Ishmael and the Hoops of Steel Read online

  ‘Man, do you know how these things work?’ Razz asked, grabbing and yanking at his tie like he was fighting off a blue and gold striped anorexic python. I was about to rescue him from almost certain self-strangulation when a familiar voice hit us both from behind like a piece of four by two.

  ‘Mr Zorzotto. Please inform me. I need to know. Which one was it, exactly?’

  Razz and I turned and were confronted by Mr Barker’s face. It didn’t look overjoyed. One eyebrow was raised.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I’m fascinated to know which one it was, Mr Zorzotto. Were you dragged here behind a pack of runaway horses or have you been the unfortunate victim of multiple lightning strikes?’

  ‘Been playing soccer, sir.’

  ‘Soccer?’ Mr Barker raised his other eyebrow and stared at Razza’s uniform. ‘Soccer?’ he said again before completing a Razz circumnavigation.

  ‘Did the grandstand fall on you, Mr Zorzotto? Were you trampled in a mass pitch invasion? Did someone set off a large incendiary device near where you were standing?’

  Mr Barker was still the undisputed Sultan of Sarcasm.

  Razz screwed up his face like he was seriously considering these possibilities. ‘Nah, nothing like that, sir. Just had a bit of a kick around, that’s all.’

  ‘Just a bit of a kick around?’ Mr Barker said as a disturbing smile died on his face. ‘Well, Mr Zorzotto, I strongly suggest you have “just a bit of a tidy up” before you even think about joining your fellow Seniors in the gymnasium this morning. I hope I make myself perfectly clear.’

  He had. Mr Barker was excellent at making himself perfectly clear. We watched as he strode off towards the gym, clicking his fingers at bits of rubbish on the ground and sending boys scurrying after them.

  ‘Do you reckon maybe he’s got one of those split personality things?’

  I knew exactly what Razz was getting at. Last year we discovered that Mr Barker was a big fan of my dad’s old band, the Dugongs. He even stepped in as manager for the reunion concert when the real guy ran off with all the band’s money and gear. For a while there he seemed … almost human. He actually smiled sometimes. He even danced with Razz’s mum during the Dugongs’ concert. Now the band were trying to get their old album remastered and re-released and get back into performing, and Dad said if they did, they wanted Mr Barker to be their full-time manager. But here at school, he’d totally morphed right back into Deputy Principal Barker – the man most likely to make your life hell.

  ‘Must be a Batman and Bruce Wayne thing,’ I said. ‘You know, two identities but the same person, so they can never be in the one place together.’

  ‘Maybe. ‘Cept I can’t see Barker jumping about in tights and a cape, can you?’

  While I tried unsuccessfully to imagine that, Razz gave a few half-hearted tucks and pulls at his uniform and then we followed the crowd into the gym. It didn’t take long to spot who we were looking for.

  ‘Ah, here they are,’ Razz said cheerfully. ‘The Short, the Tall, and the Cuddly.’

  Three faces looked our way. They belonged to James Scobie, Ignatius Prindabel and Bill Kingsley. Razza’s description was pretty spot on.

  Even with his trademark stoop Ignatius Prindabel was almost a head taller than Bill and about three heads taller than Scobie. Add to that a high forehead that seemed to be chasing his hairline back, and about 20 centimetres of wrist extending out past each cuff, and you could swear he was growing as you watched.

  James Scobie, on the other hand, looked like his new uniform was attempting to swallow him – and succeeding. His shirt was bunched around his little chubby belly and his trousers, due to James’ acute leg shortage, were backed up like a concertina above his perfectly polished shoes. He was the human equivalent of one of those wrinkly Chinese dogs.

  But it was Bill Kingsley that had Razz and me gawking.

  ‘Geez, Billy Boy. Is the rest of you being shipped in later or something?’

  What Razz was so tactfully pointing out was that Bill didn’t seem quite as ‘cuddly’ as he’d been at the end of last year. Don’t get me wrong, there was still plenty of him to go around, but when you looked closely at the way he filled out his new blue shirt, there was definitely not as much as you expected.

  Bill answered Razza with his usual shrug.

  ‘Come on, Billy. Spill the low-fat beans. Let us in on your secret before you disappear completely.’

