No vultures.
No ghetto birds.
The media had completely disappeared, which not only meant no more flashing cameras, but also no more hot blonde reporter. Some of the boys went around peeking inside cars parked along the street to see if any reporters were hiding out, but they really had left without a trace.
I waited by the school gates and saw Mr Archie and Mr Ahmed having a conversation in his office. My eyes locked with the new principal’s before I turned away and pretended to scroll through my phone. I knew he was powerful enough to pull strings and get things done in record time, like having a forty-minute conversation with my dad about this sports program without me ever noticing.
‘This Mr Thomas Archie call me today at work,’ Dad said when he came home that evening. ‘We talk and talk about school and I tell him that you is smart but dumb, you know? He agree, too.’
‘He agreed? He doesn’t even know me,’ I protested.
I thought about telling Dad that he had no right to sign on my behalf, especially without my permission. Then I remembered that I’m an Arab and my rights were ceded to my parents from the moment I was born.
The Wolf Pack were hanging out at mine for our usual Tuesday night routine, watching Amira’s favourite Disney movie, Mulan, with her. We had no choice. Mum usually made spaghetti with yoghurt for us, and we’d – actually I’d – have to pretend to enjoy watching the movie. PJ and Ibby always reacted like it was the first time they had seen the movie.
‘Uncle, we think he’s a cop,’ Huss said to my dad, slurping his spaghetti. ‘I lost it and kicked the chair. Did you even see the way he was speaking to me, boys?’
‘Why you lose it?’ Dad asked. ‘If you go crazy, this only hurt you. You only one to lose. This man here because the school is very bad and you boys are reason.’
I shook my head, annoyed that now I’d have to hear about Mr Archie at home, too. ‘Of course, we’re the reason. It’s not because our classrooms are like ovens, or that our school has no money so our teachers have to photocopy photocopies of books and we can’t even read them because the words are so faded.’
It was one thing to give me up, Dad. It was another to blindly believe everything this guy was saying.
‘This no excuse to be disrespectful Tariq, especially with BBL program Mr Ahmed chose for you,’ Dad said. ‘And he also tell me sport program can help and I believe him. You very good at football, anyway. What the problem?’
He stood in front of the TV just as Mulan was about to jump off the palace roof – Ibby’s favourite part. ‘Boys, listen very careful. I give you life advice not even gold can buy. When I was young boy…’
Ibby’s still-reddened eyes darted my way. We knew it was lecture time, so we all got comfy. This was going to take a while, no matter how much Amira pleaded with Dad to wait until the movie was finished.
Even with his ‘You need to start to act like men and trust this new principal’ and his ‘Get your act together and start to take your school more seriously’ talk, Dad couldn’t convince Huss that Mr Archie wasn’t a cop.
Huss was still on the case with the boys the next day at school.
‘I’m telling you, boys, he’s a cop,’ he explained. We each had our manoush and our V, and had stopped just outside the school gates. We weren’t allowed to enter the school with any energy drinks, so most of the time we’d have to chug it down before the bell rang. ‘Trust me, I know what I’m on about.’
Unlike PJ and Ibby, who hadn’t stopped talking about Mr Archie’s tattoos or how amazing his muscles were, Huss was seriously convinced Mr Archie was part of a plot to get us Punchbowl boys ‘under control’ and force us to follow orders.
As we listened to him rant about it, a couple of trucks parked along the road, and a bunch of construction workers began to unload packages and boxes labelled with the words CLASSIFIED and FRAGILE in huge red writing.
‘See?’ Huss pointed. ‘I told you something shady is happening!’
‘Relax, bro. It’s probably just school stuff,’ I said trying to calm him down. Huss can be unrelenting when he gets an idea in his head.
Some of the boys had gathered under the palm tree beside the basketball courts. They had the trumbaki out, drumming and dancing to Arabic music played from an iPod dock. PJ and Ibby ran over to join the dance as the boys formed a circle, on their knees, hollering and clapping. That was how most mornings went until Mr Ahmed brought out the fire hose and watched us scramble to class.
