Don't Call Me Ishmael (6 page)

Not afraid or anything) This statement was greeted by hoots from Barry Bagsley supporters and general disbelief from the remainder of the class. I thought James Scobie had gone way too far now.

‘Wooooooo,' said Barry Bagsley with his eyes bulging and his hands held up as if he were warding off some monster. ‘I think you might be telling a big fat porky there, Scobie boy.'

James Scobie blinked twice and frowned. ‘Do I
look
scared to you?'

You see, that was the thing-he really didn't. Most people in a situation like that made the mistake of trying too hard to look brave or tough, but James Scobie looked as if he just didn't care. It was the same when he was introduced to the class. Everyone knows that one of the worst things in the world is to be the new kid. And the very worst thing about being the new kid is the moment when you have to stand in front of a room full of the old kids. The usual way of coping is
to look at the floor or the teacher or out the window-anywhere, in fact, but at your new classmates–and pray that the torture will be over soon so you can scuttle to the relative safety of a desk. But James Scobie was different. In between the times when his face was twisting and stretching as if he were trying to swallow a blender, his small dark eyes looked over the class as if
we
were all new kids and
he
was right at home where he'd always been.

Barry Bagsley, meanwhile, was looking at Scobie as if he were something he'd just wiped from the bottom of his shoe. ‘Well, what's your secret, Superman? Made of steel, are ya? Got some super power or something? Wait, I know, you're really a boy wizard, right, with magic spells, and you're gonna wave your wand and change me into a toad.'

‘Not much magic needed there,' said James Scobie with a smile.

A ripple of laughter broke out around the class. Danny Wallace laughed the loudest but quickly wilted under Barry Bagsley's cutting glare before glowering at James Scobie as if he himself had been the target of the insult.

There was a battle going on before our eyes, but it wasn't like the Western shootout I had imagined earlier–this was more like a boxing match. In the black corner was Barry ‘The Annihilator' Bagsley wielding the haymakers that had left all his previous opponents bruised and bloodied and ducking for cover. In the white corner was James ‘No Fear' Scobie letting the big punches whoosh past his face before moving in to prod and jab. Of course I didn't believe for a second that
James Scobie could actually knock Barry Bagsley out, but he was landing some scoring punches and a room full of learned judges were marking them all down.

At this point, Barry Bagsley's patience (if there even was such a thing) had become as thin as the hair on my great-uncle Darryl's head. (Which was pretty thin considering that whatever hair he had was forced to stretch from just above his left ear, right across his bare spotty scalp to the other side of his head.) Anyway, where was I? Oh right, Barry Bagsley's patience, or rather lack of it. Barry Bagsley leant forward again and jabbed his index finger in the middle of James Scobie's puny chest, where he tapped out an ominous beat as he spoke.

‘Mate, if I
wanted
to, I could
snap
you in
half
like a.
pretzel.
So if you're
not
afraid like you
say
, you
should
be.'

Whoosh!
Another Bagsley haymaker sailed past James Scobie's nose.

‘Look,' said James Scobie with a little impatience of his own, ‘I'm sure you are very tough and brave–after all, you have to look at yourself in the mirror every day …'

Jab!

‘… and perhaps I
should
be afraid of you, because if it's true as they say, and “a little knowledge is dangerous”, then I suppose that you must be absolutely lethal … '

Jab!

Around the room, eyebrows were raised, jaws dropped and points were added to scoring cards. Barry Bagsley stared at James Scobie with the look of someone who knew he'd been insulted but wasn't sure exactly how or to what degree.

‘… but I'm sorry,' Scobie continued unfazed. ‘I'm not afraid. It has nothing to do with you. It's because of this.'

With that he brushed his hair up over his left temple. A big oval-shaped scar sat above his ear. He turned around so everyone could see it.

‘What's that, then? Where they removed ya brain?'

Whoosh!

‘No, if someone had his brain removed–even someone like yourself with as much grey matter as a spectrum–'

Jab!

‘… it would result in a much larger scar than this. Although when I think about it, in a case like yours, keyhole surgery probably would be sufficient.'

Jab!

‘No,' continued James Scobie casually, ‘this was the result of removing a brain tumour.'

Silence crept around the room like a beaten dog.

‘Aw, I get it,' said Barry Bagsley, his voice dripping with contempt. ‘We all have to feel sorry for ya, do we, and hold ya hand and wipe ya bum for you ‘cause you're sick, is that it?'

‘Not at all,' James Scobie said, as if the idea surprised him. ‘I'm fine now. The tumour is gone. It's just that there was a slight side-effect to the operation.'

‘What, it turned you into a dork?'

Whoosh!

