Mio watched the girl skateboard down some handrails, nailing the landing but carving close enough to fog up a metal pole. Straightening, and with a push-push of her foot, she popped into the air, the skateboard somehow stuck to her feet, before flipping and spinning, only to drop to a crouched landing before rolling away.

Mio smiled as she spotted the sign attached to the pole. The ‘N’ had been whitened out and textaed over so that NO SKATEBOARDING now read GO SKATEBOARDING. She pointed out the sign to her friend Clem saying, ‘Those skateboarders don’t miss a trick.’

‘Neither do we,’ said Clem and with that she rode down the stairs on her bike, jumped a gap in the pavement, ground her down tube on a low wall, before dropping and flicking away, a torpedo of flesh and metal and rubber.

Mio gave chase on her own bike, matching Clem move for move, till they settled into a rhythm and tore up the streets, zig-zagging round potholes and grooves, dodging grates and gravel, oil slicks and seas of broken glass to halt with a giant skid outside the Van, their hideaway at Linley Park. Three heads appeared—one strawberry blonde, one chestnut brown and one like ink—as Darcy, Bryce and Tong came out to greet them. Together, they made up the Freewheelers, a group of kids whose love of riding was only exceeded by their love of adventure.

‘Come on in,’ called Bryce. ‘We’ve got popcorn.’

The girls fastened their bikes with a chain to the bumper bar of the Van and stepped inside to be assailed by a buttery aroma.

‘Reminds me of Bella,’ said Clem, giving the wet-nosed beagle a welcoming hug.

‘How come?’ asked Bryce.

‘Sweaty dog feet smell like popcorn.’

‘Thanks for putting me off, Clem,’ said Mio, pulling away from the popcorn.

‘You’re welcome,’ said Clem with a grin as she reached for a handful of popcorn. ‘More for me.’

‘Me, too,’ said Bryce, scooping clusters of corn into his mouth and crushing them between his teeth.

All that could be heard were the sounds of contented munching when suddenly a hum, then a buzz, then a roar filled the air, like a plague of locusts cutting a swathe through a wheat field. The kids tumbled from the Van to investigate. With a single push of his foot the lead skater gained momentum, revelling in the feel of the tarmac beneath his feet. Behind him, following in one fluid line, skater after skater moved like expanding and contracting pistons. With each manoeuvre or trick, the sounds of their wheels swooshed and stuttered through the air, a concrete symphony in the urban landscape.

‘They’re so noisy,’ moaned Clem. ‘They hurt my ears.’

Bryce turned to her and shouted, ‘Friend of mine’s a skater. He says to think of it like music. A skater uses sound to make sense of the surface they’re on. Asphalt, wood, dirt; they all sound different—different speeds, different grips, different sounds.’

‘But it’s just noise,’ said Clem.

‘Not noise,’ said Bryce breaking into rap:

‘You skate through the air with your wheels on the ground, Carvin’ up the tarmac with your own kind of sound.

What’s noise to you is music to me, Open your mind to this discovery.

Skatin’ music blares stereophonic, blasts enough to be quadraphonic

Listenin’ to the grinds my ears are bionic, So now you know skatin’s supersonic.’

‘Idiot,’ said Clem, shoving him aside to watch.

‘So different to us Freewheelers,’ said Mio. ‘We sound so lyrical when we ride—and quiet, like we’re surfing.’

‘Mio the Japanese Surfer Girl,’ said Bryce, erupting into giggles. ‘I don’t think so!’

Just as Mio was about to reply the lead skater looped round and headed straight for the Van. Darcy took a step forward, staring down the skater, daring him to intrude in their space. Without hesitation the skater rolled closer, the group of skaters behind him now sounding like the cacophony of a factory floor. Clem sidled beside Darcy, her twin brother; Tong, Bryce and Mio followed, till the kids stood like an impenetrable wall in front of their Van.

The line of skaters came closer. The Freewheelers braced themselves. Ten metres, eight metres, five metres, three. Suddenly, a four-legged figure darted from the Van, across the path of the skaters. Clem gasped and moved forward. Her world stalled. She waited for the
moment when the skater would pull away. Two metres. One.

‘Bella!’ yelled Clem, mid stride.

The yelp split eardrums as the skater connected with the dog’s shoulder, staggered a few steps, then leapt back on his board. Bella buckled, then spun so fast that her normal black, tan and white markings blended into a dirt-coloured ball.

‘No-o-o-o,’ yelled Clem, as Bella’s howls tore at her heart.

The skaters continued, not even hesitating to inspect the damage they’d caused. Clem scooped Bella up in her arms. The shaking started immediately, although who was shaking more—she or Bella—Clem couldn’t tell.

