White Ninja

by Tiffiny Hall

  I close my eyes and sail my fingers over its grooves, inhaling the resin scent that sparks memories of fires in winter and toasted marshmallows. I flick my eyes open suddenly and lean in. There’s a smooth patch on the table that I’ve never noticed before: a piece of sandalwood in a slice of mahogany. I rub it with my thumb and hear a clicking sound, like the opening of a lock. I press down on it and the table breaks apart at the centre. I push my stool back in shock as the table pieces widen automatically and a shelf rises to the top where the coral bowl usually sits. On it is a small black book. I stand motionless, in disbelief.

  Moonlight spears through the skylight, emblazoning the gold writing on the book’s jacket. Hesitantly, I reach out a single finger to touch the book’s surface. Nothing happens. I climb back up on one of the face stools and peer down at the writing. Staring at me, it reads:

  AS A NINJA,

  MY BODY IS A WEAPON,

  MY MOVEMENTS ARE MAGICAL,

  MY FOCUS IS LETHAL.

  I AM THE INVISIBLE WARRIOR.

  I pluck the book from the shelf and hold it in my hands. It feels weightless, even though my fingertips touch the solid heaviness of leather. I open the book to the first page, but it isn’t a book at all. It is empty inside and filled with five tiny white scrolls held by fine gold rods. The scrolls are the size of shortbread finger biscuits; the paper translucent. I can just decipher silver glowing script on the scrolls. I touch one and it feels like water. When I pull my finger away, it is wet. I put my finger in my mouth and it tastes like water with cherry blossom in it.

  Freaked out, I shut the book and put it back on the shelf. I press the sandalwood panel and the table moves back together. I slide the coral-shaped bowl over the wood, then stare at it to think.

  At lunchtime the next day, I find Jackson in the library, near the atlases, where we agreed to meet. I dig into my bag, pull out the black book and hand it over.

  He takes it without breaking eye contact. The washing machine in my stomach starts churning.

  ‘Look inside,’ I say.

  He slides down the bookshelf and sits on the floor with his legs apart, then places the book delicately between them. He floats his hand over its surface and silently recites the ninja creed on the cover. I watch his lips move.

  ‘Wow, I’m nervous.’ He looks up at me and laughs. ‘I’ve been waiting so long for this.’

  I crouch down next to him. ‘I’m nervous too,’ I say.

  He gazes at me for what feels like a very long time. My heart balloons. I lean in, close my eyes, then the air flattens between us.

  Jackson slaps the book. ‘I can’t believe you found the Tiger Scrolls!’ he says, triumphantly holding the book up between us.

  I stand up, my cheeks blistering with confusion. I bury my face in an atlas.

  ‘Where were they?’ he asks.

  I shrug. ‘In the kitchen table.’

  I slowly pull my hair behind my ear. He’s acting as if nothing happened. Did something just happen? Something did happen. I felt it. I’m sure of it.

  ‘Okay, I’m ready,’ he says. As he slowly opens the book, a white light shines into his face, making his eyes glow.

  ‘They’re so cute!’ he exclaims.

  I crouch down next to him again. His use of the word ‘cute’ just made him even more irresistible. Now I have a bigger problem than dealing with Hero. Do I want to train as a ninja to help find the White Warrior, or just to be closer to Jackson?

  ‘They look like biscuits,’ I agree, only just managing to keep the confused hurt from my voice.

  I gesture for him to pick up one of the scrolls. He does so, carefully, then drops it and sucks on his finger.

  ‘Hot,’ he says, shaking his hand.

  ‘I touched one and it was wet,’ I say. ‘I think each one feels like the element it represents.’

  He closes the book and looks around the library, then signals me closer. I don’t make the mistake of closing my eyes this time.

  ‘Keep these on you at all times,’ he says. ‘And don’t let anyone see them!’

  SEVENTEEN

  Dawdling to class, the scrolls tucked away in my school bag, I’m brushed by Cinnamon’s wild hair blazing past me. In her hands is a phone. She’s running and that girl rarely runs. This must be important. I sprint after her down the corridor. ‘Cim!’ I call. But her hair is an engine propelling her forwards and not even I can catch her in the crowded hallway.

  She races into the classroom and plugs the phone into the interactive whiteboard cable.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I say, panting in the doorway. Her fingers are frantic. Who knew she could move like a ginger ninja?

