Running from the Tiger

by Aleesah Darlison

  About the Author

  Aleesah Darlison is an award-winning Australian children’s author who writes picture books, chapter books and novels. Her much-loved stories promote courage, understanding, anti-bullying, self-belief, teamwork and environmental themes.

  Aleesah’s stories always come from the heart, with passion and commitment, and carry elements of truth, joy and triumph over adversity. Aleesah’s many books have been shared the world over, bringing hope and comfort to young readers and their families and assisting with literacy, learning and self-development. Every child matters. And so does their story.

  Children’s Author

  Workshop Presenter

  Guest Speaker

  Winner, 2015 Environment Award for Children’s Literature

  (non-fiction category)

  www.aleesahdarlison.com

  www.facebook.com/AleesahDarlisonFanPage

  www.unicornriders.com.au

  Written by Aleesah Darlison

  Text © Aleesah Darlison 2016

  No part of this printed or video publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electrical, mechanical, phototcopying, recording or otherwise) without the orior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner:

  Empowering Resources

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry Creator: Darlison, Aleesah, author.

  Title: Running from the Tiger / Aleesah Darlison, Kristi McKenzie, cover desgin, Genevieve Gibson, typesetting

  ISBN: 9780994501066 (paperback)

  Target Audience: For primary school age.

  Subjects: Friendship - Juvenile fiction.

  Trust - Juvenile fiction.

  Children’s stories.

  Other creators/contributors:

  McKenzie, Kristi, cover design

  Gibson, Genevieve, typesetting

  Dewey Number: A823.4

  Printed in China by Ink Asia

  Published by Empowering Resouces

  PO Box 945 Mount Eliza VIC 3930, Australia

  Email: admin@empoweringresources.com.au

  © 2016 Empowering Resouces

  To my loving family and to all those who have had to run from the tiger.

  May this story give you strength.

  ‘Get up, Ebony.’

  I groan at the voice inside my head, always telling me what to do. I roll over and stare at those scarlet numbers on the alarm clock.

  It’s six am.

  I need to run.

  ‘Get up!’

  Only when I’m running can I truly be free. Only when I’m running do I have any hope of escaping the tiger.

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed.

  Stand. Yawn. Stretch.

  I try not to think about everything that happened.

  I try not to think about the tiger.

  Stalking.

  I pull on my shirt, shorts and shoes. Leave the house quietly via the back door. Step onto the dew-laden grass and set out.

  Along dirt roads. Up hills. Through creeks.

  I run.

  A machine, I am.

  I rejoice in the wind on my skin, cooling the sweat that beads there. I don’t stop for a long time. Even when the pain burns in my legs, my chest, my throat.

  Running is all I ever had, all I was ever good at.

  I thought if I could run fast enough, he wouldn’t be able to catch me.

  The tiger runs fast, you know.

  And he’s strong.

  There was no way I could be stronger than him. I’m too small.

  So I had to be faster.

  I thought if I was fast enough, he might see me for all I am and all I could be.

  I thought, I hoped, that running would save me one day.

  Still, I hope for this.

  But today, I don’t run to escape the tiger. Today, I run to escape the memories.

  Every day in between when I’m not running, I face those memories. I’m forced, driven, haunted, hunted. Into writing, into remembering, into reliving.

  They said the running would help with my nightmares. They said the writing would help with my grief. Maybe they’re right. Maybe they’re totally off the mark. I won’t know until I come to the end of this race.

  So listen now, to my story about the best friend I ever had.

  A friend who was a diamond amongst the dust.

  You never know what a day will bring.

  You never know if someone you meet or something you discover is going to be important to you until much later. That’s how it was when I met Teena. I didn’t know she would become my best friend, I would never have dreamed how much she would help me. How could I?

  The day I met Teena, I thought she was just the new girl. Interesting in a new girl kind of way, but that was it. But if I’d known then what I know now, I would have savoured that day. And every day I had with her.

  I can’t read the future, though. So I was just me.

