Alana Oakley parked her bicycle in the grounds of Gibson High. A few older students, some of whom she didn’t know, waved as they passed the girl whose long, normally dark flyaway hair contained a new streak of plum. It was tied back in a high ponytail with neon shoelaces. Alana smiled broadly, the dimples which she’d inherited from her father, Hugo, deepening in reply. It was great to be in Year Eight and no longer at the Bottom of the Food Chain. It also helped that last year Alana and her friends won the Original Song Contest, scoring tickets and backstage passes to see Slam Guru and Jet Tierbert, two of the world’s hottest music acts. That she’d reportedly shown teen heart-throb Jet ‘a thing or two’ on the guitar after the concert had set school tongues wagging and eyes agog.
“Lana!” three voices called out at once. Alana’s dark ponytail swung in response and she broke into a grin. Alana’s closest friends, Khalilah, Maddie and Sofia, bounced over to her. Khalilah, plumper than the other two, lagged slightly behind. Alana admired Sofia’s new yin and yang pendant, even though it was hard to see amongst the plethora of lucky charms she still wore.
Maddie’s sea-coloured eyes sparkled with good humour as she teased their friend. “I thought you’d given up all that superstitious stuff for Hard Science?”
Sofia flicked back her hair – now dreadlocks, dyed three different shades of purple – and laughed. “I already told you. It can’t hurt, right? And with Coach Kusmuk for P.E., I need all the luck I can get.”
“I heard a rumour she was leaving the school,” Alana said hopefully.
“Not this year,” Sofia said with a crestfallen face. All the same, she gave her lucky Medallion of Hopeless Causes a determined rub.
The other girls groaned. Not Coach Kusmuk again!
Khalilah slung an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about that, Maddie, and I’ve got a great idea,” she began, but everyone was already shaking their heads an emphatic ‘No’. They knew all about Khalilah and her Great Ideas. Who else would have thought of trapping last year’s magic eight-ball thief with ‘unwet’ water, drenching the P.E. teacher in the process?
“You know my cousin, Erin, the Psychic?” said Sofia. None of them did, but they nodded anyway. “She came over last weekend and said a tall, dark, mysterious stranger would be entering our lives,” she declared dramatically. Before Sofia could explain further, a group of girls in their year clustered around. Soon everybody was chatting animatedly about music, teachers and their timetable. Younger students stood on the fringes in awe.
The Year Sevens were soon herded away for a formal welcome by Gibson High’s Acting Principal, Mr Turner. Alana and her friends remembered his speech from last year. No doubt the new batch of Year Sevens would also be urged to “explore, experiment and enjoy” by the rotund, rosy-cheeked man students good-naturedly dubbed, ‘Santa’.
A quick glance at the school calendar in their diaries revealed some striking differences to last year: ‘Shakespeare Week’ in April sounded intriguing, so did the new elective, ‘Foreign Languages’. One thing that hadn’t changed was the mid-year exams in July, which Alana hoped would not be too stressful. It looked like their game against the Soccer Academy was scheduled around the same time. With their new team they had a real shot at winning. Alana began mentally calculating how many soccer practice sessions they could fit in before the match.
“So what did you choose for Foreign Languages?” Khalilah said, interrupting Alana’s thoughts. Alana’s friends knew she was trying to learn French in memory of her father, Hugo, who had died four years ago. French, however, wasn’t on offer. With the government drive to be Economically Competitive in the Asia-Pacific region, the girls could choose between Mandarin and Malay. The choice was a no-brainer for Khalilah, who was Bruneian.
“I chose Mandarin,” Alana began, but broke off when the other three cried in protest.
“How could you not do Malay, Alana?” Khalilah cried, clearly disappointed. “I thought we could hang out at my house to study. Dad even offered to teach us how to make rendang.”
Alana felt a pang of remorse. The girls had discussed the two options when the letter about electives arrived before the end of Year Seven. Although Khalilah’s dad did make the best rendang curry, she’d been swayed into taking Chinese by Auntie Ling Ling from Singapore, who had offered to help. Maybe she should have thought twice about the offer. This was Auntie Ling Ling, after all: co-mastermind of disasters like her mum’s full-body tattoo (which almost happened) and smuggling Auntie Katriona into Slam’s concert as a ‘Sekurity’ Guard (which did happen).
OMG! Could she have made the biggest mistake of her school career?
Alana shook off the negativity. This was not the right frame of mind to start the first day of school. “I’m sorry,” she said with real regret. “The subject description said we’d get to do calligraphy painting.” Khalilah continued to pout. “I promise I’ll be there for the cooking demo though,” she said, flipping her backpack high over her shoulder, “I adore your dad’s curry!”
“Oof,” Alana heard somebody wince. It was a boy. A new boy. And he was rubbing his chin where her bag had landed hard.
