by R. A. Spratt
‘Sharkfin?’
Brad, the musclebound organiser of the Mad Mud Mud Run, was standing over him. ‘That’s me,’ said Fin. Brad looked like Goliath looming over him.
Brad beamed back and held out his hand to help Fin up. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, son,’ said Brad.
‘No way! Your name is Sharkfin?’ Kieran called out from the other side of the room.
‘Yes,’ said Fin. ‘Fin for short.’
‘What is wrong with your parents?’ asked Kieran. ‘Why would they give you such a weird name? Did they hate you from birth?’
‘Having an imagination does not mean there’s something wrong with you,’ said Fin.
‘No, but Sharkfin isn’t an imaginative name,’ said Animesh. ‘It’s just cruel.’
‘Your name is Animesh,’ said Fin. ‘That’s weirder.’
‘Not in India,’ said Animesh.
‘We’re not in India,’ said Fin.
‘No, but 1.3 billion people are,’ said Kieran. ‘That’s 1.3 billion people who think his name is normal. There’s no one who thinks “Sharkfin” is normal.’
‘Well, I, for one, am glad that Sharkfin is not normal,’ said Brad, putting his hand on Fin’s shoulder in a paternal gesture.
‘Huh?’ said Fin dubiously. The statement sounded like a compli-sult. Half compliment, half insult.
‘Because thanks to his extraordinary mind, this year’s Mad Mud Mud Run is going to have the best course ever!’ announced Brad, smiling his incredibly white smile at the class. He had a strange way of talking, like he was addressing a large crowd through a microphone even though he was just talking to a normal-sized room full of twenty-four teenagers. ‘That’s right, I’m here to announce that Sharkfin Peski has won the design competition!’
The class half-heartedly began to clap. If for no other reason than the tone of Brad’s voice made it clear he expected them to.
Fin’s mouth dropped open. He was astonished. This was good. Really, really good. Good things never happened to him.
‘Now I bet you’re all wondering, what does that mean?’ continued Brad in his overly loud voice. He didn’t pause for a response. He clearly preferred to ask and answer his own questions. ‘It means that you …’ He threw his arm around Fin’s narrow shoulders. Brad’s biceps were so huge, the weight of his arm practically made Fin’s knees buckle. ‘… are in sole control of the build team.’
‘Yeah, but what does that mean?’ said Kieran. He was determined not to be impressed.
‘It means for the next three weeks, Sharkfin will have complete control over that digger.’ Brad spun around and pointed out the window. A bright yellow digger was slowly rolling across the school quadrangle. It was massive and shiny. The big bucket mouth would be able to lift a ton of dirt in each bite. To Fin it looked beautiful.
‘Awesome!’ exclaimed Fin.
The rest of the class gasped in awe.
Even Kieran nodded. ‘That is pretty cool.’
‘You also get a bulldozer, a heavy roller, a crane and a construction crew to work them,’ said Brad. ‘And here …’ he reached into his pocket and took out a set of keys. ‘These are for the quad bike you’ll be using so you can ride out and meet with the construction crew each morning before school to give them instructions for the day. You are the course master!’
Brad handed Fin the keys. Fin’s mouth opened and closed. He was speechless. He couldn’t begin to think of appropriate words. Then an unexpected thought flitted into his mind. He wished Mum was there. She’d never noticed him as much as the others. He wasn’t as big as Joe and he wasn’t as loud as April. Mum would have had to notice a big yellow digger. She would have had to be proud. Now he felt like crying because he was sad. But looking at the digger soon cheered him up. This was going to be so much fun.
April was secretly glad to be going back to school after three days at home. As angry as she always was, April was a social beast. She thrived on interacting with others. These interactions may not have been much fun for the people she interacted with, but they energised her. She did not enjoy being stuck in a big empty house. Ingrid was stoic and silent and moved so quietly about the place it was hard to tell if she was ever there. And Dad had gone into hiding. Of course, he was already in hiding from the Kolektiv, but now he was in hiding from Ingrid as well. He would find reasons to spend every waking hour at some obscure place in his garden or shed to avoid any possibility of bumping into his intimidating fiancée. So April had spent the three days at home with nothing but Pumpkin and her secret stash of romance novels for company.
