by Rawah Arja
Ibby leaned over to me. ‘I’m seeing what you’re all seeing, yeah?’
‘Okay, seriously, your breath stinks.’ I said, palming his chubby face away from me.
The tall man sat down and looked at his watch. ‘Like I said, your time is my time now. So let’s not waste any of it and get straight to the point. My name is Thomas Archibald but you can call me Mr Archie.’
PJ and Ibby nodded like they were back in kindergarten, still mesmerised by this muscular man who was supposedly our new principal.
Huss crossed his arms and looked at the rest of us. ‘So this guy is our new pri –’
‘Don’t talk until I tell you to talk,’ Mr Archie snapped. ‘Believe me, you don’t want to come up against me. You’ll lose eleven times out of ten.’
I could see Ibby using his fingers to work out how eleven out of ten was even possible.
‘Stop counting, ya hayawan,’ I whispered. ‘He’ll tell you off for being that dumb.’
‘Well, let’s get through these, ay?’ Mr Archie said, lifting the box of papers like it weighed nothing. He picked up a red folder and looked at Ibby first. ‘Ibrahim Nasser, student ID 617. Broke into the canteen and not only took all the hot food but then resold it at lunchtime. Chased three casual teachers out of the school and broke the only library window. Twice.’
‘Sir, the boys made a bet that I couldn’t fit my body through the window. I had to prove them wrong.’
‘It also says here that this school has had five different canteen owners in the last six months?’
Ibby scratched his head and squinted out of the corner of his eye. ‘I think so, or it could be six. I’m not a hundred per cent. If you want, you can ask my cousin Maz. He knows.’
Mr Archie stared at Ibby for a while, probably trying to figure out if he was taking the piss. He must have eventually realised that Ibby couldn’t take the piss if he tried.
‘PJ Malofa, ID 602,’ he continued. ‘The lad who put scissors on top of fans in three different classrooms, with four lads injured and taken to hospital as a result.’
‘Everyone dared me, sir.’
If you haven’t picked it up yet, our school basically ran on bets and dares. We always wanted to see who was willing to do what. Plus, it made the time fly by during class.
I could see where this was going and we were pretty screwed. Mr Archie held a separate red folder with Huss’s name in bold. ‘Hussein Haydar, ID 666. You set a classroom on fire, and prank-called the police, resulting in bomb squads entering the school on two different occasions. You sell cigarettes in the playground. But let me guess: the lads dared you?’
Huss shrugged. ‘Yeah. But even teachers buy cigarettes off me.’
Mr Archie’s piercing green eyes were now on me. ‘And last but not least, Tariq Nader, ID 658. Top of all his classes, best and fairest three times in a row, captain of the Under-17s footy team. Not one single bad thing on his record.’
The boys all looked confused.
He smiled. ‘You’re very smart, getting these lads to do the dirty work while you stay unnoticed behind the scenes. Yeah, so you’ve skipped a few days and egged the girls’ high school down the road, but I believe you paid for that today.’
‘I don’t get anyone to do my dirty work,’ I said, sitting up.
‘So you admit you have some dirt on your hands?’
Damn it! I fell right into that trap.
‘Like the time you jumped the fence and hung out by the station, or the time you forged your parents’ signatures for those detention slips?’
He spent the next twenty minutes reading out more from our files, even things we had forgotten about. The time Ibby and Huss locked Mrs Abdallah in the classroom, or the time PJ punched through Mr Jeffery’s car window because he lost in a game of footy.
Finally, he flipped the files shut. ‘My point is, boys, I know you better than you know yourselves.’ He stood up and walked around like a lawyer, interrogating us as if we were on trial.
‘How?’ Huss asked, laughing to himself.
Mr Archie stopped and stared at him. ‘I’ve been watching you for all of Term 1. You may not have noticed me amongst those men in suits, but I certainly noticed you.’
He went on and on about how he had been watching us like an eagle hunting for prey, which – if you ask me – was borderline weird. Like I get it, he wanted to act all tough, but he needed to stop referring to us as his prey. I mean, that’s weird, right?
