by Chris Miles
‘What is going on in that pocket, Jack?’ said Ms Liaw, looking very concerned all of a sudden.
‘Nothing, miss,’ said Jack, trying to keep his voice level.
‘Then hurry up and give me the phone!’
‘Miss, he’s not getting his phone,’ someone said. ‘He’s inappropriately touching himself!’
‘What?’ cried Jack. ‘No! I –’
Jack saw Vivi pull away from him in horror. A look of disgust spread across Ms Liaw’s face. Mr Jacobs glanced from side to side, as if searching for a fire alarm to smash open. The woman from the council sat frozen, mouth agape. Nats took an involuntary step back and held her index cards up to her face.
Sampson leapt to his feet and held his hands out either side of him, like he was protecting the room from an escaped animal. ‘Stand back, everyone! Someone has obviously got a little bit excited.’ He looked scathingly at Jack. ‘And I do mean a little bit.’
‘No …’ Jack pleaded, his voice a hoarse, horrified whisper. He glanced at Vivi in desperation, nodding furiously towards the pocket his hand was still lodged in. ‘Sticky –’
‘Oh my god,’ said Vivi, covering her mouth.
At that point, the woman from the council actually stood up on her chair, as if a mouse had run into the room.
Jack shook his hand in his pocket again, a pained expression on his face. ‘Sticky –’
His brain sent his mouth an urgent memo to stop using the word ‘sticky’. But by then it was too late.
Far, far too late.
‘Ah, Sprigley. I’ve been looking through your file.’
Mr Trench was Upland Secondary’s vice principal and student counsellor. Before coming to work at the school, he’d been in the army reserve. Jack secretly doubted that Mr Trench was trained in anything even resembling twenty-first century counselling techniques. The only techniques he seemed to be trained in were techniques for exploding things at various distances.
‘Close the door and sit down.’
Jack had never been in this kind of trouble before. He sat down in the chair opposite Mr Trench before his legs turned to soup beneath him.
‘Now,’ said Mr Trench, looking up from his desk. ‘I gather you’ve been caught abusing yourself in the student centre.’
Jack felt his face burn red with embarrassment. ‘No!’
‘Well, obviously you were caught, or you wouldn’t be here.’
‘But I wasn’t abusing myself!’
‘Wasn’t abusing myself, sir,’ said Mr Trench. ‘The point is, Sprigley, you were doing something – and doing it quite vigorously, as I understand it.’
Jack felt sick. Vivi. Sampson. Nats. They’d all seen it. ‘No, sir. I definitely wasn’t.’
‘Mr Jacobs and Ms Liaw seem pretty certain you were. Mrs Hogarth was so disturbed by the news she’s been forced to relocate her lunchtime Zumba class.’
Jack couldn’t stand it anymore. ‘Sir, I swear, nothing happened. The truth is … nothing could have happened.’
Mr Trench fixed his gaze on him. ‘Explain.’
Jack hesitated, wondering exactly how he was going to communicate his embarrassing private details to a man who was so prehistoric that he probably thought women shouldn’t be allowed to drive cars.
Jack swallowed. ‘Well, sir … the thing is, physically, I haven’t actually … got that far. You know, down below.’
Mr Trench seemed genuinely confused. His fuzzy eyebrows bunched together. ‘But you’ve got all the right arsenal, haven’t you?’
Jack paused. He wasn’t totally on board with the increasingly personal and military-themed direction in which the conversation was headed.
‘Now, don’t be coy,’ said Mr Trench. ‘It’s a sign of maturity to talk about these matters openly and honestly.’
Or at least in army metaphors, thought Jack. He struggled to think of something to say, some answer that wouldn’t be horribly embarrassing – but Mr Trench had already picked up the phone.
‘Bear with me, Sprigley, I’m going to have to call in reinforcements on this one.’
Reinforcements? thought Jack.
‘Hello? Yes, it’s Rodney Trench here. I’ve got Jack Sprigley from 8C with me. Have I come through to Ms Porter?’
Jack buried his head in his hands. Ms Porter had started at the school at the beginning of the year. Unlike the previous Health Ed teacher, she was young enough to potentially remember what sex was actually like. Which meant there was at least one desperate attempt each class from one or another of the Year 8 boys to get her to supply anecdotes from her own personal history.
