by , Sammy J;
‘Thank you,’ he said, then offered some to Eliza. ‘Do you want to share?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m vegetarian.’
This suited Justin fine. He took a bite; it tasted as good as it looked.
‘Justin,’ said Miss Granger, ‘I’m sorry for arguing in class. You were right, of course. Rules are rules.’
‘That’s okay,’ said Justin between bites. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was.
‘The thing is,’ said Miss Granger, ‘I’m under a bit of pressure this year. Wade Turner is – how can I put this – not the easiest student to have in my class.’
‘You’re telling me,’ said Justin, swallowing another chunk of sausage roll.
The sun sank lower in the sky. Above them, fruit bats descended en masse from the mountain to begin their night of foraging, fossicking, and spreading infectious diseases.
‘Anyway,’ continued Miss Granger, ‘I just wanted to remind you – my class is your sanctuary.’
Justin nodded. Miss Granger’s reassurance, combined with the last delicious mouthful of sausage roll, had given birth to a strange and unexpected emotion.
Justin felt happy.
Not just a little bit happy. Not just warm-sausage-roll-in-the-tummy happy.
He felt the sort of happiness that only comes with turning your life around.
In fact, he thought, glancing at Eliza, so far this was shaping up to be the perfect night.
He looked across the quadrangle, where the other kids had united to play a game of cartwheel-tiggy.
Justin watched as they happily tumbled, slipped, and collided with each other. Laughter filled the air. As far as Justin could tell, they were all having a pretty perfect night, too.
Everyone, that is, except the curly-haired boy with glasses, who was approaching Miss Granger.
‘Excuse me, Miss,’ he said. ‘It’s my mum’s birthday today, and we had plans to go for pizza.’ His bottom lip quivered as he spoke. ‘Is there any chance I could be excused?’
Miss Granger sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Peter, but the principal has made it very clear. Everyone has to stay on the school grounds.’
Peter looked like he was close to tears. Justin shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
‘But what will we do all night?’ Peter asked nervously.
It was a valid question. As if on cue, the school PA system crackled to life.
‘Attention,’ boomed Dr Featherstone’s disembodied voice. ‘You’re probably wondering what you’ll be doing all night. In light of current circumstances, I am pleased to announce that extracurricular activities have been brought forward, starting immediately. Tennis will take place in the Old Art Room. Basketball will be held in the Old Drama Theatre. Soccer will be played in the Old Music Department.’
Eliza’s eyes widened. ‘Where’s the Music Department?’
Justin had never seen her so excited before.
‘Behind the gym,’ said Miss Granger.
Eliza’s voice filled with hope. ‘So they still teach music here?’
‘I’m afraid not. It’s the Old Music Department. There’s nothing there but a broken piano.’
Eliza’s excitement evaporated. ‘Why don’t they still use it?’
‘You’d have to ask the principal.’
Eliza slumped back in dismay. ‘This school’s weird,’ she mumbled, taking another bite of her apple.
‘A little bit, yes,’ said Miss Granger. ‘But everyone finds their place eventually. Which reminds me – Justin, I need to give you directions to the Athletic Muscle Bus.’
Justin’s sausage roll did a backflip in his stomach.
‘And Eliza,’ Miss Granger continued, ‘I think it would be a good activity for you, too – if you’d like to join Justin?’
But Eliza was nowhere to be seen.
Justin scanned the quadrangle, to no avail. His perfect night was quickly turning into quite an average night.
The PA system blared once more.
‘Attention staff. It has been brought to my attention that Rule 135 of the Mount Willow Handbook forbids teachers from working overnight. Sadly, I remain legally obliged to keep you all on site until the bell goes. Therefore, I have established a makeshift dormitory in the staffroom. Would all teachers please make your way there immediately to commence a staff sleepover.’
Miss Granger looked confused. So did the fruit bats.
‘But who’s going to look after us?’ came a frightened voice from the quadrangle.
‘You’re probably wondering who’s going to look after you,’ continued Featherstone. ‘I’m pleased to report that the Year Ten army cadets have agreed to patrol the grounds over the course of the night, to ensure that every student is attending their correct activity.’
In the distance, Justin heard the sound of boots marching on asphalt. His night was rapidly going from average to creepy.
Featherstone crackled on.
‘Of course, every army needs a captain, so it is my pleasure to announce that Wade Turner of Class 7G will be in charge of our Night Patrol. Wade has had an exemplary first day, including successfully overseeing a mass nose-inspection during PE, and I appreciate his willingness to take on this leadership role.’
Justin froze.
Miss Granger froze.
The entire quadrangle froze.
The thumping footsteps got closer and closer until, finally, Wade Turner marched into view.
Something about him looked different. Maybe it was the light. Maybe it was the swagger. Or maybe it was the full-scale military-grade army outfit he was wearing.
His smirk threatened to knock him off balance.
Behind Wade, a motley group of Year Tens marched in formation. They reached the middle of the quad, turned to face Wade, and saluted him.
An eerie hush fell over the school as the last bit of sunlight slipped behind Mount Willow.
Justin wished he could disappear as well.
With horror, he realised he had put Wade Turner in charge of the entire school.
