Being Jack
Page 1
Dedication
To my lifelong friends
author Moya Simons and artist Jules Sevelson,
who have shared the journey of I am Jack.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1: Lights On!
Chapter 2: Clean Socks
Chapter 3: Riding the Wave
Chapter 4: The World’s Greatest Cook
Chapter 5: Hot Sausages!
Chapter 6: Red Socks
Chapter 7: Game’s On
Chapter 8: Legends
Chapter 9: Wee Puddles
Chapter 10: Cliff Tops and Beaches
Chapter 11: Bags Can Fly
Chapter 12: Ping. Ping.
Chapter 13: Strategy Day
Chapter 14: Mad Saturday
Chapter 15: The Eagle
Chapter 16: Walk in My Shoes
Chapter 17: The Shoebox
Chapter 18: Where’s Four-Eyes?
Chapter 19: Even If You Don’t Win, How Can You Lose?
Chapter 20: Plans Afoot
Chapter 21: We’re a Team
Chapter 22: Endless Summer
Chapter 23: Thirteen
About the Author
About Susanne Gervay and Room to Read
Praise
Also by Susanne Gervay
Copyright
Chapter 1
Lights On!
I click the light bulb into its socket. Mum yelps. I look down at the bottom of the ladder. She’s so excited that I’m changing the bulbs that she’s doing a lopsided star jump. Mum just can’t get the hang of them. The last time she tried to change one, the house nearly blew up. The fuse exploded, lights went off, Mum was zapped. She’s now banned from touching anything electrical.
‘What would I do without you, darling?’
‘We’d live in the dark, Mum.’ I laugh. ‘And don’t call me darling.’
‘Oh, I forgot, darling.’
I give up. Mum whirls around, nearly knocking Nanna over. I just make it down the ladder in time to catch her. Her teeth slip out, but she’s fast and sucks them back in. She beams a Nanna beam. ‘I can always count on you, Jack.’
My sister, Samantha, bounces in with her new puppy and dog, Ollie, woofing behind them. The puppy has a squished face. It’s a boxer cross. I don’t know what it’s crossed with. Maybe a cow? Ha, ha. Of course Samantha bumps the ladder just as I’m trying to pack it away.
‘Watch out.’ I nudge her out of the way, while her puppy, called Puppy—what an original name—lunges for my shoelaces. I nearly trip over and land on Rob, who’s just arrived with a gigantic thermometer.
By the way Rob is officially my stepdad. He thinks he’s very cool. Not sure about that.
‘We’ll all know the temperature now. Hot or not. Ha!’ He checks his thermometer.
I give him a you’ve-got-to-be-joking stare.
Mum’s panting and stares at Rob’s head. ‘Have you had another haircut, Rob?’
Haircut? Rob looks like a tall, prickly bowling ball in a Hawaiian shirt. I’m growing my hair. I don’t want to look like a prickly bowling ball. I shaved off my hair to support Mum when she was sick. A shudder runs through me and my stomach knots. Hey, she’s not sick any more and I need hair.
Rob rubs his head, smiling. ‘Good value. I won’t have to have another haircut for months.’
Mum scrunches her face, unimpressed, but before she can comment, Samantha races towards Rob, just missing Puss, who leaps onto the side table, knocking over Grandad’s photo.
Nanna waddles as fast as she can to save it and knocks over Mum and Rob’s family wedding photo. I grab it. We’re all in that photo, looking like sun-crazed penguins in black suits with bright yellow shirts and spotted ties. Well, the girls don’t look like penguins. More like angels, except Samantha who’s too annoying to be an angel. Anna’s my best friend and almost part of the family. She’s never annoying. In the photo Nanna beams, holding her open locket showing the picture of Grandad. There couldn’t be a wedding without him. I put down the wedding photo.
‘Lights are working now, Mum. Got stuff to do. Got to go.’ I head down the hallway, look back to see Nanna rearranging the photo table. Mum’s waving a mop. Samantha’s squealing, ‘No, Puppy, no!’ Puppy’s not listening and is weeing on the kitchen floor. I try not to laugh out loud. I promised Samantha I’d make a bigger doggy flap in the back door so both Ollie and Puppy can get through easily. I’ve got to do it soon.
