Being Jack

by Susanne Gervay

  Winger looks like he’s nearly exploding trying to control belly laughs. I elbow Christopher. ‘Come on, let’s tell Mr Angelou.’

  ‘No. We don’t know who did it. I don’t want any trouble.’ Christopher’s voice is breathless.

  ‘It’s got to be Winger. I’m not scared.’

  ‘I’m not either,’ but I can see he is. Christopher adjusts his glasses. ‘Got to be sure.’

  Mr Angelou’s voice booms across the room. ‘When I say quiet, I mean it.’

  The class settles down. Christopher keeps looking up at his bag swinging in the wind. At the bell, he shoves me out of my seat.

  ‘Hey, I’m movin’. I’m movin’.’ I grab my camera, and we race to the flagpole. It’s there, hanging, with the Navy tag flapping. Click. Click. Click. Photographic evidence. Never know when you’ll need it. I pull the rope and the bag jerks down.

  Christopher grabs it, checks that everything’s safe inside it. One of the straps is torn off. ‘Oh no. It’s new. Mum just bought it and it cost a lot. They can’t afford to . . . I have to fix it.’

  ‘It’s all right. I’ve got a staple gun in the shed. I fix lots of stuff like this.’ Christopher’s face is dotted with sweat. ‘Why don’t we just talk to Mr Angelou? I’ve got the photos.’

  ‘Leave it, Jack. OK?’

  I shake my head. I don’t like this, but Christopher’s pulling my sleeve. ‘OK.’

  Chapter 12

  Ping. Ping.

  Samantha’s puffing. ‘Jack, Anna, Christopher . . . my project . . . my . . .’

  ‘Hey, breathe, Sammy. What’s up?’

  ‘It won best project. It’s in the library with a blue first-place ribbon on it. Come and see.’

  I don’t want to go, but Samantha’s desperate. ‘Got to be quick. Can’t miss the bus.’

  We run into the library past Mrs Lopez, who calls out. ‘Don’t run in the library.’ Then she smiles. ‘Great project, Samantha.’

  There it is. In the middle of the room. Got to admit, the dog-elephant looks great since its nose operation. ‘Fantastic!’ Anna hugs Samantha.

  Christopher nods, but doesn’t say anything.

  ‘Good one, Sammy.’ I take some quick photos.

  We pile onto the school bus. Samantha can’t stop talking about her award-winning dog project. Anna listens and says, ‘It’s wonderful, Sammy.’

  We pile off the school bus. The Tran Bakery sign is just ahead. ‘Better get home, Sammy, and tell Nanna and Mum the dog news.’ I smile at Anna. ‘Christopher and I’ve got to do an assignment for school.’ I pretend to punch Samantha on her arm. ‘You’re a winner, Sammy.’ Her face lights up.

  Christopher and I walk inside the bakery. Mr Tran is behind the counter. ‘Hi, Mr Tran.’

  ‘Hello, boys. Good day at school?’

  ‘Sure, Dad.’ Christopher slings the bag over his shoulder with the good strap. He grabs some cheese rolls from the shelves.

  It’s great having a friend who lives in a bakery. Mrs Tran gives us a bottle of orange juice each from the drinks fridge. ‘Your nanna was in today.’

  ‘Nanna loves your cookies.’

  Mrs Tran’s eyes crinkle into a smile. ‘I know.’

  Christopher’s room is on top of the shop. We sit on his bed. ‘Can we swap bags? They look the same, except for the Navy tag. I’ve got an Einstein tag.’

  ‘Why do that?’

  ‘I’ll repair your bag tonight. I’m good with a staple gun. We can swap again tomorrow. No one will know. What do you think?’ He takes off his glasses, rubs his forehead with his hands. ‘What do ya think?’ I ask him again.

  After what seems ages, he nods. ‘Thanks, Jack.’

  We empty our bags, swap them and repack. Then we eat the cheese rolls and drink the orange juice. After that, we’re ready. We sit at Christopher’s desk, open up my laptop and get onto the video of the footy game. The screen lights up with shots of George Hamel running. He has great moves. He’s a natural. I won’t ever be that good a footy player. Winger’s really fast. There’s lots of action shots between the Reds and Blues.

  ‘It’s good, Jack.’ Christopher’s in a better mood now.

  The crowd scenes are funny. Anna’s jumping with her hair spreading out, glinting in the sun. Christopher nudges me. ‘A lot of coverage of Anna.’