‘No, if that were the case, we'd be best friends.'

Jab!

‘I don't make friends with freaks.'

Whoosh!

‘Well, keep trying. Perhaps they'll start to feel sorry for you and lower their standards.'

Jab!

Barry Bagsley's face darkened. Things were getting ugly Or in Barry Bagsley's case, uglier.

‘Yeah, but what happened? You know, with the operation and the side-effect and everything?' Barry glared again at Danny Wallace, who tried unconvincingly to cover his interest by adding quickly, ‘… as if I care.'

‘Well, as I said, the operation to remove the tumour was a success. But then one day I realised that something was different. I was different. I eventually worked out what it was. I could no longer experience fear. I tried to but I just couldn't do it.'

‘But what did you do, I mean, like how did you know … ‘ Danny Wallace's voice trailed off into silence.

‘The neighbours' dog made me realise,' Scobie continued. ‘He was a Rottweiler called Titan. He didn't take to people too well. One day I was walking past the neighbours' house. Someone must have accidentally left the gate open. I heard a growl, and when I looked up Titan was charging straight at me.' James Scobie paused and looked Barry Bagsley in the eyes. ‘I just stood there and watched him. He was all teeth and slobber. He didn't worry me at all. When he was only a couple of metres away he launched himself at me.' Scobie stopped.

‘Well, go on, what happened? What happened then?'
Danny Wallace didn't even bother about Barry Bagsley's reaction this time. Nor did the rest of the class.

‘He was in mid-air and about to hit me when he was suddenly jerked backwards. I had no idea at the time that he was tied up. I couldn't understand why I hadn't been afraid. Then I thought about the operation. They warned me that it was a delicate procedure. It could easily have damaged my speech or movement. I began to think that maybe it had caused some other kind of damage. I decided to test my theory. I had always had a phobia about bugs–grasshoppers, cockroaches, and
especially
spiders–I couldn't bear the thought of touching them. I went home and caught some. I could let them run all over me. I didn't feel a thing. All my fears were gone.'

The class sat in stunned silence, but Barry Bagsley wasn't going to take it lying down.

‘Well, that's a
fascinating
story, Bug Boy, but if you've got no fear like you reckon, how about you climb up on the window sill over there and jump off? It's only three floors. That's nothing to be afraid of for a superhero like you. Go on, prove you've got no fear.'

All eyes turned to James Scobie.

‘If I plugged in a lamp and handed it to you, would you be scared of it?'

‘Der, gee, I don't think so.'

‘Well then, if I told you to take out the bulb and stick your tongue into the socket, would you do it? Take your time, don't rush in with your answer.'

‘Course not,' Barry Bagsley spat back.

‘Well, just because I'm not afraid of jumping out the window doesn't mean I would do it. A tiny part of my brain that controls fear must have been damaged. The rest of my brain is fine. I'm not going to deliberately place myself in danger.'

‘Well, mate,' said Barry Bagsley, standing up and hovering over James Scobie like a guillotine, ‘that's bad luck, because you're in danger now whether you want to be or not and if you're Mr Fearless as you say, just stay right where you are, ‘cause I'm going to count to five and if I'm still looking at your ugly mug, then I'm going to knock it off. Understand? Now these clowns might have fallen for all that tumour crap, but not me. So why don't you do yourself a favour and crawl back down your hole with the rest of the hobbits?'

The class took a collective breath. This was crunch time, and James Scobie looked as if he was going to be the crunchee. I was praying for him to back down. Barry Bagsley began the count like a death knell.

‘
ONE
.'

‘Excellent start,' said James Scobie encouragingly.

‘
TWO
.'

‘You're going really well. Need any help with the next one?'

‘
THREE
.'

‘If it's easier for you, you could just tap it out with your hoof.'

‘
FOUR
.'

‘There's no shame in using a calculator at this point.'

‘
FIVE
.'

‘Bingo!'

Barry Bagsley's eyes narrowed. I watched his hand mould into a fist and the muscles in his arms tighten. James Scobie blinked impassively. The room waited.

‘All right, what's going on here? Why are we out of our desks? Mr Bagsley? Mr Scobie? Are we choosing partners for the next dance?'

Mr Barker's voice boomed into the room and shook it like an earthquake. ‘Well? I'm waiting.'

James Scobie turned around slowly to face Mr Barker. ‘It's nothing, sir,' he said. ‘This boy was just explaining the school's bullying policy to me.'

