Being Jack Read online

  Lunchtime at last. Paul and I grab our footy boots. Paul laughs. ‘What’s it like playing the right game?’

  ‘Funny, Paul. Let’s go.’

  Anna and her best girlfriend, Maggie, take their lunches and walk with us across the schoolyard to the sports fields. Becky and her friends are hanging around George Hamel, watching him run up and down the field with the other 13A footy guys. Anna shakes her head.

  ‘I’ve got better things to do than watch those boys sweating and panting. Showing off.’

  ‘Hey, that’ll be me in a minute.’ I pretend to run in slow motion. ‘Anna, don’t you want to watch us? Paul reckons he’s pretty good.’ Paul knuckles my arm. ‘Owwwh.’

  Anna slips her arm through Maggie’s and gives a cheeky smile. ‘I’ll watch you when you’re doing more than showing off. When you play a game.’ They giggle as they stroll away to join some girls eating lunch under a tree.

  I stand there watching her until Paul nudges me. ‘Anna’s really cute.’

  Red starts creeping up my face. ‘If you say so.’ I roll my eyes.

  Paul cracks up. ‘I’d say you say so.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Come on. See who gets to the field first.’ I bolt ahead. Paul bolts after me.

  End of the day bell rings. Christopher and I are walking across the schoolyard. We nearly get knocked over by some guys running to the car pickup. Christopher’s glasses fall off. Winger calls out. ‘What are ya? Blind? Slanty eyes. Four-eyes?’

  I shout at Winger, ‘Hey, cut it out.’

  Christopher checks out his glasses, then puts them back on, relieved. ‘They’re not broken.’

  ‘That Winger’s an idiot.’

  Sammy and Anna are in the bus line minding a place for us. They wave us over.

  I get into line next to Anna. ‘How’d your project go, Sammy?’ I just control a laugh.

  Samantha’s very touchy about it. ‘Everyone liked it, but Mrs Lopez thought I could cut a bit off the dog’s nose.’ She flicks her ponytail at me. ‘So I did it at lunchtime in the library. But not because it looked like an elephant or anything.’

  I’m dying to make a joke, then notice Anna’s cannonball eyes. I have second thoughts. ‘Yeah. Yeaaah . . . Your dog never looked anything like an . . . elephant.’

  At the front of the bus line, George Hamel and Winger are expertly chucking a ball between them. Need a lot of practice to get as good as them. Becky and Jasmin are still hanging around them. Boring. Becky flicks her red hair and bleats, ‘You’re so good at passing the ball, George.’

  Anna gives an I-don’t-believe-them look. George Hamel puts the ball under one arm, smiles coolly, points a finger at the girls. He cocks his thumb, mouths ‘pow’. Becky takes a photo on her phone. They giggle as Jasmin sends the Hamel ‘pow’ flick to friends. I want to make a joke, but I’ve learned something. Some people can’t take a joke too well. George Hamel’s one of those.

  ‘Bus,’ Samantha yaps. Wow, she’s beginning to sound like Puppy.

  George Hamel, Winger and their mates Becky and Jasmin laugh and shove each other up the bus steps. They’ll tumble into the back seat as usual. Good—far away from us.

  As I get on, I spot four seats in the middle and turn to tell Anna. ‘Over there.’

  Anna smiles. She’s got this special smile that makes her eyes smile too.

  ‘Get moving, Romeo.’

  I twist around. It’s grump bus driver Len. He’s been driving buses too long if you ask me. His grey shirt is open and his grey pants have coffee stains. He looks at me, then Anna, then me. Then Anna. Len’s gravelly voice is like fingernails down my eardrum. ‘Get moving, lover-boy. Haven’t got all day.’

  There are laughs from around the bus. Anna blushes and can’t even look at me. My stomach knots. I take a breath, stand straight and look seriously into Len’s eyes. ‘Your fly’s open.’ I push Anna ahead, give a shove to Samantha. Christopher takes the hint. We head down the aisle.

  ‘What the . . .?’ Len calls after me. ‘Hey.’ I turn back, still making for my seat. Kids are still jostling onto the bus from the front. He has to turn around. ‘Get moving.’ He barks at them, turns back to look at me again, then grins.

  There’re a few pats on my back. Anna whispers in my ear. ‘You’re funny.’ She touches my arm. ‘You stood up to him.’

  I guess I did. I smile, until I see Becky on the back seat. Groan. Becky is hanging next to George Hamel. Jasmin is next to Winger. I quickly get to the empty seats and turn my back on them. Samantha slides into the seat, then Anna. Christopher shoves into the seat behind them, then me.