  ‘Yeah.’ As quick as I can, I flick to other sequences. ‘Hey look at this.’ Becky’s mouth is open so wide you can see her tonsils. She’s screaming, ‘George Hamel!’ We laugh so hard we’re rolling over each other and I fall off my chair.

  Christopher’s the first to stop. ‘Hey, let’s get . . . hahahahaha . . . on with . . . this . . . hahaha.’

  Holding onto my sides, I stop laughing and sit back onto my chair.

  ‘Let’s work with the Becky clips. You’ve done a great job with the soundboard so we can do something good.’ Christopher gets up the edit tools and we work on editing, changes, re-editing. Time disappears. Looks right. We nod at each other and slap hands. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got, Jack.’ Christopher presses play. Becky’s scream repeats, repeats, ‘George, George, George!’ as Becky and Jasmin jump in the air. It’s good. Really good.

  I can see Christopher feels better. Maybe I can tell him about the scrum now?

  ‘Hey, Christopher,’ I stammer. ‘Can I show . . .’

  Christopher glances at his phone. ‘It’s getting late. Mr Angelou reserved the computer lab room for us for Strategy Day. Let’s do the rest then.’

  ‘But I want to—’

  Ping. Ping. Christopher glances at his phone again. I look down at mine.

  Facebook messages:

  Legend: Hey 4-eyes. Chink a chonk. Find your bag?

  A badly Photoshopped photo comes up of a pig wearing Christopher’s black-framed glasses.

  Hotchic2: Oink, oink!

  There’re nearly twenty ‘oinks’ after it.

  Likes: 25. Shares: 2.

  I hold up my phone. ‘What’s goin’ on?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It’s that idiot, Winger, and his stupid girlfriend, Jasmin, isn’t it? They need something between their ears, other than air. I bet George Hamel’s in on this too.’

  Christopher adjusts his glasses. It’s becoming a nervous habit. ‘Can’t have any trouble.’

  ‘You won’t, Christopher. Just let’s sort it out. I’ve got photos of your bag on the flagpole!’

  ‘Mum and Dad. They don’t need this. Not with working so hard in the bakery. Just leave it alone, Jack. It’ll sort out.’

  This sick feeling grips my stomach. Stuff like this doesn’t sort out. Christopher adjusts his glasses again. ‘If you’re my mate, you’ll let me handle it.’

  ‘I am your mate.’ We sit silently. Christopher doesn’t look at me.

  Mrs Tran’s voice makes us both jump. She opens the door. ‘Have you finished your work?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’ Christopher gets up.

  He waves through the shop window at me as I head off. I turn around and see him behind the counter helping his parents stack bread on the shelves.

  Ollie sees me coming. He runs to the front gate, wagging his tail.

  ‘Hi mate. Did ya have a good day with Puppy?’ I look up at the house. Mum’s singing and Samantha’s yapping. I can hear Puppy yapping with her. She’s got to be still telling Mum all about her dog-elephant project. I don’t feel like going into the house. Ollie follows me down the driveway. I drop Christopher’s bag at the front of the shed and give a slug to Rob’s boxing bag. It comes back and I slug it again. I start jabbing it, left-right-left-right, then belt into it. Squinting my eyes, the bag blurs, everything blurs as my brain goes into outer space like a Star Trek voyage through asteroids:

  Christopher’s trying to tell, but Becky and Jasmin are giggling hilariously. No one can hear him. His bag’s swinging on the flagpole that spearheads into a scrum. Winger and George are panting down the field into Hawkie whose nose is bleeding and bleeding. Anna’s amazing smile gets wider a
nd wider until it turns into a pig wearing Christopher’s glasses. Dad’s pointing at Rob, then me, with Grandad’s voice buzzing in my head. Nil desperandum. Never despair. You can find the answers.

  Suddenly Ollie’s pulling at my socks and is woofing, woofing. Breathless, I stop hitting the boxing bag, lean against the shed, pat Ollie, who licks my hand. I pick up Christopher’s bag, and open the shed door. Ollie follows me inside to the workbench. I empty the backpack. Get out my staple gun and position it so the staples aren’t near where Christopher’s shoulder will go. It feels good working on the bag strap, fixing something. I take my hammer down from my shadow board, knock the staples hard into place. That strap won’t break now. I hold out the bag.

  ‘Come on, Ollie. Outside.’ It’s starting to get dark. The moon’s out already. It’s nearly a half-moon tonight. The smell of baking wafts from the kitchen into the garden. Mum’s cooking banana cakes for the Room to Read treat stall. I bend down and hold Ollie’s face. ‘Kitchen, Ollie. Go to Mum. Treats.’ His tail goes into super-drive. He pushes through the flap door and heads for Mum.

