Ishmael and the Hoops of Steel (20 page)

‘Hold on,' Razz said. ‘Isn't this the bit in the movies where some dude says something way cool and meaningful to get us all psyched up?'

I automatically looked towards Scobie. So did Razz. So did Ignatius.

But it was Bill who spoke.

‘The quest for the College Cup stands upon a knife edge,' he said, catching us all off guard. ‘Stray but a little … and it will fail. Yet hope remains while the company is true.'

‘I take it that was a Lord of the Ringy thingy, Bilbo?'

Bill nodded.

‘Terrific,' Razz said. ‘We're all headed for Mount Doom. This could end in tears.'

Kelly faulkner and I finally caught up at exactly the same place I'd first seen her way back in Year Nine – a debating seminar at Moorfield High. It was kind of appropriate, I guess, but also kind of weird.

This time the talks and workshops were specifically for Senior debaters. To show we really were ‘serious' about our last year of debating, all our team agreed to attend. Sally and her Lourdes College team, which included Kelly, were also coming. Everything was set. At Moorfield on the Saturday morning there was a big turnout. We were milling around outside the main venue waiting for the first talk to start when Sally and Kelly found us.

I can't remember much about what anyone said. I just remember my first sight of Kelly in over a year. Her hair was shorter and darker. And she might have been a little bit thinner. But she was as beautiful as I remembered her. And as always, it was Kelly's eyes that stayed with me. But for a different reason this time. They were still pale blue and clear like ice. But some of the light seemed to have gone out in them. Now they looked like they were on standby, waiting for some button to be pushed that would bring them back to life.

It wasn't until lunchtime that Kelly and I really had a chance to talk. Scobie, Bill and Ignatius were already queueing
up to get something to eat and Sally and Razz volunteered to get our lunch for us. I watched as they headed towards the tuckshop. I was dreading the moment I lost sight of them, because I knew then I'd have to look at Kelly and say something and I didn't have a clue what that should be.

‘Looks like we may have been conveniently left alone,' Kelly said with a half smile. ‘Maybe we should wait over there, out of the sun.'

We moved to a bench under a tree.

‘It really is nice to see you again,' Kelly said.

Out of the vast recesses of my magnificent brain I conjured up a, ‘You too.'

She smiled. I smiled. OK, my turn to keep the conversation from dying now.

‘Your hair's different.'

Gosh, really? I bet Kelly hadn't realised. Maybe she'd been the victim of some crazed hairdresser who broke in and dyed and style-cut people while they slept.

‘I like it,' I added, which saved me from sounding like a complete moron. Barely.

‘Thanks,' Kelly said, flicking at her fringe. ‘You haven't changed much, except you're taller. All you guys are. Even Scobie. Wish I could add a few centimetres.'

‘You don't need to be taller. You're fine. You're … perfect.'

Kelly looked off into the distance. ‘No. I'm not,' she said.

It didn't sound like something she was willing to debate. It took a little while for her to move her eyes away from the horizon and back to me.

‘Sorry I was so slack with emails and everything. I meant to write. I was going to. But it all went a bit … crazy … over there.'

‘That's all right. No problem. You probably had heaps of other stuff to do.'

Kelly looked at me for a second and then down at her hands.

‘My parents look like they're going to get a divorce.'

I sat there with my mouth half-opened, trying to think of what to say.

‘Mum and Dad were … having trouble … for a while. I didn't really know. But that's why Mum agreed with Dad taking that new job and all of us going to live in New Zealand in the first place. It was supposed to help, supposed to fix things. It didn't.'

‘Kelly, you don't have to talk about this …'

‘It's all right. I want to. There are some things I think you need to know. Not just about Mum and Dad. About me too. And … us.'

My heart began bracing itself for a pounding.

‘I didn't cope too well when all that stuff was happening with my parents. My school grades were hopeless, but I didn't really care. I guess I was angry at my mum and dad and trying to get back at them in some stupid way. I don't know. I think they call it “going off the rails”. My counsellor told me it was a natural response.'

Kelly glanced up at me with a tired smile. ‘Counsellor,' she said. ‘All we
perfect
people have them.' Then she looked down and bit her lip.

‘And then … there was this boy …'

Braced or not, my heart reeled from the blow.

‘… And maybe it was because of all the stuff with my parents … or maybe I'm just not as smart as I thought I was, but … things happened, things I wish I could take back or undo … and then I had to deal with that too.'

Kelly closed her eyes and shook her head as if she was trying to make the memories disappear.

‘He's gone now, that boy. He was nothing like you, Ishmael. He never wrote me a poem.'