The lead skater yelled over his shoulder as he neared the edge of the park, ‘We don’t stop for paw-destrians,’ and the other skaters laughed.

‘After them,’ said Darcy, reaching for the padlock on his bike chain.

‘One step ahead of you,’ called Mio, already throwing her leg over the seat and ramming on her helmet. Bryce and Tong were only a fraction of a second behind.

‘
Yowamushi
[coward],’ yelled Mio, giving chase, prompting a rude gesture from the lead skater who could only guess at what she meant. The line wobbled as other skaters looked back, then gained
momentum as they continued down the street. Mio watched the skaters approach an elderly group of passengers alighting from a bus, hoping they wouldn’t be treated the same as Bella. The passengers glanced left and right, tottering as they tried to escape the thundering skaters who threatened to mow them down.

Mio was shocked that anyone could treat old people this way. She remembered celebrating Keiro no Hi, or Respect for the Aged Day, every September at home in Japan. She thought of her own grandparents. At the sight of these old people ducking and cringing, anger fizzed inside her. She scooted alongside the skaters then skidded to a stop in front of the leader.

The lead skater veered off the path and baled onto a concrete verge, his wheels flying from underneath him. He landed on his hip, jerking like a rag doll as he slipped and slid before coming to an unceremonious stop. Other skaters slammed into him, one after the other, till there was a stack of bodies and boards.

Mio hoped that no-one was hurt.

‘You stupid pedal princess.’ The lead skater loomed over her, his arm raised, fingers fisted. ‘Are you crazy? You could’ve killed someone.’

Mio ignored the insult, refusing to give this bully the satisfaction of a reaction.

They recognised each other from the drainage ditch where both bike riders and skateboarders competed for its smooth banks and transitions—the curved part when the flat bottom ends. There Mio had learnt he was top dog, always out to claim his turf and hustle her and the other BMXers away. Now his face was lacerated from the asphalt, like he’d gone one round with a cheese grater.

‘Dunk Dog?’ she asked, using his skater name because she didn’t know his real one.

‘What’s it to you?!’

‘You hurt our dog.’

He snorted. ‘How d’you think I got the name?’

By now the old people were on their way and the rest of the Freewheelers had arrived. Darcy warned Mio to ‘Go easy’, as he positioned his bike beside hers. Bryce and Tong moved in on the other side to cocoon Mio. They, too, recognised the skateboarder who had often given them grief.

The other skaters had disentangled themselves and were swarming around tugging at clothing and recovering their boards.

‘BMXers are naff,’ roared one.

‘Pansies on pogo sticks!’

‘You gonna cop it,’ shouted another.

Looking at the scratched, bruised and angry mob, Mio regretted her impulsiveness. She could
tell that emotions were raw, egos skating on a razor-thin line. She racked her brains to work out how to defuse the situation when Darcy came to her rescue. ‘“B”, “L”, “O”, “L”,’ he spelt. ‘No-one teach you Lesson One in skater school?’

Dunk Dog spat.

‘Beware Little Old Ladies,’ joked Darcy.

Mio felt relief when some kids laughed.

But Dunk Dog didn’t laugh; he sneered. ‘Won’t be so funny at the opening next weekend.’

‘What opening?’ asked Darcy.

‘Wheels Skate Park.’

‘You mean Wheels Skate and BMX Park?’

Now, Dunk Dog did laugh, a nasty grating sound. ‘Haven’t you heard? Council’s changed their minds. In-line and skateboards only.’ Cheers erupted and skateboards helicoptered through the air. ‘Everyone knows bikes cause too many accidents.’

The Freewheelers looked at each other; their faces were passive but inside they were reeling. The opening of the Wheels Skate and BMX Park was to be revolutionary—one of the few places where BMXers, in-line and skateboarders could ride together.

Dunk Dog laughed again. ‘You don’t need the skate park. You get a bike lane. You get to ride on the streets. What’s your problem?’

Mio called out, ‘We have just as much right to have a place to practise as you do.’

‘Not when your win is a skater loss.’

‘We’ll be at that opening, ready to ride,’ said Darcy.

‘Suit yourselves,’ said Dunk Dog with a sneer. He grabbed his skateboard, threw it to the ground, and stepped on. With a propeller-like move he pushed off but not before he shot out the words, ‘Try telling that to the cops.’

Chapter Two

Later that day the kids gathered at the home of Mr Lark, an old neighbour of the twins. Over the years he had helped them many times, using a combination of care and common sense. He was like a grandpa figure, a friend and mentor all rolled into one.

‘Sounds like you’ve got a problem,’ said Mr Lark as he spooned powdered chocolate into mugs and heated some milk in a pot that was so crumpled it was really only fit for the rubbish, but it had been Mrs Lark’s, so he didn’t have the heart to throw it away. ‘You sure they’ve made it no bikes allowed?’