Just when we thought he had finally finished, he handed us a pile of every negative article that had been written about our school.
‘So this school is the fifth-worst school in New South Wales and is now considered at risk for closure if you lads don’t change your behaviour. We have until mid-Term 3 to clean up our school’s reputation and be on the safe side.’
Our? He just got here. He doesn’t get to be part of us just yet.
I knew our school was doing badly, but I never thought that it could actually close down. We’re not saints or angels but we’d take a bullet for each other and our school. Just ask Sammy from Year 11, who tackled a guy and almost put his head through a wall because he raised his voice at our office ladies. No one gets away with being disrespectful on our territory, except for us! Yes, I know it’s hypocritical, but that doesn’t change the fact that this place was a home to us.
Mr Archie stopped in front of Huss, who still had a smirk on his face. ‘It may mean no more of this school, Mr Haydar, but you still have to go to a school. A separate school, which the government will choose for you.’
Huss shuffled back in his seat and crossed his arms, like he had heard all this before.
There was something about the way Mr Archie spoke. He was so calm and cold, like a gangster with manners. The ones from the movies who excuse you to kiss your family goodbye before they throw you into the ocean, gagged and chained.
‘Back in Ireland, I was a head teacher at a school like this,’ he began.
Ibby clicked his fingers. ‘Ireland. I knew it.’
‘Don’t act like you’ve heard of Ireland before,’ PJ said. ‘We all know you’re too dumb to know any places in England.’
Mr Archie looked at his watch again and shook his head. ‘As I was saying, I taught in Northern Ireland, in some troubled schools. Ireland has had its fair share of war and problems with the government. Some schools closed, but others stayed open because of one simple program that we trialled, which I believe will work here.’
‘Jail?’ Huss laughed to himself.
‘I guarantee that you will end up there if you keep making the same choices you are now.’
Huss stood up and kicked the chair. ‘What did you say?’ It didn’t take long for Huss the Hothead to appear.
Mr Archie turned his back and picked up a few more folders, as if Huss’s tantrum didn’t bother him one bit. ‘Sit down and stop embarrassing yourself.’
I could hear Huss’s breathing get heavier by the second. We all sat up and waited, watching a ticking time bomb.
‘The program was focused around soccer,’ Mr Archie continued, now sitting down and ignoring Huss and his heavy breathing. ‘I organised a program with the local football club in Belfast and they agreed to help out those school lads on the condition that they fixed their behaviour and grades. A sports competition was created with neighbouring schools, and the winning team was awarded a scholarship with the club. Long story short, our school stayed open because this program was the first of its kind and attracted heaps of media attention.’
‘I’m so confused,’ Ibby said looking at me with his puffy eyes. ‘Is he saying we’re going to Ireland to play soccer?’
‘It’s Mr Archie, and no, not exactly,’ Mr Archie answered. ‘I’ve chosen you four lads because I believe we can implement the same program here.’
‘I hate soccer,’ PJ said throwing his bag on the floor. ‘That game is for wimps.’
Mr Archie tapped his fingers on our records to remind us once again th
at our free will was history. ‘Since you’re all a part of the school footy team anyway, I’ve decided that rugby league is the way to go.’ He looked at me and smiled. ‘And since you’re their BBL, with such a clean record, maybe you can lead by example.’
I smiled through my teeth, trying to control my anger. I knew what he was insinuating and I didn’t like the way he said it. No teacher has ever questioned me or my record.
‘The program starts next week. You’ll head over to a week-long camp. Your parents have signed the consent forms, so you belong to me now.’ He walked towards the door with the box of our files. ‘Oh, and if you’re not there, consider yourselves expelled.’
And just like that he was gone. It was like someone threw us into a tornado and we’d been spat back out. What the hell had just happened? The only explanation we could come up with was that the government had sent this white guy with the men in suits, a so-called ‘principal’, to get information from us and then use it to put more of us in jail.
Chapter 5
No vultures.
No ghetto birds.
The media had completely disappeared, which not only meant no more flashing cameras, but also no more hot blonde reporter. Some of the boys went around peeking inside cars parked along the street to see if any reporters were hiding out, but they really had left without a trace.