Mr Barker raised his eyebrows and glared at Barry Bagsley. ‘Was he? Was he indeed? Well, Mr Bagsley and I have had our own discussions on that subject in the past, haven't we, Mr Bagsley? Yes, that's right. Glad to see you remember. Well, I trust that you made it very clear to Mr Scobie that we don't tolerate bullying in any form at St Daniel's and we take a very dim view–a
very
dim view–of anyone who practises it.' Mr Barker looked around the room. ‘And I'm equally certain that if anyone here was bullied or anyone here
witnessed
another boy being bullied, they would immediately inform me or one of the other teachers. Everyone should feel safe at St Daniel's. I'm sure Mr Bagsley pointed that out to you, because that's what our bullying policy is all about, Mr Scobie. No one should be afraid here. Are you clear on that, Mr Scobie?'

‘You don't have to worry about me in that regard,' replied James Scobie. ‘I have every faith in the school's bullying policy,
and after talking with Mr Bagsley here, I also have a great respect for the quality of education that the school provides.'

‘Really?' said Mr Barker cautiously.

‘Absolutely Mr Bagsley has just given us all a demonstration of how he can count to five …'

Jab!

‘…
and he didn't use his fingers once.'

Upper cut!

The class laughed. Mr Barker frowned. James Scobie twitched. Barry Bagsley smouldered.

BRIIIIIIIIIIING!

‘All right, move out, you lot. I'll check those exercises tomorrow and that is a threat. Oh, and Mr Bagsley, could I have a word in your shell-like ear before you go?'

James Scobie and I packed up our books and drifted outside. I checked our timetables.

‘James, we've got science next period over in lab three with Mr Kalkhovnic.'

Scobie looked up at me. It was unbelievable. This guy had just gone the distance with ‘The Annihilator'. I checked his face. There wasn't a mark on it.

‘It's Ishmael, right?'

I nodded.

‘Call me Scobie,' he said, and smiled.

Barry Bagsley gave James Scobie no more trouble for the rest of the week. But it didn't fool me. I knew something was brewing. I could smell it and I could hear it bubbling. I just didn't know what it was.

But the signs were definitely there. A few times, I noticed Barry Bagsley huddled in a tight circle with Danny “Wallace, Doug Savage and some scrawny-looking boy from Year Ten. This was weird, because the Year Ten boy didn't seem to have much in common with the rest of them. What I mean is, as far as I knew, he wasn't obsessed with torture and world domination. Besides that, he was a bit of a brain. I even remembered him winning some big award on assembly once. Anyway, he didn't appear to be all that pleased about being included in the Barry Bagsley inner circle.

Once or twice over the next couple of weeks I saw the Year Ten kid handing over boxes of various sizes which were hurriedly stuffed into school bags by the other three. Barry
Bagsley would then send him off with some friendly slaps on the back that seemed more like an attack than a parting gesture, while Danny and Doug snickered and looked around slyly. Yes, something was brewing, all right, and in Homeroom one Monday morning it boiled right over.

Three things struck me as strange that morning. Firstly, that smart kid from Year Ten handed me a note in the playground before school that said I had to go to the office. When I asked him why, he just mumbled something, shook his head wretchedly and left. The thing was, when I got to the office no one knew anything about it.

The second thing was when I arrived at Homeroom (later than normal because of my pointless office trip) Doug Savage was sitting on James Scobie's desk talking to Danny Wallace. This was strange, because those two usually had to be chased up by Miss Tarango to get to class. But there they were and Miss hadn't even appeared yet.

The third thing was that James Scobie was missing. He was always one of the first in, fussing about at his desk organising, arranging, rearranging, adjusting, readjusting, shifting, shuffling, moving, edging, rotating and straightening every book, pencil and pen, piece of equipment, item of clothing and nearly every body part until his personal world was in order.

An uneasy feeling seeped through me as I moved to my seat and looked around the room. Everyone else was present–everyone except Barry Bagsley. This wasn't so unusual, since Barry Bagsley seemed to have set himself the challenge of being the last person into every lesson for the term of his
school life. Having personal goals is so important. All the same, at the sight of his empty desk, a slithering dread began to uncoil in my stomach.

‘What's up, Le Dick? You look a bit worried.'

The maniacal grin on Danny Wallace's face made me question the true level of his concern for my wellbeing. Beside him, Doug Savage stared at me. His small ball-bearing eyes seemed to have retreated deep in the dark caves of their sockets, as if they were tired of being bombarded by things that they couldn't comprehend.

‘If you're worried about your little freaky mate, don't be. He's fine. See?'

Danny Wallace's finger was pointing out the window. I looked down into the playground. There by the bubblers, in deep conversation, were Barry Bagsley and James Scobie. Well, at least Barry Bagsley was in deep conversation. James Scobie could have been a statue if it wasn't for a twist of his mouth every so often. Then, after what seemed quite a long speech by his standards, Barry Bagsley thrust his hand forward. Scobie studied it for a second then reached out. After shaking hands vigorously Barry Bagsley threw his arm around James Scobie's shoulders and together they headed towards the stairs.