  Bad habits, messy hair, hang-ups and all. Funny thing was, Teena accepted all of those things. She accepted me. I think, no, I know, she even liked me.

  That’s why she was a diamond kind of friend. Solid as a rock. Sparkling like the sea. A friend you could count on no matter what.

  I guess that’s why it’s so hard now she’s not here anymore. But I won’t talk about that. Not right now. Not when there’s so much to tell in between and not when I don’t like to think about the day she left. For now, I want to go back to the day she came. That day my world changed forever.

  I met Teena on a Monday. The same day Mrs Murcher, our Principal, made the announcement about the zone athletics carnival.

  At nine o’clock that morning, the students of Driscoll Public School, including me, eleven-year-old Ebony Jackson, were arranged in semi-orderly lines across the quadrangle, shivering and stamping our feet to ward off winter’s sharp bite. As usual, Mrs Murcher was droning at the front of assembly, her hands tucked beneath her huge breasts to warm them, her frizzy hair flying, witch-crazy, in the wind.

  I was trying not to listen too hard. Mrs Murcher regularly droned at assembly so I guess I’d grown immune to it. I think the gist of her speech was about respecting others. I also think she was referring to Kyle Legge shoving a giant skink down Emma Davison’s uniform the week before.

  Angus Brown was standing beside me. He wasn’t taking much notice of Mrs Murcher, either. Probably because he had his finger too far up his nose to concentrate on anything else.

  Kyle, who was standing in the line behind us, caught Angus picking his nose and whacked his elbow. Hard.

  Angus squealed and turned on Kyle. ‘They!’ he snorted. ‘That’s thnot thunny.’

  ‘Neither is picking your nose, Blubby,’ Kyle sneered.

  The Year Five line rippled with laughter.

  Angus wiped his finger on his shorts and thrust his bottom lip out. Relentless, Kyle and his friends taunted Angus, calling him ‘Snot Sucker’ and ‘Blubby Brown’ until tears trickled down his flaming chubby cheeks.

  Angus had long been their target. Nothing ever seemed to get done about it.

  ‘Everything all right, Year Five?’ Mrs Murcher glared in our direction.

  ‘Kyle’s picking on me,’ Angus complained.

  ‘At least I’m not picking my nose,’ Kyle retorted.

  More ripples of laughter. ‘That’s enough, boys.’ Mrs Murcher poked her eyebrows over her glasses at Angus and Kyle. ‘Any more of your shenanigans and I’ll see you both after assembly.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Murcher,’ Kyle said.

  Mrs Murcher returned to her droning. Finally, she came to the interesting part. ‘Now, I know some of you will be plea
sed to hear that the Wilmont Valley Athletics Carnival will be held in six weeks time.’

  A cheer went up from sections of the assembly while others groaned. The boys behind me jostled each other.

  ‘Hey, Marathon Man!’ Jake Wing called to Kyle, ‘Are you going to let me beat you this year?’

  ‘Shush!’ someone hissed. ‘I want to hear this.’

  ‘Selections will be made at this Friday’s sports carnival,’ continued Mrs Murcher. ‘Training will be held every Friday after school, which Mr Gordon has once again kindly offered to conduct.’

  Mrs Murcher paused to smile at Chloe and Miranda. The Gordon twins puffed their chests out and tossed their hair in unison like prancing ponies.

  The place where we lived, Driscoll, was a poor town, small and isolated. It was right up in the hills, an hour’s drive to the next, bigger town called Oxford.

  Two businesses kept Driscoll alive. The abattoirs and the soft drink factory. My dad worked at the abattoirs packing meat supplied by the local farmers. Chloe and Miranda’s dad owned the soft drink factory. By Driscoll standards, the twins were royalty. Soft Drink Socialites. Fizzy Cordial Queens.

  I’d known Chloe and Miranda since forever, but they were still what you’d call default friends. Friends in your class every year. Friends you played lunchtime netball with. Friends who invited you to their birthday party to make up the numbers. Friends who just … were. But they weren’t real friends. Not friends you’d tell secrets to. Not like Teena.

