Ishmael and the Hoops of Steel (18 page)

The rest of the performances were more traditional. Scobie delivered a powerful and moving portrayal of a more than usually height-challenged Hamlet. Ignatius showed everyone that as a dead guy he could be remarkably convincing. And I ended up being happy with my Claudius. Yes, you heard right. Me, happy with an oral presentation. That's something I never thought I'd say. Three years of debating was finally paying off.

The last presentation was Razz's. It had to be held over until his official return to English class. And he surprised everyone. He didn't joke around or muck up a line in his speech and he looked pretty impressive dressed all in black including a leather jacket. Even Mr Slattery said he was ‘pleasantly surprised' by the ‘depth and understanding' of Razz's analysis, particularly the concept of ‘appearance' versus ‘reality'.

In a strange coincidence, that was the same concept that Scobie and I had a long discussion with Mr Barker about in
his office the day after Bill's speech. You know, how a person can ‘appear' one thing but ‘really' be nothing like that. And in another strange coincidence, on that very day Mr Barker decided to let Razz spend all his detentions helping the Junior Dormitory Supervisor Mr Murphy run after-school activities for the Year Eight and Nine boarders.

Apart from a few afternoons spent with the boarders at Mr Slattery's ballroom dancing classes, Razz mainly got to organise and play sport. For once it was a win-win situation that actually worked. Mr Murphy said Razz was a ‘godsend' and Razz liked helping with the junior boarders so much he kept doing it even after his detentions were over.

The other thing Mr Barker did was to schedule another meeting with Mrs Zorzotto to discuss Razz's ‘progress'.

Hmmmmmm.

After the excitement of Razz's ‘coming out', the year ground its way to the finish line. Soon a tsunami of final exams and assignments loomed large on the horizon and we all scrambled to reach the high ground of knowledge so that the waters of ignorance wouldn't drown us in a bottomless sea of failure. (Did I mention about our short English unit on Figurative Language?) When Senior exam week finally ran its course, only the dreaded Semi-formal remained.

Razz really did try to work his ‘magic' and help me find a partner. He dragged me along to a couple of parties and dances with him and Sally, but I didn't end up meeting anyone. It wasn't Razz's fault. I'm pretty useless in those make-a-quick-impression situations. They're fine if you're a Brad type like Jess's boyfriend. Girls just take one look and say, ‘Great, I'll have one of those!' But if you're like me, it's more, ‘Hmmmmmm, haven't you got anything else?' I need time to grow on people. A bit like mould.

But that was the problem. As far as finding a partner went, my time had completely run out. The last day finally arrived for anyone who needed to put their name down on the I'm-so-crap-with-girls-they-basically-have-to-force-someone-to-be-my-partner list that Miss Tarango put up on the Year Eleven noticeboard. So I wrote mine down. I thought about

adding
loser.
Then I remembered what Mr Slattery said about avoiding redundant words when you write.

A week or so later I found out that my chosen partner's name was Raychell Taylor and she went to Claremont College. That's all I knew about her. Of course I spent the next week and a half wondering what a Raychell Taylor would look like and what she'd
be
like. If you believed my mum, it didn't matter anyway. Apparently my only job was to make sure that whoever my partner was, she ‘enjoyed herself' and didn't feel ‘left out or neglected' on the night. Mum only told me that about a hundred times so I guess she thought it was pretty important.

The Year Eleven Semi-formal took place in the Old Hall. On the night all we loser-list people had to meet Miss Tarango in the foyer so we could be introduced to our partners. We looked about as relaxed as a herd of cattle milling around outside an abattoir. I think for most of us that would have been the more appealing option.

Then I saw Raychell Taylor. I'd been given a reprieve from the slaughterhouse. She looked great – except for the ‘Hmmmmmm, haven't you got anything else?' expression that flashed across her face when we were first introduced. At least she was kind enough to try to hide it. But I knew it was still lurking there somewhere behind Raychell's big smile and I was fairly certain that the night wouldn't be anywhere near long enough for me to make it go away.

