I Am Jack Read online

  Mr Angelou looks even taller and rounder than usual when he stands up. He walks towards us with his hand extended. He shakes Mum’s hand, then mine. It’s a strong, safe handshake. ‘Please take a seat.’

  He sits down too, bends his head for a moment. His bald spot glows. Mr Angelou presses his hands together, then speaks to me. ‘I’ve done a lot of investigating in the past two days. The librarian mentioned you to me before. She was worried. I should have listened more seriously to her. Jack, you’re not the only one.’ He coughs. ‘I pride myself on being a good teacher. I’m an executive teacher as well as your classroom teacher. Jack, I feel partially responsible.’

  Is this Mr Angelou? He’s given me so many lines to write that I used to think my hand would fall off.

  ‘I’m aware of some of the incidents now. I’ve talked to every student in your year.’ He pauses to think. ‘Looking back, I remember you tried to ask me for help. I remember seeing and hearing things that I should have followed up.’ His forehead creases into lines. ‘Being too busy is no excuse.’

  My head thuds. I remember trying to tell Mr Angelou that it wasn’t me. It was George Hamel who pushed me off my chair in class. I wanted to tell Mr Angelou why I didn’t want to go into the change rooms, why I was late, why my school trousers were torn, why I missed school, why I didn’t answer any questions in class…I couldn’t. I feel breathless. It really hurt when they called Mum names. When they said my father left because of me. And I just took it, like a coward.

  ‘Teachers are busy, think someone else will handle it, make excuses.’ Mr Angelou looks at Mum. ‘But we hear you now. This school, and the school community—the Principal, staff, parents and students—will deal with it. I promise you.’ Mr Angelou takes out a large handkerchief and wipes his lined forehead.

  ‘It’s been terrible,’ Mum stammers. She reaches for my hand. ‘Jack has been so brave. He didn’t want to worry me. Imagine having the courage to get up every day to go to a place where you know you have to run and hide, get beaten up, spat at.’ Mum’s crying and I hold her hand tightly. ‘I don’t think I could have made it. Jack’s a braver person than me.’

  ‘And me. I’m going to ask Jack something important. Something I don’t know if I could do. Jack,’ he hesitates, ‘I’m asking you to do this, so that other students don’t have to go through what you have.’

  I feel nervous.

  ‘It’s an enormous thing to ask. As a school community we are putting in an anti-bullying programme because of you and others who have been bullied.’ He takes a breath. ‘Bullies shouldn’t be given the power to make you leave this school. I’m asking you to stay and fight, for a while at least. And if, after that, you do decide to leave, it’s because you want to, not because you’re running away.’

  ‘Run away?’ I look at Mum. That’s what I want to do.

  ‘If you run, you’ll always be afraid and there are other bullies out there. I know you deserve more.’

  I look down at my hands. This is too hard.

  ‘You won’t be alone. I’ll be there and we’ll fight this together. It won’t be easy and you won’t win overnight. It’ll be a long, tough road, but I promise you that you’ll win. I promise you.’

  Mum speaks quietly. ‘Darling, I will do whatever you decide. If you want to leave this school, that’s all right. If you want to stay and fight, that’s all right. Whatever you choose, I’m here for you.’

  There is silence. I keep looking at my hands. Samantha and Anna are at this school. I want to walk home with them. It’s easier for Mum if I stay. There’s the photography room. I develop my pictures there. Other schools might not have a darkroom. George Hamel…I shudder. I don’t want him to win. I don’t want people like that to win. Stay here? Can I take it? But I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I look at Mr Angelou whose bald head is shining in the sunlight. ‘Maybe. I suppose.’

  He shakes my hand again. A strong handshake. ‘I’ll see you Monday before school in my office. I have a plan.’

  I sort of smile. Mr Angelou has a plan.

  Saturday. An important excursion. We are all going to visit Grandad in the cemetery, except for Rob. He’s working. I take my camera. Nanna says we need to talk to Grandad. Mum’s packed a picnic lunch. Samantha’s put on her rainbow dress, which is nearly the same as Mum’s, and a yellow straw sun hat. Mum has her yellow straw sun hat on too. Oh no, Nanna’s arrived and guess what? She’s wearing a yellow straw sun hat. She bought all the hats on special from Susie’s Splendid Discount Store. Actually, she bought one for Anna too. She’s coming with us. I wonder if she is wearing hers as well. I stick my head out of my bedroom window. Guess what? Anna’s waiting outside and, yes, you guessed it. She’s wearing her yellow straw sun hat.