  ‘I’m on a mission,’ she says, her sweating skin glistening like strawberry lip gloss. She waits for the video to download to the laptop, then clicks it open. The video flashes up onto the whiteboard.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Between me and Jackson,’ she says and winks, just as Jackson would. ‘You’ll see.’

  She floats the mouse over the Play button and licks her cherry lips. I’ve never seen her this confident. Kids begin to shuffle to their desks, dragging their feet.

  ‘Sit,’ Cinnamon commands me.

  The strength in her voice pulls me down. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ I say, and sit with my knees together and back straight.

  Hero and his friends are last to come in. His eyes narrow on Cinnamon sitting upright in the front row and he starts the usual insults. ‘Cinnamon donut,’ he sneers. ‘And Poxy Roxy, with a face like smashed crabs.’

  Cinnamon’s eyes steel against Hero’s venom. There isn’t a glimmer of a tear or a tremor of her Adam’s apple. Her hair is a rumpled red mess, but for the first time I see his taunts bounce off it rather than soak in.

  I watch the cursor hover above the Play button, waiting. What is she up to? Her eyes are fierce. She is battle ready.

  ‘Cinnamon donut!’ Hero shouts again.

  Other kids join in his laughter, and murmurs and smirks follow.

  Cinnamon smiles and her cheeks become toffee apples. She swivels to the class. ‘Quiet!’ she bellows.

  Most people hush, some kids giggle.

  ‘I’ve prepared a treat for you all,’ she says and turns back around to face the whiteboard.

  The class simmers with intrigue.

  I stare at her. ‘Who are you? And what have you done with my best friend?’ I murmur.

  Cinnamon takes a last look at me, then turns to the laptop and clicks Play. I move to the edge of my seat, as nervous as the first time I entered the dojang.

  Hero flashes up on screen. The class silences immediately.

  He is holding Rescue over the toilet bowl. ‘I hate ferrets,’ he says and drops the kitten into the bowl. The kitten squeals.

  The girls in the class scream — they’re all big fans of Rescue. Cinnamon has been letting them visit him in her locker for cuddles and he has become something of a school mascot.

  A soundtrack cuts in and I explode onto the screen, blasting Hero with kicks and strikes. I slide down in my chair and pull my hair over my face, trying to hide my pulsating red cheeks. Hero is going to murder me.

  The video shows Hero and me fighting; first I win, then Hero is winning. Then Bruce and Krew get involved, and all the while Rescue is drowning. The class begins cheering for me. On screen, I seem to fight harder.

  ‘Go, Roxy!’ someone yells out.

  I sit up and brush some hair off my face. I find the courage to look at Cinnamon, who is shadow-boxing the screen, mimicking my fight moves.

  I suddenly remember that Jackson was in the toilet cubicle that day. He must have filmed the fight on his phone.

  As I race across the screen and save Rescue from drowning, the class cheers and hollers. My front-row neighbour leans over and slaps me on the back. Cinnamon pulls my arm into the air like a winning boxer. I try to pull it down, but she holds it firm.

  ‘She saved my cat!’ she yells. ‘Roxy rescued Rescue!’
r />   Martin stands on his chair and punches the air. The girls in the class are clapping.

  Martin points to Hero. ‘You just got done by a girl!’ he yells. Then he says to me, ‘That was totally Gate One!’

  My heart opens like a flower. The room is cheering for me, chanting my name. My name! Like an orchid, I bloom with pride.

  Hero has been silent the entire time. It’s the quietest he’s ever been in a classroom. I slowly turn to meet his glare. If looks could kill, I would be slumped over my desk by now. Bruce and Krew have their heads down.

  Hero stands up and slams the desk. ‘Stop it!’ he shouts.

  The class silences.

  No one’s noticed Sergeant Major standing in the doorway, beetle-browed, arms crossed, playing his elbows like a harp. No one also knows how long he has been there, but I suspect a while.

  Sergeant Major walks over to the laptop and presses Stop.

  ‘Geography,’ he announces, as if nothing happened.

  I reach over and squeeze Cinnamon’s hand. I make a heart with my thumbs and index fingers.

  She holds up one finger. ‘Gate One,’ she whispers. ‘We’re getting there!’

