The Super Freak

by Brian Falkner

  Mrs Mandible, the bad-tempered lizard who ran the school tuckshop, was altogether a different story.

  The air was moist with almost-rain as I made my way to the shop in the basement of the library. It faced the old D and E blocks and was at the end of a long covered walkway.

  E Block and the Library joined together at the corner in a strange little wind trap. Every time the wind blew from the south, which was often, it would create whirlwinds in the corner. There was one of those today, a miniature tornado that picked up old leaves and bits of rubbish and spun them around and around before spitting them out again.

  There was a sudden heavy shower as I waited in the queue, and I was grateful for the covered walkway. I was amazed at how many kids bought their lunch. Didn’t their parents know about numbers?

  The closer I got to the end of the line, the more nervous I got. It had seemed so simple in the planning, but to actually go through with it was something else again. A sudden blustery fist of rain punched in under the cover and I wiped cold droplets off my face. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  There was a line on the concrete floor that marked the start of the lower courtyard; it seemed like a barrier. Once I was past that line I would be inside the metal barriers of the tuckshop queue. After that point, there would be no turning back. The more I looked at it, the more that line seemed to separate my quite ordinary and uneventful life, from my new life of crime. If I was going to back out, it had to be now. But there was a sudden surge in the queue and I was across the line and into the barriers.

  I had passed the point of no return.

  A few moments later, I was face to face with Mrs Mandible. She scowled at me over a box of flavoured noodle packets, and I almost lost my nerve once again.

  But not quite.

  ‘Potato-top pie and a cream donut,’ I said casually, as if I ate such food every day. As if I robbed the school tuckshop every day.

  Mandible snarled the price, and I held up a ten dollar note but, as she moved to take it, said, ‘Oh, sorry, and a vanilla Coke.’

  She scowled as if I had just stood on her tail but turned to the fridge for the drink. The moment her back was turned, I tucked the ten dollar note into the top pocket of my shirt, out of sight.

  Mandible turned back. ‘Is that all?’

  He already paid me. He already paid me. He already paid me. I painted pictures on her brain but said only, ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Mandible.’

  She seemed a little confused and looked around for the money.

  He already paid me. He already paid me. He already paid me

  ‘Did you, er …’ She was a little flustered. Not like her at all.

  ‘I already paid you,’ I said confidently.

  ‘Of course you did. Ten dollars right?’

  I just nodded, but my knees were pressed together tightly with excitement. It was going to work.

  Mrs Mandible counted out my change quickly and dismissed me with a shake of her head, snaring the next kid in line with her reptilian gaze.

  I picked up my ill-gotten gains, pocketed my loot and turned to go. It was the perfect crime. Simple, quick, profitable and no-one was hurt (unless you counted the lizard lady).

  I turned just in time to see Jason Kirk, another year nine kid, go sprawling across the wet concrete of the courtyard.

  I guess he was hurrying to the lunch queue because of the rain, or maybe he just tripped. He was something of a klutz, Jason, and was always tripping over or dropping stuff. Some people said Jason was a bit slow, because of the way he talked and the weird way he wrote stuff. I didn’t know him very well, but the couple of times I had talked to him he had seemed pretty switched on. He spoke slowly, but there was a bright spark in his conversation. As I said, though, I didn’t know him very well. He wasn’t in my class and hung out mainly with Daniel Taylor the rugby league star.

  Jason hit the ground hard, and skidded a bit across the wet concrete. Something brown skittered out of his hand and disappeared through the grate of one of the stormwater drains just in front of him.

  I wondered what it was. It was only when he hauled himself to his feet and crouched by the drain, poking and peering down between the bars that I realised it was his lunch money, sealed up in a plain brown envelope by his mother, with a list of what he wanted and a sum of the prices. I had seen him with similar envelopes before.

  The rain was heavy now, and blood was running down one of his legs from a skinned knee, but he crouched by the drain. It was futile, I thought. Those drains were deep, and if there were coins in the envelope it would have gone straight to the bottom.