I shut my bedroom door. Hector, my white rat, gives me the I’m-starving glare. I crumble a few cookie crumbs. Since Nanna’s favourite food of all time is cookies, there’s always a supply of them. I have my own personal cookie jar, thanks to her. I grab a choc-chip one for myself.
I head for my windowsill. Ponto’s looking good sprouting there in his jar. My experiment of grafting an onion onto an old potato is a monster. Green shoots spurt from the top. Maybe Ponto can feed the world one day? I’ve just got to clone him. I’ve had a lot of failures—and rotting potatoes stink. Worse than stink. I laugh. ‘But a scientist has to go where no man has gone before. Captain James T. Kirk, captain of starship USS Enterprise.’ I grab my camera and take a few shots of the alien Ponto for my photo wall.
My wall is looking great. I’ve enlarged one photo of Nanna showing off her purple glow-in-the-dark underpants. She loves those underpants and bought some for all of us. Unbelievable. Has Nanna no idea? I don’t wear them, that’s for sure. They were super cheap—Nanna said she got them nearly for free. There’s a reason for that. I think free is paying too much.
There’s my favourite photo of Mum and me. We’re both bald as lizards. She hated losing her hair with the chemo, but when I shaved mine off, she cried. She said that I shouldn’t have done it. But I could see it made her feel better because I did that for her. As if I wouldn’t. Mum’s hair’s grown back now into a fluffy blonde fuzz. Next is the photo of Anna in front of the Napolis’ Super Delicioso Fruitology Market. She’s laughing, holding a yellow mango, dripping juice between her fingers. She looks so beautiful. My aim was just right: when I clicked, the sun was coming through her long black curls.
I put my camera back on the shelf next to Grandad’s old camera. I’ve used it a few times, even developed old photos. He had a heart attack just before my eighth birthday. I’m nearly thirteen now. I miss him. I glance at the photos of him and me camping. Hey, Grandad, check this out. I look through my telescope and out the window into the sky. Going to be a quarter-moon tonight, Grandad.
OK, got to get back to work. My out-of-bounds table—that means no Mum, no Samantha, no Nanna, no Rob and no one touches it. I’ve got a soundboard organised, electronic parts, and soldering equipment. Just need to get the speakers working. Need a bit more room. Might have to finish it on my workbench in the shed.
‘Jack. Jack.’ Samantha bangs on my door. She sticks her head through. ‘Dinner.’
I look up. Can’t believe it’s already dark, though now I think about it I’m starving. ‘What’s cooking, Sammy?’ No answer as she runs off with Puppy trailing behind her.
Nanna’s wobbling from her bedroom to the table. She loves food and gives me a toothy smile. She still has her teeth in, which is good. She calls out to me. ‘Spaghetti bolognaise for a growing boy.’
‘That’s me. Growing.’
Chapter 2
Clean Socks
I jump up just before my alarm rings. 5.27 am. Buzzzzz—5.30 am. I’ve programmed my brain to beat the clock. Winner—Jack. Loser—Clock.
Jeans, T-shirt, socks. Where are my clean socks? I look under my bunk. Dirty socks. I slide under the bed and grab them. Four pairs. They smell. I aim for the washing basket and get them in. Bullseye. Four pairs of socks, right into the basket. Anna’s going to be so
impressed when she sees me kick those winning goals. Socks, socks, socks. Ah! Find a clean pair at the back of my drawers. I race out of my room, through the living room, wave at Mum, who’s up early as usual.
‘I’ll have breakfast ready when you’re back.’
Mum’s voice follows me as I leap two steps at a time down the back verandah, jump onto my bike, clip on my helmet and zoom out for my paper run. The light flickers through the trees as I cut through the park. I’m flying as I jump dirt potholes, swerve bends, pedal as fast as I can towards the beach cliffs. Panting, I just catch the sun rising over the sea. Sometimes the ocean’s wild, with the winds nearly blowing me down. Sometimes it’s flat like glass. Today, there’s a juicy swell that rolls onto the sand. There’re a few surfers out there already.
I watch until the sun is up, then jump back onto my bike and race down the cliff track to the shopping strip. I collect my newspaper stack and get going on my run, throwing them into front yards, gardens and unluckily sometimes onto roofs.
‘Home!’ I shout as I dump my bike against the shed. Rob’s hung up his boxing bag just under the metal awning. I give it a whack and race into the house.
‘Breakfast.’ Mum’s blonde hair frizzes as she swirls around with a plate of bacon and eggs.
