Ishmael and the Hoops of Steel

  Additional highlights included Melvin Yip leaping into the air, performing a 360-degree ninja spin and whacking the ball with a wildly swinging arm – straight into the umpire’s face, and Bill losing his balance while going for a low serve and landing on top of me. I thought the roof had caved in.

  On the up side, we did have our Intimidation Factor. At least for a while. Razz was spot on about the Mudman. When we stuck him up at the net at the start of the game the Harrisville net guys took a couple of steps back and their server sent his first wobbly ball straight into the back of a team mate’s head. It was 1–nil. We were winning! If there had been a massive meteor strike right then that wiped out all life on Earth, victory would have been ours. But no such luck.

  After our brilliant start, Harrisville won the following six points in a row. Then Theodore managed to work the Brown Undies Effect again on another one of their servers. That brought Ignatius into the server’s position. We didn’t know it then, but he was about to totally ace our Intimidation Factor.

  Ignatius steadied himself behind the baseline and threw the ball up above his head. His long arm flapped through the air. To everyone’s surprise Prindabel’s hand actually made contact with the ball – but only just. Instead of sailing over the net, the ball rocketed to the left and down – right into James Scobie’s little round backside.

  This set off an unfortunate chain of events. Scobie, who had been crouched over and totally unprepared for what became known as the Prindabel Butt Ball, was propelled forward like a swimmer from the blocks of the Olympic 50 metres freestyle final. It all ended horrifically, when James, in a vain attempt to save himself, grabbed desperately at the only thing within his reach – the back of Bill Kingsley’s shorts. As Razz said afterwards, it was the only time a full moon had ever appeared inside the St Daniel’s gymnasium.

  It was just after Bill’s rump made its grand appearance that we heard the squeaking noise. It was like someone was strangling a hyperventilating guinea pig. Both teams looked in the direction of the sound. It was coming from Theodore. He was holding his stomach and pointing at us and shaking uncontrollably. His hard, dark marble face was shattered by the widest, whitest smile I had ever seen. Theodore wasn’t lying. We fellows really did make him laugh.

  The problem was that laughing to the Mudman was like kryptonite to Superman. Whenever Theodore laughed he lost all his strength and coordination. This meant that if something slightly funny, weird or unexpected happened on court (which, thanks to our team, was just about every second rally) Theodore would fall apart and become as useless as a super-jumbo-sized rag doll.

  And that caused another problem. Once the opposition saw the Mudman transformed from an awesome, threatening mountain of cold, black marble to a wobbly, giggling blob of chocolate sponge cake, it became almost impossible for him to work the Brown Undies Effect on them. To make matters worse, we discovered as the season wore on that our Intimidation Factor was, in fact, the nicest guy you could ever hope to meet.

  After we’d lost the opening set to Harrisville in that first match and slumped to 12–nil down in the second, Mr Guthrie called a time-out and gave us a pep talk. It would set the tone for the rest of our season. We grouped in a tight circle around him.

  ‘Guys, I hate to break this to you,’ he said, ‘but I think I can hear the fat lady clearing her throat. Things are getting desperate.’

  ‘Maybe if Bill moons the opposition again, we could score a few points while they’re in shock,’ Razz suggested.

  Beside me Theodore squeaked like someone was trampolining on a mouse, and everyone, including Mr Guthrie, laughed.

  ‘Let’s keep that as our secret weapon in case we make the finals, Orazio.’

  ‘Geez, keeping Billy’s butt a secret – now there’s a challenge, sir.’

  More laughing – and squeaking.

  ‘So, sir, do you think we can actually come back from here and win this thing?’

  We all looked to Mr Guthrie – St Daniel’s’ Patron Saint of Lost Causes. His eyes shone with optimism and hope.

  ‘Not a chance, Orazio,’ he said with a smile. ‘But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep fighting, keep trying our best, keep encouraging each other and keep having fun. And maybe we can have some mini victories along the way. Take some baby steps.’

  ‘Baby steps? Have you been watching us play, sir? Maybe we should start off with like embryo steps and work our way up,’ Razz said.