It didn’t matter what year you were in; everyone had a role. The seniors were there to make sure that if any fight broke out, it would be fair – one on one, and no illegal weapons. They also were in charge of our Guinness Book of Punchbowl Records for any special talents that was worth mentioning. Hamza in Year 10 lit his own hair on fire for two whole minutes, Joseph in Year 9 ate Mrs Adra’s goldfish – while it was still alive – and Jamal in Year 12 stapled his eyelids shut for ten minutes (yes he was rushed to hospital). All these legends and more were in the book.
Us Year Ten boys watched over the Year Nine boys, the inbetweeners, and made sure they’d report to us if anything suspicious was happening, like any boy who was selling drugs or mixed substances. We’d make sure those troublemakers were either dealt with by the seniors, or that they were permanently out of our school. Then there were the juniors, and their job was to be on the lookout and take the blame if a situation were to break out. We all took care of each other. Respect was earned through the ranks, and if anyone stepped out of line, we had our own laws and court system that took care of it.
It didn’t take long before the ‘Mr Archie is a hectic principal’ conversations began. The seniors loved him, but the rest of us were still unsure of his real purpose, especially, of course, Huss. He stood on the silver seats and announced his conspiracy theory. Mohamed, our school captain, threw a footy at his head.
‘He’s here because our school is actually on its last chance,’ he explained. ‘It’s serious.’
Mohamed was the guy who worked every day after school, had his head stuck in books and never left the classroom, even at recess or lunch. He knew he had to work twice as hard to get a good ATAR because our school ranked so poorly.
I picked up the footy and kicked it back to Huss. ‘Just drop it, bro. I don’t like the guy, but there’s no way he’s a cop.’
‘Bro, he has to be on the gear,’ one boy said. ‘There’s no way he’s all natural.’
‘I can’t understand half the things he says,’ another complained. ‘His accent needs to come with, you know, that writing that’s on the bottom of the TV screen.’
‘They’re called subtitles, ya donkey,’ another boy mocked.
I ignored the pockets of conversation when Elias came running my way. ‘Archie’s just expelled Year Nine Jamal and Billy. They’re not allowed to come back.’
Those boys were ruthless and had been the ones you called if you needed a situation ‘taken care of’ – if the money was right, of course. If Mr Archie could get rid of them, then it meant he could get rid of anyone. Expulsion was something our teachers only threatened us with but never actually implemented.
I turned back to let the boys know, only to see Mr Archie walking through the back gate of the canteen. Huss was still ranting about his theory when Mr Archie stopped behind him.
‘I don’t care what you all say, there’s something shifty about this Archie guy.’ Huss was waving his hands in the air. ‘He has to be a pig trying to get information from us.’
Some of the boys tried to get him to shut up, muttering in Arabic that Mr Archie was right behind him, but Huss continued.
‘They brought over this guy who knows nothing about our school, to change it and make it better. Like, we don’t need your help, bro.’
‘Ya hayawan, shut up!’ I finally yelled. ‘He’s been behind you this whole time and you’re still talking shit!’
At first Huss thought we were messing around, until Mr Archie walked out in front of him with his hands in his pockets. Everyone slowly filtered away, afraid of what was about to go down. Then it was just Ibby, PJ, Huss and I.
‘You four lads, follow me to the main hall,’ he said, after staring at Huss for what felt like a million years. ‘This pig has something he needs to tell you.’
Huss’s pride wasn’t going to let him feel bad, so as usual, he was unapologetic. I knew that whatever Mr Archie was going to tell us, it wasn’t going to be good.
And of course, I was right.
‘Okay, lads. I’ve spoken to your teachers and they know you’ll be off first period,’ he said, walking towards four yellow buckets, mops and cleaning products. He handed a mop to each of us and explained that the hall was to be in tiptop condition by the time he got back in forty-five minutes. None of us knew why we were chosen out of almost two hundred students. It was starting to feel like we were really his prey. ‘Consider this early preparation for a long and tough couple of terms ahead,’ he said. ‘If you aren’t going to take care of your school, then who is?’
‘I will, sir, Thomas!’ Ibby raised his hand in the air, waiting for a high five. He had a habit of calling teachers by their first name, except for Mr Ahmed – probably because Mr Ahmed could turn anyone into a pretzel. I think Ibby thought it was a good way to suck up to the teachers.