  ‘Oh, Ollie, where did you come from?’ Woof, woof. ‘Do you want a treat?’ Woof. Woof. I sneak past Mum and into my room.

  ‘Hi, Hector.’ I crumble a few cookie crumbs into his cage, then sit at my desk. I turn on my computer. Search. Obituaries come up. There’re thousands of them. ‘Boat Harbour. Date.’ Grandad’s funeral notice flashes up. I click to open it. Read, then re-read, then re-read. Beloved grandfather of Jack and Samantha. Deeply missed. I rub my eyes. I’m not going to cry.

  I’m going to fix things. Find answers.

  Chapter 13

  Strategy Day

  The school’s plastered with Anna’s posters. Anna’s amazing. Samantha and I carry Mum’s banana cakes to the hall for the Room to Read treat stall. The tables already have plenty of cheese-stick swirls, tubs of popcorn, pineapple-and-melon kebabs, berry baskets and cupcakes. Mr Angelou made a strawberry cheesecake. There are two cupcakes with glowing green icing. They look pretty good. I rattle my pocket. Worth getting up early to do the newspaper run. I’ve got plenty of money.

  ‘Hey, Anna. Banana cakes for your stall.’

  ‘That’s fantastic. Put them over there.’

  ‘Can I buy some cupcakes? The two green ones and . . .’ I nudge Samantha. ‘Which one do you want, Sammy?’

  ‘Pink.’

  ‘What a surprise.’

  ‘I’m not supposed to sell them before the stall opens.’ Anna flicks a curl. ‘But you brought in two banana cakes. Yep, it’s fair that you get first go.’

  I hand her some money. ‘Your posters are great, Anna. Really great.’

  The bell rings. Mr Angelou’s voice comes over the PA. ‘Attention Strategy-Day classes, go to your groups now. To remind you:

  Mrs Banneker—Discovering herbs is in the eco garden.’

  My view: Science nerds welcome. Like me.

  ‘Coach—Training for fitness in the gym.’

  My view: Coach needs to train to be human. Grrr.

  ‘Photo editing—Jack and Christopher in the computer lab.’

  My view: Important.

  ‘Mr Angelou—my group—Books That Changed the World in the library.’

  My view: One guess which book will star? It’s got a bird in the title.

  ‘There’s a treat stall at morning tea. All proceeds go to Room to Read. Now everyone move quickly and quietly to your areas and enjoy the day.’

  Kids are going in all directions. Christopher and I are going against the crowd, but eventually make it to the computer lab. Lots of computers, parts, plugs. Feels like home. We set up the laptop, sound, editing and everything else we need. ‘Ready?’ I press play and the photos we’ve edited with the soundtrack run like a film clip on the screen. It’s fast and action-packed.

  ‘It’s really good, Jack.’

  ‘Yep. But I have something else I want to show you. No one else has seen it.’ He stops. ‘You won’t like it.’

  ‘Why? What’s in it?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ I press play again. The Reds and Blues huddle in a pack, crouching down, the front rows interlock hands and heads. The voice-over of the ref calls out. The ball’s thrown in and it’s like a mass of wasps. The hookers kick into the scrum with boots and spikes; mud and grass splatter. They’re fast close-ups of a Red hand yanking a Blue’s ear. Blurs of George Hamel’s face with a killer look. His fingers dig into a Blue player’s leg. Reds smash ankles. The sounds of cracking, grunting, screams. Then it’s all Winger. He drives his arm back, his elbow belting into Hawkie’s face. Hawkie’s groaning, blood . . . A lot of blood.

  I stop. Replay. Stop. Replay. Hawkie’s face takes up the whole screen.

  Christopher takes off his glasses. Rubs the lenses, then looks at me. He stammers, ‘What do you want to do, Jack?’

  ‘Make the video.’ Christopher looks unsure. ‘We’ve got to.’

  Once we start Christopher just wants to do the best job. ‘Do you reckon we should take that angle? Slide in Coach’s “Kill ’em”?’

  ‘Maybe edge Winger in over the top of Hawkie?’

  We cut, edit. End up with Mr Angelou up George Hamel’s nose. It’s crazy and funny and so good working together. The time goes fast and we don’t think about what it all means.

  When Mr Angelou sticks his head into the computer lab and calls out, ‘How’s it going?’ we nearly jump out of our skins. ‘Gave you a shock, eh? Sorry.’ But he’s smirking, so he’s not that sorry. ‘Can I have a quick look at what you’ve done?’

