As the gymnasium went off, Bill just stood centre stage with his hands on his hips like a Show Tunes Superman. Then he undid his jacket to an explosion of hoots and whistles and threw it to a Year Eight Charlton boy who had scuttled on stage to catch it. Under the jacket Bill was wearing a sleeveless skintight muscle shirt in Charlton gold that left his midriff exposed. It was amazing to see how much weight he’d lost and how much muscle had replaced it. He looked great. But the best part was the words on the front of his shirt spelt out in shiny red letters. TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE it said.
Then Razz cranked up the beat and Bill held out his hand and a sparkling hoop came flying in from the side of the stage. In one movement he caught it, spun it in his hand, slipped it over his head and set it twirling effortlessly on his hips. What followed was a dazzling array of tricks. I’m pretty sure I recognised the ‘corkscrew’, the ‘vortex’, the ‘booty bump’ and possibly the ‘ninja pass’ in amongst them. And with every twirl and pass of the hoop, the jeers were replaced by whoops and cheers.
For most St Daniel’s boys, it didn’t matter what you looked like, or what you were – an impressive display of motor skills and hand–eye coordination could win them over every time. So could courage. Bill was giving them a hefty dose of both.
The performance finished with an earthquake of a drum roll and Bill spinning four hoops simultaneously on his neck, knees and arms. The crowd – except for a handful of boys who had trouble raising their knuckles off the floor – went wild. But no one went wilder than Jimmy ‘The Main Event’ Mainwaring, who was leading the cheering from the front row. Miss Tarango might have come a close second, but I like to think that Scobie, Ignatius and I were right up there. As for Billy – he was beaming.
And the final result?
Well, you know those movies where you’ve got this group of people and they have to win like a horse race or a big hockey match or a football game because if they don’t, the world will end or something? And you know when you’re watching those kinds of movies, you sort of know all along that they’ll end up doing it – winning that race or that game – because after all, it’s just a movie and you have to have a happy ending, right? But then sometimes they write the story so that for a moment you start to think, hey, maybe they’re not going to make it after all – maybe they’re just going to try really, really hard and come really, really close and miss out, and you start getting a bit tense and worried even though you keep telling yourself you’re being stupid because of course they’re going to do it. And then, right at the last second, when all looks lost, they actually do win the horse race or the hockey match or the football match. Well, my point is this: sometimes real life is just like those movies.
And sometimes it’s not.
Slobo Bugslag won the Talent Quest ahead of Razz and Bill in second place, and in our final year at St Daniel’s, Creswell took out the College Cup.
Operation Tarango had failed.
But when the Year Twelves were dismissed from the gym, and Scobie, Ignatius, Razz and I made our way through the guard of honour with our friend Bill Kingsley smiling and laughing and walking proudly beside us, it really didn’t seem that bad.
35.
PERFECT, JUST PERFECT
Ten days later our Year Twelve exams were over. I was pretty happy with how they went. So were Scobie, Ignatius and Bill. And, for the first time in his life, so was Razz. Now the only thing that remained to officially mark the end of our time at St Daniel’s College was the Graduation Dinner.
It was held in the school gymnasium. At one end was a stage decorated with a massive display of flowers, balloons and streamers as well as the four house banners. The rest of the floor space was filled with long tables and chairs all set out and decorated in the college colours. It looked pretty special.
At our table were Razz and Mrs Zorzotto plus special guest Uncle Georgiou; Ignatius, his parents and his sister Cynthia; Bill and his mother but not his father (who apparently had an important business meeting that couldn’t be missed); Scobie and his dad along with his mother, who had flown in especially for the night; and me, my parents and Prue.
It was a huge night. There were plenty of speeches, of course. The best one came from Scobie as the retiring School Captain. He told us that we should never be afraid of taking on impossible things. Unless we did, he said, we would never discover the amazing things we were capable of. After that Brother Jerome presented James with his College Captain plaque and described him as ‘the standard to which every future captain should aspire’. It got the biggest cheer of the night and a standing ovation.