  ‘Hey, the barbecue’s at my place on Sunday. You all coming?’

  Anna beams. ‘Can’t wait.’

  Everyone’ll be there. Anna’s making a mango cake. Her parents are bringing a special salad with olives. Anna loves black olives. I wouldn’t say I love them. I’m getting used to them.

  ‘Mum and Dad are baking buns. Lots of them. Nanna’s going to be pretty happy.’ Christopher nudges me. ‘Nanna comes around a lot to the bakery. Mum always gives her a cream bun or iced doughnut or a cookie.’

  I laugh. ‘That’s Nanna.’

  ‘Yeah. Mum likes her visiting. Nanna always brings Mum something.’

  ‘Like underpants and socks? Ha, ha.’

  ‘Only once.’ Christopher adjusts his glasses, swallowing a laugh. ‘Matching socks and underpants. They were purple.’

  I splutter. ‘Did they glow in the dark?’

  Smiling, Christopher nods. Samantha giggles.

  Anna bursts out laughing. ‘She bought some for my parents too.’

  Chapter 3

  Riding the Wave

  Rob’s standing next to the yellow van in his boardshorts and sunglasses with white zinc cream on his nose. Our surfboards are on the roof-racks. The sun’s shining, the sky is blue, the wind’s blowing just right. I’m racing to the car when Mum flounces out holding a tea towel on her hip.

  ‘Where are you boys off to?’

  Mum knows where we’re off to. ‘Back soon, Mum,’ I yell out.

  ‘Stop, Jack.’ I turn around. ‘The shed. It’s got to be cleared before the barbecue.’

  ‘Why? No one’s going into the shed, except for Rob. It’s our workplace. And the barbecue’s tomorrow anyway.’

  ‘That’s right. Tomorrow. When there’s no time.’

  ‘But Mum . . . the surf’s—’

  ‘You have to get rid of those dead experiments, Jack.’

  ‘Mum, they’re not dead—’

  ‘They smell like they are.’

  Rob scratches his prickly head. ‘What about a surf first?’

  Mum gets this disappointed look. ‘What’s that teaching Jack?’

  ‘That guys can do two things in one day, babe.’

  ‘Yes, clear the shed, then surf, Rob.’ Nanna waddles out at this exact moment. So both Mum and Nanna are staring at Rob. ‘And I need to get out all the garden chairs and set them up. They’re right at the back of the shed.’

  Rob nudges me. ‘Come on, mate. We won’t win this battle. When Mum and Nanna are on a clean-and-organise mission, they take no survivors.’

  ‘Rob.’ Mum’s hair bobs and her face goes pink. ‘I’m not like that. I thought you’d want to help.’

  ‘Come on, babe. I do. Just joking. Let’s get on with it, Jack.’ He nods at Mum. ‘Jack and me, we’ve got serious shed work to do.’

  ‘Hey Rob, surf later?’

  ‘‘For sure. Let’s get this shed done fast.’

  I put on some surfing music and we get into work. Rob’s dragging garden chairs from behind a pile of surfing gear. I check out my Pontos. Failed experiments are chucked in the bin. Then I sort and organise, label and line up my experiments. Looks pretty good. Now, for my workbench. I sort beakers, Bunsen burners, jars on the shelves. Throw out broken junk. Stack my New Scientist magazines in a pile on the floor. I check out an article: ‘Arctic melt will spark weird weather’. ‘Hey Rob, we could have a really boilin
g summer.’ I flash New Scientist at him.

  ‘Hey, you could have a really boiling mum if we don’t get this done.’

  ‘Funny.’ I throw empty boxes and old computer parts into the bin.

  Rob calls out, ‘Hey there’s two barbecues here. There’s a big one. Oh, but it looks pretty old. I’ll get it working.’

  ‘That’s great, Rob.’ I’m not listening as I check out my tool shadow board hooked into the wall. Stuck at the top is Albert Einstein’s quote. Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.

  I’ve made plenty of mistakes, that’s for sure.

  Hooks have fallen off my board. I put them back in and reorganise my tools into sections: hammers, screwdrivers, saws, spanners. Grandad’s old metal toolbox is on the floor. I crouch down and check what’s inside. Good stuff. Then I see it. A ring spanner. The twelve-point one. My throat goes dry as I pick it up. The spanner . . .

  I was nearly eight. That day I was working with Grandad on the car in the driveway with its hood up. Grandad was wearing his blue flannel checked shirt and khaki work pants. He’d found the problem. He said I was his ‘right-hand man’. We were a team and we could depend on each other. I liked that. Grandad called out to me. ‘Ring spanner. The twelve-point one.’

