Spud - Learning to Fly

by John van de Ruit

  Monday 16th November

  17:30 ‘Hey, Spud!’ called Whiteside from the door of the prefects’ room. He beckoned me over and ushered me inside. Whiteside collapsed into a large armchair surrounded by notes and sighed.

  ‘Matric’s a bitch,’ he grumbled. ‘You just wait, third year is nothing in comparison.’ He stared at the carpet. ‘Just one more week and I’m out of here!’

  I asked him what he was doing next year.

  ‘WITS,’ was the reply. ‘Best university in the world.’ We were both silent. ‘How’s the pushing for prefect going?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Terrible,’ I said. ‘Everyone hates everyone else.’

  Whiteside laughed and casually informed me that I would be conducting house roll call every morning for the rest of the week.

  ‘And I want you downstairs showered and changed by 6:20 every morning.’

  I promised Whiteside I would do my best and made for the door before he began one of his infamous lectures. ‘Oh –’ he shouted, ‘and make sure Thinny and Runt are looking respectable.’

  ‘Definitely,’ I said, and left the prefects’ room.

  ‘What’s going on?’ demanded Boggo the moment I stepped out. He and Garlic were glaring at me suspiciously, like I might know something incredibly valuable.

  ‘Nothing,’ I replied and tried to push past them, but Boggo grabbed my arm and held me back.

  ‘So what was that chat with Whiteside all about then?’ he asked, his face inches from mine.

  ‘He gave me a lecture on house respect,’ I lied.

  Boggo eyed me shiftily for a moment and then he and Garlic moved off to the house bench to talk about me.

  I’m not sure why, but the conversation with Whiteside gave me the creeps. After writing yesterday that I don’t think of Gecko much any more, I haven’t stopped thinking about him since. Being hauled into the prefects’ room by the head of house was a little too much like déjà vu. Especially in the dying season …

  I wonder how Gecko would have been acting if he were still with us. I’d like to think that he would have given pushing for prefect the middle finger, and hauled me up to Hell’s View to talk about something more important.

  Tuesday 17th November

  ‘Right! Line up!’ I shouted at the crowd of boys milling about the house entrance. Rambo stared at me with uncomprehending eyes and Boggo’s expression turned from disbelief to gob-smacking horror. I tried to sound as commanding as possible and ignored the whispering that suddenly spread throughout the house.

  ‘Graham!’ I shouted. ‘Sharks!’ came the immediate reply. I let out a great sigh of relief – there would be no embarrassing mutiny or loud mocking. Apart from Rambo, Boggo and Spike, I was accorded the respect of a prefect. My hands were still shaking when I set off for class, but inside the adrenaline was pumping and I walked with long comfortable strides across the quad knowing my that my every movement was being observed.

  I saw Pike lurking around outside Viking’s office just before lunch. He couldn’t see me because I was well hidden behind a pillar. Even still, I crouched low and kept incredibly still.

  I lost my appetite and skipped lunch altogether.

  20:00 There’s a rumour buzzing around the house that I’m the next head of house! Everybody seemed to think that my taking roll call this morning was a sure sign. Boggo says if the rumour turns out to be true, then he’s definitely leaving the school. He went on to accuse me of buying Whiteside’s backing by means of sexual favours.

  I informed Boggo and the others that I didn’t give a damn about being a prefect, and all I was concentrating on was tomorrow’s exams. He sneered back at me and called me a liar.

  Wednesday 18th November

  EXAMS BEGIN!

  Friday 20th November

  Rambo didn’t rock up to roll call this morning. No doubt this was a deliberate attempt to challenge my authority. I decided not to rise to his bait and ticked his name off anyway. This probably wouldn’t be the time to start a civil war with Rambo anyway.

  Garlic must rate as the worst private detective ever. The idiot has been following me closely since Tuesday. He even followed me into my History exam despite not taking History himself.

  17:00 I pretended to be walking off towards the fields but then hid around the corner of the crypt before pouncing on the unsuspecting Garlic as he blundered after me. It didn’t take long for him to cough up the story, and it was exactly what I was expecting. Boggo has ordered Garlic to tail me, and then report back to him on the hour every hour.