Rob’s already eating his. ‘How about me dropping you and Sammy to school this morning? Sammy’s dog project looks pretty big.’
Mum’s eyes go all dopey. ‘That’s so lovely of you, Rob.’
Rob straightens up, gives a serious nod of his head to Mum, trying to look like a proper dad. I try not to laugh. Rob’s real son, Leo, lives up north with his mum. He doesn’t come down much, but Rob rings him a lot. Leo’s OK. He’s nearly thirteen like Anna and me. He calls Rob ‘Dad’. Always feels odd when I hear that. ‘Hey, Dad,’ I say under my breath. Dad. Rob. Dad. Rob. Rob. Dad . . . No, you’re Rob. I have this tiny photo of my real dad with Mum and Samantha and me. The photo’s in the bottom corner of my photo wall. A pain shoots through my head. I remember:
. . . The day my dad left, I was five. He had brown hair like me. He wore jeans and a grey jacket. Mum wore a bright flowery dress and was crying. Samantha was holding on to Mum. I stood next to Mum. Dad shouted: ‘Said I’m not coming back.’
Then he looked down at me. ‘You be good, Jack.’
He turned and strode away. I reached out my hand for him, but he was gone. Then I felt Mum’s hand take mine.
Sometimes I think he’s walking down the street. I race up behind him, except it’s never Dad. But he told me to be good, like he’s coming back. Maybe he couldn’t come back. Got sick or something. Maybe he’ll just arrive at the front door. To see Sammy and me. One day I told Mum that I thought I saw Dad, and she cried, so I’ve never mentioned him again. Dad doesn’t even know that Mum was sick and that we could have been alone. Anyway, I don’t care. We’re fine without him.
Samantha squeaks and I look around. She’s tickling Rob’s prickly head at the table. Rob gives Mum a wink. ‘Nice haircut, hey?’ Mum shakes her head.
Rob gets up and strides to the sink to do the breakfast dishes. That’s his job. Mum cooks. Rob washes. He thinks he’s the only person who can scrape and clean and make those plates sparkle. Have to admit that he always finds the dirty spot everyone misses. He’s king of the dishes. I take my dirty plate and glass over to the sink.
‘Do you want a hand, Rob? Drying.’ I grab a tea towel.
He nods and says with a serious voice, ‘Sure, Jack.’ He really is trying to be a dad role model. I don’t need a dad. But yeah. He’s not a bad sort of stepdad.
‘Dishes done,’ Rob announces. ‘See you tonight, babe.’ He kisses Mum and calls out, ‘Let’s go,’ as he dashes to his van.
I shout, ‘Come on, Sammy.’
She arrives in the kitchen carrying her dog project with Puppy tugging at her shoes. Ollie’s trying to stop Puppy. Samantha’s the shortest eleven-year-old in her class. Mum says she’ll have a growth spurt later like Mum did. Well, Samantha hasn’t had one yet and her project is a huge papier-mâché model of a dog that looks like an elephant.
‘Hey, that’s a good elephant.’
‘It’s a dog,’ Samantha squeals, stumbling over the size of it.
‘That’s what I said. An elephant.’
Laughing, I grab her project and carry it to Rob’s surfing van. Coolest van ever. It’s bright yellow with a blue wave splashing down its side and a black velvet interior. Curly writing over the wave says, If it swells, ride it.
Rob gave Mum his nearly new super-fantastic four-wheel drive. He said he wanted Mum to have a reliable car, especially after she got sick, because she sometimes comes home late from work at the library. But Rob had a plan all along. He drove the bright yellow second-hand surfing van down our driveway a day or two after he gave Mum the keys to his other one. ‘Needed wheels myself,’ he told her. (Her mouth was open so wide she looked like she was catching flies.) Best van ever.
Samantha plonks herself in the front seat of course. I sit in the back seat, next to her dog-elephant. I look around the van with its black vinyl panels. They are pretty great. Two miniature surfboards dangle from the rearview mirror. There’s a new square black-and-white sign on one panel:
GET IN. SIT DOWN.
HOLD ON. SHUT UP.
‘New sign, Rob?’
‘Follow those rules and life’s pretty easy, Jack.’
‘Hold on. SHUT UP.’ I grin.