‘Are you my ma?’ Mr Archie asked with his eyebrows close together and his lips tight. He marched Ibby’s way and stopped inches from his face. ‘It’s Mr Archie to you.’
I could’ve sworn I saw a couple of tears fall down Ibby’s face when Mr Archie left and slammed the doors. As always, Huss, Ibby and PJ immediately began to argue about whose fault it was that we were in this mess in the first place.
There must be more to this Archie guy, I thought to myself. I had a feeling that this was going to be worse for me than the other boys. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, just by the way he looked and spoke to me. The fact that he was here, at our school, possibly in our classes, watching us for all of Term 1, meant that he knew things about the way we worked and who we were. He had all the cards and advantages going into this war. And I didn’t have any doubt about it – we were in a war.
‘I’m not cleaning this craphole,’ Huss said, sitting down. ‘Isn’t that why we pay cleaners? We do the mess, they clean up. Simple.’
PJ bit his lip, trying to control his anger. He had Music first period, and Mrs Flinders was his favourite teacher who entered him in music competitions or drove him to any auditions. Missing it was seriously pissing him off. ‘You always run your mouth, Huss, and we all suffer for it. If you didn’t call him a pig, then maybe we wouldn’t be here in the first place.’
‘Shut up, you dumb coconut,’ Huss said with his hands behind his head. ‘Stop talking and clean already.’
Quick as a flash, PJ swung his mop towards Huss and knocked him out of his chair and into the bucket filled with water and soap. ‘Call me a coconut again!’
It was on like Donkey Kong, which meant bodies were going to be slammed and faces were going to be rearranged.
Huss, now with red in his eyes, charged towards PJ but lost his balance on the slippery floor and landed on his back. He finally managed to step off the soapy floor and jumped on PJ’s back. It was like watching a meerkat on an elephant as he tried to lay some jabs into PJ’s ribs. PJ grabbed him from behind and swung him out towards the chairs. I had thought they were doing their usual messing around, but then PJ had his hands tight around Huss’s neck. If I didn’t stop him now, Huss was heading to Rookwood Cemetery. Ibby and I rushed over and pulled them apart.
‘Let go of me!’ Huss yelled, still wanting to rip PJ’s head off. ‘I swear if you don’t, wallah I’ll smash you and him.’
I held him against the wall until he finally calmed down. ‘What is wrong with both of you? Just relax, yeah?’
Huss’s chest heaved in and out. As though the situation couldn’t get any worse, Mr Archie walked in with a group of men in suits. We hadn’t cleaned any part of the hall and our clothes and the floor were soaked with water.
Mr Archie cleared his throat. ‘Gentlemen, why don’t we head on back to the office where the ladies have fixed up some morning tea?’
We quickly rushed to fix the crime scene knowing he’d be back here any minute to punish us. Soon enough, he walked in and slammed the door behind him so hard that I felt the vibrations ripple across the floorboards. We found ourselves standing to attention in a line like we were in the army.
He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a bad headache. ‘So those men were from the department and a government agency sent out to see how safe this school is. I brought them in here, and what do you know, you lads look like you’ve just brawled.’
I realised that us being in the hall, cleaning and supposedly being responsible, was no accident. It should’ve been a good look for us once the men in suits walked in but Mr Archie’s plan had failed miserably.
‘It was PJ and Huss.’ Ibby wasted no time turning them in. ‘They started it.’
We all stared at Ibby. He shrugged, as though we shouldn’t be surprised by his big mouth.
I could hear Huss’s teeth grinding together as Mr Archie now stood face to face with him. ‘You, sir, are on a roll today. Get your act together, or your grandma will get a call and find out why her grandson was expelled.’
Huss looked taken aback that Mr Archie had mentioned his grandma. Big Haji meant everything to him and he knew she’d be disappointed.
Mr Archie then stood in front of me. ‘Consider yourself stripped of the footy team captaincy.’
‘What?’ all the boys asked, shocked.
The boys argued for my position, even threatening to leave the team, but that didn’t faze Mr Archie.
