Conrad Cooper's Last Stand ePub (5 page)

We lose most of the protestors around three o'clock. Mothers take one look and their kids drop down like missiles from a plane. Jasper crawls along my branch, muttering, ‘Um, Conrad? I've got rugby practice.'

‘But, you said …'

‘If I'm not there, Coach won't let me play on Saturday.'

I nod. ‘Okay. I'm sure Tane would understand.'

‘Uh, yeah. Tane … right.' He grins again and dimples appear on his cheeks like black holes, sucking in bunches of freckles. ‘Well, it's been fun. I'd better go and give the principal time to yell at me.'

He starts climbing down the tree. I still don't know why he's helping me, apart from getting out of class. ‘Hey, Jasper?'

‘Yeah?'

‘Are we, um … friends?'

He laughs. ‘Don't be stupid.'

And off he goes.

I can't help thinking that wasn't an answer. But so what?
He
has
been helpful, and that counts for something.

Half an hour goes by, and I'm bored. Suzie's still here and a curly-haired kid from Standard Two, I don't know his name. He doesn't say much, just clings to his branch and stares at the ground.

‘Hey.'

I look over at Suzie, who's shifted onto my branch, waving her legs like she was born in a tree. But I don't say that, in case she thinks I'm calling her a monkey. Instead I ask, ‘How come you're still here?'

Suzie shrugs. ‘I've got nothing better to do.
Dukes of Hazzard
isn't on until four thirty.'

‘Oh. Won't your mum be worried?' Speaking of which, I wonder where mine is. If they called her she should be here. Fingers crossed for that broken power line, Tane.

Suzie shrugs again, her eyes glued on two magpies that are circling the roof of B block like a couple of bird-shaped kites. ‘Nah, she works until five on Wednesdays. I walk myself home.'

‘Yeah? What does she do?'

‘She's a doctor's receptionist.' Suzie breaks off a thin twig, stabbing leaves like she's threading a wooden necklace. One by one, she adds more leaves. ‘My parents are divorced.'

I don't know any divorced parents except my own, and that doesn't really count, seeing as I can't remember Dad.

‘Oh … sorry.'

‘Don't be, it's way better. Not so much shouting.' She frowns at the stick like she doesn't know what to do with it, swinging one end between her finger and thumb. ‘And I get two sets of everything.'

‘Really?'

She peers at me through the leaves, her eyes matching the colour of the branches. ‘Yeah, I've even got two record players.'

‘Cool.'

Suzie scratches her nose. ‘Yep.'

‘Um … was the fighting bad?'

She nods and her eyes dart away again, fixing on the roof. Suzie tosses the stick and it vanishes into space, like the air swallowed it up.

‘Suzie, I was wondering about divorces …'

But I don't get a chance to tell her what I'm wondering, 'cause a voice fills the space between us, spreading over the playground –

‘
Conrad Leo Cooper! Get down here right this second!
'

Oh, man.

I look down through the branches. Mum's standing at the bottom of the tree, arms folded, and her face looks like a pink ball of candyfloss. Worst of all, she's not alone.

Tane, you see that lady behind her? That's Nana. Other grandmothers give out hugs and SodaStreams; mine gives socks and lectures. I'm guessing gods don't have grandparents, which is another reason it's cool to be you.

‘Hi Mum, hi Nana!'

‘Don't hi me, young man.' Mum points at her feet. ‘Get down here right now or your backside won't know what's hit it!'

Funnily enough, Mum hasn't smacked me since I was about three. I doubt she means it, so I explain, ‘Mum, I've gotta stay up here because –'

‘They've already told me why, now get down!'

‘I can't.'

‘What? Why not?'

‘I'm … I'm trying to be good!'

‘Conrad,
this isn't good
!'

That's not her happy face. In fact, it's a face I haven't seen before. Is she right? Am I bad? I dunno, but Mum mightn't be the best judge, seeing as she doesn't believe in Tane.

There's silence under the tree, followed by a lot of muttering. Something about Mum being at Plant Nation buying shrubs and being late.

‘Conrad?' Mum doesn't shout this time, but her words shoot like arrows, straight into my ears. ‘If you don't come down they'll call Gaz.'

Gaz. I didn't think about him.

Tane, he'll be furious, and I've never made him
really
angry before. I mean, Mum has, but not me. It's our Number One House Rule: do
not
annoy Gaz at work. He hates getting calls from home.

‘Okay, I'm coming down.'

Tane, don't be disappointed. I'll think of something else to make you happy, something better … but if you've ever seen Gaz lose it, you'll understand. It's not pretty.

Next to me, Suzie sighs. ‘Well, I might as well go down too. It'll be boring here by myself.'

We both look down, trying to find our way onto the branch below. But the Standard Two kid blocks our way. Suzie tries to feel around the trunk with her feet, but it's just too far. Mr Walker shouts, ‘All right, Brett. Time to come down, don't you think?'