She was almost excited to return to school. She never would have admitted it, but she had been mentally rehearsing some really good zingers to put Matilda Voss-Nevers in her place. She enjoyed verbally crushing Kieran too. Really, arguing with anyone would be a pleasant change to sitting in a big calm house in the middle of a beautiful, peaceful garden. That was April’s idea of a nightmare.
And yet, April’s first day back did not go well. By mid-morning she was running late for her science class, and for something that wasn’t even her fault, technically.
She’d been kept behind in music because Pumpkin had eaten Mr Boyle’s sheet music. Mr Boyle was the music teacher, so he was a deeply unhappy man. Ninety-nine per cent of the students had no interest in studying any form of music, and the one per cent who were interested had no musical talent. It would have broken his heart if he hadn’t been able to find escape in the beauty of music himself. As it was, while his class played on keyboards plugged into headsets so no one would have to hear their dreadful noise, Mr Boyle enjoyed playing his favourite concertos on the piano. Or he had until he’d popped into his office to make a quick cup of tea and found Pumpkin ingesting Rachmaninoff’s Third.
Mr Boyle was a softly spoken and, normally, soft-hearted man. He had two small dogs himself and he doted on them like children. But when he entered his office to see dog mouth-shaped tears in his sheet music, he snapped. He screamed at Pumpkin, who barked right back. Then he screamed at April, who yelled right back. Then he just screamed as Pumpkin sank his razor-sharp little teeth into his shins, causing incredible agony for such a deceptively small dog.
So when April arrived at her science class she was in a bad mood. She had been forced to put a muzzle on Pumpkin. The school had ordered one especially in Pumpkin’s size after several requests from staff. The whole thing made April so angry, it would have been prudent to muzzle her as well. She also had a bright blue note in her pocket saying she must report to the guidance counsellor immediately at the start of recess. It is always a mistake for a teacher to take a student to task during the recess or lunch break. Tempers never cool when you reason logically with a person, but they do cool if you let them eat a sandwich.
April was soon in an even worse mood when she discovered that there was only one seat left in the classroom, and that seat was next to Tom.
‘Ugh, you,’ said April, dumping her bag and flopping into the chair.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Tom, turning to the sound of her voice.
April rolled her eyes. ‘Sitting next to the biggest pain in the neck in the whole class.’
‘Really?’ said Tom snidely. ‘That’s impressive. That you can sit next to yourself.’
‘Oh puh-lease,’ said April, slumping down further on the seat. ‘That’s not even an insult. It’s a half-baked play on words. If you want to insult me, you have to say something insulting. Like “you’re ugly” or “you smell bad”.’
‘I can’t tell if you’re ugly,’ said Tom. ‘Although if your personality effects the appearance of your face, you must look like a baboon’s butt.’
‘That’s better,’ said April with begrudging admiration. ‘A little overly wordy for my taste, but that was a genuine insult.’
‘I’m not surprised you’re a connoisseur of insults,’ said Tom, getting into the swing of it. ‘You must get them all the time.’
‘I’ll pay that one too,’ said Apr
il, nodding with respect. ‘You’re warming up now.’
‘It’s no wonder your mum left,’ said Tom. ‘She probably couldn’t take being around you anymore.’
Unfortunately, Tom was vision-impaired, so he did not get the key signals that he had gone too far. Much too far.
The first outward indication was subtle. April froze and her face went completely blank. But internally she was falling apart. She felt icy cold and her stomach dropped. ‘She probably couldn’t take being around you anymore’. As a statement it made complete sense. April was unpleasant and her mother had left. It was true. It was true! IT WAS TRUE! The words screamed in April’s mind. A lump welled up in her throat. But she was April Peski. She didn’t cry. When her emotions welled up, she let them out. And that’s what she did now. She exploded into action. She leapt off her stool and launched herself at Tom.