  Nanna is very happy as she sits in the front seat of the car in her yellow straw sun hat, with all the other yellow straw sun hats. ‘That was a very good buy, wasn’t it? Everyone loves these hats. Maybe I should have bought more?’ Samantha starts giggling, then Anna, then Mum, then me, then Nanna. All you can see is a mass of bouncing yellow straw sun hats and a yellow baseball cap Nanna bought for me.

  The cemetery is on a hill that looks out over the bay. We drive though heavy wrought-iron gates into the cemetery. There are rows and rows of plots. Some are magnificent with huge old sandstone monuments. Others are simple, with gravel on the flat top bit and a small headstone. There are mausoleums that house whole generations of families. I love the marble angels and doves. On some plots there are wooden crosses, or Jewish stars, or other symbols, or sometimes nothing, depending on people’s religion. We drive right to the top of the city of stone where Grandad lives.

  Nanna and Grandad chose this place. It fits four people. Grandad is the only one there. Nanna will go there one day and probably Mum. So there won’t be room for both Samantha and me. I bet I get left out. Mum told me not to worry about it, because we won’t be going there for ages. She said she’ll work it out that we are all together. Anyway, it is beautiful up here. Grandad always has a view of the sea with the waves rolling onto the sand and fishing boats. He loves the sea. Maybe that’s why I love the sea too. I take some photographs.

  Nanna doesn’t shuffle towards Grandad’s plot. She walks like she’s young again. Taking out her garden clippers, she begins to trim the potted rose bush. We help with the weeding and sweep the granite top. ‘That looks better,’ Nanna says. Being with Grandad makes her different. She’s not old here. ‘We can have our picnic now.’

  Mum brings out a fold-up chair for Nanna and throws a rug over the path next to Grandad for us. Grandad always liked a picnic and Mum has brought his favourite foods—cheese, fresh bread, gherkins, olives, cashews and apples. Grandad had excellent teeth and always enjoyed a crispy apple. Poor Nanna can’t eat crispy red apples. Mr Napoli gave Anna a whole bag of crispy red apples for the picnic.

  There is a cool breeze from the bay and Samantha’s hat blows off. We chase it right down the hill. Nanna gets worried because they’ve sold out of yellow straw sun hats at Susie’s Splendid Discount Store. ‘I know I can’t get any more,’ she says, and her green eyes squint in the sun as they follow the path of the yellow straw sun hat. Luckily, I grab it just before it flies over the fence.

  ‘Be careful with your hat,’ Mum says as she ties the hat’s ribbon under Samantha’s chin.

  It is time to talk to Grandad. Anna understands about that. I think it is because she’s Italian or maybe because the Napolis love their family. ‘Your family does not die. They are always part of your life,’ Mr Napoli says.

  Samantha tells Grandad about Puss. Anna doesn’t know Grandad, but she tells him about her grandfather who was a farmer. ‘He grew olive trees.’

  ‘Grandad loved olives,’ Nanna says. She waits, then looks at me. ‘Grandad loved us. He loved you especially, Jack.’ She catches her breath, then sits up straight. ‘You know you’re never alone when you have people who love you.’

  Nanna reaches out for my hand. ‘Jack, you forgo
t. You’re not alone.’

  She touches Grandad’s grave. ‘Jack, you have to promise, right here in front of Grandad that you won’t forget that. If you get into trouble, you will ask for help from us. There’s no excuse, no reason that you can’t. Otherwise, we feel like we’ve failed you, Jack. You don’t want us to feel bad, do you?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘You have to promise to let us be there for you. Promise, Jack.’

  Promises. There are two promises now. Mr Angelou’s promise. Mine. ‘I promise.’

  We sit looking out at the sea. Samantha plays chasings with Anna. Nanna rests her head against Grandad’s grave. Mum takes off her yellow straw sun hat and lets the wind blow her blonde hair into a tangle.

  Before we pack up our picnic basket, I take out my camera. Everyone has to put on their yellow straw sun hats for my photographs. Mum puts her arms around Nanna. Click. Samantha and Anna stick out their tongues. Click. Mum swirls around. Click. They all hold hands. Click. I put the camera on Grandad’s granite top and run to get into the photo. Click.