Everyone nodded as Darcy explained. ‘We rang the local council. It’s true. They changed their minds on legal advice. They’re worried about collisions…’

‘…and site damage…’

‘…and being sued.’

‘Ahhhh,’ said Mr Lark. ‘Fear of litigation—gets you every time.’ He handed around the hot chocolate drinks and noting the kids’ dejected faces asked, ‘Anyone hungry?’

‘Starving,’ said Bryce. ‘So hungry I could eat firsts, seconds and thirds.’

‘Me too,’ said Darcy.

‘I very much hungry, too,’ said Tong.

Mio and Clem nodded. When Mr Lark opened the fridge to inspect the contents Clem bent to pick up Bella to stop her nose-diving into the frosty interior but as she grabbed her, Bella whimpered, then whined. ‘Shush, Little Missy,’ crooned Clem, stroking Bella’s head, and, as always, admiring the silkiness of her ears. When Bella flinched she said, ‘Maybe I should take her to the vet to look at her shoulder? Shame it’s so expensive.’

‘Pay for it with your Bat Mitzvah money,’ said Darcy. ‘You got plenty.’

‘So did you!’ Clem pulled a face at her brother, smiling with her eyes as she suggested, ‘We could always split the bill?’ She chuckled as Darcy blanched, his freckles radiating from his face, as she added, ‘Didn’t think so.’

‘Give her to me,’ said Mr Lark and while Bella stood rigid on the kitchen table his gentle fingers
explored for broken bones. Although clearly miserable, Bella made not a whimper as he poked and probed. ‘Pretty stoic,’ said Mr Lark as he handed her back to Clem. ‘But I don’t think there’s any major damage. Under all that fur there’s probably a mighty big bruise so go easy with her for the next few days.’

‘Now that’s sorted, let’s eat,’ said Bryce.

‘How ’bout we make pizzas on Lebanese bread?’ suggested Mr Lark.

Bryce rubbed his belly, saying, ‘Mmmm. Mmmm. Pizza’s my favourite.’

‘Pizza my new favourite, too,’ agreed Tong.

Mr Lark pulled some ingredients from the fridge, then put Tong on mushrooms, Darcy on onions, Clem on pineapple and Mio on tomato paste which left Bryce the delicate job of decorating the top with mozzarella cheese. The kids busied themselves slicing and spreading as Mr Lark turned on the oven to pre-heat.

‘We can’t just accept the council decision,’ said Mio. ‘It’s against our civil rights.’

‘How so?’ asked Mr Lark.

‘If you own a private skate park you get to decide who uses the park. But if you have a public skate park and you discriminate against bike riders, who
are
allowed in private parks, it goes against the bikers’ civil rights.’

Mr Lark whistled, saying, ‘There you go again. Mio Shinozaki, the lawyer.’

Mio’s nostrils flared but her face remained passive. She hated being called a lawyer. What would be her parents’ greatest wish would be her greatest torture. ‘You don’t have to be a lawyer to fight for what you believe in.’ Mio’s gaze went from one person to the next as she said, ‘Freewheelers believe in freedom. Bike riders should have the same freedom to use Wheels Skate Park as anyone else.’

Tong clapped his hands. Even though his English was improving, he couldn’t understand everything Mio said, but he could understand the word freedom. Freedom for all Vietnamese people. It was what his family had fought for. It was what some of his family had died for. ‘Bike riders, skaters, it no matter. We all people. We all be free.’

Clem squeezed Tong’s arm, saying, ‘Exactly! Why don’t we stand up and say that at the opening next weekend?’

Bryce reeled around. ‘Are you crazy? We’ll get arrested. Causing a public nuisance or something.’ Bryce shuddered at the thought of, once again, getting into trouble with the law. Between being a runaway and being caught with the spray paint cans he’d been in enough trouble and was all too
aware of the threat hanging over him to be sent to a juvenile home.

‘We have to do something,’ said Clem. ‘We can’t let them give us our own place, then take it away. That means we’re back to riding around Linley Park. We may as well put on trainer wheels.’

‘I agree with my sister,’ said Darcy, then added with a wink, ‘but for Mio’s benefit, I want it recorded that this is
not
setting a legal precedent.’

Clem poked out her tongue while Mio smiled.

‘What to do?’ asked Tong.

While Mr Lark busied himself with cutting and serving the pizza the kids threw around some ideas.

‘What if we go to the council meeting?’ suggested Darcy.

‘With a petition for bikers to use the skate park!’ said Mio. ‘I’ll be in charge of it.’

Clem went on, ‘Signed by as many important people as we can find. Influential ones like teachers, religious leaders, even bike shop owners.’

‘And hundreds of kids.’