  ‘OK, how about this, then? Harristown need three points to win the match. Let’s make our first goal stopping them from beating us to nil. Let’s see if we can get at least one point. That’s our first … embryo step. If we do that, then we go for two. Who knows, maybe we can beat them to three points. What do you say?’

  When there was a general rumble of agreement for this plan, Mr Guthrie reached behind him and pulled his sports bag into the centre of our circle. ‘And just for added incentive …’ he said, unzipping his bag and holding it open.

  Across from me Theodore Bungalari’s eyes grew into a pair of white-walled tyres and his pink tongue poked out from between his lips. The bag was filled with mini chocolate bars.

  ‘OK, here’s the deal. One bar each for every point we score, a bonus chocolate each if get to three before them, and two bonus chocolates each if we outscore them.’

  ‘What if we win the set, sir?’

  ‘If you win the set, Orazio, I will text Willy Wonka immediately and book an all-you-can-eat tour of the factory.’

  Then Mr Guthrie stretched his arm into the middle of the circle and seven hands piled in a heap on top of his. We were getting pretty good that. We gave the St Daniel’s shout and filed back out on to the court.

  We ended up earning four mini chocolate bars each. And we played those last few points as we would every other point for the rest of the season – for each other, for Mr Guthrie, for St Daniel’s, for the chocolates and for the fun of it. And the best thing was, because no one expected anything much from us, there was never any pressure.

  Until the day there was. Then there was a truckload of it.

  11.

  THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT

  After our first volleyball defeat we managed to successfully maintain an unbroken losing streak. It matched my success with Kelly: I hadn’t seen or heard from her since the Moorfield meeting.

  Luckily, things were going much better in our quest for the Senior Debating Trophy. Two debates. Two victories. As for Operation Tarango, we were about to face the next big test – the Inter-house Cross-country. It was time to put Scobie’s ‘Saturation Participation’ strategy into overdrive. To do that we had gathered at our usual lunch table. All eyes were on the door to the sports office.

  ‘Geez, we’re cutting it a bit fine, aren’t we, Scobes? Hardcastle said nominations had to be on the noticeboard before the end of lunch, remember? And there’s only ten minutes to go, man. Here, give them to me. I’ll whack ’em up.’

  ‘No need,’ Scobie said, pointing across the playground.

  Mr Hardcastle was leaving the sports office and making a beeline for the main noticeboard. It was a beeline that would take him right past our table.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Hardcastle.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Scobie. What can I do you for?’

  ‘Well, I have a few last-minute Charlton House nominations for the Cross-country. I was just about to take them over and pin them up with the others, but if you’re collecting them anyway, could I just hand them straight to you?’

  Mr Hardcastle checked his watch. Then he took the sheet from Scobie and studied it closely. There were about fifty names on it. A single eyebrow arched upwards on his tanned forehead.

  ‘Call me suspicious, Mr Scobie, but my gut reaction is that the reason you’ve kept all these names until the very last minute and handed them to me directly, is so the other houses won’t see how many runners you’ll be fielding on the day and try to match you. Technically you’re not breaking any rules, but some people mig
ht consider this a tad … devious.’

  Scobie smiled innocently but didn’t reply. We all waited. Mr Hardcastle folded up the list of names, tucked it into his top pocket and gave it a pat.

  ‘Love it. I’m going to miss you, Scobie, I really am,’ he said before striding happily on his way.

  Not surprisingly, when the day of the Cross-country arrived, Mr Hardcastle found himself surrounded by the unhappy faces of the other house leaders.

  ‘Too late to start whingeing now, gentlemen. You had exactly the same opportunity to register runners as Charlton. Them’s the rules. Sorry, fellas,’ he told them.

  He didn’t look very sorry.

  Of course, just having more runners didn’t really mean anything. They still had to finish within the set time limit to gain a participation point. Thankfully, three-quarters of our runners did just that. It was a great day for Charlton House as well as for our newly appointed Sports Captain.