  I felt a bit sorry for him, but not that sorry. Things like that happened to me, and nobody ever gave a stuff.

  But then someone in the lunch queue laughed.

  Suddenly, someone did give a stuff. Me. It was bad enough getting wet, skinning his knee and missing out on lunch, without other kids laughing at him.

  I walked over, hunched against the heavy shower and trying to shield my hot meat pie from the rain.

  He looked up as I approached and cringed a little as if he thought I was going to attack him. His face was doing that funny thing kids do when they want to cry like a little boy, but know they can’t, because they’re at high school now.

  I could see the end of the envelope sticking up out of the water at the bottom of the drain, but, even as I watched, the current swirled it away.

  ‘Bad luck,’ I said.

  ‘Wouldn’t that make your bum spit monkeys,’ Jason agreed, trying to smile against the threatening tears. It seemed a strange thing to say, but I kinda knew what he meant.

  I stretched out a hand to help him to his feet and, to my surprise, he accepted it. I wouldn’t have, if it had been me down there.

  ‘Thanks … um … Jacob,’ he said, still peering forlornly down at the drain as if the current might miraculously bring his lunch money back and spit it up through the grill. It was a testament to how well I managed to keep to myself that most of the kids at school didn’t even know my name. Jason did though.

  I let go of his hand, and he looked up in surprise at the coins there.

  ‘Godzilla in the tuckshop over-changed me,’ I said, and it was almost true, in a way. ‘Easy come, easy go. You have it.’

  ‘I couldn’t …’ Jason began, but I was already walking away. I had somehow ended up with one friend at this school. The last thing I needed was another.

  It was a funny feeling walking away through the rain, still trying to keep my pie dry. I had just pulled off my first crime. I was on the career path of a supercriminal. And yet first chance I’d had, I’d given away some of my loot.

  I suppose I felt a bit like Robin Hood. Stealing from the rich (Mrs Mandible) and giving to the poor (wet bleeding hungry Jason Kirk).

  I looked back and saw Jason joining the end of the lunch queue, his hands clenched tightly around the money. But then I saw another set of eyes, and that Robin Hood feeling vanished.

  Erica McDonald had seen the whole thing. I could tell by her face that she thought I was some kind of hero.

  Except I didn’t feel like a hero. I didn’t even feel like a supervillain.

  Under her warm gaze, I felt like a bit of a fraud. Like a common criminal. Like the Hunchback Robber.

  ‘Wouldn’t that just make your bum spit monkeys,’ I muttered to myself and hurried off through the rain.

  TWELVE

  SUPER FREAK

  Friday came all too quickly and the long cold windows of the old hall frowned disapprovingly at me as I dragged my feet along the path after last period.

  I could hear laughter and chatter from inside the hall, and all around me kids were hurrying along.

  News of the big fight had spread far and wide, and it seemed like the whole school was coming along to see Blocker bash the living crap out of the freak. Me.

  I was sort of hoping that one of the teachers might have heard about it and would shut it down. But that would only postpone it, or w
orse, lead to a beating on the way home after school. And in any case, the kids kept things like this pretty quiet.

  Ben was walking next to me, not saying anything, but instinctively supporting me anyway. That helped. At least I didn’t feel quite so alone.

  My only hope was to use my power to somehow control Blocker during the fight. Maybe I could convince him that I was a martial arts expert and make him nervous. Or maybe I could … well, actually, I didn’t really hold out much hope. Still I had to try.

  Blocker was in his gym gear already, bouncing around in the ring, shadow boxing some imaginary opponent.

  ‘Hope you brought your undertaker with you!’ he jeered as I entered. The crowd was swelling around the ring. I acted confident and brave, as if I expected to win the fight. But I think the crowd saw through that in a second.

  I got changed quickly. No sense in getting my uniform torn. Mum couldn’t afford to buy me another one.

  Blocker was wearing cool Nike shorts and a sleeveless tank-top with a silver fern on it. My gym gear was just an old white pair of shorts and t-shirt.