  ‘That is all,’ Mrs Murcher said. ‘Dismissed.’

  We shuffled off to our demountable classroom. Because our school was so small, we had composite classes. Ours was made up of Year Four and Five and our teacher was Mr Gospel. He met us at the door, as usual furiously chewing gum to hide the smell of the cigarette he’d just smoked. No one had the courage to tell him he stank worse than a wet ashtray.

  Mr Gospel called the roll and was about to start the lesson when a knock came at the door. All heads turned towards the girl standing there.

  She was about my age and height, maybe a little taller. She had honey coloured ringlets and sparkling sky eyes.

  ‘Come in,’ Mr Gospel said. ‘You must be Teena.’

  The girl grinned. ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Class, this is Teena Costaleena,’ Mr Gospel announced. ‘I know you’ll all do your utmost to make Teena feel welcome. Please try not to turn her off Driscoll Public School too quickly.’

  The class tittered. Kyle and his mates made loud animal noises. ’Precisely what I’m talking about boys,’ Mr Gospel said. ‘Now, Teena, if you feel up to it, perhaps you could tell us a little about yourself.’

  Talking in front of the class was the last thing I’d want to do, but Teena didn’t seem to mind.

  She shot Mr Gospel a mega-watt smile. ‘My family and I moved here from Waterfall in the Blue Mountains. Before that, we were in Sydney, and before that we were in Melbourne. That’s where I was born. We’ve moved around a lot, but hopefully we’ll be in Driscoll for a long time.’

  ‘Here! Here!’ Kyle cheered.

  Mr Gospel glared.

  Teena continued, unfazed. ‘I have a little brother, Luke. He’s in Year One and has a lime coloured budgie named Mildew.’

  While Teena babbled happily, I studied her intently.

  She obviously hadn’t had time to buy a Driscoll Public School uniform. Instead, she wore a pleated navy skirt, white stockings without a single hole or ladder in them, a white skivvy and navy blue cardigan.

  Her black leather shoes gleamed with polish and her ears were pierced not once, but three times. In each hole, she wore a different coloured stone. Red in the bottom, then green, then blue. I couldn’t help feeling envious. I was the only girl in class without pierced ears. Well, Sophie Dunlop didn’t have her ears pierced either, but that was because she was afraid of the piercing gun, not because her dad wouldn’t let her. Not like mine.

  ‘So, that’s about it,’ Teena finished.

  ‘Great, thanks, Teena,’ Mr Gospel said. ‘I’m sure you’ll meet everyone later. Right now, it’s time for this morning’s lesson. You can take the spare seat next to Ebony.’ He nodded in my direction.

  I couldn’t help being excited. We had an odd number of kids in the class and I’d ended up having to sit by myself all year. Finally, I had a desk buddy!

  When Teena sat beside me, she arranged her pencil case and exercise books neatly on her desk. One of her covers had dragons painted in watercolours on it.

  ‘Did you draw them?’ I nodded at Teena’s book.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘They’re amazing.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Teena smiled. ‘I’ve got forty-two dragon figurines at home.’

  ‘Save the talk for recess, girls,’ Mr Gospel said. ‘Get on with the questions on the board.’

  The moment the bell rang for recess, I dragged Teena over to my usual spot beneath the huge moreton bay fig tree in the corner of the playground, eager to find out more about her.

  ‘Want some?’ Teena offered me her open chip packet.

  ‘Sure.’ I reached in and took one.

  Teena laughed. ‘You can have more than that. Here.’ She dumped half the packet into my lunchbox.

  ‘Thanks. Mum never buys chips. All I get is SAOs.’

  ‘I love SAOs.’

  I offered Teena my lunchbox. ‘Help yourself.’

  Teena eagerly took a SAO and munched away.

  ‘They’re a bit soft,’ I apologised. ‘Mum slaps heaps of peanut butter on them. I think it’s to make up for it being SAOs again.’

  ‘They’re yummy,’ Teena said through a mouthful of crumbs.

  ‘When did you start collecting dragons?’