‘Right,’ said Mr Trench, speaking into the phone. ‘Well, I wonder if you might help me clarify something. It’s concerning the physical development of the typical adolescent male.’
Jack barely registered what Mr Trench was saying as he discussed the ins and outs (mostly outs) of what was normal for a fourteen-year-old boy. He stopped listening altogether after he heard the words ‘Sprigley here insists he’s totally lacking in ammunition’.
‘I see,’ said Mr Trench, nodding thoughtfully. ‘Thank you.’ He put the phone down and turned to Jack. ‘Well, then. According to the intelligence I’ve just received, there are two commonly accepted markers that indicate whether a boy is, in fact, on the path to being a man. One: the testicles begin to enlarge. Two: the target acquires what’s known as “pubic hair”.’ He paused. ‘So. Sprigley. Any testicular enlargement to report? Any “pubic hair” on the radar?’
‘Negative, sir. I mean, no. Sir.’
‘Well, let’s not abandon hope. You’re sure to experience the opening salvos of “Operation: Manhood” sooner or later.’
‘Well, if Ms Porter says so.’
‘Ms Porter? No, she wasn’t available as it happens.’
Jack frowned. ‘Then … who were you talking to just now?’
‘Good question. I could hear some vacuuming going on in the background, so it might have been one of the cleaners.’
So it’s worse than my private business being discussed with the Sex Ed teacher, thought Jack. It’s being discussed with the cleaning staff. The younger of whom, according to Jack’s sister, Hallie, sometimes bought alcohol for the Year 11s and hung out with the Year 12s, trading school gossip.
Mr Trench regarded Jack for a moment. ‘I can see you’re concerned, Sprigley. And perhaps quite rightly. So what if I were to suggest something that might help you advance the front line, so to speak?’
Jack had a feeling things were about to get even weirder.
‘Manhood, you see, is not something that just happens. It’s something that has to be taken charge of. There’s a whole army of male sex hormones lying idle within you, Sprigley. An undisciplined rabble just waiting for a general to marshal them into action. It’s you who must lead the charge. You must act like a man in order to become a man.’ Mr Trench peered over his glasses at the papers on his desk. He picked them up and shuffled them nervously for a moment. ‘Now, I see from your file that you might be … well, let’s say, “lacking a strong male influence”. Your father, I gather he – ?’
‘Yeah,’ said Jack. ‘When I was eight.’
There was silence for a moment. ‘And … what did he do?’ Mr Trench looked down at the paper again. ‘“Peter”.’
‘He did the weather report on the local news,’ said Jack.
Mr Trench frowned. Jack couldn’t tell if he was trying to offer sympathy, or if he was just disappointed that Jack’s dad hadn’t been a policeman or firefighter or a tank commander or something.
When he was very young, Jack thought his dad actually controlled the weather – that the forecast he read out at the end of the news each night was a heavenly pronouncement. That he had the power to clear the skies or summon the rain or hurl down thunderbolts like a god. The story had passed into family lore: a little in-joke that had briefly lifted the mood at the funeral.
Then Jack had made the mistake of mentioning it on camera during Bigwigs, and
the producers had run the clip over and over whenever they needed a contestant sob story. It didn’t matter how many workplace challenges he led his team through; every time they played that stupid clip, it made him look like a dumb kid who believed his dad had superhuman powers.
‘Terrible business,’ said Mr Trench, after a pause. ‘But what makes the situation all the more tragic is the way this “modern” world denies young chaps like yourself a clear-cut path from boyhood to manhood. That’s why I founded the Lionheart Tigerwolf Self-Discovery Adventure Camp. Haven’t looked back. Every month we go off camping in the Woodrose State Forest – sons, fathers, grandfathers – and hunt and fish and wrestle and just generally get in touch with our inner animal.’
‘Lionheart Tigerwolf?’ said Jack. ‘That’s a lot of inner animals to get in touch with, sir.’
Mr Trench opened his drawer and held up a sheet of paper. ‘Sign-up form’s right here if you’re interested.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Jack.
