Alex Jackson: SWA Read online

  “Yes.”

  Zane Beard yelled out a question. “Are we being marked on our diction, sir?”

  “Of course,” said Mr Graham.

  “This assignment scares the dickens out of me,” Zane continued. “Would you be able to dictate exactly what I have to do?”

  Alex sighed. This prank was funny the first five times they pulled it, but it was starting to get old. Small giggles spread around the room.

  “It’s 3–2 to Beard,” Peter Callaghan whispered to Alex and Jimmy.

  “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Mr Graham to Zane. “I’ll DICtate it to both you and Billy at lunchtime. You can meet me here at 12.45.”

  It took the boys a few seconds to realise they’d been given a detention. “Awww, what for, sir? I didn’t do nuthin’!” Billy said.

  “I know you didn’t, Billy, but being a DICtator, I insist that you and Zane come back at lunch, where I will perform a DIChotomy on you. Oh, by the way, DIChotomy means to split into two. And make sure you bring your DICtionaries with you, as I want you to look up the word DICtum, and write out its meaning one hundred times.”

  The class giggled.

  “What a dick,” Billy mumbled under his breath.

  “What’s that, Billy? I didn’t hear you. Do you have a DICky tongue?” Mr Graham said. “And if I’m not mistaken, I’ve just won the first set against both of you, 7–6.”

  Everyone, except Billy Johnstone and Zane Beard, laughed. Alex hadn’t been looking forward to English this year, as he was in an all-boys’ class. Something to do with helping boys do better at English and letting the girls "express" themselves in a safe (i.e. no boys) environment. But luckily it looked like Mr Graham, who was a new teacher at St Joseph’s, could hold his own. He’d need to be able to.

  Things had changed since Year 8. Now, more than ever, it was about image. If you drank, smoked, were bad in class, good at footy, and "hooked in" with girls — you were cool. If you were fat, skinny, wore glasses, were real smart or real dumb, played a musical instrument (other than guitar or drums), danced (other than moshing), dressed or looked funny — you got caned. The kids still remembered Alex’s fights with Billy Johnstone last year, so no one messed with him. But they didn’t think he was cool, either. Mostly, they left him alone.

  But other boys in Year 9 got it bad. And it wasn’t so much the dead legs, mug by tackles, bag/hat/lunch stealing that seemed to hurt them. It was being called gay. There was nothing worse for a boy in Year 9 than to be labelled a poofter, and no one copped more stick than John Carson-Zanger.

  John had frizzy brown hair and wore his socks and pants a bit too high. His family emigrated from Romania less than a year ago, and his English wasn’t the best. He tended to get his words mixed up, especially when under stress.

  “I will burn youse house down!” he said after Billy flicked him on the side of the head with a pen.

  “I will burn youse dresses,” replied Billy. “The ones you wear to pick up men at night.”

  Even with the mixed-up words and the uncool dress sense, it wouldn’t have been so bad if John had learnt to keep his mouth shut when he was stirred. But he bit every time. Alex didn’t speak much to John. He was glad it wasn’t him getting the hard time.

  “After this radio program is completed,” said Mr Graham, “we can start on a new unit I think many of you will enjoy. It’s called ‘Skateboarding’.”

  This class is getting better all the time.

  CHAPTER 5

  Go Home, Pig!

  “As a representative of your local police force, I am very glad to have the opportunity of addressing you today at your school assembly.”

  “He’s probably making a drug bust,” whispered Peter Callaghan, sitting on Alex’s right.

  “We take our responsibility of protecting you and all the citizens of Logan City very seriously. Part of our job is not only to arrest people who are doing the wrong thing, but also to educate and help the youth in our community. Each year we run a special program for juvenile offenders called ‘Break the Cycle, not the Law’. The money we receive from your fundraising allows us to keep the program going, and keep more young people out of jail.”

  “I bet he uses the money to buy his kid’s birthday presents,” said Peter, talking behind his hand.

  Mrs Blake threw a scowl in their direction.

  “To show our appreciation of your efforts, the Logan City Police would like to present the principal of St Joseph’s College, Mr Stahl, with this outdoor clock.”

