The Super Freak

by Brian Falkner

I think he was quite proud of me, and I couldn’t be bothered to set him right.

  Ben waited till my dad was out of the room, then whispered in amazement, ‘Your dad’s that policeman from the dog food commercial!’

  FOURTEEN

  THE STUDENT COUNCIL

  Quite a few things happened the next week which are all worth mentioning. The first excitement was Dad being invited to audition for a role on Shortland Street. The job was a ten week stint as a new Russian doctor. Dad assured us the role would almost certainly become a part of the core cast. A regular.

  The very thought of it made unforeseen riches dance in front of our eyes. Imagine what life would be like if Dad had a permanent and well-paid job. A cast-regular on a soapie like Shortland Street pulled in as much as a highly paid businessman. There’d be new clothes. A car for sure, and maybe Mum and Dad would even be able to save up enough money for a deposit on a house.

  A house of our own.

  The excitement level was almost at fever pitch, despite the fact that Dad’s audition was still two or three weeks away.

  Funnily enough, this small glimpse of what we were missing made me more determined than ever to become the greatest criminal mastermind this country has ever seen. I wanted money. I wanted nice things like other kids. But, most of all, I wanted to be in charge of my own life, not to be at the whim and will of everyone around me.

  I had a good evil villain name. I was Super Freak. Even Batman would be glad to battle an enemy with a name like that. But what I needed was a supercrime, and that opportunity was handed to me on a plate the next week at school.

  The other thing that happened was that I somehow summonsed up the courage, or the stupidity, to ask Erica out. Well, to be totally honest, I was blackmailed into it.

  And yet another thing, which wasn’t at all good, was that I started getting text messages from Blocker on my mobile phone.

  It all started on the Saturday, I guess. On the Friday night I had brought home a school newsletter which was partly about the election of a student council (a bit late if you asked me, with the year half over) but mostly about the announcement of the upcoming Spring School Fair. They’d given it a title, Spring Fever, which I thought was a bit naff, but it didn’t worry me because it gave me an idea for my supercrime. My Crime of the Century.

  I spent the whole morning thinking about it and starting to make plans. The annual school fair raised thousands of dollars each year for the school. Tens of thousands of dollars. All of it in small, untraceable bills. More money than I’d seen in my life! And on the Saturday of the school fair it would all be held somewhere on the school grounds, while they counted and sorted it. All I had to do was find out where and figure out a way to get my hands on it.

  It wouldn’t be easy, but it wouldn’t be a supercrime if it was easy. It was just the task for Super Freak with his awesome superpowers. Well, superpower, if you want to be pedantic about it.

  The student council was going to help organise the school fair this year. The kids on the council would know what was going on, where the money was, everything. So, I had to get an insider on the student council, and I knew it wouldn’t be me, the troublemaker.

  Ben came around in the afternoon to watch the Warriors playing at the Blacktown Stadium in Sydney against the Machetes. The Machetes were top-of-the-table in the competition so far, but the Warriors were in second place and snapping at their heels.

  Ben didn’t have a television in his house. Apparently his parents didn’t believe in it. They also weren’t too keen on rugby or rugby league, so Ben was being a bit of a rebel when he came over to my place.

  The weather had cleared up a bit after the last few wet weekends, in fact it was pouring sun over the place as if it were a summer’s day, not midwinter, and Mum was out in the garden pulling some weeds. She greeted Ben at the front gate with a cheery, ‘G’day mate.’

  She had a cold beer sitting in the milk compartment of the rusty old letterbox, and she stopped working for a minute and wiped her brow with the can before taking a long drink.

  She’s a bit of a farm girl, my mum, which is odd as her dad was an accountant in Nelson, and she grew up in the town centre, not out in the country. She calls everybody ‘mate’, and likes the occasional beer. She doesn’t go in for fancy clothes or expensive hairdos and, in many ways, is exactly the opposite of Dad, who spends a lot of time, and what little money we have, on the right clothes, the latest mobile phone, and keeping himself groomed. It is important for his job, he often explains.