And Wade was wasting no time in exercising his authority.
‘YOU HEARD THE PRINCIPAL!’ Wade’s voice echoed around the quadrangle. ‘TEACHERS TO THE STAFFROOM! KIDS TO YOUR ACTIVITIES! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!’
In an instant, seven hundred terrified jumbo jets took flight, ducking and weaving in the dusk.
Above them, two fruit bats collided in midair.
Justin climbed onto the bench, frantically scanning the crowd for Eliza.
‘Justin,’ Miss Granger said urgently, ‘you need to get to the Muscle Bus. Now.’
‘I don’t know where it is!’ cried Justin over the din. Around them, the Night Patrol were blowing whistles and shouting ‘MOVE IT ALONG!’, even to the kids who were already moving along.
‘Head across North Field—’ began Miss Granger, but she was interrupted by The Smirk, who had spotted Justin standing on the bench.
‘Hey, loser! MOVE IT!’ said Wade. He reached up and grabbed Justin’s tie, yanking him down from the bench. ‘Get to your activity – or do I have to put you in custody?’
‘What’s custody?’
‘It’s like detention,’ said one of the army brutes. ‘But without toilet breaks.’
Justin didn’t feel that either choice was ideal, but he was very much out of options.
So he turned and ran.
He ran as quickly as his decidedly non-running legs would carry him, and he didn’t stop running for three whole minutes, completely unsure of where he was going or where, indeed, he should go. As it happened, that decision was made for him when the ground unexpectedly turned into water, and he felt his entire body plunge deep beneath the surface.
The Mount Willow Secondary swimming pool opened in 1929, then closed the next day due to a fungal outbreak. A
grand reopening was planned for 1946, but the principal’s ferret drowned on the morning of the ceremony, and he had the pool concreted over in tribute to his beloved pet. In 1959 a new principal had the concrete removed, but a hot spell in the 1960s caused the pool tiles to crack, rendering it structurally unsound. The water was drained and the empty shell used as an outdoor performance space until shortly after Dr Featherstone became principal, when the beleaguered pool was retiled, refilled and reopened at last. They never found the ferret.
Justin Monaghetti didn’t know he’d landed in a swimming pool – he just assumed it was one of those giant sinkholes he’d seen on the news. He also knew it was deep, freezing, and not well suited to someone who couldn’t swim. The weight of his German underpants weren’t helping. His limbs flailed in vain as he sank to the bottom, trying to recall what his Grade Five swimming teacher had told him.
‘Justin,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve done all I can, but clearly it’s not enough. It’s probably best if you avoid swimming pools for the rest of your life.’
Okay, thought Justin. That’s not going to help. He thought about a famous swimmer he’d once seen interviewed, who’d talked about gliding through the water like a fish. Justin felt more like a ferret than a fish, but he tried his best to impersonate an aquatic creature of the deep.
He must have done a fairly good job of it, too, because within seconds he’d been scooped up by a giant fishing net.
It was actually a pool cleaning net, but Justin chose not to focus on the details. He was too busy spluttering by the side of the pool. Shortbread the gardener knelt down beside him.
‘Jeepers, buddy. Bit dark for a swim, isn’t it?’
‘I wasn’t swimming,’ coughed Justin.
‘Well, I could see that. Just as well I heard the splash, eh?’
Justin shivered. ‘Thanks,’ he said, recognising Shortbread. ‘You’re working late.’
‘I told you, first day’s a killer. Aren’t you meant to be at your activity?’
‘I’m a bit lost.’
‘You don’t say,’ said Shortbread, chuckling. ‘Where are you headed?’
Justin sat up. Water squelched out of his triple-layered underpants. ‘Um … I’ve got to find North Field.’
‘You’re looking at it,’ said Shortbread, pointing to the empty soccer field that lay beyond the pool.
Justin stared into the darkness, his teeth chattering. ‘Where’s the bus?’
‘What bus?’
‘The Athletic Muscle Bus.’ Saying the words out loud filled Justin with dread.
Shortbread frowned. ‘Think you’ve swallowed a bit too much chlorine, buddy. Nothing but a soccer field here.’
‘Maybe it’s moved?’
‘Mate, I’ve told you before, this school is hardcore. You’d be much better off going to your activity than searching for a magical mystery bus.’
‘But this is my activity,’ said Justin.
The sound of marching boots cut through the air.
Wade’s army had followed him.
Whatever horrors awaited him in the Muscle Bus, they couldn’t compare with being caught by The Smirk.
Justin sprang to his feet and began striding towards the soccer field in his soggy shoes. ‘Please don’t tell them where I am,’ he pleaded as the footsteps grew closer. Shortbread nodded, then called out after him, grinning.
‘Hey buddy – you know it’s against the rules to swim in your uniform, right?’
Justin grinned back.
‘Like I said, I wasn’t swimming,’ he said, before dashing into the darkness.
It took less than sixty seconds for Justin to establish that there was, indeed, no bus on North Field – just a small wooden fence around the perimeter, and dense bushland beyond.
Justin leaned on the fence and gazed back towards the school. He saw lights being switched on as students found their classrooms and began their activities. Up above, the moon was clocking on for its overnight shift.