I'm not saying that the Semi was a disaster or anything. It wasn't. Raychell had a great personality and had no trouble fitting in with everyone – even if her eyes did seem to drift away to the other tables and to her mobile more than I hoped. And we had a fun group. Apart from me and Raychell there was Razz and Sally (who finally got to wear a new dress and be heart-achingly beautiful for the right person); Ignatius and Maude (who was really nice and made everyone laugh, except when she said things that sounded exactly like
Prindabel – then she was scary); Scobie and Prue (who wore lace-up boots and a dress she'd cut down from one that used to belong to our grandmother and yet still managed to look more like a supermodel than my little sister); a good friend of Sally's called Alyce (who was super-nice) and Gerard Carlson-Steele (who as well as still being Year Eleven's undisputed champion of perfect uniform wearing, was a good guy). I just wished that Bill could have been there with us.

Overall it was a pretty good night and it even contained one thing that I'd definitely place in the awesome category. It happened towards the end of the Semi when I wandered outside to the foyer area. Don't worry, I wasn't ‘neglecting' Raychell. She was doing juuuuust fine. She'd sort of drifted off and attached herself to another table with a bunch of her Claremont friends. And Mum would be happy. The last time I checked she was certainly ‘enjoying' herself with Gary Horsham. Razz and Sally and everyone else were up dancing.

I made my way over to one of the big foyer windows. Outside it was pelting down with rain. On the other side of the main yard I could just make out the gymnasium. At almost exactly the same time last year, that's where I was – in the school gym at the Dugongs' reunion concert.

A bit had changed since then. The band had played a few more gigs together and now there were definite plans to remaster and re-release their old album, maybe with some new songs on it.

Things had changed for me too. But none of it was an improvement. A year ago, instead of staring out a window by myself while all my friends were having a great time without me, I was with Kelly Faulkner. And she was kissing me and everything was perfect. After that I couldn't wait for this year to start so Kelly and I could be together and go the movies and parties and school dances.

But none of that happened.

Now the year was over and what did I have to look forward to in Year Twelve? Let's see …

• More exams and assignments.

• More pressure.

• No clue about a future job or career.

• No Kelly.

• No anybody.

• No nothing.

How's that for your ‘slings and arrows of outrageous fortune'?

It was around about this time while I was immersing myself fully in Advanced Self-pity Wallowing 401 that I was distracted by a call from behind.

‘Ishmael! I've been looking everywhere for you, man. Brother Jerome wants us all inside and sitting down,
plus
I've got some gooder-than-good news for you, dude. You're gonna love it.'

‘Good news? I'll believe that when I hear it.'

‘Sal sent a text to Kelly, you know, to tell her how the Semi was going and everything.'

‘Super.' (No doubt about it. I was totally aceing Advanced Self-pity Wallowing 401.)

‘But that's not the good part, dude. The good part is Sal just got a reply and guess what?'

‘Surprise me.'

He did. He came out with the night's ‘one awesome thing'. It made my year.

‘Kelly's coming home, dude. She's coming back with her mum and little brother. She's gonna be boarding at Lourdes next year. The Kelster is back in the building, man!'

A déjà vu thing was happening in my chest. My heart was shooting up like it had launched itself off a springboard. It was in the process of nailing a perfect reverse triple somersault in the full pike position – with a twist!

‘Well, what do you reckon, dude? You and Kelly back together. Was I right or was I right? That seems like pretty good news to me!'

‘Seems?' I said, grabbing Razz by the front of his shirt. ‘Seems!
I KNOW NOT “SEEMS!” ‘

And this is how my Year Eleven at St Daniel's ended: with Razz and I racing each other back inside the Old Hall just in time to hear Brother Jerome announce the name of next year's College Captain to a cheer that almost lifted the roof clean off.

James Scobie tended to have that effect on people.