‘Good morning, 8G,’ said Ms Quinn, their science teacher, as she stepped into the room. Then she too fell silent as she witnessed April Peski, the most sullen and difficult child she had ever had to teach, flying horizontally at Tom, the boy she and the rest of the staff had been extensively lectured to about how they must facilitate his transition to classroom learning. There was a split second of silence before the room erupted. There were shouts of dismay and furious abuse, barks from the crazy little dog and the slam and clatter of furniture as it was smashed out of the way.
It took three seconds for Ms Quinn, Kieran, Animesh and Fin to grab April and pull her off Tom. Then another five seconds for Neil to bravely wrestle Pumpkin away from Ms Quinn’s left calf. In those eight seconds Tom’s shirt had been torn, April had a bloody nose and Ms Quinn’s leg now had teeth marks on it. Three beakers had been smashed and two stools were broken beyond repair.
‘Right,’ said Ms Quinn, panting and trying not to cry from the pain in her leg (she wasn’t as naturally good at this as April). ‘Mr Lang’s office. Now!’
April was one hundred per cent unrepentant as she sat in Mr Lang’s office facing him across the desk. It was actually impressive how much dignity she could assume as she sat there holding a bloodstained tissue to her nose.
‘This is grounds for expulsion,’ said Mr Lang. April knew he was serious because he spoke so softly. Authority figures save their calmest voices for when they feel least calm. ‘This is twice now that you have attacked a disabled student.’
‘Not disabled, differently-abled,’ said April. ‘And I think it is prejudiced of you to categorise him by his differability. His name is Tom. I didn’t attack “a disabled boy”.’ She used her fingers to make air quotation marks as she said this. ‘I attacked Tom. I don’t have anything against disabled people. I’ve got something against Tom. He’s a nasty little –’
‘Enough!’ shouted Mr Lang, slamming both palms on his desk. He took another breath to calm himself.
‘It’s the pressure of being acting interim mayor, isn’t it?’ said April. ‘You can’t handle it. When you were just the guidance counsellor you were always so calm and reasonable. But you’ve really started losing it since you’ve become acting mayor.’
Mr Lang did not respond. He had pursed his lips as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.
April continued, waving her bloody tissue about as she spoke. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s the education system. It’s practically a sheltered workshop. It doesn’t prepare teachers for real life.’
‘I said enough!’ said Mr Lang, although less loudly this time and with more of a pleading tone. ‘I don’t want to expel you. Do you have any idea how bad that looks for the school? But you are giving me no choice.’
‘Come on,’ said April. ‘We both know you’re not going to expel me. Guidance counsellors and principals have been threatening to expel me for years, but they never actually do it. I’m smart. I get high test results. I turn up every day. If it weren’t for my personality, I’d be a model student.’
‘No,’ said Mr Lang. ‘This is different. You’ve gone too far. You can’t assault a disabled boy.’
‘Tom, I assaulted Tom,’ April corrected.
‘You can’t assault anyone!’ exclaimed Mr Lang.
‘Actually,’ said April, ‘a lot of contemporary educational theorists are coming around to the idea that children should be left alone to experience risk, lead active lifestyles and problem-solve on their own.’
‘I can’t let you assault disabled students,’ said Mr Lang.
‘Why not, if it’s character building?’ asked April.
‘Because it’s illegal!’ said Mr Lang
‘No, it’s educational,’ argued April. ‘It teaches me to let out my emotions and it teaches him not to be so rude.’
‘We don’t want you to let out your emotions,’ said Mr Lang. ‘You do that too much already. We want you to try keeping some of them in.’
‘Can’t you just let me go back to class and pretend this never happened?’ asked April. ‘No one got hurt.’
‘You’re dripping blood on my carpet right now!’ said Mr Lang.
‘Okay, no one got hurt except me,’ said April, clamping the tissue back over her nose.
Mr Lang shook his head sadly. ‘The fact that you can’t see how egregious your behaviour is, is part of the problem.’
April scowled. ‘Why are you using your fifty-cent words on me? “Egregious” just means terrible. You’re trying to create jargon-fog to confuse me.’
Mr Lang had turned away to open a drawer of his filing cabinet.
‘No one is trying to persecute you,’ said Mr Lang. ‘No one is trying to do anything to you. Except perhaps educate you.’