Had Miss Granger been tricking him?
And where was Eliza?
Behind him, the bushland stretched towards the base of Mount Willow. Justin peered tentatively into the scrub. There was no way he was going in there. After all, it was probably out of bounds.
And it probably contained wombats.
Justin had inherited a fear of wombats from his father. Once, when they’d been camping, a wombat had waddled into their tent one night. His dad had shrieked, labelled it an ‘unholy demon’, and called the fire brigade to remove it. They never went camping again.
Recalling this, Justin experienced a sudden moment of clarity.
Only a loser would be scared of wombats.
So Justin steeled himself, then swung his legs over the fence and stepped into the bushes.
Even if I do get eaten by a wombat, he thought to himself, at least I’ll taste nothing like my parents.
The smell of eucalyptus filled the air as he edged forward, step by step, holding his hands out in front of him to avoid bumping into any gum trees.
This tactic worked well. He didn’t bump into a single tree.
Instead, he bumped into a school bus.
The moonlight had almost disappeared behind the branches overhead, but it was unmistakable. A huge vehicle, hidden behind a tangle of leaves and branches, with spray-painted letters on the side that read: ATHLETIC MUSCLE BUS.
Justin stared in silence. He imagined the atrocities that must be occurring inside. Weightlifting. Push-ups. Nose inspections. But he’d come this far, and only a loser would turn back now. So he took a gulp, heaved the door open, and stepped inside.
There were no weights.
There were no push-ups.
In fact, there was nothing at all. Just more silence, and more darkness.
Justin stood at the front of the bus, by the driver’s seat, and pondered his next move.
He felt a cool breeze sweeping through the bushland outside.
Suddenly, the door swung shut.
Justin jumped. It was a trap! He was about to be eaten by killer wombats.
Then he heard a voice from the back of the bus.
Six voices, to be precise.
Speaking in unison, they began to chant:
‘The eight of us go forth, not back
To protect our king from a foe’s attack.
What are we?’
Justin stood perfectly still.
Unless he was mistaken, this was a riddle.
In fact, it was one of his favourite riddles, and he knew the answer.
In the darkness, he quietly responded.
‘Pawns?’
The silence was replaced by applause.
Then the lights of six torches pierced the darkness, and a portly boy with shoulder-length hair came bounding up the aisle of the bus. He looked about fifteen, wore a red bow tie, and waved his arms wildly as he spoke. ‘Welcome, comrade! You must be Justin?’
Justin frowned, nodded and shook his head, all at the same time.
‘It’s an honour to make your acquaintance,’ said the boy, clasping Justin’s hand and shaking it vigorously. ‘I’m Erik. Please forgive the interrogation; certain precautions must be taken in the event of visitors.’ Erik inspected his hand, which was now wet, then looked at the water dripping off Justin’s clothes.
‘My gosh, the poor boy’s drenched.’ Erik turned to the back of the bus. ‘Can we get a blanket please?’ Seconds later, a blanket came hurtling towards them. Erik wrapped it around Justin’s shoulders, then pressed his face against the window. ‘Did anyone follow you here?’
Justin shook his head.
‘Excellent.’ Erik handed him a torch. ‘For you, my friend. If anyone approaches, please switch it off.’
Justin held the flashlight in his hand. Was he dreaming?
‘Justin, I dare say you were expecting this vehicle to be a little more … sporty?’ Erik chuckled.
Justin nodded nervously. ‘Isn’t this the Athletic Muscle Bus?’
‘Well, that’s what we call it,’ said Erik, crossing his arms. ‘But that’s just so nobody troubles us. There are dark forces at work in this school.’
‘Dark forces!’ echoed a voice from further down the bus.
‘Terrible times!’ came another voice.
Justin shone his torch down the aisle as two figures dressed in long, hooded cloaks made their way towards him. He felt himself edging backwards as they approached.
‘But the prophecy says that one day, a boy named Justin will arrive and free Mount Willow from the clutches of evil!’
Okay, thought Justin, I’m definitely dreaming.
Then the two cloaked figures burst out laughing.
‘Sorry if we scared you,’ said one, throwing back her hood to reveal a small girl of about thirteen. She had piercing green eyes and a blonde ponytail that disappeared down the back of her cloak. ‘We’re just working on our improvisation skills.’
The other figure pulled his hood back to reveal a gangly boy of about the same age, with brown floppy hair and pale skin.
‘I’m Gordon, and this is Louise,’ he said. The two of them breathed in dramatically.
‘We’re a theatre duo,’ said Louise proudly, flicking her ponytail.
Gordon looked confused. ‘I thought we were a drama group?’ he mumbled.
‘Theatre duo sounds more edgy, remember?’ said Louise. ‘And we don’t want to limit our creativity.’
Gordon was unusually tall, and Louise was unusually short, so Justin had to crane his neck up or down depending on who was talking.
‘Well we may be a duo, but we also do solo stuff,’ Gordon said pointedly.
‘Plus interpretive dance,’ added Louise. ‘Whatever the audience wants, really.’
Justin looked down at her, struggling to take everything in. ‘Who’s your audience?’