Then came all the other awards and presentations. After the College Cup was presented to Creswell, all the individual academic prizes were given out. By the end of the night there were quite a few trophies and plaques on our table. Scobie got Dux as well as first place in just about every subject he did, Ignatius picked up awards in Science and Maths and after a huge improvement in his theory grades, a shocked but ‘totally stoked’ Razz took out the HPE award. Bill and I didn’t miss out either. I got a third-place certificate for English plus a Conscientious Study award and Bill got a second-place certificate for Film and TV.
After dinner came the viewing of the ten-minute videos each house had put together to sum up their year. Like other houses’, Charlton’s had lots of clips of Seniors involved in a whole range of college activities. Footage of Scobie dancing at the Formal got a big laugh. To put it kindly, Scobie is to dancing what a three-toed sloth is to speed skating. There was also a few fleeting seconds of fame for our debating and volleyball teams as well as the Hoops of Steel. The biggest roar of approval was a tie between a clip of Miss Tarango at the Athletics Carnival doing a wild happy dance after one of the tug of war victories and the clip of Bill keeping four hoops in motion at the Talent Quest. After that came up on the big screen, Mrs Kingsley smothered him in a bear hug.
The official part of the evening ended with the presentation of our graduation medals followed by a performance of the college song. It was led by Theodore Bungalari, and I even thought I saw Mr Hardcastle choking back the tears. The rest of the night was spent talking, laughing and telling stories. Oh, and taking plenty of photos.
Mrs Kingsley was our table’s official photographer. That’s what she did part-time at a local paper. We made sure we didn’t miss anything. We took photos with our families, with other Seniors (even Barry Bagsley was in there somewhere) and with our subject teachers including a special one where Mr Barker and Brother Jerome were pulling stupid faces and the rest of us were giving them our best Grim Reaper looks.
But that was just the beginning. There were photos of our debating team holding the champion’s trophy, and one of the Fighting Fifths volleyball team with Mr Guthrie where we recreated a shot of Ignatius and the legendary ‘Finger of God’ play. Then we reunited all the members of the Hoops of Steel and Mrs Kingsley took heaps of shots of us in all our Reverse Cool glory while Melvin did his best ninja moves. The last photos we took inside the gym were of Miss Tarango and the Fab Five.
Then came the hard part: saying goodbye to her.
First we gave her our presents – some flowers, a big box of chocolates and a huge, illustrated, leather-bound edition of The Complete Works of Shakespeare. For some reason Scobie had given me the job of writing the inscription inside the cover for all of us to sign. I kept asking, ‘Why me?’ It took ages to come up with something that sounded anywhere good enough. In the end I wrote, ‘To Miss Tarango from the Fab Five. Somewhere in here we hope might be the words to match you.’ When I showed it to Scobie he just said, ‘That’s why you.’
Miss really liked the book. When she read the inscription she stared at it for ages with her hand on her chest. Then she said, ‘So lovely. Thank you.’
‘We were supposed to get you something else as well, miss, but Operation Tarango ended up an epic fail,’ Razz said.
‘Operation Tarango?’
‘Yeah, well, we sort of had this
plan, right from the beginning of the year. We were gonna win the College Cup for you. That was gonna be our big end-of-year gift. Except we blew it.’
Miss Tarango looked around at all of us and frowned.
‘Blew it? Epic fail? You gave me much more than a cup. You gave me this year and everything you’ve put into it. I’ve never had so much fun in my life. That’s your gift to me, boys – the whole year, every day of it. And you, all of you, right from my very first day in Year Nine, that’s the gift you’ve given me.’
Miss looked at each of us in turn and unleashed the dimples.
‘Best. Gift. Ever,’ she said.
And we thought James Scobie was the master of finding the right words.
Then Miss Tarango took a deep breath.
‘I’m a terrible teacher, really I am’ she said. ‘My father was a teacher and he always told me that good teachers never have favourites. But I can’t help it. You guys are my favourites. I’m certain you always will be.’