  Dad was in the garage working on an old chesterfield with a broken leg. I hoped he would stay there. He was busy preparing himself for the upcoming audition, which meant immersing himself totally in the character. He was stomping around the house talking to everyone in a thick Russian accent and answering questions with Da and Nyet, instead of Yes and No.

  It had become a bit of a ritual for Ben to come over and watch the Warriors with me and Gumbo. And it was always the same. We watched, we cheered, we held our breath when we saw Daniel warming up on the sideline, but the ending never changed. Daniel stayed on the reserves’ bench and didn’t take part in the game.

  This was an exciting game, so it took a while before there was a quiet patch and I could ask Ben the big question.

  ‘Have you thought about running for the student council?’ I asked casually as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  He looked sideways at me, raising his eyebrows in a slow mechanical manner. ‘Me?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘That’s for the popular kids. I wouldn’t get a look in.’

  He was right, of course, but I thought I could swing that part of it if I could get him to step forward.

  ‘I’d nominate you, and I reckon most of the class would vote you in,’ I said.

  ‘You’re nuts,’ he said and turned back to the game, where a big Warrior named Henry Knight was busting a huge hole in the Machetes’ line.

  The student council was to be formed by one representative from each class, and I desperately wanted Ben to be the rep for our class.

  I suggested carefully, ‘You might be surprised at how many people vote for you.’

  He shook his head without speaking and concentrated on the game.

  Gumbo was lying half on the sofa, half flopped across Ben’s lap, and Ben tousled the big dog’s ears absent-mindedly. If dogs could purr, Gumbo would have purred just then.

  Dad came into the room, a chisel in his hand.

  ‘Vos is dis geem?’ he said in his mangled Russian. ‘Ees dees de Varriors?’

  ‘Da,’ said Ben automatically, and I cracked up laughing.

  Dad nodded seriously. ‘Pleez to be letting me know who vinning de geem ees.’

  ‘Warriors are in front at the moment,’ I said quickly, wanting to get rid of him so I could get on with talking Ben into running for the council.

  ‘Da. Gud, gud,’ and with that he disappeared into the kitchen, searching for something in the cupboards.

  Just at that moment, the big guy, Henry, burst right through the Machetes’ defences and dropped over the line for a try.

  The crowd roared. Ben and I shouted and leapt off the couch. Gumbo leapt up also, barking furiously at the screen.

  ‘Gumbo’s a real Warriors’ fan, isn’t he?’ Ben said, as Ainsley Retimanu, the Warriors’ first five-eighths, slotted the ball between the posts for the conversion. ‘Do you think he knows what’s going on?’

  I laughed. ‘I reckon he’s right up with it. Dad took me and Gumbo to a game once – Daniel’s first game, in fact, against the Machetes – at Ericsson stadium, and he barked every time we got the ball.’

  Ben looked a bit doubtful. ‘Really? But how did you smuggle a dog into the stadium?’

  ‘Dad put on a pair of dark glasses and told them that Gumbo was his seeing-eye dog. He’s a pretty good actor, my dad, and he had them all convinced that he was really blind.’

  Ben laughed.

  I continued
. ‘It all went well until Rumble Bean stiff-armed Bazza, knocking him out cold. It should have been a penalty, but neither the ref, nor the linesmen did anything. Dad jumped to his feet, forgetting all about his dark glasses, and shouted out, “What’s the matter with you, Ref, are you blind!” Everyone around us was staring at him.’

  Ben doubled over with laughter, and Gumbo gave a series of funny snorts. He was smarter than he looked, that dog.

  ‘But, worse, just then the camera picked him up and put him on the big screen.’

  Ben finally stopped laughing long enough to say, ‘Just as well you two aren’t at the game today.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Vots de mata wiv you, Rev, blind ees you?’ Ben shrieked in a perfect imitation of Dad’s Russian accent.

  I missed the next two minutes of the game, I was laughing so hard.

  ‘Vot abote you, Gumby?’ Ben called out to the dog. ‘You zink ze Vorriers es goink to vin?’

