built this thing myself. I can't afford anything to happen to it.'

  'I'll pay for it if I bust it,' I said, not knowing how I'd do that, but knowing that I needed to ride that board.

  He looked at me for a long time, then at Paul.

  'I don't think so, mate.'

  He unstrapped his feet from the board, grabbed it and started moving off towards the wing which was blowing around on the sand. I followed him.

  'We're hoping to get our bike up again in the next couple of days and it'd really help if I could have a ride,' I said.

  'I saw how badly you stacked. Sorry, man.'

  'Well, can we at least shoot some more footage of you? I'm a coolhunter.' That was the first time I'd said it and it felt good. I guess I was a coolhunter now. I finally felt like I was on a proper coolhunt. Kids were gonna eat kitesk8boarding up.

  'What's a coolhunter?' he asked.

  I went on about coolhunting for a bit and, by the end, he was totally in to being filmed.

  'So, does that mean I can have a ride this afternoon?' I asked.

  He grinned and shook his head.

  'You don't give up, do you?'

  'Never,' I said.

  22

  Sk8ing The Sky

  Every time I leave earth behind for a second, even if it's only on a trampoline, I know that this is where I'm meant to be. I just forget about everything and feel the flow.

  3:45 p.m. Samsara Beach. I started off with the kite, no board. Helmet, knee and elbow pads in place. I had to prove myself to Denson. That was kitesk8 guy's name – Denson Barker. Paul was on camera.

  The wind was up but I still managed to keep the kite pretty steady. Being smaller than ours, it couldn't lift you far into the sky but it was much easier to handle.

  'Pretty good,' he said after about fifteen minutes.

  'Think I'm ready,' I said.

  'Whole lot tougher when you're skating,' he said.

  Denson rolled the board towards me and it banged into my ankle.

  'If you break it I'll have to kill you,' he said. I looked up, smiling, but he wasn't smiling back. The kite started soaring towards the ground, I panicked and just managed to straighten it before it hit dune.

  Denson helped me slip my feet into the foot-straps and buckled me in super-tight.

  Then he said, 'I mean it. This is my life. Don't stack it.'

  I nodded, still confident but kind of scared now, too. Denson was pretty built and he looked like he could actually do me some damage. And my anti-stacking record wasn't that hot of late.

  Paul bolted up the beach and got into position for filming. I took a deep breath and worked the wing into the air. I let it pull me along the sand, slowly at first, weaving side to side, getting a feel for the board. It had swivel wheels that you had to get used to. The kite swooped towards the ground and I pulled back with my right hand and it tore skywards again, reefing me along the beach as it did.

  'Woooooooooooooo!' I screamed. And then fell on my face and ate sand. Great. I was dead.

  'Hey!' Denson called.

  The kite dragged me along the beach as I scrambled to get back up. It pulled me along on my knees and then swept me up off the ground. It felt good to be up there but I
was pulling hard on the kite handle, trying to get it under control.

  Then whooooom! I landed and I was away, carving up the beach. The acceleration on that thing was hardcore. On the flat sand I was flying – on the ground, but flying. I was going way faster than I had on Sunday, and this was without an engine. It felt like I was sliding along the beach on the soles of my shoes, doing eighty. I only had about a hundred metres till I hit The Rock, an outcrop at the end of the beach, and I started to wonder if I'd be able to slow down in time. I pulled down on the kite handle but, rather than slow me, it heaved me off the ground and into the air. Just a little jump. But a jump.

  I pulled on the handle again and I got about a metre of air and was up for a couple of seconds. The landing was pretty sketchy but the swivel wheels set me straight when I hit beach again. Now I was skating Regular rather than Goofy so I had to pull another jump to set things straight. This time I went up and spun around and the wind blew me nearer to the water. I landed in soggy sand and the wheels seized. I fell on my face again but the kite kept dragging me, legs scraping along behind.

  By the time I stood upright again, I was about forty metres from The Rock and still charging. A couple of little kids cut across my path, running towards the water.

  'Hey, watch out!' I screamed, feeling a bit out of control.

  The parents freaked and yelled but the kids didn't hear.

  'Oi!' I yelled louder, but no reaction. Then the kids ran directly in front of me and I had the split-second choice to either go round or fly over. I pulled back on the kite, looking for air but I stayed grounded. With two or three metres before impact I leaned back, turned hard and dug into the beach, kicking up a wall of sand and totally spraying the kids. I fell on my face and was dragged for a few metres before finally wrestling the kite to the ground.

  Seconds later the parents arrived on the scene, sirens wailing.

  'What're you doing, you cretin?' yelled the father.

  'You could've killed them,' said the mother, cuddling the two kids. I sat up and wiped sand from my eyes. The kids were maybe five and seven – a girl and a boy.

  'Is that a skateboard?' said the girl.

  'I don't care what it is,' said the mother.