‘Awww, that is just soooo
bood
iful
.
Love will find a way. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside,' Danny Wallace declared with a quaking voice. Doug Savage responded with a snort. This was bad. This was very bad.

‘O?, listen up, you clowns. I have an important announcement to make. A miracle is about to happen right here in
Room 301. That's right, a
medical
miracle.' Danny Wallace paused for effect. ‘In just a few seconds, right before your very eyes, little James Scobie will be given back his sense of fear. And you can all share in this wonderful occasion by just enjoying the show and keeping your mouths shut, right?' Then Danny Wallace leant in so close to my face that he went all blurry. ‘Right?'

Soon after that two figures appeared at the door. Barry Bagsley gave James Scobie a friendly pat on the back, winked and headed for his seat, where Danny Wallace and Doug Savage quickly joined him. Around the class boys went through the motions of talking, unpacking books and doing last-minute homework, but everyone's attention was secretly focused on the small fidgety form of James Scobie.

Looking back, I suppose I should have done something or warned him in some way, but what could I have said or done that would have made any difference? Everything
seemed
normal enough, and though I knew
something
was going to happen, I had no idea what it was or exactly where or when it would unfold. I did try to catch James Scobie's eye, but he just nodded once, sat down and started to unpack his bag. It wasn't until he placed both hands on the lid of his desk and began to lift it that the memory of Danny Wallace sitting on top of it flashed into my mind and I finally knew at least
where
the danger lurked.

But it was too late. James Scobie had already straightened his arms and pushed up the lid.

A blur of wings exploded from within. It was like a scene
from
The Mummy, Arachnophobia
and
A Bug's Life
all rolled into one. First about a dozen enormous green and brown grasshoppers catapulted themselves into the air, smacking into windows, leaping past startled faces and clasping their sharp spiky legs into unsuspecting hair, necks and limbs. This led to random outbreaks of what appeared to be the Mexican hat dance around the class.

Then three enormous stick insects the size of rulers roared into the air with humming, purple wings. Unfortunately one immediately flew up into the fan and was slung across the room, hitting the whiteboard with a sickening
Thwuug!
before sliding slowly and messily to the ground. One landed with a thud on Bill Kingsley's back and held on for all it was worth until Bill Kingsley ripped his shirt off in panic and flung it unintentionally over Doug Savage's head. This in turn caused a strange rapidly escalating growl to rise from Doug Savage as he madly tore the shirt from his head and sent it sailing out the window and into the playground three storeys below. The third stick insect continued to sweep around the room like a Black Hawk helicopter while everyone ducked and dived for cover.

As all this was happening, dozens of big dark brown cockroaches were spilling from James Scobie's desk, scuttling among stamping and pirouetting feet, diving into school bags or flying unpredictably around the room like hit fighter planes. Taylor MacTaggert, who sat in the desk immediately in front of James Scobie's, was laughing so hard at all the ‘wusses' dodging and dancing around him that he failed to see until it was too
late the three large spiders on the front of his shirt. He became aware of their presence only when the biggest one decided to seek shelter under his collar. At that moment Taylor MacTaggert did a fine impromptu impression of a Zulu warrior as he leapt madly into the air beating his head and torso like a frenzied drummer.

I would really like to be able to report at this point that I coped well in all this chaos, but the truth is, as soon as the first insects appeared, I leapt backwards from my seat, tripped over my school bag and landed on my backside on the floor. When I looked up and saw an advancing wave of spiders and cockroaches heading towards me, I scuttled backwards on my hands and feet like an upside-down crab to the far corner of the room. I was still taking refuge there when I finally looked up to see what James Scobie was doing.

About the same time, the rest of the class also began to regain some composure and, apart from isolated outbreaks of hysteria, they too were looking in James Scobie's direction. It seemed that in all the chaos, Scobie hadn't moved an inch. Now he sat motionless as the last of the cockroaches dived from his desk and scuttled to freedom.

Finally he lowered his arms. Then he turned slowly around and looked squarely at Barry Bagsley. The entire class stared at James Scobie's face. A spider the size of a saucer had spread itself over his cheek and neck. When Scobie screwed his mouth around and wrinkled up his nose, the spider's great hairy legs picked their way across his face before settling like a giant bullet hole over the left lens of his glasses.

Nobody moved or said a word.

If it wasn't for the unearthly eardrum-shredding shriek that came from Miss Tarango, we might have stayed frozen like that forever.