‘Very well,’ said Mr Trench. ‘In the meantime, there’s still the matter of this morning’s incident in the student centre. You seem to be claiming it was a misunderstanding. So answer me this, Sprigley: if you weren’t gratifying yourself in front of your fellow pupils, what exactly were you doing?’
Jack sighed. ‘I was getting my phone out of my pocket. That’s all. But something got stuck to my hand.’
‘Stuck to your hand?’
Jack realised he faced a dilemma. If he wanted to acquit himself of the public masturbation charge, he had to introduce Exhibit A: Pube Wig. ‘P-pardon?’ he said, playing for time.
‘What was it that got stuck to your hand?’
Jack took a long deep breath. Things were already embarrassing enough without him pulling a homemade pubic thatch from his pocket. What sorts of embarrassing questions would Mr Trench ask then? And as angry as Jack was with Philo for introducing the fateful merkin to his life, he didn’t want to get the heir to Sultana World in trouble.
‘I take it all back,’ said Jack. ‘It wasn’t a misunderstanding. I actually was … doing what you said. Gratifying myself.’
Mr Trench gazed at him across the desk, his expression unreadable. Then he looked down, shuffled the papers on his desk, and said, ‘Oh well.’ He looked up and smiled. ‘Nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘P-pardon?’ Jack said again, hardly believing what he’d heard.
Mr Trench shrugged. ‘As I said, manhood is something you must take into your own hands. In future, though, try not to take that advice quite so literally.’
‘So … does that mean I can go?’
‘Permission granted. No disciplinary action required – though we will have to contact your mother, as a matter of formality.’
‘Really?’
‘I’m afraid so. Until then, Sprigley, it’s between you and me.’
And the junior school’s best and brightest, thought Jack. And the staff-room cleaners, thanks to Mr Trench. And, if Hallie was right about the alcohol-buying thing, possibly all of senior school.
Not that it mattered who heard it now. Vivi had been right there in front of him.
Finally, Jack had proved to her that he really was too embarrassing to stay friends with.
The recess bell rang. Jack hid behind the lockers at C block, waiting for Philo to walk past.
‘Psst!’ he whispered.
Philo had opened up his locker and was dumping his books inside. ‘Jack, there you are! Everyone’s talking about you.’
Oh god, thought Jack. ‘Is it bad?’
‘It’s really bad. They’re calling you “bigfrig”.’
Jack groaned.
‘I know. It’s like everyone’s forgotten the show you were on was actually called Bigwigs?’
‘Yeah, I think the reason they might be calling me “bigfrig” is because of you and your stupid merkin!’ Jack thrust the pube wig at Philo.
Philo seemed reluctant to take the merkin back – which left Jack to hold it out between them like the worst Valentine offering in history.
‘Jack, dude.’
Jack turned around to see Reese and Darylyn standing behind him. He whisked the merkin out of sight, leaning casually against the lockers, hands behind his back, concealing the pube wig as best he could.
‘So anyway,’ said Jack, raising his voice, ‘I can definitely help you with that homework problem, Philo.’
Philo frowned and nodded insistently in the direction of the hidden merkin. ‘But what about the –’
‘We’ll talk later, okay?’
Jack thought he saw a hint of a pout on Philo’s face as he turned and disappeared down the corridor. He felt a little bad. Maybe he’d hurt Philo’s feelings. But Philo, with his ill-conceived act of crotch-crochet, had just about destroyed whatever was left of Jack’s cred.
He nodded towards Reese and Darylyn, doing his best to play it cool. ‘H-hey guys. What’s up? I haven’t seen you two all morning.’
Not exactly true, he thought.
Reese and Darylyn exchanged glances.
Jack grimaced. ‘When I say “you two”, I don’t mean there is a “you two”, like that’s a thing. I’m just saying, you’re both here now. Together. Not “together” together. Not that I’m saying you couldn’t be. That’d be fine. If you were. I’m totally cool with all that stuff, obviously.’
Darylyn shuffled closer to Reese and gave him a pointed nudge.
Reese scratched his jaw.
‘So, dude. We … kind of heard about what happened.’
Jack noticed Darylyn roll her eyes. Had she been expecting Reese to say something else? Had they actually come looking for him so they could fess up about their before-school rendezvous?