  Bill shrugged again but managed to mumble, ‘It’s nothing … just … you know … stuff I’ve been doing … just food … and stuff.’

  ‘Just food and stuff? Geez, Kingsley, could you be a little less specific? What kind of stuff? A jungle commando course? An all-you-can-eat-low-cal-steam diet? A close encounter with some kind of flesh-eating virus? Out with it, Bilbo.’

  Bill looked around at all of us, then at Razza.

  ‘Just been hooping.’

  ‘Hoping for what?’

  ‘Not hoping – hooping.’

  ‘Hooping? What, you’ve had whooping cough?’

  ‘No, I got a hoop.’

  Razz looked totally lost for a moment then he slapped his forehead.

  ‘Aw, man, no! You didn’t, did you? You didn’t get one of those rubber hoop things tied around your stomach to squish it into the size of a pea?’

  ‘No, I got a hoop – just a normal hoop.’

  Razz frowned. ‘A normal hoop … as in …’

  Bill swallowed. ‘As in … hula.’

  ‘A normal hoop,’ Razz repeated slowly, ‘as in … hula? What, one of those big round plastic things that … chicks … used to wiggle around their stomachs way back in the past before anything good was actually invented?’

  Bill opened his mouth but didn’t get the chance to answer.

  ‘Did you know that the record for the most hula hoops spun by a single person at the one time is 105? Someone from China, as I recall. And did you know that the circumference of the largest hula hoop ever spun was 51.5 feet? That’s approximately 16 metres. An American did that.’

  Razz kept the same gaze of disbelief on his face but shifted it slowly from Bill to Ignatius.

  ‘How, Prindabel? Please tell me. How do you know stuff like that? And what’s even more scary and freaking-me-out-ish is why do you know stuff like that?’

  ‘Simple. At last year’s Extreme Science camp we were investigating the properties of wave motion and centripetal force and in order to assist our understanding of the topic we were required to undertake detailed research into a variety of examples of – ‘

  Razz placed his hand on Prindabel’s shoulder and patted it reassuringly.

  ‘That’ll do, Prindabuddy, that’ll do. I knew there had to be a perfectly geekish explanation.’

  ‘They’re sort of making a comeback … Hula hoops, I mean.’

  This was Bill. Scobie and I nodded encouragingly. Razz just stared.

  ‘They have these big hula-hooping conventions all around the world. My mum read about it. Then there was this notice at the church hall for a hooping class, so she joined up and really liked it. Bought her own hoop and everything and started practising at home all the time. Got really good too. And she lost heaps of weight. Mum wanted my father to have a go. But he wouldn’t. Reckoned it was just for women and kids.’

  ‘You don’t say?’ Razz offered.

  ‘Yeah, well, anyway Mum said I should try it. So I did. I was hopeless but Mum gave me some good tips. Like where to put my feet and about my “thrust points” and everything and I sort of got the hang of it. I started practising every day. And I lost a bit of weight too. Now I’m learning some tricks. I can already do the “lasso”, the “vortex”, the “helicopter”, and the “ninja pass” and I’m working on the “revolving door”, the “corkscrew”, and the “booty bump”. I reckon I …’

  Razz squeezed his eyes shut and held up a hand in front of Bill’s face.

  ‘Bilbo, stop, please. I don’t feel very well. We must never speak of this again, O
K? It’s awesome that you’re killing the kilos, man, but some things should definitely stay in the closet. That’s what we got closets for.’

  Bill looked at Razz but said nothing as Mr Barker’s voice sliced through the gym.

  ‘All right, let’s get moving, gentlemen. I want everyone up the front and seated – now. We’ve got a lot to cover this morning.’

  We shuffled our way with the rest of the Year Elevens to the rows of seats set out at the front of the hall. Mr Barker was on the assembly stage.

  ‘Come on, you lot. Rise and shine. Holidays are over. I need you all seated and paying attention. Oh, and I’ll also need two volunteers to join me up here. So let me see … Yes, could I have you come up, Mr Carlson-Steele … and could I also have … you, Mr Zorzotto? Between the two of you we are going to demonstrate the right and the wrong way to wear the Senior uniform.’