‘Many, many hundred.’ Tong reached for a slice of pizza saying, ‘Aunty Kim-Ly and Uncle Hai, sign.’ Tong lived with his aunty and uncle who treated him like the son they never had.

‘Dad ‘n Cara will sign,’ said Bryce, his mouth full of pizza as he thought of his father and stepmother.
‘Liv, too, if she could.’ His eyes softened as he thought of his baby sister.

Clem handed some crust to Bella who snaffled it before Clem could change her mind. ‘Mum and Dad and the boys will sign. Even Drew can do a muddy thumb print.’ By ‘the boys’, Clem meant her and Darcy’s four brothers—Jonas, Bruno, Tim and the toddler, Drew.

The kids’ enthusiasm was infectious. Mr Lark checked a notice attached by a magnet to his fridge door. ‘Next council meeting’s this Thursday. That gives you four days.’

‘Plenty of time,’ said Darcy.

Mr Lark cleared his throat, adding, ‘Tell you what? How ’bout I get some facts and figures about BMX safety, and present them to the local government member as well, old what’s-her-name.’

This was greeted with much applause.

‘Bronwyn Lindsay’s her name,’ chided Clem.

Mio leapt to her feet clapping her hands. ‘She’s the one opening Wheels Skate Park on Saturday. How perfect!’

When even the crumbs had been scoffed and the kitchen cleaned up Darcy looked out the window and noticed some girls sashaying down the street arm-in-arm, each dressed in a denim skirt, pink top and sneakers, and giggling uncontrollably, members of their own special
group. He sighed as he turned and said, ‘We really do need a bike park of our own. Somewhere where we can just be us.’

‘Without fighting for space,’ said Clem.

‘Or being accused of ruining the place.’

‘Or taking on the skaters.’

Mr Lark sat nodding in agreement, but the nods changed to head shakes as he said, ‘Realistically, a “bikes only” park wouldn’t work either. The skaters and board riders will want to conquer that new terrain, too. It’s human nature. But it is really important to have a practice place you can identify with. Somewhere to hang out with other like-minded souls. I should know. It’s how I feel when I’m with the ’Nam vets. We’re mates. Shared the same experiences. With them I can be me. Talk or not talk. Play cards or not play cards. It’s all good. Yes,’ he said rubbing at a pretend speck in his eye then staring out the window. ‘You need to be with your own kind.’

The kids sat in silence, allowing him his own private place. Now that Mrs Lark was gone, he retreated there more and more. After a few moments he shrugged, then grinned, as if to acknowledge their respect.

Mio said, ‘We’re studying the Vietnam war at school. We’ve all been given a topic to talk about. Mine’s about a soldier’s uniform. Their boots, hats,
that sort of thing.’ Suddenly her face lit up. ‘You wouldn’t have a uniform I could borrow to show the class, would you, Mr Lark?’

‘I do. But it’s a bit worn and torn, too fragile to take to school. Wouldn’t want it to get more damaged.’

‘Oh.’ Mio’s face fell and she folded her hands in her lap.

Mr Lark looked at her downcast eyes and slumped shoulders. ‘Hang on a moment,’ he said and disappeared off to his bedroom, only to emerge a few minutes later to say to Mio, ‘Hold out your hands.’

Mio looked up, her eyes clouded with confusion, but did as she was told.

With as much care as a father handing over a newborn he placed something in Mio’s hands. What she saw was pretty unremarkable. There were two silver metal discs, one on a long chain and one on a short chain which was attached to the longer chain.

Mr Lark reached out. Slowly he traced his fingers over the imprint of letters and numbers on each disc. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then recited each one. His surname, initials, date of birth. His service number, blood grouping and religion. Then his voice faltered and stopped as tears rolled down his cheeks. This time he made no effort to wipe them away.

Mio knew that the chains and discs had a significance that was far stronger than metal. She wondered if all soldiers felt the same. ‘I can’t take these,’ she said. ‘They’re far too precious.’ She reached out to return them but Mr Lark stepped away saying, ‘Precious? Yes, but they won’t break. Take them. And tell your class that next time they see a dog tag or a war memorial with thousands of names…Tell them that each name means so much more than mere engravings. Each name is a person. Each name was a son or a brother, a husband or a grandfather.’ He cleared his throat before continuing. ‘Or a mate.’

Bella came and sat at Mr Lark’s feet, her eyes raised in question. With great tenderness she placed her paw on his leg. ‘She’s reminding me they’re called
dog
tags,’ said Mr Lark, blowing his nose in his hankie.

The kids laughed. The painful moment had passed.

‘Now, Mio,’ said Mr Lark, ‘you don’t need me to tell you to guard these with your life.’

‘
Īe
,’ said Mio, shaking her head.

BOOK: Extreme!

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