‘Nah, no one has done any of that since I got here,’ said April.
‘But my first priority has to be the safety of the students at this school,’ said Mr Lang. He turned to April and laid a form in front of him on his desk.’
‘What’s that?’ asked April.
‘Document 46-C,’ said Mr Lang. ‘Expulsion certificate.’
April didn’t have anything clever to say in response to that. She was too busy remembering how Professor Maynard had specifically instructed them to blend in and not cause trouble. She was pretty sure this would count as ‘trouble’. April got a sickening sense that this expulsion could have severe ramifications for her whole family. They might have to move, again.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
‘Not now!’ snapped Mr Lang.
But whoever was on the other side of the door pushed it open anyway.
‘I said, NOT NOW!’ barked Mr Lang.
The red ball tip of a white cane poked through the open door and tapped tentatively side to side as Tom entered the room.
‘Tom!’ exclaimed Mr Lang, jumping to his feet. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise it was you. Come in, come in. I mean, actually, that’s not a good idea. I’m in the middle of a meeting. Perhaps we could talk later?’
‘You don’t need to suck up to Tom,’ said April. ‘You wouldn’t suck up to any other students.’
‘I’m not sucking up,’ said Mr Lang. ‘I’m being compassionate. You should try it.’
‘Bah,’ said April. ‘You wouldn’t be compassionate to other students either.’
‘I’m a guidance counsellor,’ said Mr Lang. ‘Being compassionate is my job.’
‘He’ll never learn to adapt to normal life if everyone fawns all over him,’ said April.
‘It’s just consideration,’ said Mr Lang.
‘Exactly,’ said April. ‘No one in real life is considerate. It’s a dog-eat-dog world. Which just makes me angry, because dogs are so much better than people.’
‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ said Tom politely. ‘But I think I might be able to help you, Mr Lang.’
‘You do?’ said Mr Lang. ‘There, you see. Tom knows how to be considerate.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ said April. ‘It’s probably a trick.’
‘I know you must be discussing how you intend to punish April for her violent attack on me,�
� said Tom. He looked wan and pitiful as he said this.
‘Yes, are you all right?’ asked Mr Lang. ‘Have you quite recovered?’
‘He’s fine!’ said April. ‘I’m the one with the bleeding nose.’
‘He’s got finger-shaped bruises on his neck!’ Mr Lang snapped back.
‘You can’t prove that was me,’ said April. ‘Anyone could have done that. He is really annoying.’
Mr Lang shook his head. ‘Expulsion is not a thing we consider lightly, but your total lack of repentance is leaving me with no choice.’
‘Sir,’ said Tom. ‘Please don’t expel her.’
This caught April’s attention. Why would Tom stick up for her?
‘You’d only be giving her what she wants,’ said Tom. ‘She’d love to hang around at home all day. It wouldn’t be a punishment.’
April rolled her eyes and glared out the window.
But Mr Lang was intrigued.
‘She’ll never learn to empathise with the vision-impaired community that way,’ said Tom.
‘What are you suggesting?’ asked Mr Lang.
‘Yeah, what are you suggesting?’ asked April suspiciously.
Tom shrugged his schoolbag off his back and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. ‘I entered the mud run,’ he said. ‘But my entry was knocked back because of my disability. They say I can only go in the race if I have a guide.’
‘What?’ said April.
‘Oh yes,’ said Mr Lang. ‘I’ve seen blind … I mean “vision-impaired” people running in marathons. They have a guide tethered to them with a strap around their wrists, so that they stay on track.’
‘Exactly,’ said Tom. ‘I thought that it would be an excellent way to teach April about the struggles of vision-impaired people, if she were to act as my guide.’
‘No way!’ cried April. ‘You want me to be tethered to you for the entire race?!’
‘And all the training,’ said Tom.
‘I won’t do it!’ announced April.
‘What a brilliant idea,’ said Mr Lang, relieved that he had a loophole so he wouldn’t have to expel her. Now he wouldn’t have to do all that horrible paperwork after all. He might even have time to get a nice cup of tea from the staffroom before the next period.