The Standard Two kid wails, ‘No!'

‘Why not?'

‘I'm stuck!' And he starts to cry.

‘Oh, for Pete's sake –'

And so Mr Walker has to climb the tree, only it turns out he's afraid of heights. He gets stuck halfway and it's impossible for anyone to get past him – the branches on the other side are too far apart. That's okay 'cause the caretaker has a massive ladder, but while we're waiting for Mr Healy to open the school shed, Brett makes a funny noise. It sounds like a hiccup.

Mr Walker blinks fast. ‘No! Brett, think of something else. You'll be fine –'

But it's too late.

‘Blaarrgh.' Brett spews. A river of vomit pours down
the tree and … Oh, no. Yellow chunder splatters down Mr Walker's back, but it doesn't
all
hit our principal …

‘No!' Nana shrieks. ‘My new shoes!'

Mr Walker growls, ‘
Conrad
!' which is spectacularly unfair seeing as I'm not the one who just threw up. Pushing leaves back, I get a good look at his face – and I reckon Jasper's wrong. I'd say Mr Walker could use the strap, if he really wanted to.

Litter duty for a month isn't so bad and I don't mind doing lines. But judging by the way Nana carries on, you'd think I'd been expelled. She paces up and down the kitchen saying, ‘See, Justine? Do you see what happens?'

Mum just sits at the kitchen table, her face back to normal. Of course Mum's normal face is a bit different to most people's. It looks like someone grabbed a duster and wiped off all her expressions. Personally, I think Mum's face is smart. It likes to wait and see what's going on, before it decides how to behave.

At least I didn't get the blame.

In the end, Mr Walker decided it was mostly Jasper's fault, even though I told him it was my idea. To be fair, I didn't invite the whole school to sit in the tree, but I don't know why Jasper gets
all
the blame. Maybe it means I wasn't really bad … although Mum explained I wasn't exactly good, either.

Don't worry, I'll keep working on being good, Tane, you'll see. Right now, I'm reading my new library book
on forests. Seeing as I'm going to be saving trees a lot, I figure I need to know some facts. I only wish Nana would keep it down.

She clicks her tongue and snaps, ‘It's not normal, Justine.'

Mum just nods and picks at the tablecloth, straightening it over and over, like the hem won't stay even. ‘Okay, Mum.'

‘You don't wonder where he's getting it from? You don't think it's odd that a ten-year-old boy stages protests in trees?'

‘What are you getting at?'

‘You
know
.'

Mum sighs. ‘Look, you can't blame this all on Gaz. He doesn't encourage religion.'

‘That's not the point –'

‘What
is
?'

‘It's the seventies, Justine. I'm not a big fan of the whole women's lib thing, but you could get a job. You could do your own thing.'

‘You're kidding, right?' Mum snorts. ‘I didn't even get School Cert. I'm not qualified for anything.'

‘So be like those women in the magazines, you know, the ones who wear trousers everywhere … they're “retraining”. I'll pay, if that's what it takes. But don't sit around here wasting your life.'

‘Loving someone isn't wasting my life.'

‘
Love
? What do you know about love? When I was your age …'

On and on she goes, snapping words in her mouth like twigs and … Well, this is interesting. On page two it says you can hear the movement of sap in a tree, if you use a stethoscope. Where can I get one of those?

Nana taps her fingers on the table and I say, ‘Nan, did you know that over five thousand products come from trees, including this table?'

She waves her hand at me. ‘See?'

I don't see anything, so I go back to my book.

Mum shakes her head at Nana. ‘This is why Gaz doesn't want you coming over, you know that.'

‘Yes, and what he wants is
very
important.'

‘Of course it is. What do you expect?'

‘And what about you-know-who?' She nods at me, but I dunno why. ‘Isn't he important?'

Mum pushes her chair back and the floorboards scream. ‘What kind of question is that?'

‘Mum, floorboards are made from wood, too …'

She says, ‘Maybe you should say goodbye to Nana. She was just leaving.'

I thought Nana was staying for dinner, but I'm sick of their arguing so I say, ‘See you, Nan,' and put my head back in the book.

Tane, did you know trees can
sweat
? It's called transpiration and one big tree drinks up to a hundred
gallons of water and then sweats it out, every day!

Nana sighs and gets to her feet. ‘You know I'm right, Justine.'

‘He's always been good to us and … well, he's got high standards. It's good for Conrad to have firm boundaries.'

‘Really? How firm?'

No one says anything, so I look up and they're staring at each other. Mum says, ‘He's never laid a finger on Conrad, not once.'

And Nana says, ‘Not yet.'