  There was stilted applause as the policeman handed Mr Stahl an expensive-looking clock and shook his hand for the all-important photo — a certain inclusion in the next school newsletter.

  Full school assemblies meant 45 minutes of sitting on the concrete, getting shooshed by teachers and watching endless presentations. They were, by definition, boring, but usually something unplanned happened which made them bearable.

  “GO HOME, PIG!”

  In the undercover area the words bounced violently off the walls. For a few seconds there was dead silence, then muffled laughter by one or two students spread like a Mexican wave at the footy.

  “Who was it?” kids murmured. It had been a boy, but that’s all anybody could tell. You would have to be very brave, very stupid, or both to try such a thing at assembly. If caught you’d probably get your tongue chopped off.

  The whole school was looking up at the Year 10 section. The deputy, Mr Dowden, stepped up to the microphone. “Quiet please, everyone. QUIET!”

  Mr Dowden had been deputy of St Joseph’s for 16 years, and he was authority in a sweaty shirt and pooh-brown tie. The noise dropped to a low din and then to nothing at all.

  “I would ask that at the end of this assembly all Year 10s please stay behind.”

  They groaned.

  “I expect the person who made that unfortunate remark to make themselves known at that time. I apologise to Senior Sergeant Doyle and assure him that this is the sentiment of one attention-seeking individual and not that of the whole school. I ask that we put our hands together again for Sergeant Doyle.”

  The students, feeling a mixture of guilt and excitement, clapped loudly.

  “This should remind us all of the importance of being respectful. Respectful to each other, respectful to ourselves, and respectful to our school property.”

  School assemblies were also about long lectures from the deputy principal.

  “It causes me great sadness to report that the amount of graffiti at this school is much greater than at any other time in our 20-year history. Much of it has been the work of one group, who I won’t give the pleasure of naming.”

  Adrian Dorry, sitting behind, tapped Alex on the shoulder. “It’s SWA,” he whispered. “It’s written over half the books in the library.”

  Mrs Blake was staring again.

  “The act of vandalism is a low, selfish thing to be involved in,” Mr Dowden continued. “It costs us a great deal of time and money to clean up so you can have a school you’re proud to attend. It is NOT ON. I can’t be any clearer than that. I would ask that anyone who has any information on this group contact me immediately. It is not dobbing your friends in, it is showing that you care about your school and its property.”

  Adrian leant forward. “I heard SWA’s against authority and stuff. It was probably one of them who yelled out.”

  “What’s SWA mean?” asked Alex. He didn’t look at Adrian but forward at the stage. He could sense Mrs Blake was ready to make a bust.

  “Don’t know,” he said. “But I know who’s in it. Some Year 10 guys and a chick.”

  There were more presentations happening. The art teacher was gushing into the microphone. “The winner is one of the most talented painters St Joseph’s has had in a long time. From Year 10, Kimberley Lim.”

  Alex couldn’t see the girl properly as the policeman was blocking his view. The name was familiar, though, and he had almost placed her when he was distracted. She received, al
ong with a certificate, a loud wolf-whistle — again from the Year 10 section.

  Adrian tapped him on the shoulder.

  “That’s …” was all Adrian got the chance to say. He did, however, get the chance to share his lunchtime with Mrs Blake.

  CHAPTER 6

  Girl Problems

  Jimmy was having girl problems. He and Sarah Sceney had been going out for eight months, but things were rocky. In primary school Sarah was known for two things: embarrassing the boy she had had a crush on for five years — which was Alex — and getting A’s in every subject.

  In high school she kept getting A’s but stopped liking Alex. She got together with Jimmy and they were a good match, with their pet names for each other and the way they exchanged emails every day, even though they only lived a five-minute walk from each other’s houses.

  But over the Christmas holidays Sarah’s parents split up. Her dad, who gave her $5 for every A on her report card, took of to Sydney with a younger woman. Sarah took it out on her mum — an older-looking version of Sarah, glasses and all.

  “If you didn’t nag him all the time this never would have happened,” Sarah said.

  “I did the best I could,” said Mrs Sceney. “I wish he could say the same.”