  ‘Gee whiz,’ Razz whispered to us excitedly. ‘I wonder which one I’m going to be!’

  4.

  THE FAB FIVE

  In the end I’m sure Mr Barker regretted choosing Razza as the ‘wrong way’ school uniform guy.

  Gerard Carlson-Steele just stood in the middle of the stage like a clothes-store dummy and turned red while Mr Barker pointed out to us all the perfect features of his perfect uniform.

  With Razza it was slightly different.

  When Mr Barker called him forward Razz slipped right into supermodel mode, gliding across the stage and posing with his arms folded, glaring at the audience. Then he pranced to the edge of the platform, loosened his tie and slowly undid another button on his shirt before twirling around dramatically and slinking back across the stage with his hips thrusting wildly from side to side.

  It was quite a performance, and at just on eight minutes into the new school year, it earnt Razz the distinction of receiving the fastest detention in St Daniel’s history. It was probably all the cheering and wolf-whistling that finally pushed Mr Barker over the edge.

  After the fun of Razza’s catwalk capers died down, the real business of the day started. Our Principal, Brother Jerome, spoke to us first, followed by Mr Barker. They basically said the same kind of things: how this year was important; how they expected a lot more from us because now we were Seniors and school leaders; how we needed to show maturity (glares from Mr Barker directed at Razz); how we needed to be thinking seriously about our future career (what future career?); how we should involve ourselves in all aspects of school life; and how it was crucial that we apply ourselves to our studies and stay totally focused at all times (supersized glares from Mr B at the Razzman). Mr Barker said this year was all about ‘making informed and mature choices’.

  Beside me, Razz pushed out his bottom lip and nodded. Then he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

  ‘Speaking of choices, who would you choose – a good-looking chick with a not-so-hot bod or a not-so-good-looking chick who was really, really built?’

  As much as I wanted to demonstrate my brand new Senior School maturity by totally ignoring Razz’s question, I found myself giving it serious consideration. Eventually I was brought back to reality when Miss Tarango appeared at the side door of the gym and headed for the stage.

  A murmur of approval ran through the Year Elevens. Miss Tarango had that effect on people. Even Brother Jerome and Mr Barker seemed to spark up when she joined them. It was hard not to. Miss T was so bright and full of energy she probably glowed in the dark. Up on stage Mr Barker and Miss Tarango spoke together for a bit before Mr Barker clicked the microphone back on.

  ‘Thank you. Quieten down, gentlemen. We’ve got a truckload of administration details to get through. But firstly I have an important announcement. As you know, our long-serving Senior coordinator, Mr Carver, retired last year so we’ve had to appoint a replacement, and I am very pleased to be able to tell you that Miss Tarango has generously agreed to step into that role.’

  Cheers, clapping and a rumble of talk filled the gym. Miss Tarango gave us one of her best double-dimpled smiles and took over the mic.

  ‘Thank you, boys. I’m really looking forward to being your coordinator for the next two years. I appreciate your support and I’m certainly going to need it. I know I have very big shoes to fill.’

  That comment earned Miss Tarango a big laugh. Mr Carver was an ex-international rugby front row forward. His nickname at school was ‘Andre the Giant’. Miss Tarango could probably have parked her little red and black Mini in one of his shoes.

  Anyway, after telling us what she hoped we could all achieve in the year ahead, Miss got down to tackling some of the ‘truckload of administration details’ that Mr Barker had warned us about. First up, we found out that the good news about Miss T being our coordinator was balanced by the bad news that therefore she wouldn’t be taking one of the Homeroom groups. We also found out that last year’s groups had been totally reorganised. We all knew what that meant. There was virtually no chance Razz, Scobie, Bill, Ignatius and me would all end up in the same group again. And it got worse. Apparently the Homeroom groups were also going to double as English classes, which meant we wouldn’t be together there either. I mentally added another couple of ‘bummers’ to my rapidly expanding collection.

  If we weren’t all together in Homeroom or English it meant we wouldn’t be together much at all. This was because of our different subject choices. According to Razz’s definitions, Scobie was doing the ‘Future World Dictator’ course because he’d chosen subjects like Legal Studies and Economics, Ignatius had taken the ‘Extreme Nerd’ course because he’d picked heaps of Science subjects as well as ‘Mega-Brain’ Maths, Bill and I were down for the ‘Mixed Grill’ course because we had a bit of everything, and Razz had himself enrolled in ‘Senior for Dummies’ because he’d taken Film and TV, Health and Physical Education and ‘McHappy’ Maths.