‘It wasn’t what it looked like,’ said Jack.
A bunch of Year 10s walked past. ‘Hey, it’s Jack Spankley!’ one of them shouted.
Jack did his best to ignore them. ‘I mean, lots of things aren’t necessarily what they look like, right?’ he said, looking at Reese and Darylyn. ‘You might see two people walking along and think “Is that person holding hands with that other person?” or you might see something else that’s totally innocent and think “Hey, is that guy touching himself inappropriately in public?” – but actually, you might be completely wrong. And that’s exactly what’s happened here. Everyone’s got it wrong.’
He was about to gesture emphatically to drive home his point, but remembered he was still holding the merkin. He leant against the lockers again to make sure it stayed hidden behind his back. ‘I mean, you don’t really believe I’d … do that in front of everyone, do you?’
‘I don’t know, Jack. Yesterday you said you were doing it for the entire holidays,’ said Darylyn.
‘Okay, fair point,’ said Jack. ‘But that was just … Look, it’s under control. It’s just a normal amount of completely non-public masturbation, the same as any other teenage male who has definitely hit puberty. I promise. Cross my heart.’
Reese and Darylyn stared at him expectantly. Jack stood where he was, leaning against the lockers, not moving.
‘Dude, are you crossing your fingers behind your back?’
‘No!’ said Jack.
Reese shrugged. ‘Well, whatever.’ He looked down at Darylyn, then back at Jack. ‘Look, this is kind of awkward. But there’s something we’ve been meaning to tell you. Me and Darylyn, that is. Anyway … before the holidays, we kind of … well, we realised –’
‘We realised we have feelings of affection for each other,’ said Darylyn. ‘Strong. Affection.’
‘Oh,’ said Jack. It felt like the time he’d pretended to be surprised when he opened the Xbox he’d seen in his mum’s cupboard two weeks before Christmas. ‘Well … congratulations? And … thanks for telling me, I guess?’
‘I told you he’d be weird about it,’ Reese muttered.
‘I’m not!’ said Jack. ‘Seriously. I’ve just had a pretty intense morning, okay? I think Mr Trench tried to recruit me in
to some kind of wildman cult. And possibly the army.’ He paused. ‘Wait, you thought I’d be weird about it?’
Reese looked uncomfortable. ‘It doesn’t matter –’
‘Jack?’ came Vivi’s voice down the corridor. Sampson was with her, looking excited about the front row seats he’d scored to yet another performance of the Jack Sprigley humiliation stage spectacular. ‘What the hell was that back there? Could you really not wait until Ditz-stagio had finished her speech? Seriously?’
‘It wasn’t what it looked like,’ said Jack. He had to admit it didn’t sound any more convincing the second time around. Feeling under attack, he tried to back further away, forgetting he was already fully pressed against the lockers.
‘No?’ snorted Sampson. ‘You’re actually not an uncontrollable gherkin-jerker?’
Jack had to hold himself back from flipping Sampson the bird. For one thing, he still had the merkin in his hand. For another, Sampson would probably exact a terrible revenge next time they had PE.
‘No,’ said Jack. ‘I’m not.’
Vivi cocked her head to one side. ‘That’s funny, because yesterday morning you decided to tell us all that you’d been masturbating for the entire holidays.’
‘Thank you,’ said Darylyn.
Jack groaned. ‘I’ve been through all this already.’
‘Sorry I missed it,’ said Vivi. ‘But we were busy filling in my application for Mayor for a Week.’
‘We?’ said Jack.
‘I had to get Oliver to nominate me.’
‘I hadn’t been hauled away to see the vice principal,’ said Sampson, shrugging. ‘Plus I had the advantage of not having my hands full.’
‘Come on, dude,’ said Reese, frowning at Sampson. ‘Why are you even here?’
‘It’s okay, Reese,’ said Jack. ‘I can take a joke. I wouldn’t want you thinking I’m being weird or anything.’
Darylyn glanced at Reese, then Jack. ‘Well. This did not go the way I expected.’ She looked up at Sampson. ‘Also, I don’t know who you are.’
Just then, Jack’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He’d forgotten: someone had been trying to call him. That was how the whole case-of-mistaken-masturbating had started.