  All the money Sarah saved from her A’s was spent on changing her looks. She swapped her glasses for contact lenses and bought a whole new wardrobe. Both Jimmy and Alex thought this strange. You’d expect Sarah Sceney to buy the new Encyclopedia Britannica CD, not a halter-top from JeansWest.

  Jimmy also took some heat. Sarah accused him of not finding her attractive and looking at other girls. The only girl Jimmy looked at was Lar a Croft on his Sony PlayStation. She said Jimmy didn’t like her anymore, even though he bought her a 12-month subscription to Science and Nature Online Magazine for Christmas. She said Jimmy was more interested in his computer than her. Well, she had a point there.

  “What should I do, mate?” Jimmy asked Alex as they lined up to buy some Redskins at the canteen. “I feel like I don’t know who me girlfriend is anymore.”

  Alex was about to say something, then remembered that it wasn’t long ago that he’d been asking Jimmy’s advice about Becky. Jimmy’s advice caused him to lie and get beaten up by Billy Johnstone. He decided to think for a few more seconds.

  “Emma Barney is having a party next Friday and Sarah wants to go,” Jimmy continued. “She’s even bought a new dress. Do you reckon I should go with her?”

  Out of the corner of his eye Alex could see Sarah standing outside of Block 1. She was talking to, of all people, Billy Johnstone.

  “I reckon you should.”

  “Well, if I’m going you’re coming too. I hate those things. Too much pressure.”

  * * *

  That afternoon Alex hung out at Casey’s place. At 19 Casey was the idol of Beeton skate-groms, pulling moves that most kids only dream about. He lived in a one-bedroom flat squashed against the train line. It was loud but Casey didn’t mind. The punk music he listened to was usually louder.

  They had a look at their skateboarding video, which a mate of Casey’s had edited together. It was impressive for a production with a budget of $30 (a video tape and a couple of pizzas for the editor) — with slow motion, fades, fast music and lots of sick tricks.

  Alex’s boardslide down the rail had got a guernsey, slam and all.

  “I would have cut it right when I Ianded,” Alex said.

  “I told him to leave it in,” said Casey. “People like to have a laugh.”

  “Watch this,” Casey said as Becky appeared on the video screen popping up from behind the embankment.

  They cracked up at the gobsmacked look on Alex’s face. Casey had zoomed in for a close-up.

  “You barstool,” Alex said. Though he had to admit it was good to see Becky again. Even if it was only on video.

  Inspired by their first film-making experience they cruised to the skatepark. Alex pulled a few k-grinds and boardslides on the grind bar. He was getting his confidence back, though he wasn’t game to take on the rail. Maybe next video.

  Casey hit the vert and nailed a sweet Japan Air. He was doing scary stuff lately — he’d even landed a 540 rocket grab. No wonder he was sponsored by SkateBiz.

  After a while they took a breather, raiding the esky in the boot of Casey’s rustbucket of a car. “I’m gonna miss this place,” said Casey, “especially that mother of a thing.” He looked up at the 2-metre vert ramp he had practically grown up on.

  “You going to the coast or something?” Alex asked.

  “Nah. Europe.”

  “Europe! When? Why? How long?”

  Casey smiled. “I leave next week. I’ll be gone a few months, I s’pose. It depends. Why do you reckon I’m going?”

  “To skate?”

  “Nah, to ski.”

  They chuckled.

  Bad luck is supposed to happen in threes, Alex thought. First Becky leaving, then the house getting robbed, and now Casey taking off to Europe.

  Bad luck for some is good luck for others. It was Casey’s dream to hit the pro skateboarding tour. Now he was living it.

  “Show the world how to skate, mate,” Alex said, shaking his hand.

  “I’ll try,” Casey said.

  “Don’t try. Do it.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Sicko Analysis

  “Is anyone in this class a good skateboarder?” asked Mr Graham.

  It was week 5 and the radio unit had been and gone. Alex and Jimmy had scored a B+ for their radio program — with Jimmy using his wide range of women’s voices and Alex playing the straight man.

  “I rock!” answered Zane Beard. “Yesterday I landed a nollie heelflip down four stairs.”