  Up on stage Miss Tarango began to read out the four English classes. She started with hers. The names were in alphabetical order. We all held our breaths, waiting and hoping as Miss worked her way through the list. None of us was on it. We all slumped a little lower than normal in our seats. Beside me, Razza slumped so low he almost disappeared.

  Then Miss read out the second list – Ms Verity’s class. None of us was in that one either. There were only two classes left. Mr Slattery’s and Mr Krueger’s. Miss Tarango started on Mr Slattery’s group. She was about halfway through when Bill’s name came up. Then a few names later mine was read out. Then Prindabel’s. Then Scobie’s. It was unbelievable!

  We all looked at Razz, who had pulled himself forward and was perched on the edge of his seat drumming his fingers nervously on the chair in front of him. There was still a chance. We knew ‘Zorzotto’ would be right at the end – if it was there at all. Miss read out three more names.

  ‘Jared Wilson. Matthew Wozniaki. Melvin Yip.’

  Then she placed the sheet of paper she was reading on the table. Razz stopped drumming his fingers and thumped his head down on them. He let out a low moan. Miss poured herself a glass of water and took a couple of sips. She cleared her throat.

  ‘Sorry, boys – not used to all this talking. Now, where was I?’ She picked up the class lists again. ‘I think we’ve finished with Mr Slattery’s class, haven’t we? No, wait. Sorry. One name to go … and that would be … let’s see … Oh, Orazio Zorzotto.’

  Razz let out a wild whoop and shoved the chair in front so hard that Ryan Babic was sent sprawling to the gym floor. Brother Jerome and Mr Barker glowered at Razz in stereo. Miss Tarango glanced up as Ryan Babic climbed back to his seat, cursing Razz not quite under his breath. I could swear Miss was fighting to keep her dimples under control.

  After the meeting we all headed straight to the Senior noticeboard to check the class lists to make sure it was true. We couldn’t believe our luck. But there it was in black and white – all of us were together in Mr Slattery’s English class and, not only that, we’d scored Mr Guthrie as our Homeroom teacher.

  ‘Hope you’re not to
o disappointed with your new class, boys.’

  We spun round to see Miss Tarango standing in a patch of sunlight. Her short jaggy blonde hair was glowing and her teeth and her eyes looked backlit. If it was a movie you’d swear someone had gone a bit overboard with the airbrush and special effects. She looked like she’d swallowed summer.

  ‘Nah, it’s awesome, Miss!’ Razz said. ‘We’re all in the same Homeroom. What are the chances of that?’

  Prindabel’s face lit up.

  ‘Well, if you wanted to calculate the exact probability, you’d have to consider that there are four separate class groups so therefore the chances of any one of us being in a particular group is one in four, but then because there are five of us you’d have to multiply the …’

  Ignatius found Razz’s hand wrapped around his mouth. ‘Don’t worry about him, miss. Some of his sound cards are playing up.’

  Miss Tarango laughed. Then she stepped a little closer. She looked like summer but she smelt like spring. Dangling from her lobes were gold earrings in the shape of tiny books.

  ‘Well, just between you and me, boys, chance didn’t play much of a role. You see, the Senior Coordinator gets to draw up the class lists – in consultation with her colleagues of course – and I thought it made perfect sense for me to keep my Year Eleven debating team together. Easier to arrange meetings and maybe use some Homeroom or English time for last-minute preparation.’

  ‘Brilliant, miss, thanks,’ Scobie said. ‘That’ll be a big help. We seem to have a bit of trouble getting everyone together. Some of us are a little unreliable.’

  ‘Hey, what are you looking at me for?’ Razz said. Then his forehead creased into a frown and he looked back at Miss Tarango. ‘But miss, if you made up all the lists, how come you didn’t put us in your English class?’

  ‘Well, Orazio, tempted as I was, I thought it might be prudent to wait a while before totally abusing my newfound power and getting the other English teachers off side by hogging all the star pupils.’