  A thud pounds inside my chest. Christopher closes his eyes in a squint. I stumble over my words. ‘It’s not ready yet, sir. Can we show you when it is?’

  ‘Of course.’ We just look at Mr Angelou until he gets the message. ‘OK. I’d better go to check the other groups and get back to mine before they realise I’ve gone.’ He leaves.

  ‘Jack, maybe you shouldn’t give it to Mr Angelou? He’ll show the school. What’ll Winger do when he finds out you made it? George Hamel? Coach? They’ll kill us. We won’t ever be able to go to sport again. Even the girls will hate us. Maybe it’s not a good idea.’

  ‘Your name won’t be on it, Christopher.’

  ‘But they’ll know I’ve worked on it with you.’

  ‘I won’t do anything without talking to you, Christopher. We just have to think about it.’

  Christopher isn’t sure. ‘I guess.’

  We eat our green cupcakes. ‘Not as good as the cakes from the Tran Bakery.’ Christopher smiles. I nearly fall off my seat. I smile back at him. He nearly falls off his seat. We stand up, peer into the mirror above the computer. We both lift our lips with our index fingers. Stare into the mirror, then at each other. Then into the mirror. Yes, we’ve definitely turned Martian. We can’t stop laughing. Our teeth are fluorescent, radiating slime-green.

  Anna can’t remember who donated the cupcakes to the treat stall and no one’s owning up. Going home on the bus is crazy. We flash our teeth at everyone. Becky nearly hits the roof when I flash them at her with a special-effects Dracula drool. It’s so much fun.

  Paul’s asked me before about the paper run. He wants to make some pocket money. I need some time. The newsagent knows Paul and he’s had a trial run with me. The newsagent won’t care, as long as the papers are delivered. There’s so much in my head and I’m on the computer every night now until really late.

  Jack: Can ya do the papers tomorrow? Paid work. What about sharing the run?

  Ping. Check my messages. Talk about quick.

  Paul: Great. Sure thing.

  I call the newsagent, then message Paul back. I brush my teeth for ages. The green’s fading. I pull out my chair, take out my laptop, open the screen. Press Search. I search for my father. I’ve searched every nearby town. I’ve searched hospitals. I’ve searched his name with every spelling I can think of . . . I search. A notice flashes up. Just a line. Not again. This notice comes up all the time in my searches.


  My dates and the hospital and Mum and Dad’s names. The heading: Jack was born.

  I already knew I was born.

  Chapter 14

  Mad Saturday

  It’s here. Mad Saturday. Birthday invitations. Girls are everywhere in the kitchen. Mum’s bought cardboard, ribbons, sparkles, coloured pencils, paste. Nanna’s in charge of sparkles. She has them set up in a row like medicine bottles. Samantha’s arranging tubs of sand, shells and seaweed on the table. Anna’s arrived with tiny plastic surfboards. They scream. Mum star jumps in her new flouncy cinnamon-swirl dress. Puppy’s in a tug of war, mangling Mum’s strappy sandals. Rob barges in, then barges out, shouting. ‘Need to mow the lawn.’

  ‘I’ll help,’ I call after him.

  ‘No you won’t.’ Mum does a cinnamon leap nearly onto my toe.

  ‘Hey watch out, Mum. Your dress is blinding me. Let me get my sunglasses.’

  ‘Ha, no escape, Jack.’ Mum’s face creases. ‘We need to know how you’d like your invitations to look. Then who you’re inviting.’

  ‘Mum, I can just message everyone.’

  ‘That’s not a proper invitation to a thirteenth birthday. This is an important one.’ I look around. Four pairs of eyes glue me down, like a bug in a spider’s web. I can see that I’m not going to get out of this.

  ‘OK.’ I sink into a chair at the table.

  ‘So what sort of invitation cards do you want, Jack?’

  ‘Anything.’

  Mum ignores my comment. ‘Well, it’s a surfing theme.’

  Anna holds up the miniature surfboards.

  ‘Where’d you buy them?’ Nanna’s teeth flip out, but she’s quick and in no time they’re back in.

  ‘I found them at Susie’s Super Discount Store.’

  ‘A bargain?’ Nanna gets excited at the thought of any bargain.

  ‘Yes.’ Anna twirls her curls. There’re cheers from every direction. I groan. This is going to be a loooooong afternoon.

  Cutting, pasting, sticking, drawing. Disasters, like the wrong coloured ribbon, and major breakdowns because, for example, the surfboards won’t stick. I’m going to die here. ‘Jack, what do you think of this?’ Mum asks, holding up my name ‘JACK’.