Rob looks into the mirror and chuckles. He turns on his surfing music and revs the engine. A few farts blurt from the exhaust and we’re off. Mum and Nanna wave goodbye as ‘Surfing USA’ blares out of the windows.
We drive along the ocean-cliff road. I check out the surf. Rob swerves left, past bushland. A couple of dogs run out of it, snapping at the van’s wheels. Then there it is, Boat Harbour School.
Rob waits with the engine idling as I drag Samantha’s dog-elephant out of the back seat. Samantha runs around to check what’s happening and I pretend to drop it. She squeaks and her ponytail bobs. She looks pretty funny. ‘So where do you want it to go?’
‘The library. Come on, Jack.’
George Hamel gives us a smirk, but he leaves me alone these days. He wouldn’t bully me now. I wouldn’t let him.
Comments and howls fly across the schoolyard from that idiot Winger Ratko and his mates.
‘How’s Jumbo?’
‘Carrying a load, Jack?’
‘Ha, ha!’
‘What is that huge nose?’
‘Ha, ha.’
‘A trunk with a butt.’
Samantha gasps into a barely controlled sob. ‘Jack. Is it really bad? I made the nose too long. What can I—?’
‘No. No, Sammy. It’s really good. I was having a bit of fun with you before. It’s a fantastic dog. Winger’s just being . . . hmmm, Winger.’ I shout back to him: ‘Get lost. You couldn’t make something as good as this.’
‘As if. Oooooh,’ Winger howls in a whiny voice. His mates sing along.
I snap at him. ‘Cut it out—’
From out of nowhere the bald head of our teacher, Mr Angelou, appears, shining in the sun. Straight away Winger shuts up. I give Winger a don’t-muck-around-with-me look, while Mr Angelou tells him off. He stands there like a stuffed scarecrow. His mates disappear of course. I race up to the library with Samantha tagging behind me.
The librarian, Mrs Lopez, likes me. I helped her stack and sort hundreds of books last year. Spent a lot of time in the library at lunchtime. I don’t know how I’d have made it without the library. Good place to go when the playground goes feral. ‘Hello, Jack. Haven’t seen you for a while.’ Her voice sings like always. I think it’s because of her Spanish accent.
‘I’ve started playing footy. I’m in the reserves. Practice at lunchtime.’
‘But the library’s still here,’ she sings. ‘I’ve got some interesting new space photos. From NASA.’
‘Sounds great. I’ll check them out Monday.’
Samantha pushes her hand through my arm. Embarrassing. ‘Thanks, Jack,’ she whispers.
I shove her hand away, check that no one’s seen and escape just as the bell rings. Jumping two stairs at a time, I run into the schoolyard and catch up with Paul. He flicks his football at me. ‘Practice today, Jack. See how good you are at real footy.’
Laughing, I flick it back. ‘Still like soccer.’
‘You’re kidding. Footy rules.’
Everyone piles into class. I head for my desk, next to Christopher. He points to a paper bag full of cookies from his parents’ Vietnamese bakery. ‘For Nanna.’
I pretend to do a Nanna wobble, then slump into my chair. ‘Lucky for Nanna you’re my best mate.’
I look over at Anna. She grins at me as she gets out her work. George Hamel walks in. A few girls ogle him and giggle. I roll my eyes. What’s he got? OK, he’s captain of the 13A team. Plays great footy, but what else? Yeah, maybe he’s tall, got muscles, even if they’re coming out of his head. Ha, ha. OK, he looks all right, but so do a lot of guys. He’s still not great at reading. George Hamel winks at Becky and Jasmin, who titter at him. Those girls need a brain. One between two would be good. They’re messaging under the desk. George Hamel looks at Anna, but she ignores him and gives me one of her huge smiles. George has got to know by now that she’s not interested in him.
I give him a look. He shrugs and smirks as if to say, It’s always worth a try. He saunters to his desk.
Classes seem so long today. It’s Friday. Mum’s having a barbecue this weekend. I stare out of the window. A sea eagle glides in the breeze, going out towards the ocean. Grandad and I always stopped to watch a sea eagle. He’d say, ‘We all have wings like eagles. You can soar, Jack. Be anything you want to be.’
Christopher kicks me under the desk and adjusts his new black glasses. ‘Hey, why did you do . . .?’ I start to say, then I see Mr Angelou walking down the aisle. Christopher slides his work over my way and I pretend to be working on it with him.