‘Hey, don’t beat yourself up, miss,’ Razz said. ‘After all, look at us. We’re clearly adorable. And you’re only human.’
Miss Tarango laughed and wiped her eyes.
‘Thank you, Orazio. I feel a lot better now that I realise I never stood a chance.’
Then Miss breathed in again and threw her shoulders back.
‘Right, time to say goodbye. But I refuse to blubber because I want every one of you to promise me under pain of death that you will visit St Daniel’s whenever you can to let us know how you’re going, and when Charlton does win the cup next year because of your inspiration, you will come back to celebrate with us.’
No arm twisting needed for that one. Then Miss spoke to us in turn and ended each time with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Prindabel was first in line.
‘Ignatius,’ she said, ‘who am I going to turn to when I need the answer to an obscure question? I’ll be lost without you. The only reason I’m letting you go, is so you can use that incredible brain of yours to discover cures and other amazing things and make the world a better place. So don’t let me down.’
‘I won’t, miss,’ Ignatius said as the Prindabel Power Pointer quickly brushed at his eye.
Miss Tarango moved on.
‘Billy,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Those Jedi guys are nothing compared to you. After that hooping performance, you will always be my hero. And when you’re picking up your Oscars for all those brilliant movies you are going to make, remember, I’m always available for the red carpet.’
‘Thanks, miss, I will,’ Bill said.
Scobie was next in line.
‘James, what can I possibly say? You have spoilt us with your presence. You have single-handedly made St Daniel’s a better place. I can’t wait until you’re running the country.’
‘Thank you, miss,’ Scobie said with a quick mouth twist. ‘Will you be my Minister for Education?’
‘Believe me, Mr Future Prime Minister,’ Miss Tarango replied, ‘it would be an absolute honour.’
Then she turned to Razz.
‘Orazio Victor Zorzotto – the face that launched a thousand “awesomes”. I have two pieces of advice for you, Orazio. The first is to do everything in your power to hold on to that amazing girlfriend I chatted to at the Formal. She is gold.’
‘Already know that, miss.’
‘Good. Well, the second piece of advice is, when you qualify for uni, which of course you will, make sure you knuckle down and study and get that degree. And after you do, apply for a job back here at St Daniel’s, because there are boys here who desperately need you, and unless I am very much mistaken, as a teacher, you will be awesome.’
‘Wow, miss … I …’ Razz clamped his mouth shut and shook his head. Silencing the Razzman. Was there nothing that Miss Tarango couldn’t do?
Then before I knew it, Miss was standing in front of me.
‘Young Ishmael,’ she said. ‘Mr Still Waters Running Deep. I have something for you.’ Miss Tarango pulled a small rectangle of cardboard from her purse and waved it at me.
‘What’s that, miss?’
‘This, Ishmael, is a business card. But not just any business card. This belongs to a friend of a friend of mine who is a publisher – a book publisher. I hope you don’t mind, but I showed her some of your journal extracts from the past few years. She liked them. Said they were very rough around the edges and needed a lot of work, particularly the earlier ones, but that they “showed real potential” and she was “keen” to talk with you. She said to contact her if you were serious about writing and were planning to do a creative writing course at uni. So, will you … call her, Ishmael?’
‘I … yeah … I will … Thanks, miss … I don’t believe it.’
I really couldn’t. The other guys were patting me on the back and I could hear them congratulating me, but it felt so unreal. I had no idea anyone else would ever be interested in my journals when I began writing way back in Year Nine. I thought about the first words:
There’s no easy way to put this, so I’ll just say it straight out. It’s time I faced up to the truth. I’m fourteen years old and I have Ishmael Leseur’s Syndrome.
There is no cure.
It all seemed so long ago.
Miss Tarango’s voice brought me back to the present.
‘And of course when you do write your bestseller about St Daniel’s, Ishmael, the most important thing is to make me look good, OK?’
‘I think I’d have to tone you down, miss – otherwise no one would believe you’re real.’