  Blocker smirked as I climbed under the ropes into the ring.

  ‘Two rounds, three minutes each,’ Phil Domane called importantly, acting as the ringmaster. There was no referee. No need I suppose. There were no rules. ‘In the blue shorts, our reigning champion, Blocker! And in the funny white pants …’ the crowd roared with laughter, ‘… our challenger …’

  Phil turned and sneered at me. ‘What’s your nickname, Freak?’

  I stared him down while I thought about it. I was no ordinary freak. I had a superpower! The name just came to me out of nowhere. ‘Call me Super Freak.’

  That threw him for a moment. I guess it wasn’t so much fun calling me a freak if I called myself that too. Somehow I felt I had gained a small victory. He repeated the name to the crowd, and there was more laughter, but mixed in with it was a smattering of applause.

  Well, they rang the bell and all hell broke loose. Blocker jumped up out of his corner and rushed at me, I didn’t even have time to formulate a thought of my own, let alone try and influence Blocker. I ducked as best as I could beneath his outstretched arm but, even so, it caught me a glancing blow across the top of my head. It knocked me over backwards and made me see stars.

  I tried to scramble to my feet, but Blocker was already on me, dive-bombing me before I could even move, a giant body-slam right across my stomach that knocked all the air out of my lungs.

  Blocker rolled away, and, somehow, I got back to my feet, winded and gasping for breath, leaning on the ropes for support.

  He grinned at me from the other side of the ring, but made the mistake of trying the same thing again.

  I wasn’t much of a fighter but I wasn’t stupid.

  This time as he rushed at me, I stuck my hands up as if to fight him but, really, only to distract him and, just at the last moment, I stepped to one side and stuck out my foot.

  He tripped and went skidding across the ring, banging his head good and proper on the corner post.

  When he got up, there was a trickle of blood running down his forehead and the look in his eyes had turned from one of amusement to one of rage.

  I focused on his brain and thought furiously, the Freak knows karate, he’s going to beat you, he knows karate, he’s going to beat you.

  I guess I was trying to put him off, and there was a momentary hesitation and a look of uncertainty on Blocker’s face. But only for a second and then it was gone and Blocker was on me once again, grabbing me around the waist and pile-driving me into the canvas floor of the ring.

  I came up spitting blood and fearing for my life.

  He knows karate, he’s going to beat you, he knows …

  It had no effect on the enraged bull that was Blocker. He slammed me on to my back on the canvas and dropped on top of me again, driving an elbow into my ribs.

  I though I heard something crack and a ferocious pain stabbed across my chest.

  I had barely got back to my feet when a vicious arm that I never even saw coming smashed into my face, and, this time when I got up blood was pouring from my nose.

  In the midst of it all, the only good thing running through my brain was that at least I wasn’t crying.

  Blocker came in once again, circling for the kill but, somehow, I was ready for him, and darted to one side. I charlied him in the thigh and Blocker went down for the second time. This time when he got up, limping, there was murder in his eyes.

  I backed away into the side of the ring as he approached, slowly this time, and suddenly found myself flat on my back on the canvas again as he swept my legs out from underneath me with his foot.

  I coughed, splattering the front of his expensive gym shirt with blood, and he drew his fist back and smashed it into my face.

  Now, I was crying, and couldn’t help myself, but something told me that this was only the start.

  There was a strange murmuring in the crowd but I couldn’t see what was happening.

  I wondered if a teacher might have walked in and would stop it. But another voice in my brain said, if that did happen, somehow it would be Jacob the troublemaker who ended up in trouble, and not Blocker, the school hero.

  Blocker drew his fist back once again and struck, but this time the punch didn’t connect. I had instinctively closed my eyes and opened them to see Blocker’s arm caught in a vice.

  A vice that was the hand of a boy named Tupai White.

  I couldn’t make sense of it at first. In fact, I didn’t make sense of it till later, but I suppose my brain was a little addled at the time.