  ‘Mum gave me my first one when I was five. A green dragon with rainbow coloured wings. It’s still my favourite. Do you collect them, too?’

  I nodded. ‘I’ve only got seven. That’s if you include the crappy dragon candle my Uncle Julian gave me last Christmas. I think he got it in a garage sale, to be honest. Still, it’s a dragon, so I kept it.’

  ‘Can I have another SAO?’ Teena asked. ‘I only bought chips today.’

  ‘No sandwiches?’

  Teena shook her head. ‘Nope. The pantry was pretty empty this morning.’

  ‘Sure.’ I handed her another one, feeling a little sorry for her. What sort of mum didn’t pack food for their kid to take to school? ‘Have as many as you like.’

  ‘Hey, Teena.’ The twins strolled over.

  I must have had my invisibility cloak on because they ignored me.

  ‘I’m Chloe and this is Miranda,’ said Chloe.

  ‘I guess you’ve noticed we’re identical twins.’ Miranda said, preening.

  Teena’s eyebrows shot up. She slipped me a quizzical look that the twins completely missed. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Want to play elastics?’

  ‘Wow, I haven’t played that in years,’ Teena laughed. ‘Not since first grade.’

  I don’t think Teena meant to make fun of the twins, I think she was actually telling the truth about not having played elastics for ages. She didn’t sound like she was being mean anyway. Either way, both twins blushed bright pink. They were trying so hard. We didn’t get many new people starting at our school. I guess the twins wanted first pick at whoever came their way.

  I stifled a snigger at their embarrassment. It was all Miranda needed to turn on me. ‘When was the last time you brushed your hair, Ebony?’

  My laughter died in my throat. Self-consciously, I smoothed my tangled hair. ‘This morning,’ I said.

  Teena glanced questioningly at me, I guess to see what I’d do. I looked away, pretending not to care. I’d learned a long time ago not to take the twins on. Especially when they were together. They could be ferocious in an argument. Two against one had never worked out well for me.

  Chloe went back to ignoring me. ‘We could play something else if you like,’ she pressed Teena. ‘Skipping. Hide-and-seek. Chas
ies. Whatever you want.’

  ‘Maybe later. Ebony and I are talking.’

  ‘What about?’

  Before I could stop her, Teena said, ‘Our dragon collections.’ Chloe and Miranda exchanged glances. I’d told them about my dragon collection before. They’d laughed and called me a baby. Now, though, Chloe said, ‘Cool. We collect dragons, too. We’ve got these crystal ones that shimmer different colours. You should see them, they’re really pretty.’

  My head shot up in surprise. I’d been to the twins’ birthday party last month. They hadn’t mentioned their dragons.

  ‘I thought you – ’

  ‘Maybe you’d like to see our collection one day,’ Miranda offered Teena, cutting me off.

  ‘Maybe.’ Teena nibbled her SAO, utterly non-committal.

  After a while, the twins grew bored and drifted away.

  ‘Why didn’t you go with them?’ I asked.

  Teena leaned in close and whispered, ‘They’re a little stuck up, don’t you think? I’m not sure I like that.’

  ‘Hmm. Maybe just a little,’ I said. I couldn’t help it and I giggled. So did Teena. No one had ever turned the twins down before. Usually, kids were falling over themselves just to be noticed by the twin princesses.

  In time, I was certain Teena would realise her mistake and go chasing after them. For now, though, I was flattered, grateful even, she wanted to talk to me.

  ‘So, where do you live?’ I asked.

  ‘Last house on Chamber Lane. Behind the cemetery.’

  I knew that house. It was a rental, known to be the worst house in all of Driscoll.

  What’s a girl like Teena doing in a place like that? I wondered.

  ‘The cemetery,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘Aren’t you afraid at night?’

  Teena laughed. ‘Dead people can’t hurt you, scaredy-cat. It’s the living ones you’ve got to watch.’

  When I thought about it, I realised Teena was right. But I couldn’t help wondering what she was doing living in a rundown house behind the cemetery. She had nice clothes and heaps of dragons. Surely her parents could afford to live elsewhere?