The Invisible Hero (17 page)

Mustafa tried to handcuff himself to his chair, but we could all see it would mean he had to crouch and that wouldn't look very dignified. He made such a slapstick performance of it – kneeling, fumbling, then lifting the chair up and trying to attach himself – that the laughter increased.

During the commotion, Mustafa walked across to Ruth and said, ‘Do you mind, Madam?' A great blush swept up her neck, but she sweetly smiled. Mustafa then proceeded to handcuff himself to her. And then – it was so natural – Mustafa held Ruth's hand. And she held his. Apart from Macca's group, there were whistles and cheers coming from all over the room.

Mr Quayle's expression shifted back and forth from horrified to baffled to horrified. He was getting nervous. He didn't know what to do. He pulled out another name. ‘Oliver Johnston!' he called.

Oliver was a wildcard. He wasn't an original member of the goofy Little Red group, and he certainly didn't have to be loyal like we did to Philip. He didn't know what a hero Philip was. Oliver stood up. His notes were in his hand and I saw him hesitate. Then he said, ‘The hero I have chosen is Mahatma Gandhi. At first I thought Gandhi was just this weirdo little Indian man who wore a sort of white nappy they call a Dhoti. I only chose Gandhi because no one else did and he was on Mr Quayle's list.'

There was a tightness in my chest. My heart sank. Oliver wasn't with us. He continued speaking, ‘But it wasn't long before I realised Gandhi was a pretty cool guy. He said some spot-on sorts of things like,
An eye for an eye ends up making the whole world blind.
'

The talk went on. Mustafa and Ruth were locked together at the wrists. Phil and I stood next to them. I was feeling stupider by the minute. ‘Mahatma wasn't Gandhi's real first name. Mahatma means Great Soul. The Indians called him that because he showed India and the whole world a real different way of fighting things that aren't fair – peaceful disobedience. Gandhi had a whole lot of unfair things he wanted to get rid of, like British rule, repression of women and the Untouchable class.'

Genelle's friend, Tiffany, called out, ‘What's “Untouchable” mean?'

Oliver started to explain, ‘Well India has lots of social classes. And each class sort of kicks the one below it in the teeth. But the bottomest class is the Untouchables and you're not s'pos'd to even physically touch them. They're like...'

‘Dugan!' called out de Grekh and there was a splutter of laughter round the class.

Mr Quayle was grinning that Groper smile of his, and all he said was, ‘No interruptions, de Grekh.' This is what makes me want to scream. That man virtually gives the green light for putting down Phil.

But then Oliver said, ‘So Gandhi and Phil Dugan have given me a great idea.' We were all looking at him, waiting to see what he meant. He held up his notes and started tearing them into tiny little pieces and then threw them into the air like confetti. ‘This is for you, mate,' added Oliver looking at Phil. He was smiling. Someone in the class whistled again.

The atmosphere in the class had changed to gentle rebellion.
All except for the disapproving looks on the faces of Mr Quayle and Macca and Co, that is.

By now there were five of us standing – Phil, Oliver, Ruth, Mustafa and me.

Without even having her name called, Imogen stood up. She said, ‘You needn't bother picking out my name either, sir. I was going to do Ernest Shackleton the arctic explorer. He was a true hero because he put the lives of his men before fame. And he chose those men for their sense of humour and optimism, not for being emotionally stunted, tough thugs.' Imogen grinned at the five of us and stayed standing.

Now we were six. That was more than one fifth of the class. Mr Quayle was flustered. I almost felt sorry for him. He was in the middle of a lottery. If he pulled out one more name of a student who refused to give their speech, Mr Quayle would have lost. But I was nervous, too. If de Grekh or Cheung were called out, they'd play into Mr Quayle's hands. I've never wanted right to win over wrong so much.

Mr Quayle pulled a name out. He smirked. My heart sank. ‘De Grekh, if you would give us the pleasure,' said Mr Quayle.

De Grekh stood up, notes in hand, giving us five protesters a withering look. I remember thinking, ‘Where's the good fairy when you really want one?'

At precisely that second, the classroom door opened and in walked a policeman. He was with the Principal, Mr Peterson. Both men looked grim. Neither looked liked good fairies. But they were. The lesson came to a halt. Mr Quayle and Mrs Canmore looked stunned. For the briefest moment no one spoke, then Mr Peterson
said, ‘Forgive the interruption, teachers and Year Nine. Sergeant Crossing would like a word with some of our students here.'