The other guys greeted that with a chorus of Oooooos and groans. But Miss Tarango just smiled cheesily at them and said, ‘Told you he had a way with words.’ Then she turned to face me. ‘But mind how you use them, Ishmael, because they’re powerful things, words. Remember – good, not evil.’
‘Got it, miss.’
Then after a hug and a kiss on the cheek she stepped back and looked at us all.
‘Right, that’s the lot of you, then. See, no tears. All done with a smile.’
‘And dimples,’ Razz said.
‘Dimples? What are you going on about, Orazio? I don’t have dimples.’
We all laughed as Miss totally destroyed her own argument by breaking into a big grin.
‘Now I definitely have to get going,’ Miss said, collecting up her presents. ‘Unlike some lucky people, I still have three weeks of school left and a stack of marking to get through.’
‘Then you’ll be hitting the beach again, I bet, miss,’ Razz said. ‘Hey, remember to wear a hat, use a thirty-plus sunscreen, and don’t stay out in the sun for more than fifteen minutes at a time. I learnt that in Year Eleven. I’m a Sun Safe guru, miss.’
‘Sound advice, Orazio … but I’m actually not off to the beach this year.’
‘How come, miss? You always hit the beach.’
Miss shrugged her shoulders.
‘No reason … just decided to try something different … You know … as you do.’
‘So where’re you going, miss?’
‘Nowhere that exciting, Orazio … just somewhere to get away for a bit.’
‘Where’s that?’
Miss gave her head a little shake as if the answer wasn’t important.
‘Just … You know … Nepal.’
We all looked around at each other and smiled.
‘Nepal, miss?’ Razz said.
Miss Tarango’s face hardened.
‘Yes, Nepal, Orazio. Have you lot got a problem with that?’
A jumbled chorus of No, miss came her way as we tried to maintain serious faces.
‘Good,’ she said, still squinting at us suspiciously. She’d only taken a few steps away before Razz called after her.
‘Hey, miss, Nepal could be a bit more dangerous than the beach. Make sure you get yourself a good guide.’
Miss Tarango froze in her tracks, then turned slowly and levelled her big brown eyes on Razz.
‘Thank you for both your concern and yo
ur suggestion, Mr Zorzotto. But I’ve already found one. And I’ve been reliably informed … that he’s the best.’
Miss Tarango’s dimples returned then for one final curtain call.
‘An assessment with which I heartily concur,’ she said.
36.
THERE’S NO EASY WAY TO PUT THIS
We took our final photo out in the yard. It was one of the Fab Five sitting around our regular table in the Senior area. The very last, last. Then after we made sure everyone knew the arrangements for the beach, one by one Bill, Ignatius, Scobie, and their families headed off home.
That just left Razz and me sitting side by side.
Across the playground a few groups of people were still gathered outside the gym chatting. One group was made up of Mum and Dad, Mrs Zorzotto and Mr Barker. Inside we could see Mr Guthrie and Miss Tarango with a small army of Year Eleven boarders stacking tables and chairs and cleaning up. Prue was in there helping them. The boarders looked pretty happy about that.
‘Hey, what about me getting Mr G and Miss T together? How rigid was that? I really worked the old Razz matchmaking magic on that one.’
‘You? What did you have to do with it?’
‘Are you kidding me? I planted the seed, dude.’
‘Oh right, of course, and don’t tell me, let me guess. That would be because you are the … Gardener of Luuuurve … um … cultivating romance … in the … ah … barren soil … of broken hearts.’
‘Man,’ Razz said with a look of amazement on his face, ‘you must have been reading my resume!’
We both laughed then Razz went serious.
‘Hey, man, heard any news from the Kelster? You know, about the beach or anything?’
Apart from a couple of emails wishing each other good luck with our exams I hadn’t been in contact with Kelly since the night we saw Hamlet together.
‘Nuh, nothing. Has Sal said anything to you?’
Razz squirmed a bit in his seat and wouldn’t look at me. It wasn’t a good sign.