  I think Razz must have completed nearly three cross-countries by the time it was over. He spent all day charging back and forth along the course encouraging the Charlton competitors and making jokes to keep their spirits up. In the end he barely made the time limit himself. This was because he was practically dragging Ignatius along the ground behind him for the last 100 metres or so.

  But Razz was well supported in his efforts. Melvin Yip and Theodore Bungalari made the time and did a great job inspiring the stragglers with a combination of ninja moves and friendly intimidation. And our ex-captain Jimmy ‘The Main Event’ Mainwaring went a long way to redeeming himself by piggybacking about half a dozen struggling Year Eights across the finish line. Even Bill beat the bell. All the jogging and hooping he’d been doing was really starting to tell. He was still big, but more and more of him was muscle. And believe it or not, I made it too, although it took me quite a while to put out the fireball in my lungs and to regain the power of speech.

  But the biggest cheer of the afternoon was reserved for the ‘runner’ who came in last. Twenty minutes after the qualifying time had elapsed, the chubby form of James Scobie appeared at the end of the bush track and shuffled around the final half-circuit of the oval before collapsing across the finishing line. And when he did, it wasn’t just Charlton who cheered – so did the other houses and all the teachers. I was standing beside Mr Hardcastle at the time and heard him say, ‘Now that’s what I’m talking about,’ to no one in particular.

  In a miraculous turnaround from the previous year Charlton ended up winning the day. It was a win that pushed us ahead of Radley and Franklin in the overall house totals, into outright second place. In his first test as Charlton House Sports Captain, Razz had come through with flying colours and he proudly held the Cross-country trophy above his head to the roar of his teammates.

  But Razz was soon going to come face to face with a different kind of challenge. One that would scare the life out of him.

  And it all came about because of the Courses and Careers Expo.

  12.

  WORDS IN THE BLOOD

  ‘She asked you yet?’

  Razz and I were having lunch and waiting for the others to arrive. I shook my head at him. It was the same question he’d asked just about every day for the last few weeks. He was talking about Kelly inviting me to the Lourdes College Formal.

  ‘Don’t worry, man. She’ll get around to it. Sal reckons the Kelster’s been real quiet since she came back. Got her head buried in the books all the time and keeping to herself. But there’s still plenty of time. Probably just trying to keep you keen.’

  If that was true it was working a treat!

  ‘I don’t know, Razz. I’m not even sure she’ll go to the Formal.’

  ‘Of course she will. Everybody goes to their Senior Formal.’

  I hoped that was true. Really hoped.

  ‘Hey, boys. Recovered from our crushing Cross-country victory yet?’

  It was Miss Tarango on playground duty. She was wearing a blue St Daniel’s sports cap and big, white-rimmed sunglasses. She could make anything look good.

  ‘I think I’m just starting to get some feeling back in my legs,’ Razz informed her.

  ‘Excellent. One point at a time,’ Miss said with a wink. Only she couldn’t do it properly and both eyes sort of closed. Even that looked good.

  ‘Now, what I really want to know is, have you boys worked out what talks and presentations you’re going to attend next week?’

  Miss was talking about the big Courses and Careers Expo at the university. All of Year Twelve were going.

  ‘I know James is looking into law and politics options,’ she said, ‘and Bill wants to find out about film courses and Ignatius is checking out the sciences.’

  Razz reeled back. ‘Whoa! Prindabel and science? What a shock! I had him down for interpretive dance.’

  ‘Well, what about you, then?’ Miss Tarango asked. ‘What does the future hold for Orazio Zorzotto?’

  ‘Not sure, miss. I’ve been tossing up between plastic surgeon to the stars and playboy millionaire, but I’ll probably just end up working for one of my uncles. You know, do some labouring or work in a garage. Plus, I still got the gig playing drums at the Italian Club. Probably try to do more of that.’

  ‘Not interested in going to uni then, Orazio, or doing more study somewhere else?’

  ‘Me, miss? What would I do?’

  ‘Something with sport, I would have thought. Physiotherapy maybe, or you could become a personal trainer or even a health and physical education teacher.’

