The Invisible Hero (18 page)

I don't think people know the problems I have when the attention is on me. Humour is a strange thing. I like a good joke, same as anyone. But that so-called joke about me being an Untouchable went like a knife through me and mainly because it's so true. I really am an Untouchable. Up 'til now, every bloody school day has been like that more or less. People just have to realise that a joke is only fair and funny if both sides think it's funny.

But I know people like the Little Red group, Mustafa, Raphaela, Imogen, Ruth and Oliver are standing up for me and for the first time in years I have friends. Just the same, I made myself disappear after the lesson because I knew Macca's girl Genelle would give me a hard time. I put myself in the library – I sat right in the corner on the ground but still Mrs Canmore found me and said I had to go to the Principal's office. Although I knew it was to do with Nan, I still asked why I had to go. When Mrs Canmore told me, I said ‘no way', but she said she'd go with me and stay with me.

When I walked into that office I wanted to run away; it was worse than I thought it could be. It was a court room. There was the Principal, the policeman, Macca, Sam, Charlie and Macca's dad looking real angry with me, not his boy, but me. The Principal introduced me and Mrs Canmore to the policeman, Sergeant Crossing and I was asked to sit down.

Mrs Canmore and I sat right away from the boys and Macca's dad – on the other side of the room. Macca had a sort of smart
little smile on his face. De Grekh looked cold as death. But Charlie Cheung? He was holding his head in his hands.

Macca's dad, all dressed up in his stripy lawyer suit said, ‘I'll finish what I was saying if you don't mind. You have absolutely no evidence that it was these three boys that perpetrated this crime.

‘Well, actually we do,' said Mr Peterson.

And I was thinking ‘how?' No one who lives in the street saw Nan. And Macca's dad said just that, ‘You've just told me, yourself, no one was about.'

‘We have a confidential report,' said the sergeant.

‘It is our legal right to know,' said Mr MacKinnon as if he was talking to a schoolboy. He was wagging his index finger at the policeman. Sergeant Crossing was trying hard to keep his cool. There was that sort of feeling in the room like everyone knew things were going to get ugly.

Suddenly Charlie tore at his hair, looked up and yelled at Mr MacKinnon, ‘I told, okay? I told!' And then he turned to Jake and Sam. ‘I read about what happened to Phil's gran in the local newspaper. I told you and you just shrugged. You couldn't care less. We knew what we'd done. We went too far.' Then he turned to me. I couldn't believe it. There were tears in his eyes. ‘Sorry, Dugan.' Then he put his head in his hands again and started bawling. Mr Peterson handed him a box of tissues and Charlie tore a fistful out, dabbed at his eyes, blew his nose and still kept crying.

‘Well done, Charlie.' said the Principal. ‘Well done.'

Now all this had wiped the smirk off Jake's face. And Sam. He had the face of a killer.

But Macca's dad wasn't going to lose without a fight.

‘Disappointing. Very disappointing,' Mr MacKinnon said. ‘But let's get some perspective. Boys will be boys. In my father's day they'd be called larrikins. This lark they got up to backfired. End of story. And I'm happy to pay for hospital costs for Mrs Dugan.'

Sergeant Crossing said, ‘Mr MacKinnon, it's not the end of the story. It's a very long and troubling story that might end with laying charges.'

Then the sergeant asked me to tell what happened the day Nan got burnt and I did and he asked all sorts of questions about why it was my place and not some other kid's that had the ‘prank' played on us. And the policeman asked things I thought might not be relevant like why I lived with Nan and how I helped look after Nan. Mrs Canmore made me tell about some of the other things that Macca's group do to me because she'd heard from other kids. Things like what happens on the bus every day and she surprised me by telling about me planting Little Red and that she had found an empty bottle of weed poison in Cheung's bag when she was helping search for my missing journal the other day.

Charlie looked up and said to Mr Peterson, please don't tell my parents. The Principal said gently, ‘I have to, John. They will find out from the police anyway.'

John said, ‘They will be so ashamed.'