  Garlic apologised profusely for spying on me and said he was being blackmailed by Boggo, who had threatened to run him in to Viking.

  ‘What have you done wrong?’ I asked the now miserable Garlic.

  ‘I don’t know!’ he replied. ‘That’s the whole problem.’

  Garlic peered around to check that the coast was clear and then whispered, ‘Boggo says he could have me expelled at a moment’s notice.’

  ‘Expelled for what?’ I asked again.

  ‘Dunno,’ replied Garlic. ‘But it means that if I don’t follow you around then I won’t be a prefect.’

  When my voice emerged it sounded loud and aggressive. ‘What’s the big deal with being a prefect?’ I asked. Garlic stared at me with absolute astonishment and then burst into laughter like I was the idiot.

  ‘Are you mad?’ he shouted. ‘Being a prefect is so cool.’

  GARLIC’S REASONS FOR WANTING TO BE A PREFECT:

  Nobody can boss you around.

  Tea and snackwiches are made for you whenever you want.

  You can tell people you’re a prefect and not be lying.

  You never have to make your bed or pick up your jocks, or take your laundry.

  The prefects’ room is like having your own private lounge.

  Everyone respects you.

  You can punish anyone you want to whenever you feel like it.

  You don’t feel like a loser.

  You get a prefect’s tie, which you can wear at job interviews to impress bosses.

  You’re guaranteed to score more chicks.

  People take you seriously.

  You rule the world.

  And then it sank in. I do want to be a prefect. I do want all these things. I also want to be taken seriously and be respected by the other boys. I want to sit in front of the fire in the prefects’ room and read a good book with only a cup of tea and an egg mayonnaise for company. I want to walk around the house like I own the place. I want it all desperately!

  After Garlic completed his long and loud list of reasons, I reassured him that I didn’t want to be a prefect and ordered him not to follow me around any more. He promised he wouldn’t, and then followed me back to the house, where we both hung around the bottom of the stairs looking authoritative.

  Monday 23rd November

  10:30 Since everybody else was writing Science exams, and Boggo’s sarcastic comments and Garlic’s endless questions were beginning to irritate me, I decided to head to the nets for some bowling practice. I felt like I needed some exercise to clear the mind before my final three exams and working on your bowling action is better than taking a jog.

  I wasn’t sure if I was breaking the school rules, so I kept a low profile and circled around the side of the chapel before trotting quickly across the cricket fields towards the nets.

  It all felt a bit odd from the start because nobody was around apart from a few ground staff. After all, it was Monday morning. I sensed I was being followed, but presumed it was Garlic. Every few paces or so I would catch movement out of the corner of my eye and swing round and scan the numerous trees and bushes for the crouching Garlic. But there was nothing.

  I cursed myself for being paranoid and ran the rest of the way to the cricket nets.

  After loosening up, I bowled a few balls and then walked into the net to retrieve them. I turned around once I had gathered up the three cricket balls, and that’s when I saw him.

  He was b
locking the entrance of the cricket net and walking slowly towards me. His terrible leering face was fixed in an evil grin and we both knew I had no escape. My eyes desperately scanned for holes in the netting wire that encircled me, but it was useless.

  This was like something out of my worst nightmare. How could I have been so stupid? My brain gave me three options: run straight at Pike and try and knock him over, attempt to dodge him, or scale the netting, leap over the top, and run like hell. I decided on the third option which in hindsight was yet another drastic decision.

  Pike caught my foot as I was on the verge of escape and pulled me crashing down to earth.

  ‘Backstabbing bastard!’ he hissed as his knee drove powerfully into my stomach. I heard myself gasping and then a terrible pain enveloped my entire chest. I tried to plead my innocence but no words came out. He pinned me to the ground and his strong hands wrapped around my neck and began cutting off my air supply. I was convinced he was going to suffocate me to death. I could see it so clearly – I was going to be this year’s dying season victim!