Then the sergeant stepped forward and read out three names. ‘I believe Jake MacKinnon, Sam de Grekh and Charlie Cheung would be of assistance with some investigations we are making. Would you gentlemen please stand?'

We five protestors sat, while Macca and Cheung stood with de Grekh. Mr Peterson barked at them, ‘To the office, please boys. Oh, and bring your journals with you. They may contain helpful information.'

Macca, de Grekh and Cheung did not look happy. They filed off silently.

Mr Quayle leant forward on the desk, his head in his hands. Mrs Canmore rose to her feet and smiling sweetly said, ‘I think an early lunch is in order here. Just don't make a ruckus and distract the other classes.'

The kids cheered noisily and Mrs Canmore laughed.

Our little protest group was swamped by most of the class. I couldn't believe the number of kids who told us they supported us, but had been too scared to show it. Cocooned in our fan club, I looked over their shoulders to see Genelle in a tight little knot with her two remaining followers, Amber and Tiffany. They were whispering dramatically. I wanted Phil to be part of our celebration, but he'd disappeared. He wasn't in class this afternoon, either. I phoned this evening and his line is still disconnected.

I don think peple no the porblems I hav wen thers negtv atenshon on me. Huma is a strang thing. I lik a god jok, sam as anywun. But that so calt jok abowt me been an untuchabl went lik a nif thru me and maenly becos its so tru. I rely am a untuchbl. Up til now, evry blody skol day has ben lik that mor or les. Peple just hav to relies that a jok is only fare and funy if both sides think its funy.

But I no peple lik the Litl Red groop Mastafa, Rafela, Imgen, Roth and Oliva are staning up for me and for the ferst tim in yers I hav frens. Jus the sam I mad my self disaper after the leson becos I new Maccas girl Genel wold giv me a hard tim. I put my self in the libry – I sat rite in a corna on the grownd but stil Mrs Canmor fownd me and sed I had to go to the princpels office. I arsked why (altho I new it was do with Nan) and she told me it was do with nan and I sed no way but Mrs Canmor sed shed go with me and stay with me.

Wen I walkt into that ofis I wantd to run away it was wors then I thort it culd be. It was a cort rom. Ther was the pricnpel, the polisman, Macca, Sam, Charlie and Macca's Dad loking reel angry with me not his boy but me. The princpel introdusd me and Mrs Canmor to the Polisman and I was arskd to sit down.

Mrs Canmor and I sat rite away from the boys and Maccas dad – on the uther sid of the rom. Macca had a sort of smart litl smil on his face. De Grekh lokd cold as deth. But Jonny Choong? He was holden his hed in his hans. Maccas dad, al dresd up in his stripee lawer sute, sed Il finsh wot I was saying if you donmind, you haf abslutly no evdens that it was thes thre boys that perptratd this crim.

‘Wel acchally we do,' sed Mr Peterson. And I wos thinkn ‘how?' no one who livs in the stret sor Nan. And Macca's dad sed jus that, ‘Yuv jus tol me, yoursel, no one wos abowt.'

‘We haf a confdenshl report,' sed the sargen.

‘It is owr legl rite to no,' sed Mr MacKin as if he was torking to a sculboy. He was wagn his indx fingr at the polisman. Sargant Crossing was tryn hart to kep his kol. Ther was that sort of felng in the room lik everone new things were goin to get ugly.

Sudnly Charlie tor at his har, lokt up and yelt at Mr MacKin, ‘I tol, okay? I tol!' An then he turnt to Jake and Sam. ‘This morng I read in the local newspapa abowt what hapnt to his Gran. I tol you and you jus shrugd. You cudnt car les. We knew what we'd done. We went too far.' Then he turnt to me. I cudn't beleef it. Ther wer ters in his eyes. ‘Sory, Dugan.' Then he pud his hed in hans agen and startd borling. Mr Peterson hand him a box of tishus and Charlie tor a fist full owt, dabd at his eyes, bloo his nos and stil kep cryn.

‘Wel dun, Charlie,' sed the Princpal. ‘Wel dun.'

Now all this had wipt the smerk of Jake's fac. And Sam. He had the fac of a kila.

But Macca's dad wasn gong to loose withowt a fite.