  ‘Da,’ Gumbo barked, clear as day, and that set us off again.

  A few minutes later we weren’t laughing quite so loud. Henry Knight had been hurt in a vicious tackle by Rumble Bean and had to be stretchered off the field. He was a good and popular player, and we felt quite badly about it.

  ‘Bean should have been sent off for that,’ Ben muttered.

  There was a silver lining to the dark cloud, though. A few moments later, after countless games sitting on the bench, Daniel Taylor finally took the field for the Warriors. Their youngest player, by far, to ever play in a first grade match.

  It seemed to take an age before he even got to touch the ball but, when he did, it was like a flash of light, and somehow he was down the end of the field scoring a try.

  ‘He’s fantastic!’ Ben said.

  ‘He’s brilliant!’ I added.

  ‘Da!’ Gumbo agreed.

  The game finished. We won. When we finally calmed down from all the excitement, I tackled Ben again about the student council.

  ‘No-way,’ he said. ‘No one would vote for me, and I’d be totally humiliated.’

  I guess I could have used my special power to try and change his mind. But it felt wrong, doing that to a friend. So, I just said, ‘No you wouldn’t.’

  ‘Yes, I would.’

  ‘Well, what’s wrong with a little humiliation?’

  Ben looked at me strangely. ‘So why haven’t you asked Erica McDonald out?’

  I jerked upright and stared at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

  He said, ‘She’s gorgeous, and you make Gumbo eyes at her every time she walks past. So why haven’t you asked her out?’

  I stared blankly at him. ‘Because she’d laugh at me, and I’d be totally humiliated.’

  ‘Hmmm …’ said Ben, meaningfully.

  ‘It’s not the same.’

  ‘It’s exactly the same.’

  We stared at each other for a while, then Ben said, ‘OK, I’ll do you a deal. You ask Erica out on a date, and I’ll run for student council. That way we’ll both get totally humiliated and it’ll be even.’

  I started to say no, but then thought about it and realised that it was a sacrifice I would have to make if I wanted to be a master criminal. After all, the pain and humiliation would not last long.

  ‘You have to ask her properly,’ Ben said. ‘Not just mutter it in passing, in the corridor.’

  ‘Yeah, and you have to really try to get on the student council.’

  ‘OK, deal.’

  ‘Deal.’

  And that was it. It was done.

  FIFTEEN

  ERICA McGORGEOUS

  I tried twice to ask Erica out before I actually did it. On the Monday, I nominated Ben for the student council and there was a bit of a snigger from the back of the room, but we both ignored it.

  Speeches were to be on the Thursday, after which there would be a vote and our class representative would be elected.

  I spent most of the week, whenever I had the chance, brainwashing the other members of our class into voting for Ben Holly.

  I sat behind Matthew Clay in Geography and spent the entire lesson sending his brain messages that Ben Holly would be a good class representative.

  I did the same in History to the Butler twins and followed Chelsie Burnett down the corridors of C Block thinking Vote for Ben Holly as hard as I could. I would have reached out to most of the class in one way or another during those couple of days but I knew for certain it would all be to no avail if Ben withdrew on the Thursday.

  He was threatening to do it, too – every day that I didn’t get around to my end of the bargain. Asking out gorgeous Erica McDonald.

  I managed to walk out of French with Erica on Tuesday morning (one of the few classes we shared) and we were side by side going down the stairs. It was the perfect opportunity, but I glanced across at her just as I was about to open my mouth and completely lost my nerve.

  The problem was I didn’t want to hear her say no. Ben was right. I was all Gumbo-eyed about her and, as long as I didn’t ask her and she didn’t say ‘no’, then there was still the chance, however tiny, that she might want to go out with me. But, as soon as I asked the question, then the truth would come out and the humiliation would begin.

  It’s funny how we would rather hear no answer at all than hear the answer we don’t want.

  My second chance was at lunch the same day. Erica was sitting by herself on a bench in the concrete desert that was the D-Block quad. Alone. Aloof. Living in her own world, isolated from the frenzied lunchtime goings-on around her.