  I got the set of spanners from his toolbox. I hoped I’d found the right one. I held my breath. ‘Here it is, Grandad.’

  Grandad coughed hard as he took it. ‘You’re pretty good, mate.’ He smiled. Suddenly he clasped his chest. His glasses fell to the ground and then he fell down, dragging the box of spanners with him. The crash was so loud.

  ‘What’s wrong? Grandad, get up. Get up. Get up.’

  I crouched beside him, holding his head in my arms. He gasped. ‘Get Nanna. Mum. Go, Jack. Go.’

  I ran for my life inside the house, shouting, screaming. ‘Mum, Nanna, Mum. Come on. Come on. It’s Grandad. Grandad.’

  Mum and Nanna ran out. Grandad opened his eyes and he reached out for my hand. I held it as hard as I could.

  Rob shouts. ‘Hey, Jack, can you give us a hand taking this old barbecue out? Just help me move it to under the awning.’

  I jump, dropping the spanner. It clangs to the floor. ‘Oh yeah, sure.’ I pick it up, hold it for a while, then carefully hang it on the shadow board.

  The barbecue is out. The garden chairs are in the backyard. The shed is organised. Rob and I look around. ‘It’s done, Jack.’

  ‘Hey Rob, let’s surf.’

  ‘Yeah, let’s get goin’.’

  Mum waves from the kitchen window, singing, ‘Love you.’ Nanna’s head pops up next to her. She can’t stand missing out on anything. Samantha runs through the door with Ollie in front and Puppy behind.

  Rob parks his van in the car park on the cliff overlooking the beach. We stand there watching the surf for a long while. The ocean seems endless. I look up hoping for a sea eagle. ‘Hey, Jack.’ Rob points to a surf break. I turn to watch a wave crash on the headland. George Hamel is sitting on his board out there with some girls and guys, waiting for the next set of waves.

  Out of nowhere, a lump sticks in my throat. George Hamel. A flash of him shoving me at the bus stop. Yelling. Snarling. I close my eyes tight. Take a deep breath. Another one. Feel scared.

  I shake my head. No. That’s never going to happen again.

  ‘Are you okay, Jack?’

  I nod at Rob. ‘Yeah. Let’s go. Surf’s up.’

  We carry our boards down the cliff path to the beach. Becky and Jasmin are lying on the sand covered in oil. Haven’t they ever heard of skin cancer? They ignore me as I head for the surf with Rob. I run into the waves, splashing water behind me. Jumping onto my board, I paddle out just beyond the break. Rob paddles beside me.

  George Hamel sees me. We nod at each other.

  Rob and I watch the swell. I gaze up and it’s like an electric charge. The sea eagle is there. Its wings are huge and its underbelly is white. Grandad. Grandad. I stretch out my hand and the eagle swerves towards me. Then it’s gone.

  ‘Jack,’ Rob calls out to me and points to the swell.

  I give him the thumbs-up. I turn my board towards the shore and paddle hard into the wave. Catching it, I push up, stand, edge into position. The feeling of the wind and surf, the wall of water peeling behind me, and the power of the sea are incredible. I ride the wave right into shore.

  Chapter 4

  The World’s Greatest Cook

  Sunday morning. Just finished my paper run. ‘Breakfast,’ I shout as I run past Rob working on the old barbecue. I nearly fall over my feet when I see his hat and matching apron—The World’s Greatest Cook.

  ‘Good one, Rob.’ I jump backwards up the back step, pointing at his apron.

  He laughs. ‘Yeah, that’s me. Greatest Cook.’

  I grab a cereal bowl from the kitchen cupboard. No bacon and eggs this morning. Mum’s too busy. She’s tapping her feet as she prepares salads. She sings to me in tune with The Beatles: ‘Help, you need some juice. Help, not just any juice. Help yourself. It’s in the fridge. Help, freshly squeezed by me.’

  Grinning, I put my hands over my ears. ‘Mum, stop singing. My head.’ I switch on the radio.

  Mum just laughs. Then Samantha laughs, rocking in time as she arranges sunflowers in a really tall vase. She’s dropped one on the floor. I grab my camera and click Mum singing, Samantha rocking and Puppy in a serious battle with the sunflower. I’m pretty sure the sunflower’s the one screaming ‘Help!’

  With my bowl of cereal, I plonk myself down at the kitchen table next to Nanna. Puss is in her lap. She looks up and smiles at me. ‘Nanna, are you seriously rolling Christmas paper serviettes?’ She nods proudly. ‘But it’s not Christmas.’