‘You lads need to start accepting that I’m the principal, or you’ll continue to lose opportunities. Tariq is the BBL. He should’ve stopped the fight before it got to this.’
I felt my eyes narrow and the anger take over my body. I wanted to shout and fight back, but my body was paralysed.
He then pulled out a chair, took it to the back of the hall and ordered us to get cleaning. I was still trying to comprehend that I’d just lost my captaincy of a team that had won the last three grand finals. The more I thought about it, the more my blood boiled.
PJ and Ibby cleaned the windows and the huge dust balls underneath the rows of stacked chairs. Huss and I mopped, but no matter how many times we wiped the floor, soap bubbles scummed over the surface and we had to redo everything.
Half an hour went by before Mr Archie called for us. ‘It looks like you’re finished for the morning, but there’s one more thing I have left for you to do.’
PJ let out a loud sigh. ‘Sir, I swear I’m tired. Can’t you just go easy on us?’
Mr Archie smiled, but there was nothing pleasant in his expression. ‘You will play a game of footy at lunch with a team of your choice. Pick your team and meet me and my team on the oval. The losing team will have to clean the hall for the rest of the week.’
‘And if we win?’ I asked, knowing he must have something up his sleeve.
‘You will have my respect,’ he said.
‘Respect?’ Ibby repeated like he tasted something bad. ‘What am I going to do with that?’
‘Deal,’ I said, before Mr Archie could change his mind. ‘And I get my captaincy back.’
He nodded like he was impressed. ‘Deal.’
We shook hands, and now I began to feel the blood pumping furiously in my veins. I wanted more than anything to embarrass him and show him what skills I really had to offer.
‘Okay, lads, you can leave,’ Mr Archie said. ‘Except for you, Tariq. I need to have a word with you.’
The boys left the hall, Ibby staring curiously back over his shoulder. When they were gone, Mr Archie leaned on the edge of his chair and stared at me. ‘Why didn’t you fight back?’
I looked up, confused. ‘Fight back?’
‘Yes. I took the captaincy away from you, mocked you without any explanation, and you didn’t even try to get it back.’
‘You’re the boss, right?’ I said, fed up with these games he was playing.
‘Lad, I’m not here to make your life difficult, but I’m not going to lie, I am tough and I have high expectations,’ he said. ‘If you want to be captain, you need to do more than be good with the ball. You need to set an example and lead from the front. It’s about proving yourself as the BBL. This is not a one-man show.’
‘What is this, some kind of therapy session?’ I snapped. ‘Look, I get it. You’re supposed to act tough and strong but –’
‘But what?’ he interrupted. ‘They’ve given us until mid-Term 3 to at least show you lads are heading in the right direction. Do you think you’re anywhere close to making that deadline?’ He walked over and stood in front of me. He seemed much bigger up close. ‘I know your dad would be so disappointed if he saw you act and behave the way you do.’
It cut me deep that he, a stranger I barely knew, mentioned anyone in my family like he knew them, but I wasn’t going to let him see me hurt.
I looked up at the clock above his head. ‘I need to get to class. Miss K is waiting for me.’
The boys huddled around the door to my English classroom waiting to hear what happened with Mr Archie. I told them that our only focus was to find four players for our footy game and prove once and for all that this white Irish guy had no idea what to do with the school. I left the scouting to Huss and the boys while I thought of some game plans. They had the luxury of having toilet breaks or leaving class, while I, being in Advanced English, was expected to own a pen, a book and actually do some work.
Miss Kyriacou, aka Miss K, was my English teacher and hers was the only class I never jigged, not only because she’d threatened to send letters to my dad’s work but because she actually taught in a way that made me want to learn. Even though she was petite and most of the boys towered over her, her voice was strong and stern and could command the attention of any room without lifting a finger. Her classroom was the only one with walls filled with colour and information that was useful. Along with Mr Ahmed, she’d been my teacher ever since Year Seven and knew exactly how my brain worked.
‘We’re focusing on poetry this term, Tariq,’ she said as I walked in. ‘Slams in particular.’
