Teenagers, toddlers, same-same lah
Emma was nervous. She had never done any teaching before, yet somehow she was expected to help rehabilitate Troubled Teens. Not that they were called ‘Troubled Teens’ anymore. Now they were referred to optimistically as ‘Second-Chancers’ – even though for most of them this was their fourth or fifth ‘chance’. Community Service also meant a drastic change to her routine. Life, for the last four years since her husband’s death, had consisted of getting up, researching on the computer, interviewing people – celebrities, politicians, activists – writing up an article, and then more research. If she managed to change out of her bedclothes, brush her hair, or eat for any of the time she wasn’t interviewing, it was a miracle.
“No wonder you can’t get a date,” her friends, Katriona and Ling Ling, often moaned.
But to Emma, Getting A Date was not a top priority, much to her own mother’s disgust. In Mrs Corazon’s eyes, now that a suitable mourning period had elapsed, it was high time Emma did the sensible thing and re-married – preferably someone nice, like Manny ‘Mandela’ Manalog, or DOCTOR Manny Manalog, since he was an orthodontist now, you know.
It was a constant source of frustration to Emma that the only Nice Men her mother knew were doctors, lawyers or dentists. Just the thought of going out with a man who spent eight hours a day with his fingers in other people’s mouths was too gross to think about. She was perfectly happy with her life, thank you very much. Work was immensely satisfying, she had a wonderful daughter, and she had very good friends.
Alana didn’t agree. In her opinion it couldn’t be healthy to be so obsessed with work. Her mum burrowed into her job like a mole, and when she did bother to surface, her so-called ‘friends’ were always getting her into trouble. Last year was a perfect example. Katriona and Ling Ling had set Alana’s mum up on a dating website, where she began an online flirtation with PeterPan, who ended up being teen heart-throb, Jet Tierbert. That made Emma old enough to be his mother! Ewww! That was one birthday surprise Alana could have done without. What’s more, they broke into the Sydney Aquarium, swam with dolphins, set off a fire extinguisher in the shark tank, and kidnapped a Little Penguin called Noodle. But they’d also held Emma’s hand through the heartbreak of losing Hugo: months of walking around in a daze. Gone. Gone forever. The words had circled in Emma’s brain until she thought she’d go mad.
It was no surprise that she turned to them again in this time of crisis.
“Look on the bright side,” Katriona said matter-of-factly. “It’ll be good for you to meet some new people. Maybe even some single dads,” she winked. “Save a cute one for me,” she added quietly with a wiggle of her shapely bottom.
Emma tsked as she popped another painkiller in her mouth. A different brand this time, because the last one had turned her tongue blue. And caused an involuntary tick in one eye. Not exactly the first impression she wanted to make.
“Teenagers, toddlers, same-same lah,” Ling Ling said before following Katriona in a floating flurry of sunburnt swirls. The Beauty Bar they ran offered Complete Makeovers (or ‘Takeovers’, as Alana called them) and their 2:30 was due. Ling Ling couldn’t wait to transform their client into the beautiful woman she knew was hiding in oversized t-shirts and baggy pants.
Emma headed off to the first of her sixty hours of Community Service with those words of wisdom and an old copy of Taming Your Tiny Two’s. She coaxed her battered ute up to 15 km/hr, ignoring the impatient toots and horns from the drivers behind her. Her car’s debut on Speedsters had taken its toll. The ute shuddered to a halt outside the Police Boys’ Club with a wheezy cough. Emma took a deep breath. The mouldy scent of old paper and baby sick that was the book’s signature scent filled her nostrils, and she tried to stem the flood of memories it evoked.
Three youths meandered past her car. One wore a leather jacket that was too big for him and too warm for February. The jacket had the words ‘Crazy Mother’ embroidered on the back. In the morning sunlight it was easy to see where a border of hearts and flowers had once been, by the tiny trace of holes they had left behind. Another boy – of Asian descent – was weaving up and down the pavement on a well-worn skateboard. He used the low brick wall by the club’s entrance to attempt a Casper Slide, and landed head-down and legs up, like a banana.
“Epic fail!” Leather Jacket jeered.
The third youth – a heavy-set boy whose low-seated pants were weighed down further by a monkey wrench in his back pocket – stretched his arms sumo-style to prevent the two from fighting. Emma couldn’t see his face because he had his back to her, but his ears were the cauliflower kind that suggested a long history of playing some kind of rugby. That, and his lack of neck.
If that was the kind of people she was dealing with, Emma thought, she had better set some ground rules. Which is exactly what she did when she found herself in class in front of the same youths, fifteen minutes later. On the whiteboard provided by the administrator – who had simultaneously wished her ‘Good Luck’ and whispered instructions on how to use the Emergency Exit – she began to write the words, ‘No bullying’. Puzzlement painted faces a stormy black as the three youths struggled to read.
To cover his confusion, Boris, the boy in the oversized leather jacket, threw a wad of paper at the skateboarder, Trần’s face.
Trần protested. “Miss! Miss! This is disabl-ism!” He yelled, holding up a hand which had a thumb and only one finger. The story of how Trần lost the other three changed all the time. Some days he claimed it was a hunting accident. Other days, it was a kung-fu move gone wrong. Whatever the reason, Two-Fingered Trần never hesitated to use the loss to his advantage. Enzo – the third boy – planted himself between the other two boys yet again in his peacekeeper’s role. Thus it was that the two boys exchanged insults from a metre apart. Trần had the last word with what he called the “Trần Salute”, by holding his L-shaped digits against his own forehead. “Loser!” he spat. Eventually, the room settled back down.
Emma pursed her lips, popped another painkiller in her mouth, and added No swearing and No name-calling to the list of rules, along with No fighting. As an afterthought, she underlined the additions and surrounded them with flowers and stars. Emma decided their first topic would be Job-Seeking, for she was sure that somewhere, in some way, somehow, the Second-Chancers could make a positive contribution towards society. She just had to help them find it. They began with a role-play.
“Give me a job, or I’ll bash yur head in!” demanded Boris. Boris looked at his peers, noting with satisfaction that they looked impressed.
Ling Ling was right. Teaching was a lot like bringing up a toddler. She quickly flicked through the book and found a passage which felt relevant. Focus on the positive and praise them, while guiding the negative out the door. “I love your directness, Boris (praising the positive), but I’m worried you’re coming across too strong (guiding the negative out the door). Strength is a good thing, but we don’t use our teeth to open a can of soft drink, do we?”
Not to be outdone, Boris tried again.
“Give me a job, or I’ll bash your head in. Please.”
A whistle of approval ran through the group.
Little steps, Emma promised herself as she rubbed her temples. Little steps.