  ‘I can’t go on!’ Cinnamon screams.

  I brace the rope across my stomach with my left hand and brake the extension behind my back with my right. Cinnamon is stranded on the climbing wall, its coloured rocks a jigsaw puzzle she can’t work out.

  ‘You can’t fall, Cim. You’re only a ruler’s length off the ground!’ I say.

  ‘I’m going to die. I can’t do this, let me down,’ she squeals.

  ‘Remember flying? Gate Three? This isn’t as high as that!’

  Everyone in the rock-climbing centre is looking at us now. Sergeant Major has divided us up into pairs and kids are crawling all over the walls like ants. Some are taking on the five-metre-high wall, but Cinnamon and I are still on the beginners wall.

  ‘That was different, no one was watching, you were holding me,’ she says, quivering.

  I begin to loosen the rope, but a strong hand stops me. ‘No,’ Sergeant Major commands. He turns to Cinnamon, who is dangling against the wall. One foot is thrust into a green hold large enough to be a shoebox, and both hands are gripping holds that have finger grooves in them to make it easier. ‘Climb, girl!’ he says. ‘You can do this.’

  Cinnamon begins to shake. The harness is digging into her legs and I worry it is cutting off her circulation.

  ‘Don’t break the wall!’ Hero yells. He is hanging upside down on the wall, more than five metres in the air. Even from that distance, his nastiness rots the atmosphere, making Cinnamon’s harness rattle even more with nervousness. She braves letting go with her right hand to pull her T-shirt down over her exposed bellybutton.

  I tighten my grip, feeling nervous too. I weigh a lot less than Cinnamon and if she falls, even thirty centimetres, I will hurtle towards the ceiling.

  ‘Climb, Cinnamon!’ Sergeant Major commands again.

  ‘I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,’ Cinnamon squeals.

  ‘C’mon, Cim,’ I call. ‘You can do it. You’re stronger than you know.’

  Cinnamon shakes her head violently. She was strong when we were flying, but she’s turned all marshmallow: gooey in the centre and scalded on the outside by Hero’s taunts.

  ‘Listen to Roxy,’ Sergeant Major says. He points to a hold above Cinnamon’s head. ‘Reach for it, Cinnamon,’ he orders.

  ‘Just like you’re reaching for cake!’ Hero yells.

  Sergeant Major strides towards Hero and in eight steps is at the bottom of the wall. He is the only man in the world who could still look deadly in rock-climbing slippers.

  ‘Be quiet, or next time I won’t tell you so nicely,’ Sergeant Major calls up to him. Then he returns to Cinnamon and steps up to the wall to talk quietly to her. ‘Everyone else is climbing the five-metre wall. You need to advance to that in order to pass Phys Ed. Roxy, give her some slack,’ he tells me. ‘Now reach, Cinnamon.’

  Cinnamon takes one finger off the wall, then freezes again. Her hair twitches with tension.

  ‘That’s it, bring her down,’ he tells me.

  Cinnamon still doesn’t move. He reaches up, grabs her by the waist and gently lifts her down. As soon as her feet touch the ground, she wraps her arms around me.

  Ms Broadfoot, the PE teacher, has brought Year Ten to the rock-climbing centre as well. I look over to where Elecktra and Jackson are spotting each other on the five-metre wall. Lecky is wearing hot-pink bike shorts underneath her school netball skirt. She’s bouncing on the wall and giggling. Jackson seems mesmerised by her. My heart aches. His strong forearms bulge as he supports her weight. I can’t take my eyes off those arms.

  Once Elecktra’s back on the ground, she swaggers over to me. ‘Jackson said I floated down like an angel,’ she says.

  ‘Liar,’ I say.

  ‘You’re just jealous,’ she says.

  I roll my eyes and walk away, but Elecktra follows.

  Cinnamon is nibbling a biscuit from her lunchbox to calm herself after the climbing ordeal. Crumbs powder her chin.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Elecktra says to her. ‘I’m not judging you.’

  Cinnamon stops chewing. She swallows hard, and is saved by Brandice Spark.

  ‘Ohmigod!’ Brandice squeals at Elecktra. ‘I love your style so much, I’m going to invent a “love” button for Facebook coz those bike shorts are an update.’