  Blocker stood up and turned to face Tupai, his wrist still jammed in the steel-mesh grip of Tupai’s hand.

  ‘It’s not your fight,’ he snarled, but, even as he said it, he punched hard and straight at Tupai’s stomach. The punch never made it. It stopped halfway there, his other wrist snared in Tupai’s free hand.

  Blocker clenched and muscled up, trying to break Tupai’s grip. Tupai hardly even seemed to be trying. Slowly, he lifted Blocker’s wrists into the air above his head. It was a terrific feat of strength. He twisted Blocker around and pulled the wrists down again behind Blocker’s back, pinning him.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ Tupai said and repeated it. ‘Leave him alone. Here, at school, after school, if you touch him again, you’ll be talking to me.’

  I saw Erica McDonald standing at the side of the ring, looking on, and even that didn’t connect for quite a while afterwards.

  ‘He challenged me!’ Blocker protested, but Tupai was not having any of that.

  ‘Touch him again, and you are mincemeat. Am I clear?’

  Blocker looked around, trying to summon some courage. He might have been big and tough but, compared to Tupai, he was a snowflake. Tupai, at thirteen, was probably the toughest kid in the whole school, and not even the year twelves or thirteens were game to take him on.

  Not that Tupai went looking for fights. Quite the opposite. But they sometimes found him and, when they did, the other party always ended up sorry for it.

  But just why he would jump in the ring and stick up for me made no sense. I looked at Erica, and she gave me a kind of a half smile, but then turned quickly and was gone. Tupai went with her. Ben jumped in the ring and helped me to my feet, wiping away blood from my face with his own shirt, never minding the mess.

  Blocker half moved towards me, but his eyes were on Tupai’s retreating back, and there was genuine fear there. I suspected that, like most bullies, underneath he was a coward.

  It was finally over. I cleaned myself up in the showers as best as I could and changed back into my uniform. One of my eyes was so swollen I could hardly see out of it, but at least my nose had stopped bleeding.

  On the way home I finally put it all together. Tupai White and Jason Kirk were best mates, along with Daniel the league player and another guy called Fizzy, or Fizzer, something like that.

  Erica had seen what I had done for Jason at the tuc
kshop and she must have told Tupai what was going on.

  Tupai had stood up for me because I had stood up for his mate. It shook me a little, when I realised. The trails of their friendship ran deep.

  However, I wasn’t sure if he had really done me a favour. If he hadn’t stepped in, then at least it would have been all over and done with in the boxing ring.

  Now, even under the protective wing of Tupai, I felt that Blocker would not just give up and go away.

  Whatever was churning inside him would be growing more malignant by the hour.

  THIRTEEN

  CRIKEY!

  ‘Crikey!’ Mum took one look at me and borrowed the neighbour’s car to take me to the hospital. I really didn’t feel too bad, apart from the pain in my chest, but I guess I must have looked quite frightening.

  Ben had walked home with me and carried my schoolbag because, when I tried to lift it, the stabbing sensation in my chest became a burning twisting knife.

  Dad was out at an audition for a commercial and couldn’t be reached on his mobile, so Mum went next door and explained to Mrs McLatcheon, who was a kindly old soul, that there was an emergency and asked if she could borrow her Morris Minor. Ben came to outpatients with us, which was good of him, and Gumbo refused to be left behind. (Although he had to stay in the car, whining madly, when we got to the hospital.)

  It was just cuts and bruises, the doctor assured us, no broken bones. The rib thing turned out to be a cartilage, and would heal all by itself given enough time.

  I had told Mum that I had fallen off the jungle gym at school, and I think she believed me, but Dad didn’t. He was already home from his audition by the time we got back.

  ‘How’s the other guy?’ he asked conspiratorially when Mum was out of the room.

  I looked at him closely for a while, wondering how much to tell him. Eventually, with a quick glance at Ben, I just said, ‘He won’t be bothering me any more.’ Which was true, I suppose.

  ‘Good on ya,’ Dad winked at me. ‘You show them who’s who.’