  ‘Keep still,’ hissed Pike, his eyes burning green with excitement. I prepared myself for the worst, but it was far worse than even that. Suddenly his tongue was in my mouth and he was kissing me. I tried to pull away but his hands held my head down. I heard a terrible agonising moan, which I now realise must have been me.

  It was worse than cutting me with a knife, worse than polishing my balls. I wanted to vomit.

  ‘Hey!’ came the shout. ‘Hey, Spud!’ It was Garlic, running towards the nets shouting his lungs out in panic. Pike pulled his face away and stood up wiping his mouth and looking weirdly excited like he did after cutting me in first year.

  ‘That’s something to remember me by,’ he said, and spat nonchalantly on the ground.

  And then with one final satanic glare, he turned and walked away.

  ‘Hey, Spud!’ gasped Garlic. ‘You okay?’

  I nodded and tried to speak but couldn’t. I felt so nauseous that I threw up in the cricket net. Garlic watched me and kept asking me if I was all right, but I couldn’t answer.

  ‘It looked like he was trying to strangle you or something,’ said Garlic.

  A wave of relief passed through me. Garlic hadn’t seen or he would have said so.

  ‘That’s what happened,’ I gasped. ‘That’s exactly what happened.’ I spat on the grass, but was still unable to get the taste of him out of me.

  ‘Thanks, Garlic,’ I said after pulling myself together.

  Garlic grinned and shouted, ‘Just as well I was following you!’

  We began to walk back to the house in what I hoped would be silence, but Garlic asked, ‘Why does Pike hate you so much?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I replied.

  And I doubt I ever will.

  Thursday 26th November

  The matrics and post matrics have officially left the school. The leavers’ war dance/haka was abysmal and it looked like most boys hadn’t bothered to rehearse.

  Rambo was called in for a thirty minute meeting with Viking. When he emerged it was with a self-satisfied smirk on his face and he just gave a shrug when Boggo asked him what was going on. With the heads of houses announcement due tomorrow, it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to realise that Rambo is going to be our new head of house.

  Boggo called it a no brainer, but couldn’t hide the disappointment from his face.

  I watched Pike leaving from the top of the bell tower. His final act was to shout a mocking taunt at Eggwhite who had come to see him off. I watched the Pikes’ red BMW slowly make its way down Pilgrim’s Walk and didn’t take my eyes off it until it left the gates.

  Pike’s gone forever, and he’s taken my fear with him.

  Friday 27th November

  07:20 ‘The Last Breakfast’

  08:00 Assembly. The Glock left the head of house announcements for last and it was a surreal experience when it finally did come.

  Simon Brown stood up as our new head of house and marched proudly forward to shake The Glock’s hand. Surprisingly, Rambo whistled loudly and looked genuinely happy for Simon. Garlic roared in confused delight, but poor Boggo looked utterly shocked and slowly shook his head in disbelief.

  Lunch: Simon sat with the staff at the top table. (Already with his new badge emblazoned on his blazer.)

  ‘It was obviously going to be Simon,’ announced Boggo, despite having him at 50-1 on his betting board. ‘It was a no brainer.’ He stuffed his mouth full of sausage.

  ‘Why was it a no brainer?’ asked Garlic.

  ‘Because, you turd,’ mumbled Boggo with his mouth full, ‘he’s going to be captain of cricket next year.’

  ‘But I thought you said he didn’t have a chance because of the nervous breakdown?’ persisted Garlic.

  Boggo was seething. He thumped down his glass of milk and, ignoring Garlic, stared daggers at Rambo. ‘You’re such a prick, Rambo! You freeze us out and hang us out to dry.’

  ‘What have I done?’ asked Rambo innocently.

  Boggo was raging but couldn’t find the words. Eventually he shouted, ‘What was yesterday’s meeting with Viking all about?’

  I expected Rambo to shrug nonchalantly but his eyes darkened and his face grew serious.

  ‘You really want to know about my meeting with Viking?’

  ‘Tell me truth, Rambo,’ said Boggo.

  ‘Viking offered me head of house but I turned him down.’

