I’m uploading the video and photos of the game onto my computer. Mr Angelou wants to see the photos tomorrow. Some of them . . . I don’t know if I can show him. Ping. Ping. Check my phone. Photos from kids at the game flash up on the screen: George Hamel sliding over the line. Winger sprinting with the ball. Reds and Blues on the field. Kids cheering. Facebook messages keep pinging:
Anna: Great game.
Hotchic1: Hamel’s a legend.
Hotchic2: Winger’s a legend.
That’s got to be Becky and Jasmin. So stupid.
Paulo: Only game to play! Ha!
Eagle: Beast! Beast! Beast!
Christopher: Can’t wait to c yr photos.
Christopher didn’t see what I saw through my camera lens. Inside the scrum. Don’t want to get him involved. Just got to think what to do.
I hear the back door slam. Rob yells down the hallway. ‘How’d the game go?’
‘Great,’ I yell from my bedroom. I’m not in the mood for Rob or anyone.
‘Who won?’
‘Boat Harbour,’ I yell again and close my door.
Rob’s knocking at my door. What’s wrong with him? Can’t he see I don’t want to talk? ‘Hey, Jack. Got something for you.’
I stick my head out of my door and nearly crash into him. Rob’s holding up a jar covered with suction pads. ‘They just came in at work. Thought they’d be good for your experiments. I’ve got a box of them. Come and see.’
I slouch down the hallway. He hands me the jar and I check it out.
‘What do ya think?’
I shake my head. I’m thinking about that scrum. Coach. Winger. But Rob’s just waiting. Got to say something. I turn the jar. ‘Yeah, Rob. It’s a bit like the world.’ I wait a second. ‘If it didn’t suck, we’d all fall off.’ Rob scratches his prickly head. I try to explain. ‘Suck. You know, like life can suck. Like gravity keeps us stuck here? Sucking us onto the world. We’d fall off otherwise. Like the jar has suckers on it. Get it?’
Light-bulb moment. Rob gets it and laughs. Mum looks up from cooking and fluffs her hair. ‘Jack’s so smart.’ Groan. Nanna doesn’t even look up. Firstly she’s half-deaf and secondly she’s too busy helping Sammy clean up another wee. Puppy needs to be toilet trained soon.
‘I’ve got something for you girls too.’ Rob ducks out the back door to the porch. He strides back inside with three bunches of flowers. Long red roses for Mum. ‘For the best babe ever.’ I roll my eyes. Rob twirls Mum around as she holds the flowers close to her chest. ‘And for my other girls.’ Rob gives Samantha a bunch of baby-pink roses and some white jasmine to Nanna.
Samantha hugs Rob. ‘Thanks, Dad.’
A creepy shiver runs down my spine. I wish I knew what a dad was. Where my dad was.
‘They’re lovely, Rob.’ Nanna sniffs the jasmine and waddles over to me so I can sniff too.
I smell the flowers. Can’t help smiling at her toothy grin. Nanna does that to me. ‘Hey, Nanna, I’ll get you a vase.’
Love Nanna. She puts her hand over mine. Her hand’s swollen, a bit twisty, but soft. ‘You’re just like your grandad, Jack.’
Hate Nanna saying that. I’m not as good as Grandad. I wish I was.
Next morning. School. Bell rings. ‘Jack,’ Mr Angelou strides towards me. ‘I’m getting the newsletter together. Great game yesterday. Expect some brilliant shots from our number-one school photographer. Can you show them to me at lunchtime?’
‘Sure.’ Maybe not all of them. I don’t know. Hate Mr Angelou saying I’m the best photographer. I take photos, that’s all.
‘See you in class, Jack.’ He strides off to the staffroom.
Christopher sits next to me in class.
There’re calls across the desks.
‘Great game.’
‘Boat Harbour showed those Forresters.’
‘Go, Winger.’
‘Best captain. George rulz.’
I look around to the back. George Hamel and Winger are lapping it up. Hawkie’s there with a bandaged nose. He sees me staring at him. Grinning stiffly, he taps his bandage, pretending he’s fine.
‘You OK?’ I mouth. He gives a thumbs-up. I turn around. He’s not OK. I’m not either. I’ve got to do something.
Mr Angelou walks in carrying a pile of books. He’s only with us half the time this year since he’s been promoted to Executive Teacher. Mrs Banneker is our other teacher. She likes science. We talk about space sometimes and what I see through my telescope. I showed her the NASA photos of the moon I got from the library. She’s not sure if Ponto will feed the world, but ‘it could’, she says. I’d like that.
‘Ethics today. That means you’ve got to think.’ Mr Angelou taps the smart board. ‘Books are one of the best ways to understand events and people. Work out what you want the world to be. What you can do about it. We’re going to start with ideas from one of the great classics of last century. To Kill A Mockingbird.’ He holds up the book. At the same time ‘To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee’ flashes onto the board.
‘Atticus Finch is a sole parent and the father of Scout, a girl who’s nine and her brother, Jem, who’s nearly thirteen. He gives his children great insights . . .’