Mr Peterson said, ‘They are fine, honest, hard-working people. I've met them at school volunteer working bees. Because they love you they will want to discipline you too.' Cheung hung his head. The Principal asked, ‘Why John? Please explain.' We all knew that
the ‘why' was why choose Macca and de Grekh as friends.

Cheung said, ‘To belong.'

The Principal paused. He looked like he was just thinking. Then he asked Cheung who came up with the ideas.

Macca's dad jumped up and said, ‘This is out of line. It is not proper procedure.'

But the policeman said, ‘Mr MacKinnon, I probably know this part of the law as well or better than you do and it is perfectly proper procedure.

But then Macca's dad said, ‘I will not allow my son to be part of this. His future career could be ruined by just being friends with undesirable types like young de Grekh and Cheung.'

During all this de Grekh looked like a sculpture made of ice and Macca looked as innocent as an angel.

Now this was a mistake of Macca's dad to call de Grekh and Cheung undesirable because it must have made Cheung angry enough to say, ‘And your son and Sam came up with the idea about the poison and the paper bag.'

‘Is this true Sam?' asked the Principal. Sam's mouth was a tight little line and his face looked as sour as a lemon but he mumbled ‘yes' and the Principal asked Macca but his dad roared, ‘Don't say a word son.' Then Macca's dad really lost it. He called the Principal ‘an incompetent ditherer' and said, ‘I resign from the Council and as of this minute I withdraw my son from this school and its negative influences.'

The sergeant told Macca's dad that he could do that but it wouldn't stop charges being laid against Jake. And then Macca's dad stomped out of the office with Macca straight behind him.

All this made me as scared as a wombat in a one way tunnel. I was trapped. Even if Cheung was going to treat me okay, De Grekh would make my life hell. I would just have to leave school because I've had enough.

But then the Principal said, ‘Sam, Charlie, please wait out in the passage for a moment.' And when they'd left, he turned to me and said, ‘Philip, I owe you an apology. There's been bullying right under my nose and I've never taken it seriously enough, but I give you my word this is going to change.' Mr Peterson's eyes were watery and he said, ‘I've had the wrong priorities. This is not the sort of school I imagined myself leading.'

Mrs Canmore then said, ‘Well we should get Philip to give us some ideas. He has been an invisible hero and I suspect he was the first to start those secret locker gifts all of Year 9 talks about so much. Am I right, Phil?'

I just nodded my head.

‘Including those first encouraging messages?' asked Mrs Canmore all amazed.

I nodded again.

‘But the spelling? How did you get it right?'

‘Checked with Nan. And either typed it or tried real hard with the handwriting,' I said.

Mr Peterson was gazing into the air like Einstein might have when he had a brainwave.

He didn't have that superior look on his face anymore, looking down from the top of a mountain on us kids. He leant forward on his chair and looked at Mrs Canmore and me kind of intensely. ‘Look, I think I've lost my way a bit. I went into this
teaching business because I liked the company of young people and I believed I had something to offer them. But then there were promotions and next I'm not teaching anymore.'

Mr Peterson smiled in a sorry way. I still didn't know if I was supposed to make any comments. Although I didn't follow every big word, I got what they were saying. Mr Peterson wasn't happy with his job. He had more to do with paper than kids.

‘Philip,' said Mr Peterson, ‘now that Jake will not be welcome back in this school, we have a space in the SRC which I'd like you to fill. I'm interested to know what ideas you have to make our school a better place.'

I was quiet for a while. That's how I am when I'm thinking.

Then I said, ‘School should not just be a copy-cat of society – big, loud creeps wanting power, money, always trying to be the best and stepping on people's faces to win. It should be an example of how to run things better, more fairly.'

‘Fascinating,' muttered Mr Peterson.

‘It should be a place where being nice to each other is the normal thing.' I was just getting started. This was my big chance to really say what I felt and I wasn't going to lose it. ‘And a school needs to be totally real about not putting up with cruel behaviour. It's got to be more than having a few posters hanging around the place saying bullying is not tolerated and talk to someone who cares. You see, bullying is tolerated and not enough people really do care.'

‘Go on,' said Mr Peterson. ‘I'm listening.'