  Silence.

  ‘But why?’ asked Fatty, incredulous.

  ‘For shit’s sakes, Fatty, open your eyes!’ snapped Rambo. ‘For head of house it’s a year of babysitting first years, dealing with Viking and nagging mothers. It’s a year of being a petty policeman and catching people talking after lights out. And it’s a year of being shunned by your fellow matrics and prefects.’

  More silence.

  ‘So why did Simon get it?’ asked Boggo grimly.

  ‘Because,’ said Rambo, ‘I told Viking that he was the only one of us capable of running the house.’

  ‘But he’s insane!’ cried Boggo, tears welling in his eyes.

  ‘Who isn’t?’ said Rambo and left the dining hall.

  We ate the rest of the meal in silence with everyone casting regular glances up towards the top table where Sparerib and Simon were chatting and laughing together like old buddies.

  Like everything this week, it didn’t seem real.

  ‘Hey, Spuddy,’ whispered Fatty as we were leaving the dining hall, ‘do you realise that this morning’s breakfast was the last time the full Crazy Eight will ever eat together?’

  ‘No,’ I replied.

  ‘Weird, hey?’ said Fatty, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite comprehend it either.

  He then told me to mark it down in my diary before returning to his archives room, where he has been hibernating for the last two weeks.

  16:00 Exams are done! Feeling dazed all the time. Concerned I might be on the verge of a weird psychological event. I told Fatty that I felt continually dazed and that my eyes were sore. He said I should report to the san immediately because it sounded to him like a brain tumour.

  In the end, I borrowed/stole two Disprin from Garlic’s locker and slept until dinner.

  20:00 Simon has moved into Whiteside’s room and taken over full control of the house! He even shat on Vern for running up the stairs before prep.

  Saturday 28th November

  CRICKET VS ST JAMES

  10:30 I was standing at my position on the backward square leg boundary enjoying the sights and smells of my final cricket match of the year, when my attention was drawn to a large white Mercedes Benz speeding along Pilgrim’s Walk. The Mercedes pulled up to our field and stopped on the far bank. Thinking it was a St James parent, I returned my attention to the cricket and made a brilliant stop on the boundary that set the people now getting out of the Mercedes into loud cheering and shouts of ‘Go, Johnny!’

  It’s been a week of shocks, but this one I could
never have dreamed.

  My father has bought a brand new Mercedes Benz! He’s so proud of it that he refused to move more than a few feet from the car in case it was threatened by a stray cricket ball.

  The Mercedes wasn’t the only thing that’s new. My mother was dressed in a full-length skirt, and the picnic table was littered with fancy things like feta cheese and snoek paté. Dad refused to have more than a single beer at lunch because he said he wasn’t the sort to drink and drive.

  ‘Now we look just like all the other parents,’ beamed my mother. ‘You don’t have to be embarrassed by that bloody car any more.’

  I asked Dad what had happened to the station wagon.

  ‘I got a bloody good price for her considering the state she was in,’ said my father proudly. But then his eyes looked sad as he thought of the old bird. There was a pause and he said, ‘Her time was up.’ He fell silent. ‘And your mother hated it,’ he said eventually. ‘But at least we keep the memories, hey, Johnny?’

  But then my father looked up at his new car and the sadness fell away as pride returned to his face.

  ‘Life,’ he said shaking his head with wonder, ‘you just never can tell.’

  16:30 I watched the Mercedes speeding away and wished it were the station wagon instead. I never got to have one last ride in the roaring green beast before she was taken away.

  But then again, it’s the dying days of the dying season and the monster must be fed.

  Sunday 29th November

  19:00 CONFIRMATION SERVICE

  Boggo and Vern had to be baptised before we could begin the confirmation service. Rain Man got a terrible fright when Reverend Bishop splashed his forehead with holy water. He lurched back and shouted ‘Oi!’ as if the chaplain was trying to drown him. There was loud laughter from the chapel gallery so Reverend Bishop quickly baptised him before moving on to Boggo, who looked like a man being dragged forward to the guillotine.