Alana glanced up and did a double-take. The new boy was tall and lanky. Most of the buttons of his school shirt were undone and his tie was at half-mast. A dark, floppy fringe and scuffed shoes completed the look. But it was his eyes which grabbed Alana’s attention the most. They were a curious shade of grey. Like rainclouds on a stormy day. At this moment they were glaring back as the boy checked for the smut that must be on his nose. Alana realised with a start that she was staring. Her friends nudged each other, whispering. Was this the tall, dark, mysterious stranger Cousin Erin had foretold? If so, he was really cute! In many ways he reminded them of the teen pop star, Jet Tierbert. But while Jet exuded Rock Glam edginess, this guy took it further with an air of Bad Boy menace. They exchanged excited glances.
“Sorry,” Alana mumbled, strangely tongue-tied.
The new boy shrugged. His eyes lost their stormy look, changing as swiftly as the elements they resembled. “Sure,” he shrugged.
“Good to see you’ve met,” boomed a voice that could only belong to Coach Kusmuk. “You and your friends can take our new student, Flynn, to Science since you’re in the same class. But don’t try to experiment on him. If I recall,” she said, turning to gaze at Khalilah, Maddie and Sofia, who’d taken a sudden interest in the clouds, “your ‘experiments’ don’t have a high success rate.”
The coach stalked away. Some people never forget, or forgive, and Coach Kusmuk was doing neither. It looked like last year’s ruse with ‘unwet’ water still rankled. It didn’t help Coach Kusmuk’s mood that she had been mistaken for a school student (and a boy at that) again this morning. Her slight build – a legacy from her years as a world-class gymnast – and her androgynous features confounded staff, who still questioned her presence in the staffroom. It was a constant source of frustration.
Alana expected Mr Murray, their usual Science teacher with the too-tight trousers, to greet them First Period with his habitual squat. Instead it was a substitute teacher, Miss Metcalf, a freckly figure with bleached blonde hair, who met them at the door. In her hand she had photocopied worksheets, which she gave to each student as they filed through.
“Hi everyone?” she said, once they’d quietened down. “My name is Miss Metcalf? I’ll be taking you for Science today because Mr Murray is sick? He left you a worksheet to do which looks like, really hard, so I’ll let you get on with it?” She ended each sentence on a higher note so that it sounded as if she was asking rather than telling them. With a bright smile the teacher moved to her desk. Within minutes she was logged on to her laptop checking for cheap flights. She’d heard the surfing in Northern Peru was exceptional this time of year.
Alana chose the seat next to Miller White after making sure the new student, Flynn, was settled. She needn’t have worried. It was clear Sofia and Khalilah were taking Flynn under their wing. The two girls elbowed a couple of thickset boys out of the way to wedge Flynn between them. Sofia took a firm grip of Flynn’s arm to show him a seat with Khalilah close behind. The three of them shuffled sideways like a crab as Flynn’s feet dangled briefly above the floor. He ended up sandwiched between Sofia and Khalilah on a desk really meant for two. The girls beamed up at him. Sofia’s mood ring had morphed into a rich burgundy, while Khalilah shot Flynn the kind of glances she usually reserved for cream buns. Alana turned to exchange a knowing look with Maddie, only to find Maddie cradling her chin and staring at him too with a dreamy expression on her face! Uh-oh! Alana didn’t know if Flynn was the ‘tall, dark, mysterious stranger’ they were predicted to meet, but she didn’t have to be a psychic to know that Flynn was Trouble.
Alana slid into her seat. It was part of her New Year’s resolution to try to do something different every day, and Miller White was definitely Something Different. Alana thought Miller might have had to repeat because he was kind of slow. Or seemed to be. He took things literally, which made conversation tricky. It didn’t help that he wore odd-shaped glasses to accommodate eyes that were spaced far apart, like fried eggs sliding off the sides of his face.
Alana didn’t understand the video games obsession Miller shared with his friends, but as Uncle James was always reminding her, things were not always what they seemed. James … Alana sighed. She missed him when he was working on photo-shoots in exotic locations. He and her mum were a great team – every time Emma interviewed the Rich and Famous, the celebrated photographer was there to get the perfect shot. Alana had a real love for photography too, and this shared passion had drawn them closer, especially with her dad gone. They’d taken to exchanging pictures with the new smart-phone James had finally bought. On impulse, Alana checked her phone in case James had posted a photo. He had! My impression of a gorilla’s nostrils, she read. Alana stifled a laugh. James had taken a close-up of his nose. The real thing, said the next tag. Alana marvelled at how regal and breathtaking the female gorilla was. James had captured the intelligence and curiosity which shone from the primate’s eyes, head cocked to one side. Alana checked no-one was watching before sneaking the phone up to her own face. She flared her nostrils and zoomed in to take a photo to send back to James. Oops: from the corner of her eye she could see Miller gawking. She hoped someone had warned him things were not always what they seemed.