Mr Angelou’s voice fades into a murmur. I’m going to be thirteen soon, like Jem. Mum wants me to have a birthday party. ‘It’s an important birthday. You’ll be a teenager,’ she says. We’ve got a mum. Jem and Scout have got a dad. It’s the same, but not. I keep thinking about having a dad. Where he is. Not knowing is worse than Grandad dying. Grandad would have stayed if he could. My gut clamps into rock. I miss Grandad. But he didn’t have a choice. Dad did.
Suddenly there’s an elbow in my ribs. ‘Wake up,’ Christopher whispers. Mr Angelou walks down the aisle. ‘Are you all paying attention?’ Mr Angelou stops still. ‘Atticus said that it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird. Let’s see what that means.’
He points to George Hamel. ‘Read out that passage from the board.’ George stands up. He takes a breath, looks nervous. Starts reading.
‘Mockingbirds don’t do one thing except make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corn cribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.’
There are a few stumbles, but George reads it out. He looks relieved.
‘Thanks, George. Good work.’
Even though he’s not my mate, yeah, it’s good. Everyone needs to be able to read.
‘A mockingbird? Do you know anyone like that?’ Mr Angelou waits. ‘Come on. Someone. Anyone?’ Dead silence. ‘All right. I’ll tell you about one mockingbird I know. Jay. A big man with curly hair. Muscles like a wrestler. He cleaned in my mother’s nursing home in the last few months of her life. My mother was trapped in a wheelchair. He’d sing to her instead of doing his work. My mother felt safe with him but the matron shouted at Jay. One day he didn’t come in any more. He lost his job. I call him a mockingbird.’ He looks around at the class. ‘What do you think? Is Jay a mockingbird?’
Anna’s hand goes up. Mr Angelou nods at her. ‘Yes, he’s a mockingbird because he just wanted your mother to be happy and he didn’t hurt anyone. And he lost his job. It’s cruel.’
‘That’s a great answer, Anna. Do you have a mockingbird you can talk about?’
Anna thinks for a moment. ‘I guess. Well, Princess Diana.’ There’re a few laughs from the class. Anna’s eyes go dark. Becky bleats like a sheep. For a change, Jasmin doesn’t join in. Maybe because she loves anything ‘princess’. Mr Angelou looks around, but Becky stops quickly, especially since Jasmin isn’t supporting her, so he nods at Anna to go on. ‘She helped homeless people, and kids with AIDS in Africa and she fought against landmines in war, so people wouldn’t get blown up or lose their legs and . . . she was killed in a car crash.’ Anna stands up. ‘She was a mockingbird. And you don’t kill them and you don’t laugh.’
‘You’re right.’ Mr Angelou stares at a few kids tittering.
Anna stands there looking people in the eyes.
I call out. ‘Go Anna.’ I start clapping. Christopher copies. Then Maggie does and her friends. Paul claps too and so does Mr Angelou. Anna sits down. She flicks her hair and raises her chin at me.
‘Thank you, Anna. Now everyone get out your exercise books. I want you to write down the name of one person who you think is a mockingbird. It can be personal or historical or a public figure or whoever you like. Explain why you feel that person is a mockingbird.’ He waits until everyone is ready. ‘Begin now.’
I pick up my pen, stare into space, then slowly print, Nanna. I start writing. It’s like my pen has a life of its own. Writing, writing, like it’ll never stop.
Always there, just there. Not like my dad. And I know you’re sad because Grandad’s gone. I’m sad too, but you get on with everything and you’re funny and help Mum and when Mum had cancer you were there. And you’re always there for all of us. Always here for me. And you say you’re grateful that you’re allowed to live with us. I hate you being grateful because we’re the lucky ones. Nanna, you’re a mockingbird.
I’m not going to read this out to the class.
I wait for Mr Angelou outside the staffroom. ‘The photos, sir. I’ve edited and printed the good ones. What do you think of this one with George Hamel and Winger jumping in the air?’
‘That’s a great action shot. You’ve got natural timing, Jack.’
I grin. ‘You might like this one too.’ I hand him the photo where Mr Angelou’s jumping up with his hands out. His eyes are bulging. He looks like an alien with the sun beaming off his bald head like a laser attack. It’s Star Trek for sure. Just need to say, ‘Beam me up, Scotty.’
Mr Angelou stares at the photo for ages. ‘This is brilliant. This one is going above my desk now.’ He puts the other photos in his folder. ‘So what’s happening about the film clip?’
‘I’m editing it. I’ve been working on a soundboard and want to add some extra sound bites and special effects.’
‘Take your time. I’ve booked the computer lab for you to work on it next week. For your year’s Project Strategy Day. I like the special project on sports and fairness that you’ve chosen to do for this term.’
‘Thanks, sir. Can Christopher do it with me? He’s really smart with techy stuff?’
‘Good idea.’ He flicks through the pile of photos. ‘These are great. Well done.’ He stares at his beam-me-up-Scotty photo again and smiles. ‘OK, Jack, I’ll see you later in class.’
I don’t show him the photos of inside the scrum. Not sure what I should do.