  11 Goodbye to Orange Cupboards

  Sunday is work. Mum decides that we have to do a total cleaning of the unit. ‘The kitchen today. It’s the beginning of the new us,’ Mum announces as she empties the cupboards. Samantha’s helping Mum stack the wanted and unwanted piles on the table.

  ‘Samantha, don’t throw that out, my favourite egg cup.’ It’s a blue hippopotamus with a hole in its head—that’s for the egg. ‘Nanna gave that to me when I was three.’

  ‘When was the last time you used it? Never. And its ear is broken off.’

  ‘Right then, and when your ear is broken off we’ll throw you out.’ I grab my hippopotamus. ‘I’m going to stay here and watch you, otherwise you’ll throw out important things.’

  Mum’s hair is in a frizz. ‘Stop arguing. Jack, nothing will be thrown out before you check the pile. You’re supposed to go with Rob and pick up the new cupboards.’ Mum finally decided to change the colour from orange to cream. It was a huge decision for her, even though she has been complaining about the orange doors for as long as I can remember. It costs a lot of money, but Mum said it has to be done. It is like she is getting rid of past stuff and making room for Rob.

  ‘I said GO. Rob’s waiting.’

  ‘Come on, Jack,’ Rob calls. ‘Phew. We’re lucky to get out of there.’ He winks. ‘Guys are great escape artists.’

  I jump the last six steps down the stairs easily. I am getting good at it. Rob checks the trailer that he has hitched onto the car. We drive slowly to the hardware store.

  Rob’s wrong. Guys aren’t great escape artists. Carrying the cupboards up three flights of stairs is really exhausting. Halfway, we have to sit down and have a drink.

  That was lucky for Samantha and Mum who are taking ages to sort out the kitchen. Eventually they finish and head for Mum’s bedroom.

  I get my tools and Rob gets his and we take control of the kitchen. It is serious work changing the cupboards; drilling holes, hammering in wall plugs, screwing in doors. We carry piles of orange laminex out of the kitchen and store it the lounge room. Rob and I are a good team.

  ‘So how’s school?’

  Rob knows how school is. Mum tells him everything without even asking me if it’s all right. I don’t like that. ‘Better.’

  ‘I hear you’re staying on.’

  ‘That’s right. For a while.’

  I hold a cupboard while Rob pushes it into place. Sweat is dripping down his back. He turns to look at me just for a second. ‘You know, I’ll give you a hand. Teach you a bit of karate. Back you up at school. If anyone gives you a hard time, tell them you’ve got a step-dad.’

  Step-dad? A funny feeling vibrates along my spine. ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘I know you are, Jack. Just remember I’m here.’

  We’re dead tired by Sunday evening, but the kitchen is clean, organized, cream and Mission Brown, and finished. Samantha puts on her CD. We listen to dance music while we eat pizza sitting on piles of orange laminex. ‘Can’t wait to throw all this orange out,’ Mum says. ‘I can’t believe it’s finally going. You were all fantastic. Fantastic.’ Mum hums in time with the music.

  ‘Mum. The big wardrobe near your dressing table was empty.’ Even though Samantha’s asking Mum the question, she’s looking at Rob. ‘Will Rob be moving in full time, Mum?’

  Samantha has such a big mouth. We’re all happy. Why is she bringing this up? She wants Rob to live here just because he spoils her. She is so greedy.

  Things are fine the way they are.

  ‘When we’re all ready, Samantha.’

  Nanna arrives with chocolate ice-cream. She wants to see the new cupboards. Nanna approves and Mum doesn’t even care that Nanna brought chocolate ice-cream. She says we’ve all worked so hard we deserve ice-cream. I have two helpings. Suddenly Mum jumps up. ‘I feel great. Terrific music.’ She takes Samantha’s hand and they start dancing around the lounge room until Nanna’s tapping her feet and deciding to join in. Nanna is hopeless and shuffles from one foot to the other. Rob won’t dance but says he likes watching. Me too, but Nanna needs a partner. So I jump up and dance too. We go to bed really late.

  Groan. Monday morning. I have to get up. I drag myself out of bed. There’s the usual routine, except our lounge room looks like a building site and our kitchen is cream. Mum is rushing. Samantha is going to school with Anna later. I have to go early.