  ‘HPE teacher? That’s what my girlfriend says I should do. She keeps going on about me “wasting my potential”.’

  ‘Sounds like one very smart young lady to me,’ Miss said. Then she tilted her head to one side. ‘And you say she’s your girlfriend, Orazio?’

  ‘Ignatius reckons it’s one of the great unexplained mysteries of the universe, miss,’ I informed her.

  ‘Hey, careful,’ Razz said, trying to look offended, ‘you could be lowering my self-esteem.’

  He didn’t get much sympathy. Everyone knew you’d need a truckload of strategically placed plastic explosives to lower Razz’s self-esteem.

  ‘But seriously, Orazio, I want you to promise me you’ll check out some of those courses.’

  ‘What’s the point, miss, with my grades?’

  ‘You don’t even know what grades you’d need. That’s what you can find out at the careers day. And anyway, if you put your mind to it, you could improve your grades. Now promise me you won’t waste your time on the day, Orazio. Promise me you’ll think seriously about this and do some research. Promise me?’

  Razz held up his hands in surrender. ‘OK, miss. I promise, I promise.’

  Miss turned to me then. It was the moment I’d been dreading. I had no idea what I was going to do when I left school.

  ‘Ishmael, what exciting path are you going to explore after Year Twelve?’

  ‘Umm, I haven’t really decided, miss. I thought I might take a year off, maybe get a job and think about it for a while. I don’t really know what I’d be good at.’

  ‘I think you’d be good at plenty of things. But have you thought about following in the footsteps of your namesake?’

  Of course I knew my namesake was the Ishmael character from Moby Dick but I couldn’t see what Miss was getting at.

  ‘Join a whaling fleet and hunt whales, miss?’

  ‘Geez, miss,’ Razz said, ‘I thought you would’ve been totally against all that whaling stuff. I know Mr Guthrie is. He’s always going on about it …’

  Razz hesitated and his eyes shifted. You could almost see an idea clawing its way to the surface of his manic brain.

  ‘Hey, you should talk to Mr Guthrie about it, miss. Whaling, I mean. He’s really interesting and he knows heaps of stuff. He’s a great guy too, I reckon. You know, like how he’s always trying to save the rainforests and wombats and stuff. And he’s always helping people out, like us with our volleyball. He’s the best. Oh,
and what about him in the teachers’ race at the swimming carnival? That was so awesome, don’t you reckon, miss? Except for the bathers, of course. Maybe you two should …’

  Miss Tarango’s lips were squeezed together. Her eyes were narrowing and one eyebrow kept cranking higher and higher with each thing Razz said. She looked like a cobra poised, ready to strike if Razz took one more step into the no-go zone.

  ‘… Well … anyway … ummm … what were you saying before about that Ishmael’s namesake thing, miss?’

  Miss Tarango made sure Razz had plenty of opportunity to read and memorise the look on her face before turning to me.

  ‘I definitely do not want you to hunt whales, Ishmael. What I was referring to was your namesake’s other important role in the book.’

  I desperately tried to remember what Ishmael did before he joined Ahab and the crew of the Pequod. Miss Tarango finally took pity on me.

  ‘OK, time’s up. He was the narrator, remember? He told the story. Perhaps you could follow in those footsteps. After all, English is your best subject, and you know how I loved those pieces you showed me from your journals.’

  Miss squinted and pointed a finger at me.

  ‘Which reminds me, Mr Leseur, why haven’t I seen anything from this year’s effort yet? You promised me something ages ago.’

  ‘Sorry, miss, I keep forgetting. I’ll bring some stuff next week.’

  ‘Well, see that you do. And make sure you check out all the creative writing courses at the expo. Your father’s a songwriter, so you’ve got words in the blood. Think about it.’

  Miss left then and headed for the staffroom. She arrived at the door just as Mr Guthrie was coming out. There was a bit of awkward shuffling about before they figured out who should go first.

  Razz clicked his tongue.

  ‘Gotta get those two together.’