I waited by the school gates and saw Mr Archie and Mr Ahmed having a conversation in his office. My eyes locked with the new principal’s before I turned away and pretended to scroll through my phone. I knew he was powerful enough to pull strings and get things done in record time, like having a forty-minute conversation with my dad about this sports program without me ever noticing.
‘This Mr Thomas Archie call me today at work,’ Dad said when he came home that evening. ‘We talk and talk about school and I tell him that you is smart but dumb, you know? He agree, too.’
‘He agreed? He doesn’t even know me,’ I protested.
I thought about telling Dad that he had no right to sign on my behalf, especially without my permission. Then I remembered that I’m an Arab and my rights were ceded to my parents from the moment I was born.
The Wolf Pack were hanging out at mine for our usual Tuesday night routine, watching Amira’s favourite Disney movie, Mulan, with her. We had no choice. Mum usually made spaghetti with yoghurt for us, and we’d – actually I’d – have to pretend to enjoy watching the movie. PJ and Ibby always reacted like it was the first time they had seen the movie.
‘Uncle, we think he’s a cop,’ Huss said to my dad, slurping his spaghetti. ‘I lost it and kicked the chair. Did you even see the way he was speaking to me, boys?’
‘Why you lose it?’ Dad asked. ‘If you go crazy, this only hurt you. You only one to lose. This man here because the school is very bad and you boys are reason.’
I shook my head, annoyed that now I’d have to hear about Mr Archie at home, too. ‘Of course, we’re the reason. It’s not because our classrooms are like ovens, or that our school has no money so our teachers have to photocopy photocopies of books and we can’t even read them because the words are so faded.’
It was one thing to give me up, Dad. It was another to blindly believe everything this guy was saying.
‘This no excuse to be disrespectful Tariq, especially with BBL program Mr Ahmed chose for you,’ Dad said. ‘And he also tell me sport program can help and I believe him. You very good at football, anyway. What the problem?’
He stood in front of the TV just as Mulan was about to jump off the palace roof – Ibby’s favourite part. ‘Boys, listen very careful. I give you life advice not even gold can buy. When I was young boy…’
Ibby’s still-reddened eyes darted my way. We knew it was lecture time, so we all got comfy. This was going to take a while, no matter how much Amira pleaded with Dad to wait until the movie was finished.
Even with his ‘You need to start to act like men and trust this new principal’ and his ‘Get your act together and start to take your school more seriously’ talk, Dad couldn’t convince Huss that Mr Archie wasn’t a cop.
Huss was still on the case with the boys the next day at school.
‘I’m telling you, boys, he’s a cop,’ he explained. We each had our manoush and our V, and had stopped just outside the school gates. We weren’t allowed to enter the school with any energy drinks, so most of the time we’d have to chug it down before the bell rang. ‘Trust me, I know what I’m on about.’
Unlike PJ and Ibby, who hadn’t stopped talking about Mr Archie’s tattoos or how amazing his muscles were, Huss was seriously convinced Mr Archie was part of a plot to get us Punchbowl boys ‘under control’ and force us to follow orders.
As we listened to him rant about it, a couple of trucks parked along the road, and a bunch of construction workers began to unload packages and boxes labelled with the words CLASSIFIED and FRAGILE in huge red writing.
‘See?’ Huss pointed. ‘I told you something shady is happening!’
‘Relax, bro. It’s probably just school stuff,’ I said trying to calm him down. Huss can be unrelenting when he gets an idea in his head.
Some of the boys had gathered under the palm tree beside the basketball courts. They had the trumbaki out, drumming and dancing to Arabic music played from an iPod dock. PJ and Ibby ran over to join the dance as the boys formed a circle, on their knees, hollering and clapping. That was how most mornings went until Mr Ahmed brought out the fire hose and watched us scramble to class.