  ‘I got them at a bargain price and they’re excellent quality.’

  ‘There’s a huge red Santa Claus on them.’

  She grins. ‘I know.’ She smacks her gums together, then puts in her teeth.

  Samantha looks up from the sunflowers and groans. ‘Your teeth . . . don’t, Nanna, please . . .’

  Nanna taps her teeth. Smiles cheekily. ‘Need my teeth.’ With that, she takes a huge bite from a raisin bun. The raisins are sticking between her chompers.

  ‘That’s awful, Nanna.’ She doesn’t care. I focus my camera. ‘Smile.’ She gives a big toothy grin. ‘That’ll look good on my Facebook.’

  There’s a sudden explosion. I splutter cereal all over Nanna’s Christmas serviettes. Mum drops the salad bowl. Nanna’s mouth opens in shock. I race to the window. It’s Rob and the barbecue. His face is as red as his hibiscus Hawaiian shirt. I race outside and shout back to everyone, ‘Keep out of the way.’

  ‘What’s happening, Jack?’ Mum’s at the window.

  I wave. ‘Just stay there.’

  Rob calls out. ‘Stay put. Just getting this working.’ There are a few more explosions. Rob jumps back. I’m doubled over laughing. Got to film this. ‘Cut it out, Jack. This’ll work.’

  ‘Not having much luck.’ I’m filming. The barbecue splutters and burps.

  Rob’s head looks like a pink cactus. His face is scrunched. He’s determined. He strikes a match. Oh no. This is going to be a disaster. ‘Well, this’ll either light the damn thing or take out half the suburb. Move back, Jack.’

  The bang is major. Smoke pumps out of the barbecue. Flames shoot up like arrows. Rob’s coughing and choking. Mum hurries to the back verandah with Samantha behind her. I charge between them, racing into the kitchen. ‘Mum, Sammy. Get out of the way.’ I snatch the fire blanket off the wall, pull off the red bag and sprint back outside towards the fire. Fully opening the white fire blanket, I yell, ‘Rob, stand back.’

  ‘It’s under control, Jack,’ Rob splutters.

  ‘Rob. Just get out of my way.’ He stumbles backwards. I fling the blanket over the fire. The fire doesn’t like it and throws out some spits and hisses. Then the flames slowly die down, with smoke drifting through them.

  Mum’s clapping. ‘Wonderfu
l, darling.’ Samantha’s clapping too.

  Nanna points at Rob, chuckling. ‘The World’s Greatest Cook.’

  Everyone bursts out laughing, even Rob. ‘OK, it’s funny. Very funny. You can all leave now. I’m going to get this barbecue to work if it kills me. Go inside. Right. Go. Go.’

  We tumble back into the kitchen, still laughing. Mum eventually stops giggling in between buttering rolls. I reckon Samantha’s making another dog-elephant model as she piles the buttered rolls into a basket, lining them up into a trunk. Nanna goes back to rolling those serviettes at the table. Wow, she must have bought thousands. I fill the drinks cooler with ice. I look out of the window at Rob and the barbecue. I call out to Mum, ‘Looks like the old barbecue’s working now.’

  ‘It’s good to see that it’s still useful.’ Mum stops with the butter knife in midair, like she’s trying to remember. ‘It’s been in the shed for years. The last time . . .’ Mum’s voice peters out.

  Samantha pipes up. ‘When? I can’t remember.’

  Mum goes a bit pale as she looks at Samantha. ‘You were nearly four, darling.’

  Samantha stops and gives Mum a strange stare. ‘Mum was it . . .?’

  Mum’s eyes start watering. ‘Yes. It was your father’s,’ she whispers. ‘It’s been a long time.’ She looks at Sammy and me. ‘Time we used the barbecue again.’

  ‘I barely remember him, Mum.’ Samantha’s voice trembles.

  Mum takes her hand. ‘That’s his loss, darling.’

  Samantha presses her lips together. ‘Rob will cook up a great barbecue.’

  ‘Yes, he will.’ Mum looks at her. Then at me.

  I get this lump in my throat. I remember Dad. I walk to the window. I remember the barbecue now. Why did Mum keep it? Rob shouldn’t be using it. Maybe my dad will come back. Maybe he’ll want to use it? Maybe I should find him? Tell him that we’ve still got his barbecue? Through the window, I see Rob’s chef’s hat bobbing up and down. He’s checking knobs and scratching his head. I try not to laugh. When he sees me, his face breaks into a grin. Rob waves a pair of tongs in the air and yells out, ‘It’s workin’, Jack. It’s all good.’