  “You did not,” said Billy Johnstone. “You can’t even ollie.”

  Alex was surprised that Billy Johnstone knew what an ollie was.

  Jimmy put his hand up. “Alex is one of the best skateboarders in the school. Last year he organised a skateboarding demonstration and he fifty-fiftied down the library stairs.”

  “Those big stairs?” asked Mr Graham.

  “Yep.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  “It was right after Billy threw his head into a steel post and his girlfriend ran away,” said Peter Callaghan. “He wasn’t thinking straight.”

  The class laughed. Alex gave Peter a dirty look.

  “Well Alex, you should be a big help during this unit. Through reading, watching, and talking about skateboarding, we hope to understand what makes a skateboarder tick.”

  Just what I need. A bit of sicko analysis.

  Mr Graham handed out an article from a skateboarding magazine for the class to read. It was about boarders being picked up by the police for riding in places where they weren’t allowed. It didn’t recommend against skating in these places, but instead told you what to do if the police nabbed you. Always have a fake name and address handy, it said.

  Mr Graham asked what this showed about how skateboarders were portrayed by the media.

  “They’re telling the truth,” said Peter Callaghan. “Skateboarders are nut cases.”

  “What do you think, Alex?” asked Mr Graham.

  “It’s showing how skateboarders are picked on,” he said. “Most boarders don’t want to hurt anybody. They just want to skate.”

  “Then why don’t they use skateparks instead of public property?”

  Good question.

  “They’re trying to show that they can skate anywhere they want,” said Jimmy. “ If it’s illegal it’s more fun.”

  “Exactly,” said Mr Graham. “Often these magazines show skateboarders as frustrated and rebelling against society. I want to find out whether or not this is true.”

  “I want to know where Carson-Zanger lives,” said Zane Beard, “so I can give his name and address to the cops when I get picked up.”

  “You just want to go to his house tonight,” said Billy Johnstone. “So you can get lucky.”

&
nbsp; “I will burn both youse houses down!” John said loudly.

  Mr Graham wrote Billy and Zane’s names on the board. It looked like they had another detention.

  “Our major piece of assessment will be a small-group presentation on the attitude of skateboarders compared with the way they are portrayed by the media,” Mr Graham said. “You will need to interview a local skateboarder as well as show and discuss some video footage. I would like you to get into groups of two or three.”

  “Guaranteed A, mate,” said Jimmy, turning to Alex.

  Everyone quickly found a group, except for John Carson-Zanger, who was left on his own. “You can join in with Alex and Jimmy,” said Mr Graham.

  Jimmy and Alex looked at each other but didn’t say anything. John was giving them his best crooked-tooth smile.

  CHAPTER 8

  No Frills

  The rest of the week in English they studied skatey videos and magazines, which didn’t seem like study to Alex. Mr Graham pointed out that the pro boarders rarely wore helmets or pads, and asked the class why they thought this was the case.

  “They’re nut cases,” said Peter Callaghan.

  Mr Graham asked Alex if he wore protective equipment.

  “I wear a helmet and pads when I’m skating the vert,” he said. “But otherwise I don’t wear anything. It’s just not … done.”

  “Alex doesn’t need protection,” said Zane Beard. “His girlfriend lives in Italy.”

  “He doesn’t have a girlfriend,” said Billy Johnstone. “He goes out with John Carson-Zanger.”

  Zane laughed loudly.

  John stood up and looked like he was going to take a swing at Billy, but Mr Graham got between them.

  This time there was no detention for Billy and Zane. They got to visit the Year 9 coordinator instead.

  Working with John Carson-Zanger wasn’t as bad as Alex expected. John knew almost nothing about skateboarding but he knew a lot about hip-hop, which was Alex’s favourite type of music. John said hip-hop was big in Romania, and he even lent Alex some of his CDs.

  John also knew a fair bit about computers, and he agreed with one of Jimmy’s theories — that Apple Macs were better than IBMs. Both of John’s parents were computer engineers, which is how they got a visa to migrate to Australia. They didn’t have good jobs yet, he said. They were having a hard time with their English.