While Alana was working hard at getting a non-blurry close-up of her nose, and Miller was working hard at not staring because it was rude, Miss Metcalf was working equally hard at doing no work at all. But today things were not going as planned. Within ten minutes, most of the students had finished the task and were looking for something else to do. They were looking for more work. They were looking to be taught! She was appalled. What was wrong with them? Didn’t they have balls of paper to throw at each other? Kids these days have no imagination or initiative! she lamented.
Miss Metcalf spied a television in the corner. She checked her watch. Perfect timing! Speedsters, a live program televising high-speed car chases from around the world, was on. It was very educational. Hadn’t Julie Metcalf herself learnt to do a 180˚ turn from watching the show?
Alana raised her hand. “Umm, Miss Metcalf? What does Speedsters have to do with Science?”
Khalilah, Sofia and Maddie, looked at her with amazement. They were only allowed to watch daytime TV when they were sick at home. What was Alana complaining about?
The new boy, Flynn, turned to stare too. Eyes the colour of cold steel bored into her. What was this girl’s problem? A teacher was letting them watch the coolest show on earth and she was questioning its educational merits?
“S-q-u-a-r-e,” he mouthed at her, miming the shape with long, spidery fingers.
Alana ignored him. She didn’t care for him or his opinions, even though her friends clearly thought otherwise. Although it was only his first day, Flynn instantly made himself popular by pointing out the Physics principles of a well-executed wheelie.
“Miss,” Flynn protested, “We could learn about Newton’s third law of motion by watching Speedsters. There are lots of wheelies on the show, right?” The substitute teacher nodded vigorously. Flynn, encouraged, continued his explanation. “Newton said that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” A vacant look passed across the substitute teacher’s eyes. To her relief, Flynn went on. “So the main reason you can do a wheelie is because the axle is trying to spin the tyres. As the axle turns the wheels forward, there’s an equal and opposite reaction, which tries to make the axle turn in the opposite direction. I’m sure there’s an equation or something to go with it,” Flynn waved his hand vaguely in the air.
“Wd = Fh,” Miller muttered.
Flynn snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Wd = Fh! Where W …?” he looked to Miller for help.
“Is the weight of the car,” Miller supplied.
Flynn urged him on, “and d is the …”
“… horizontal distance between the centre of gravity and the rear axle …”
Flynn’s fingers gestured impatiently, “and F is …”
“…the traction force at the rear tyres and h is the centre of gravity height,” Miller said in a rush.
Alana stared at Miller in amazement. She had been wrong about him. Completely.
“Exactly!” Flynn pumped a fist in the air and then held out his hand to Miller for a high-five. Miller gave Flynn’s palm a blank stare.
Sofia took the opportunity to read the lines of Flynn’s palm. “Romance,” she said breathily. “I see romance.” Flynn extracted his hand from Sofia’s and edged away. He ended up closer to Khalilah; a move which made Khalilah’s smile widen.
The teacher turned up the volume with a smirk. “So there,” Alana could almost hear Miss Metcalf add silently to the argument.
The car chase that was live-to-air did not disappoint viewers. A battered ute sped down the highway on the wrong side of the road, ten police cars in tow. The thwuk, thwuk, thwuk of a helicopter above added to the drama. Road blocks were set up, but the car continued its high-speed flight. People’s thighs pressed into the edge of seats. Necks craned forward. What would the ute do?!
Alana felt a tingle, almost a shiver, in the back of her mind. The aging car shouldn’t have looked familiar. But it did. Alana’s stomach tightened. She watched in growing horror as a line of policemen, like waiting skittles, waved their hands. The car sped on. Closer. Closer. With a frantic look left and right, police officers dived out of the way seconds before the barriers behind them smashed. Strike!
Any social prestige Alana had gained for winning the Original Song Contest, tickets and backstage passes to the hottest concert, and meeting the one boy every girl in school had a poster of, disintegrated when the Speedsters camera zoomed in. On her mother! Alana tried very hard to disappear into her chair.
“Get-out-of-the-car-with-your-hands-up!” Officer Henley yelled. The gun in his outstretched hand trembled. In fact his entire body was trembling, from the top of his sunburnt ears to the tips of his black buffed shoes. Then and there Officer Henley made a promise to himself: as soon as he finished making this arrest he was going to eat pancakes topped with marshmallows, chocolate sauce, sprinkles, golden syrup, whipped cream and butterscotch ice cream. Life, he’d just realised, was too short not to.
The camera wobbled as it jogged into place, just catching Emma Oakley before she fell flat on her face with a wobbly “Yee-ha!”
“Isn’t that your mum, Alana?” Miller said.
Flynn’s eyes widened as he watched her squirm. Your mum? The new boy’s shocked expression seemed to say.