I've got to admit, Gaz's never been the touchy-feely type. He's never hugged me, not that I remember. But that's okay. He's not my real dad and it's not his job. Also I'm starting to think Nana isn't leaving, which means the arguing isn't over. So I stand up, grab a newspaper off the kitchen stool and head for the ranchslider.

Mum calls out, ‘Where're you going?'

I stop, one foot in the kitchen and one on the patio. ‘Mum, did you know trees can sweat?'

‘Uh … what?'

I wave the newspaper at her. ‘I'm making a fan to cool down the bushes by the gate. I never realised they were so uncomfortable.'

She answers, but I'm not sure what she says because I'm in a hurry to get outside. Nana's voice grows louder, saying something to Mum about playing with fire.

I dunno what she means, but it doesn't sound good.
According to the book, bush fires destroy millions of trees every year. It just takes one cigarette light and
ka-boom
. It's worse than a ray from the Death Star in
Star Wars
.

Soon as I've fanned the bushes, I'm going to grab one of the cardboard cereal boxes and make a no-smoking sign for the backyard. It's best to be safe.

Tonight, Mum's making lamb roast. It's Gaz's favourite meal and he's in a good mood. He even helps, which is surprising, scrubbing spuds and singing along to the kitchen radio. Mum joins in – it's some song about a girl called Rhiannon – and before I know it, they're dancing around the kitchen.

Mum says, ‘Come on, Conrad. You're on backing vocals!'

I'm not sure what that means but Gaz turns to look at me. He blinks and then grins. ‘Yeah, why not?'

Throwing open the bottom drawer, he pulls out a wooden spoon. For a second I think I'm gonna get it – what've I done? But he says, ‘Sing into this, kiddo.'

Oh, it's a pretend microphone.

I don't know the words, so I just sing, ‘Rhiannnnnnon,' over and over, in time to the music. Well, sort of, keeping the beat isn't easy. Mum and Gaz laugh, dancing on the tiles while steam pours out of the kitchen pots like a smoke machine.

Tane, do you think Mum's right?

Maybe dads are supposed to be strict and we're the same as every other family. For a second, I forget about protests and dead trees. There's nothing but me and the spoon. If only it could be like this all the time, with singing and fake instruments.

Mum doesn't mention anything about my protest, probably 'cause it's not good and Gaz'll get upset.

What do you think, Tane? Did I mess up, or would you stick out a branch and catch me? You know, it's a shame you and me don't have a star chart, just so I could see where we stand. Anyway, I'm still going to save your pohutukawa tree, no matter what. That oughta count for massive points, right? So don't worry, I've got your back.

Turns out I am wrong.

I can't save our tree; they cut it down after morning tea. A couple of council workers slice it into parts, using three chainsaws and a towrope. We watch through our classroom window, while Miss Cody babbles on about social studies.

‘Eyes here, please.' She taps her desk. ‘We're talking about the petrol crisis. Now, if it escalates any further, governments will need to put conservative policies into action –'

Jasper puts up his hand, his eyes still glued on the window. ‘What's escalate mean?'

‘It means the situation gets bigger, or worse. The government's already looking at ways to save petrol, such as car-less days. People might get stickers to put on their cars, printed with a day of the week. If your car is seen driving on that day, you'll get fined.' She gives us a huge smile. ‘I thought we should discuss it for current events. After all, these decisions affect you, not just parents.'

I don't want to discuss anything. I feel like my energy has slipped out my toes and walked off. But I can't sit here, watching the tree get carted away, either. I force my head to turn away and look at Miss Cody.

I can't believe we failed. What was the point of being good? Maybe I was stupid, thinking we could take on the grownups. I'm sorry, Tane … guess I've messed up, somehow.

Jasper puts up his hand, again. ‘Why?'

‘Why what?'

‘Why would the government fine
us
if our parents use their cars on the wrong day? That doesn't seem fair, I've hardly got any pocket money.'

‘No, they'd charge your parents, not you.'

‘Well, then I'm not really bothered.' He sighs. ‘Could we write about something else?'

Two spots appear on Miss Cody's cheeks, spreading like red ink stains on a white tablecloth. ‘No, we could not.'

‘But you said it would affect us, and it doesn't. If you want us to talk about something that
does
affect us, we could write a letter to the principal. How about asking for a bike track on the school field? We'd all be keen for that.'

Every kid cheers and the colour creeps over Miss Cody's face like a rash.

‘I'm afraid that's
not
current events.' She leans back
against the desk, staring at our calendar art on the back wall. Her eyes squint, like she's trying to read our names under the pictures, but then her face relaxes and she smiles. ‘And you're wrong, Jasper. The petrol crisis could affect you.'

‘Really, how?'

‘What if you had rugby practice on a day when your family couldn't use their car? You'd care then, wouldn't you?'

‘Umm … not really.'