Year Twelve?

BRING IT ON!

Across from me, a head bobbed rhythmically and a blur of fingers drummed out a furious beat on the tabletop. Then everything ceased and a pair of eyes blinked open like flashlights.

‘Hey, do you guys realise that this is the last “first day back” we'll ever have?'

It was morning tea. We were sitting around one of the tables in the Senior courtyard. Scobie, Bill, Ignatius and I took time out from demolishing our lunches to contemplate Razz's observation.

‘This is it, man,' Razz said, taking in all the buildings and the riot of students in the playground. ‘The last time. We'll never be on holidays ever again, and think like, “Aw, man, school tomorrow! What a total bummer!”‘

‘I've never thought that.'

Razz threw a sympathetic look at the lanky figure chewing on a muesli bar and poring over a
Science World
magazine.

‘Sorry, my bad, Prindabel. I was actually just talking about us humanoids. Should have made myself clear.'

‘But what you said about the last first day back might not be true anyway. What if you had to repeat Year Twelve?'

‘Me? Why should I have to repeat?'

‘I wasn't referring to
you
specifically, Orazio … al
though
…'

Razz glared. Ignatius backed off.

‘I'm just saying that if
anyone
had to repeat the year, then for that person it wouldn't be his last first day back, would it? He'd only
think
it was, but in reality it would be just the
first
of his last first days back, because he'd have one last, last first day back to go the next year.'

Razz looked around at the rest of us. Then he jerked a thumb towards Ignatius.

‘You see. Here's my problem with trying to recreate human life in the laboratory. What do we do with the experiments when they fail?'

Unperturbed, Ignatius returned to his magazine.

‘Orazio does have a point though.'

This came from Scobie, of all people.

‘My genius is recognised at last! Thank you, Mein Capitan and Ruler Over All the Lands!'

Ever since the Year Eleven Semi-formal, when Brother Jerome announced that Scobie was this year's College Captain, Razz had showered him with countless titles. ‘He Whose Feet I Am Not Worthy to Lick Clean' was one of my personal favourites.

‘Tell us more, Your Highest of All Highnesses, so that these ignorant donkeys may see the light.'

‘Well,' Scobie said with a trademark twist of his mouth, ‘this will be an entire year of lasts for us, won't it? Last swimming carnival, last athletics carnival and last assembly and then it will come right down to the last Homeroom, last lesson in each of our subjects, last assignment, last exam and finally the last day.'

‘Last lesson, last exam, last assignment. Scobes, you sure know how to cheer me up!'

The smiles around the table said that he wasn't alone there. Razz clicked his fingers at us.

‘And I got another one. Last time we'll have to be here when Charlton House finishes last in the College Cup. The last of the lasts!'

None of us from Charlton House would miss the annual
humiliation that went with the announcement of the final College Cup point totals.

‘This year's just looking better and better,' Razz said.

There was quite a bit of head nodding and smiling then, but Bill wasn't looking quite as convinced as the rest of us.

‘Yeah, but there'll be other stuff as well, won't there?' he said. ‘Like our last debate together.'

The smiles subsided a little. Then Ignatius had a thought to share.

‘Last time we'll have to wait around for Orazio to turn up to a debating meeting,' he said with a sly smirk.

‘Yeah,' Razz shot back, waving his index finger about, ‘and the last time I'll have to put up with the Prindabel Power Pointer wagging in my face whenever I open my mouth.'

‘Last time Scobie will have to bang on the table and call out, “Debating meeting? Remember?”‘ I said.

It went a bit quiet then. Maybe like me, the others were thinking about some of the more memorable moments from our meetings over the past three years. We returned to the present when Scobie threw in another debating ‘last'.

‘Last chance to win the debating championship.'

Razz slapped the table. ‘Man, we should've at
least
got to the finals last year,' he said. ‘I'm telling you, if that adjudicator we had against Claremont had any less brains he would have been a potato.'