I sat at the back of the room and watched the clock hands slowly tick by. My mind was going into overdrive thinking about all the set plays we’d pull off in our finals to destroy Mr Archie’s team. I wanted my captaincy back and I was willing to do anything to prove to him I was worth it.
‘You don’t need to look like that,’ she said, noticing my ferocious expression. ‘It’s not the end of the world.’ She handed me a poetry outline. ‘You’ll get to be captain again when you start to take the BBL and Mr Archie more seriously.’
‘He told you?’
‘Everyone knows, Tariq,’ she said, sitting beside me. ‘As I’ve been telling you since you first walked in those doors as a junior, you have so much potential but you choose to cruise by.’
‘Miss, he’s making us do all these things without asking. He’s called my dad and now they’re best friends. He’s made me ex-captain of a team that’s nothing without me, and on top of all that, I have to be part of this so-called footy comp that I know nothing about.’ The more I thought about everything that had happened, the angrier I got.
‘If you’d just take a step back and actually process what’s going on, you’d realise that tough calls need to be made because this school is in a tough position,’ she replied. ‘Tariq, I know you’re angry, but you have to learn how to express yourself better. We’ve talked about different strategies before.’
Anger Management Strategies go as follows, in no particular order:
1. Deep breaths.
2. Count to fifty.
3. Walk away.
4. Respond when you’re calm.
5. Speak to someone you trust.
That’s what we’ve been told to do when our anger gets out of control. Sometimes it works, but most of the time it doesn’t.
I still remember the first time Miss K saw me lose it. I was in Year Eight. It was halfway through Term 2 when a new kid called Ibrahim Nasser – Ibby – started his first day. Not only did his buttons look like they were going to explode, he wore the wrong school uniform. Huss and I were running late to class when we heard someone yelling in the gym toilets. We rushed over to see three boys holding Ibby with his back to the wall and his shirt over his head. They punched him in the stomach a couple of times, laughing and teasing his ‘flabs’, before Huss and I rushed over to help.
I want to say we saved the day and taught those boys a lesson, but I can’t. We got our arses handed to us until PJ arrived. He looked like he was ready to kill someone. His fists were clenched and the veins in his neck throbbed. He was livid that his team had lost in a game of touch footy. It worked out well for us, because PJ took his anger out on the boys while we got to live another day. Seeing PJ throw those boys around like they were ragdolls triggered something feral in Ibby too. It was the last day anyone messed with him, and it was the first day of the Wolf Pack.
Miss K continued to talk me through what was expected, which only made my brain wander off, still focused on getting that win. The bell finally rang for lunchtime and before I knew it, word got around about the game.
‘So you’re in?’ Miss K asked as I packed my things.
‘Yeah, yeah, Miss. No worries,’ I answered wanting to leave.
No idea what I’ve just agreed to.
Everyone sat around the oval as the drums blasted and the boys cheered. I was pumped, until I saw the team the boys had come up with to stick it to Mr Archie.
| Mr Archie’s Team | My Team |
|
• Muzzi, the fastest kid in the school. • Terry, captain of the senior footy team • Sal, the biggest kid in the school • Harry and Ali, award-winning footy players • Toufiq and Adnan, play for St George’s Under-17 club • Mr Archie, principal of the school |
• Me, halfback and ex-captain • Huss, fullback and goal kicker • Ibby, forward and once fit a whole football in his mouth • PJ, prop and can use his afro to catch a ball • Yousef, never played footy before and often is mistaken for a primary schooler • Ahmed, never played a game but is usually our waterboy • Sonny and David, table tennis champions |
This was who they’d come up with?
I threw my bag on the floor. ‘What part of “find a team” did you not understand?’
‘Shut up, bro,’ Huss said, annoyed. ‘These losers were all that was left after Archie took all the best players.’
‘We’re right here,’ Yousef said. ‘We can hear you.’
I had no time to argue and went through a couple of game plans. David and Sonny, the only Indonesians in the school, asked about a thousand questions, which only made PJ and Ibby walk away, unable to handle the tension.
‘Just run straight and don’t drop the ball,’ Huss snapped at last, frustrated. ‘If you make any mistakes, you know what will happen.’