Miss Cody turns her head to one side, like she's trying to get a better look at him. ‘But you'd miss practice.'

‘Nah, I'd bike down to the field, it's not far.'

‘Okay, what if it were raining?'

‘I'd wear a raincoat.'

Miss Cody's rash spreads all the way to her ears. ‘Well, imagine there was a
terrible
storm with lots of thunder and lightning. You couldn't bike in gale-force winds.' Her smile stretches like strawberry bubblegum. ‘Then you'd need a car.'

‘No, miss.'

‘Why not?'

‘'Cause practice would be cancelled.'

She stares at Jasper, then looks back at the class. At last she opens her mouth and says, ‘Art – we'll do art instead.'

Everyone cheers. Last time we made papier-mâché geysers, spitting out blue paper like the real ones in
Rotorua. But not today. Miss Cody says she feels the need for ‘something quiet' and lets us paint anything we want. There's a rush for the cupboard and everyone starts throwing on art shirts, while the monitors, Ravi and Mere, dish out brushes with pots.

A few kids start drawing cars stuck in traffic without petrol, but most paint the tree being cut down. Jasper even adds an axe with blood spurting out and speech bubbles, so we can hear the tree screaming in pain. Mine's a bit different, but not much.

Miss Cody stands over my work, squinting. ‘Goodness me, that's a very big sun.'

‘It's not the sun, it's a big ball of light.'

‘I see … like the sun?'

‘No, it's the god Tane. He's in charge of trees and he's angry about his pohutukawa being destroyed, so he's setting fire to our school.'

Miss Cody opens her mouth and I say, ‘Don't worry, it's not really going to happen. It's made up, like a story.'

‘Umm …'

She doesn't seem sure, so I explain. ‘See, Tane's not mean. All the kids got out in time, except for the principal. He went back to get his leather strap. It was a
big
mistake, leather is very flammable.'

‘How, um, unfortunate for Mr Walker.' She takes a deep breath, turning to Jasper. ‘And what's that … oh.'

She sighs. ‘No, I
don't
think so. Try painting something
else.' Without saying another word, she grabs Jasper's picture, screws it up and marches across the room, dumping it into the rubbish bin.

‘Jasper,' I whisper. ‘What did you do?'

He just looks at me and shrugs. ‘I painted the pohutukawa, same as everyone else.'

But when the bell goes for lunch, I stop by the rubbish bin and pull it out. Smoothing out the creases, I see he's right – he did paint the tree – but unlike the other kids, he added a picture of Mr Walker's face. Then he drew bars and turned it into a police poster that says:

MR WALKER – WANTED for the VICIOUS MURDER of TREES

Jasper folds his arms. ‘It's not over till it's over.'

Ravi looks at the stump where the tree used to be. ‘I'm pretty sure it's over.'

There's nothing but a sliced-off trunk, maybe ten centimetres high. It's damp with poison put there to kill off the roots.

Jasper shakes his head. ‘Tomorrow, we'll organise a funeral service for the tree. All the kids can stand around and say nice things, like how shady it was and stuff … maybe we'll even write an obituary.'

‘A what?'

‘It's when you say good stuff about someone who's dead. They print them in the paper.' His eyes inflate like
two balloons and he keeps pulling his fringe.

Don't get excited, though, Tane. He doesn't care about your tree. He just likes the idea of protesting, probably 'cause it annoys Mr Walker.

Ravi shakes his head. ‘No way; the newspaper won't print an obituary for a tree. Besides, you're on litter duty at lunchtimes. You can't organise anything.'

Jasper can't argue with that, so he doesn't.

‘Oi, you kids!' We turn around and see Mrs Jenkins, the Room 2 teacher. ‘Get away from the stump! You've caused enough trouble already.'

Jasper waves his hand. ‘We're just looking for, um, wrappers –'

‘Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Sheba. Now clear off and find some litter, hear me?'

We walk off and hunt for rubbish on the field, far away from the duty teacher, and I don't see the stump again until after school. Most of the kids are gone and Jasper's racing ahead for rugby practice, so I stop near the gate to say a proper goodbye without anyone watching.

Pieces of the tree lie everywhere, chopped piles of firewood, ready to be carted off in council trucks. I can even see unseasonal flowers, like red needles with yellow tips, crushed into the dirt. Old and faded, they must've been stuck for ages in a branch's fork. Tane, did you leave them for me?

Those yellow tips look like seeds. Now,
that's
an idea.
Checking to make sure no one's looking, I bend down and stuff the flowers into my pocket. My fingers curl around the spikes, crushing them. My whole body feels lighter, like I just lost five kilos.

That's it! Tomorrow I'm going to plant these seeds on the other side of the field. I might even take some home and start a small forest in my backyard. That way the tree's not really dead, just living in different places. It's funny, I feel much better after that.

Jasper's right. It's not over till it's over.