  I stood for a while, gathering my courage, and finally started to march across the quad towards her.

  Halfway there, my mobile beeped with a text message.

  I stopped and checked my message.

  I didn’t know the number, but it wasn’t hard to work out the sender.

  GONNA GETCHA FREAK, it spelled out.

  I took a deep breath and thrust the phone back in my pocket. Blocker’s latest game. Still, he didn’t dare touch me, so it was just empty threats.

  Before I had taken another step, my phone beeped again. GONNA GETCHA GOOD, was the new message.

  I tried to shrug it off again but I was quite rattled now. I looked over at Erica, still eating her lunch on the lonely bench.

  Another day, I said to myself, and hurried off to find Ben.

  Ben thought I should report the texts to the principal or show them to Tupai, but I didn’t want to do either. I felt both would just make matters worse. Ben ribbed me a bit for chickening out of talking to Erica and reminded me there were just two days to go. He wasn’t too tough on me though. He could tell I was a bit thrown, by the text messages I mean.

  Wednesday was a big day at school. There was a home game of rugby league scheduled for just after lunch, and it was a big event. For a start, it was against Birkenhead College, our arch-rivals in the under-fifteens, and it was a semi-final to decide which team would meet Takapuna Grammar in the final. On top of this, the national schoolboy rugby league selectors would be there, judging performances and selecting trialists for the national under-fifteen squad which would be touring Australia later in the year. Both Phil and Blocker were playing.

  The whole school turned out to watch, juniors and seniors alike. Even those who weren’t the slightest bit interested in rugby league. All classes were cancelled for the game, and attendance was compulsory.

  I thought I would engineer things so that I just happened to be sitting next to Erica during the game, but the grassy banks around the top rugby field were packed with students from our school and supporters from Birkenhead, who arrived by the busload, and I couldn’t see Erica anywhere.

  The game started with an explosion as Phil fed the ball to a wiry centre-half named McAlpine who passed it quickly to Blocker as two massive Birkenhead forwards were about to monster him. Blocker dodged around his marker, with surprising agility for someone of his bulk, and found himself in a bit of space. Enough to get up a full head of steam. />
  Opposition players quickly closed up in front of him, but Blocker’s speed was up now and he charged straight at them, aiming for the middle guy.

  Bam! There was a thundering crash of bodies that we could hear from the banks, and Blocker exploded through the three of them, the outside two spinning off to either side, and the poor middle guy just going down backwards and getting trampled by the runaway bull that Blocker had become.

  And there he was, Blocker the forward, Blocker the hero, charging at the line with only the fullback to beat. Their winger was giving chase from the other side but he wasn’t going to get there in time.

  McAlpine streaked up on the inside and called for the ball.

  Pass the ball Blocker I thought, although I wasn’t using my special power. I wasn’t concentrating on Blocker’s head.

  Blocker hurtled towards the fullback, who didn’t have a chance and, from the expression on his face, clearly knew it. The try was Blocker’s. Then, just before the fullback leaped up for the tackle, Blocker unselfishly flipped the ball to McAlpine.

  The fullback got brushed aside like an annoying insect, and Blocker shadowed McAlpine down to the try line.

  It should have been the perfect start to the game. An exciting and spectacular try. A try that Blocker could easily have scored himself, but handed the glory off to his team-mate. But McAlpine, instead of diving over the line or placing the ball carefully on the grass, went for a fancy one-handed put-down, undoubtedly trying to show off in front of the selectors, and he dropped the ball. He bombed the try, then tripped trying to recover the ball and ended up in a heap on the grass.

  ‘Knock on,’ the referee called.

  Blocker ran over to McAlpine, the kid who had just butchered Blocker’s certain try and cost us a good head start against Birkenhead. I expected him to be swearing and shouting. I almost expected him to thump him. But he didn’t.

  Blocker extended a hand, helping McAlpine to his feet, then patted him on the back and muttered a few words of encouragement, before trotting back to get ready for the resulting scrum.