‘Well, like I said, when I try to imagine my perfect school, I picture a place where everyone, not just the kids, treats each other
in a friendly way. I mean everyone. Teachers, office staff, cleaners, maintenance. And everyone has a say.'

‘Rather radical,' said Mr Peterson.

‘If kindness and fairness is radical, then yes,' I said.

‘Point made and taken. Anything else?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘School has got to be a place where cups and trophies and getting the best marks is less important than who a person is.' I couldn't believe it was me saying this to the Principal. It was as if a gag had been taken off me. ‘And so, if it's going to work, you and the teachers and the Board would have to be dead-set serious about it.' And I looked deep into Mr Peterson's eyes because I wanted to see if he was for real.

‘Cooperative, not competitive. Big on emotional intelligence. I think I'm getting you,' said Mr Peterson. ‘If a school genuinely took that on, it would have to be different.'

Well, I'm thinking to myself, Mr Peterson is using more big words here. And they might be just words, nothing more. But I do have lots of ideas, especially about helping people to accept others who seem different, so of course I am interested in joining the SRC and I said so.

‘Thank you,' continued Mr Peterson. ‘I want you to know, Philip, that I'm not all talk and no action.' Then he called in Sam and Charlie and said, ‘Sit and listen very carefully.' Both boys sat. ‘Don't even think of saying or doing one single thing that makes Philip the slightest bit worried or life will get very tough for you,' said Mr Peterson.

I was free to go, but the Principal kept the other two boys back to wait for their parents to arrive. I had just walked to the
Principal's door when I heard Charlie call my name, ‘Phil!' I turned. Charlie had stood up. ‘Mr Quayle was wrong about your Nan. In the newspaper she told the reporter that if just one of the arsonists might turn his life around because of what happened to her, then it was worth it. She's a hero, alright.'

I could sense Charlie really, really meant it. ‘You're spot on,' I answered. ‘I'll tell her what you said.'

Talk about a day of ups and downs. It ended real well with Mrs Canmore coming round to my place with pizza and giving me a lift to the hospital and seeing Nan with me. She told Nan that I have been ‘an inspiration to the class' and that the school is in for some great improvements thanks to me. Nan looked that proud. The doctor told us that Nan will be out at the end of the week. She could come home now, but they are giving her a rest.

Just as Mrs Canmore was about to take me home, in walked our soup friends carrying flowers and fruit. Every single one of them. Rajendra and Sangeeta Singh Bajwa and their son, Pardeep Singh, Ehsan and Roshan Wahidi and their girls, Gulshan and Leeza, Tawka Ko and Ago Cejvan. They surrounded Nan's bed, asking her questions, stroking her hands and hair, straightening her blanket. Ago wept and kissed Nan over and over on her cheeks – right, left and right again.

I introduced our friends to Mrs Canmore. I could see she was amazed that my Nan had that many friends. They told us they were organising for the phone to be reconnected and they had donated money to help us before Nan can get to her pension. I
hadn't told anyone about Nan's terrible accident, but it shows our friends both read the local newspaper and keep an eye on us.

When everyone had quietened down a bit, Mr Rajendra Singh Bajwa stood at that end of Nan's bed and announced that he had something to say. He gave a little cough and pulled himself up tall. He looked very handsome in his turban. And I might not have it word perfect, but I know I will always remember most of it.

‘Mother Dugan, when each one of us has met you, we have known that we have found love. It is a language that is for all nations. To us you are like water. You cleanse and refresh. You take on the shape of whomsoever you are with – Moslem, Hindu, Buddhist, whatsoever. And to me, you are a Sikh.'

Well, you should have heard the cheering and clapping. It came from three other patients in the ward, two nurses, the soup friends and Mrs Canmore and me. I was that proud.

There have been times at school when I have thought I'd be better off dead. I couldn't tell Nan because she's too old to cope with such worry. She's laid down her life for me – no new clothes, no outings, no getting her teeth fixed or essential things like that, just putting away every cent in her bottle on top of the mantel. The hearing aid bottle. The speech pathologist bottle. The learning difficulty diagnosis bottle. The specialist optometrist bottle for those blue glasses that have helped a bit but also given me hell.