‘Dispointin. Very dispointn' Mr MacKinnon saed. ‘But let's get some pspectif. Boys wil be boys in my fathers day theyd be calt larakins. This lark they got up to bakfird end of storie and Im hapy to pay for horspital cos ts for Mrs Dugan. Sargent Crosing sed mista Makinon its not the end of the storie its a very long and trubling storie that wil end with layin chargs.

Then the sergeant arskd me to tel wot hapnd the day Nan got
burnt and I did and he arskd al sorts of kwestchons abowt why it wos my plac and not sum uther kids that had the ‘prank' playd on us. And the polisman arskd things I thort mite not be relvant lik why I livd with Nan and how I helpt lok afta Nan. Mrs Canmor mad me tel abowt sum of the uther things that Maccas groop do to me becos shed herd from uther kids. Things lik wot hapns on the bus every day and she suprisd me by teling abowt me planting Litl Red and that she had fownd an emptee botl of weed poyson in Chungs bag wen she was helping serch for my mising jernal the uther day.

Charlie lokd up an sed to Mr Peterson, ples don tel my pernts. The Princpl sed gently I hav to Jon they wil fin owt from the polis enywys. Jon sed they wil be so ashamd. Mista Holda sed they are fin, onest, hard werking peple. Iv met them at skol volteer werkin bees. Becos thay lov you thay wil wont to displin you to. Cheung hung his hed. The princpl askd why charlie? Ples explan. We al new that the ‘why' was why chus Macca and de grut as frens. Cheung sed to blong. The pricpal porsd. He lokd lik he was jus thinking. Then he arskd Cheung who cam up with the idees.

Maccas dad jumpt up and sed this is out of line it is not propa procedga but the polisman sed Mr Makinon I problee no this part of the law as wel or beta then you do and it is perfecly propa procedga. But then Maccas dad sed I wil not alow my sun to be pard of this. His futcha carer culd be runed by jus been frends with undesirabel tipes lik yung de Grekh and Cheung. During al this de Grekh lokd lik a skulptcha mad of ice and Macca lokd as inonsent as an angle.

Now this was a mistak of Maccas dad to cal de Grekh and
Cheung undesirabel becos it must of mad Cheung angree enuf to say And yor sun and Sam cam up with the idear abowt the poyson and the papa bag. Is this trew Sam arsked the Princpal. Sams mowth was a tite litl line and his fac lokd as sower as a lemon but he mumbeld yes and the Princpal arskd Macca but his dad rord Dont say a werd sun. Then Maccas dad rely lost it. He calt the Princpal an incompatant dithera and sed I resine from the Cowncil and as of this minut I withdror my son from this skol and its negtiv influwencs.

The sergant told Maccas dad that he culd do that but it wodnt stop charges been layd agenst Jake. And then Maccas dad stompd owt of the ofis with Macca strait behind him.

Al this mad me as scart as a wombat in a one way tunle. I was trapd. Efan if Cheung wos goen to treet me okay, De Grekh wold mak my lif hel. I wuld jus hav to lev skol becos Iv had enuf.

But then the Princpal sed, ‘Sam, Charlie, ples wate owt in the pasg for a momant.' And wen they'd left, he turnt to me and sed, ‘Philip, I o you an polgy. There's ben buling rite unda my nose and I've neva taken it serously enuf, but I gif you my word this is gong to chang.' Mr Peterson's eys were watry and he sed, ‘I've had the wrong priortees. This is not the sort of scol I magined mysel leeding.'

Mrs Canmore than sed, ‘Well we shud get Philip to gif us some idees. He has ben an invisble hero and I spect he was the ferst to start thos secet locka gifts all of Year 9 tork abowt so much. Am I rit, Phil?'

I just nodd my head.

‘Encluding thos fers incoraging mesags?' arskt Mrs Canmore al amasd.

I nodad agen.

‘But the speling? Who did you get it rit?'

‘Chect with Nan. And ether tipd it or tryd real hart with the hanwritg,'I sed.

Mr Petrson was gaysing into the aer lik Instin mite of wen he had a brainwaf. He stopt speeking lik sum sort of superor bein, looken down from the top of a mowntn on us kids. He lent forwd on his chear. He lokd at Mrs Canmore and me kind of intnsly. ‘Look, I think I've lost my way a bit. I wen into this teechng bisnes becos I likt the compny of yung peple and I beleeft I had sumthing to offa them. But then ther wer promoshons and nex I'm not teeching enymore. Princpals are now busness minstraters.'