It didn’t matter what year you were in; everyone had a role. The seniors were there to make sure that if any fight broke out, it would be fair – one on one, and no illegal weapons. They also were in charge of our Guinness Book of Punchbowl Records for any special talents that was worth mentioning. Hamza in Year 10 lit his own hair on fire for two whole minutes, Joseph in Year 9 ate Mrs Adra’s goldfish – while it was still alive – and Jamal in Year 12 stapled his eyelids shut for ten minutes (yes he was rushed to hospital). All these legends and more were in the book.
Us Year Ten boys watched over the Year Nine boys, the inbetweeners, and made sure they’d report to us if anything suspicious was happening, like any boy who was selling drugs or mixed substances. We’d make sure those troublemakers were either dealt with by the seniors, or that they were permanently out of our school. Then there were the juniors, and their job was to be on the lookout and take the blame if a situation were to break out. We all took care of each other. Respect was earned through the ranks, and if anyone stepped out of line, we had our own laws and court system that took care of it.
It didn’t take long before the ‘Mr Archie is a hectic principal’ conversations began. The seniors loved him, but the rest of us were still unsure of his real purpose, especially, of course, Huss. He stood on the silver seats and announced his conspiracy theory. Mohamed, our school captain, threw a footy at his head.
‘He’s here because our school is actually on its last chance,’ he explained. ‘It’s serious.’
Mohamed was the guy who worked every day after school, had his head stuck in books and never left the classroom, even at recess or lunch. He knew he had to work twice as hard to get a good ATAR because our school ranked so poorly.
I picked up the footy and kicked it back to Huss. ‘Just drop it, bro. I don’t like the guy, but there’s no way he’s a cop.’
‘Bro, he has to be on the gear,’ one boy said. ‘There’s no way he’s all natural.’
‘I can’t understand half the things he says,’ another complained. ‘His accent needs to come with, you know, that writing that’s on the bottom of the TV screen.’
‘They’re called subtitles, ya donkey,’ another boy mocked.
I ignored the pockets of conversation when Elias came running my way. ‘Archie’s just expelled Year Nine Jamal and Billy. They’re not allowed to come back.’
Those boys were ruthless and had been the ones you called if you needed a situation ‘taken care of’ – if the mo
ney was right, of course. If Mr Archie could get rid of them, then it meant he could get rid of anyone. Expulsion was something our teachers only threatened us with but never actually implemented.
I turned back to let the boys know, only to see Mr Archie walking through the back gate of the canteen. Huss was still ranting about his theory when Mr Archie stopped behind him.
‘I don’t care what you all say, there’s something shifty about this Archie guy.’ Huss was waving his hands in the air. ‘He has to be a pig trying to get information from us.’
Some of the boys tried to get him to shut up, muttering in Arabic that Mr Archie was right behind him, but Huss continued.
‘They brought over this guy who knows nothing about our school, to change it and make it better. Like, we don’t need your help, bro.’
‘Ya hayawan, shut up!’ I finally yelled. ‘He’s been behind you this whole time and you’re still talking shit!’
At first Huss thought we were messing around, until Mr Archie walked out in front of him with his hands in his pockets. Everyone slowly filtered away, afraid of what was about to go down. Then it was just Ibby, PJ, Huss and I.
‘You four lads, follow me to the main hall,’ he said, after staring at Huss for what felt like a million years. ‘This pig has something he needs to tell you.’
Huss’s pride wasn’t going to let him feel bad, so as usual, he was unapologetic. I knew that whatever Mr Archie was going to tell us, it wasn’t going to be good.
And of course, I was right.
‘Okay, lads. I’ve spoken to your teachers and they know you’ll be off first period,’ he said, walking towards four yellow buckets, mops and cleaning products. He handed a mop to each of us and explained that the hall was to be in tiptop condition by the time he got back in forty-five minutes. None of us knew why we were chosen out of almost two hundred students. It was starting to feel like we were really his prey. ‘Consider this early preparation for a long and tough couple of terms ahead,’ he said. ‘If you aren’t going to take care of your school, then who is?’
‘I will, sir, Thomas!’ Ibby raised his hand in the air, waiting for a high five. He had a habit of calling teachers by their first name, except for Mr Ahmed – probably because Mr Ahmed could turn anyone into a pretzel. I think Ibby thought it was a good way to suck up to the teachers.