  Elecktra dips her hip. ‘At least someone appreciates me,’ she says, then turns and walks back to the wall.

  I glare at Brandice Spark. She has to be the most annoying girl in the world, but at least she took the heat off my friend.

  Sergeant Major then takes over as my spotter and sends me up the five-metre wall. Jackson and I have been training intensively in the dojang all week: first harnessing the Tiger Scroll of Water (invisibility), then Fire (weaponry) and Wind (flying). I race easily up and down the five-metre wall. Being undercover ninja has its advantages.

  Sergeant Major orders Hero and me to advance to the ten-metre wall. We are the only kids in Year Seven to get this far.

  ‘If you can scale that wall,’ he tells us, ‘you’ll get an A plus for PE.’

  I’ve never got an A plus in anything. Sergeant Major checks our harnesses, then gathers everyone around to watch and learn.

  ‘You belay Roxy first,’ Sergeant Major orders Hero.

  Hero’s eyes are full of black mischief. He grins nastily, running the rope through his hands like an umbilical cord he’s about to bite off with fangs. My legs go weak.

  ‘He’s going to kill you,’ Cinnamon whispers.

  I don’t reply, terrified she will hear the tremor in my voice.

  Jackson makes the wind sign at me, crossing his hands at his chest then bringing them down to his sides. Elecktra is next to him. She looks at me and slips her hand into his. He removes his, but still can’t help staring at her as if she’s a work of art. I feel sick in my stomach. Even if I can climb this wall like a monkey, he’ll never look at me like that. I’m just a Year Seven, Gate Two girl.

  ‘You think about what happened the other night?’ Hero asks as I step up onto the first hold. ‘You better stop hunting the White Warrior.’

  ‘I’ve made up my mind,’ I say.

  I feel the rope tighten around my hips. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him snarl. The kids surrounding us are silent. Even Sergeant Major seems to be holding his breath, keeping a close eye on everything. My fingertips are slippery with sweat. I don’t trust Hero, and now he has my life in his hands. I feel like Rescue, hovering over the toilet, about to be plunged to his death.

  I reach for two holds above my head so my body is flat against the wall. I close my eyes and let the spectators’ expectations blow through me. I feel the air rise and collapse my lungs, the pores of my skin expand and contract, I become aware of every particle of air within me and around me. Just as Jackson taught me, I find the sliver of breath connecte
d to the world like a silver wire and fasten myself to it. I allow that wire of breath to propel me up and away.

  I leap up towards another hold, projecting all four points of my body off the wall at once. I land crouched on a single hold. The crowd gasps. I fling my body up higher and land on one foot, almost balancing on my big toe.

  I look down and see Jackson still gazing at Elecktra. I no longer feel nausea in the pit of my stomach, but fire. I propel higher to reach the ten-metre mark and the class claps. I wait on the hold for a few seconds, taking in the applause.

  I find a sliver of air and propel myself forwards again. The class cheers. The rope is slack, giving me freedom. I look down and Hero isn’t watching me as he should be, he’s talking to Krew and pointing at something. I see the power in his body as he leans into the harness and supports my weight. I am only two metres now from the top of the wall. I take a deep breath and launch myself off the wall, aiming for the very highest hold.

  As my body glides through the air, I feel my harness tighten around my hips. Then I’m detaching from that sliver of air and the wire that was pulling me up becomes slack, the wind beneath me flattens and I begin to fall. My harness is yanked violently and I’m not just falling, I’m plummeting. I scream. The rope tightens and jolts me just before I smash to the ground. A glass-shattering pain fires up my arm and into my shoulder, sharper than a sword.

  Hero’s lips are at my ear. ‘You’ll never be Gate One,’ he says. ‘And thanks for the Tiger Scrolls.’

  Then pain engulfs me and the world switches to dark.

  EIGHTEEN

  I wake squinting into the fluorescent light, blinking myself into the foreign surroundings. I’m in a hospital bed. The room smells of bleach. Art is asleep next to me in an armchair, quietly snoring. I look down at my arm in a plaster cast and taste metal in my mouth. ‘Art,’ I call.

  Art jerks awake and lunges to my side. ‘How you feeling?’ he asks, pressing his hand to my forehead. ‘You broke your arm in that climbing class and passed out from the pain.’ He rearranges the blankets around me.