  Rob wants to drive me to school. I don’t feel like talking in the car. Why did I agree to go back? Am I crazy? We pull up at school. ‘Just wait,’ Rob says as he parks the car. He gets out and looks around. Boys are hanging around the front gates. Rob puts his arm on my shoulder, then does a karate chop in the air. ‘We’re going through the front gates, Jack.’

  Rob strides towards the gates. ‘Jack, you look them in the eye.’

  We walk through those gates. A boy sneers, laughing. ‘Hey, haven’t seen you for a while. Jack.’

  Rob stops. Turns around to the boy. He puts his arm on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Hey, what’d you say?’

  The boy doesn’t answer.

  ‘What did you say?’ Rob’s voice is rough.

  ‘Nothing,’ he whimpers.

  ‘Right, then.’ Rob stares him in the eyes and so do I.

  Mr Angelou is in his office. He’s waiting for us. Rob introduces himself but doesn’t say much. Mr Angelou and Rob shake hands, like making a pact. ‘If you need me, call.’ Then Rob leaves and it is just Mr Angelou and me.

  Mr Angelou opens his drawer and pulls out two colas. He gives me one. We open the tops of the cans at the same time and they hiss together. ‘We’re going to win this one.’

  Mr Angelou starts talking about photography. How does he know it’s one of my favourite subjects? He says that this afternoon, instead of going to class, I can develop my photos. He’s interested in my photography. ‘I’m going to develop the photos of Mum, Nanna, Samantha and Anna in their sun hats. I’m thinking of making the picture really bright with streams of light coming from all angles. There are some great shots of Nanna resting on Grandad’s grave too. I want to capture her green eyes. I know Nanna’s really old, but her eyes seem to know a lot.’

  Mr Angelou thinks I should enter the Inter-School Photographic Competition.

  I feel good. It’s hard to explain why I start telling Mr Angelou things after that, things I’ve never told anyone else. Private, private things about having no dad, worrying about Mum and Samantha and Nanna, being scared we would have no money, scared that Rob will be like my dad. Mr Angelou gives me another cola. Then takes one for himself.

  He drinks nearly the whole can before talking again. Mr Angelou tells me that he has spoken to every student, every class. ‘There will be no exception, no excuse. Anyone who calls you Bum Head or even hints at bullying you, or any other student, will be pulled out of class and their parents phoned. If there’s no satisfactory excuse, the student will be suspended. Even expelled.’
His rosy cheeks go redder. ‘I’m putting the pressure on and I’ll keep it on. If a teacher, another student, a parent, you, report bullying, I’ll act.’ He pauses. ‘But it won’t be enough in the end. What I’m doing now is only creating a level playing field for a while. Do you understand, Jack?’

  ‘Yes.’ I try to joke. ‘The field is bumpy now, isn’t it?’

  Mr Angelou nods. ‘Yes. Too bumpy. Bullies like George Hamel use their power to feel good about themselves. When others follow them, bullies get strong. Well, they’re not.’ He waits. ‘Take away their supporters, make them stand alone and they’re weak.’ He finishes his cola. ‘Bullies find what they think are weaknesses in another person and then attack.’ He looks at me. ‘Like having a single mother.’

  I jerk forward. ‘She’s a great mum. The best, and lots of kids have single mothers.’

  ‘That’s true, Jack. But bullies pick on the differences. They pick on anything—if you’re fat or have freckles or can’t play sport or you’re poor or rich. They start the name-calling. Fatso. Pimple Face. Dumbo. Bum Head. A name can be funny at first, but by repeating it again and again, it becomes a weapon. If you’re not confident, it becomes an even stronger weapon. When enough people say the name and say it loudly enough, people start to forget who the person really is. You become Fatso, Pimple Face or Bum Head.’

  I feel like choking. I remember running up the library stairs. Christopher not playing ball with me. How kids who would say hello before, nice kinds of kids, just stopped. ‘Why did they hate me so much, Mr Angelou? What did I do to them? Why did they want to kick me and call me names and spit at me?’

  ‘They couldn’t see you anymore, Jack. You were Bum Head.’ He presses his lips together. ‘But not anymore.’ He looks at me. ‘You can stop it. You can make them see Jack again.’

  ‘I don’t know how, Mr Angelou.’