Huss and PJ had gotten over their earlier feud because we now had a bigger enemy and needed to turn up the heat. Each of us wanted to get back at Mr Archie for everything that happened that morning, and show him how people like us played footy.
‘Boys, I want to be captain and win this game so he doesn’t mess with us again,’ I reminded them.
Ibby hugged me tight. ‘Wallah even if I die, I’m going to help you get captain.’
‘Just die after the game, yeah?’ I tried to catch my breath. ‘I need you to go full Hulk on them.’
Mr Ahmed, the official umpire of our game, came over with a smile on his face. ‘Yallah boys, you ready to get smashed?’
Ibby tackled him from behind. ‘Wallah, sir, I’ll tell my brother to get you protein shakes if you rig some calls for us.’
He ignored Ibby’s bribe and ran onto the field to begin the game. Mr Archie’s team looked like superheroes while I stared back at mine, only to see David and Sonny standing on the wrong side of the field.
‘Don’t look at me,’ Ibby said, following my gaze. ‘Huss chose them.’
I called them over and explained the rules one more time. In the meantime, Mr Archie had his shirt off like he was on Season Ten of The Bachelor and a loud cheer led by the female teachers echoed around the oval.
We were to have fifteen-minute halves in a game of tackle. Mr Ahmed blew his whistle and we kicked off. Mr Archie caught the ball and ran full steam ahead. He was quick and strong and so was his team. They tore our defence apart and focused on our weak sides – which, in this game, was every side. They scored try after try, until we were the laughing-stock of the school. We were not only getting hammered on the field, but off-field the other boys gave it to us. You would think that being a principal and an adult, he’d slow it down, but not Mr Archie. He was competitive, shouting orders and delivering set pieces you would only see in an NRL first-grade game.
This guy was a machine.
Mr Ahmed blew the whistle for the end of the first half with us down four tries. Ibby and PJ needed lung transplants, while David and Sonny tapped out and joined the crowd. I needed to do something fast to preserve whatever shred of dignity I had left and put at least a couple of tries on the scoreboard.
I turned to Yousef and Ahmed. ‘You wanna know why you guys never make it to the footy team? It’s cause you can’t tackle. Maybe show us you can tackle, and I’ll put you in the team.’ Although I wasn’t technically captain right now, everyone still knew that role was mine and nobody could do the job better than me.
You could see the spark in their eyes. ‘Seriously?’
‘Just hold onto Muzzi and Mr Archie and leave the rest to me,’ I said.
They ran onto the field and stood in position, rubbing dirt onto their faces. They wanted those footy positions more than anything.
Huss looked at me. ‘Seriously? In the team?’
‘Of course not.’
Second half.
Mr Archie played with six players since we were two short. He kicked off and the ball landed in my arms. We had set after set, but couldn’t break their line. They came close a couple of times, but Yousef and Ahmed’s solid tackles actually worked. They were so determined to get their spots in the team, they became like two wild bulldogs. Mr Ahmed had to speak to them a couple of times to try and calm them down because they were so in the zone. The clock was ticking and I knew I needed to break out on my own. It was like hitting a brick wall, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt about defence, it’s that high kicks in the air can test the Billy Slater in all of us. Huss kicked the ball up high a couple of times until some finally landed my way. We were on the scoreboard.
Five tries to two.
I could tell from Mr Archie’s face that he was going to take it up a notch, but so was I. He caught the ball and ran towards PJ and Ibby, who had their hands on their hips, too tired to play. Yousef and Ahmed tried to tackle him but accidentally headbutted each other. That left Huss and me to chase him down. We made the tackle, but he slid over the line to score their sixth and final try.
Mr Ahmed blew the whistle. ‘Game over, boys. Congratulations, Mr Archie’s team.’
Huss and I sat on the ground and tried to catch our breath while the whole school ran onto the field and cheered around Mr Archie and his team. I looked up to the sky and prayed that it had all been a nightmare. I hadn’t really lost to Mr Archie in front of the whole school right?
Apparently, I had.
‘Alright, lads. Great game,’ he said, shaking our hands. ‘You made this old man work up a sweat. But a deal is a deal, and so the hall is yours all week. And Tariq, you remain stripped of your captaincy.’