The tight smile that came to Kelly's lips was just movement without feeling. Then it vanished.

‘I really like you and I'd never do anything to hurt you. So you need to know how I feel.'

She looked directly at me.

‘I just haven't got time for a boyfriend. I couldn't handle it. Not now. I just want to put all last year behind me. I want to get my grades back so I can do journalism at uni. I want to get my life back. I want to get
me
back.'

Her ice-blue standby eyes were melting.

‘I haven't got room in my life for a boyfriend right now. I'm sorry. And I know this sounds so lame, but … I do have a vacancy for a friend … if you're interested.'

I was.

When I came away from Moorfield College that day I promised myself that somehow I would put the lights back on in Kelly Faulkner's eyes. I had another quest.

This time it was personal.

At our first house meeting for the year, Operation Tarango began in earnest. As Charlton House Captain, James Scobie got up and proudly announced that this year we were aiming to win the College Cup. It took quite a while for the laughter and general hilarity to settle down.

Scobie wasn't fazed at all. He just stood behind the lectern until an awkward silence took hold and gripped tight. Then he waited a bit longer.

‘That, gentlemen,' he said, ‘is why, for the past seventeen years, we have been unsuccessful in our bid to be House Champions. Not only do the other houses laugh at us – we laugh at ourselves. Not only do the other houses think we're losers – so do we. Other houses don't defeat us – we defeat ourselves.'

Scobie thumped the lectern and it echoed through the microphone.

‘But not any more. From this day on, I say we stop thinking like losers and we start acting like winners. I believe we can win the College Cup, and not only that, St Daniel's top mathematical brain has proved that it's do-able.'

Scobie nodded at Ignatius, who clicked a remote at the big screen beside him. The two pages of Prindabel's detailed notes, diagrams and calculations appeared in giant form. Of course,
no one had the slightest idea what any of it meant, but for the few seconds it was up there, it looked mightily impressive.

Scobie nodded again at Ignatius and the words
MOTIVATION, PARTICIPATION
and
DIVERSIFICATION
filled the screen, and for the next few minutes he gave an impassioned sales pitch on the
MPD
formula for College Cup success before summing up.

‘Gentlemen, with your support, I believe Charlton
will
be this year's Champion House. And we will do it …'

Scobie's chubby index finger rose Prindabel-like above his head.

‘One point at a time!' he said.

Scobie hadn't succeeded in converting all of Charlton House into ‘True Believers', but at least nobody was laughing. It was a good sign.

The other thing on the house meeting agenda that day was the election of our Sports Captain for the year. As expected, Jimmy ‘The Main Event' Mainwaring, vice-captain of the rugby Firsts and St Daniel's discus and javelin champion, was nominated and enthusiastically seconded. The second person nominated, Clinton Turner, tennis champion and a Senior member of the college Cross-country team, was also no great surprise. But for some people, the final nominee was.

‘I nominate Orazio Zorzotto.'

It was Scobie who'd put up his hand. A murmur rose from the rest of the house. Razz sat up like he'd been jabbed by a cattle prod.

‘What?'

‘Any seconders?' Scobie said.

I stuck my hand up.

‘Do you accept the nomination, Orazio?'

‘Well … I don't … I
guess
so,' Razz said, looking around bewildered.

‘Good. Any more nominations?' Scobie asked. ‘No? OK, let's vote.'

Beside me Razz slid down in his seat. ‘Man, this'll be embarrassing.'

It was – for Clinton Turner. He received two votes. The remaining votes were split almost evenly between Razz and ‘The Main Event', with Jimmy winning by only three. Razz looked like he'd just witnessed some magic trick that he couldn't fathom.

‘Wow,' he kept saying and looking around the meeting room, ‘I did all right.'

He did too. I wasn't that surprised. Razz was always helping Mr Hardcastle coach and train the younger kids, particularly in soccer. And a couple of days a week he was still helping Mr Murphy organise and run the afternoon activities for the junior boarders. I reckon if just the Eights, Nines and Tens had voted, Razz would have romped it in.

A couple of weeks later Operation Tarango faced its first challenge – the annual Swimming Carnival. Traditionally this was by far our worst event. None of the school's top swimmers were in Charlton House and we always came last by a very comfortable margin. But with points up for grabs for anyone who just made it to the end of the pool in the 50 metres freestyle, it was Saturation Participation time and Scobie led the way.

Razz described James' freestyle technique as ‘drowning in a straight line'. By the time he touched the wall, Scobie was almost on the bottom. When they dragged him from the pool his lips were blue and he couldn't speak. But it didn't matter. He had just enough strength left to hold up a wobbly index finger. Everyone in Charlton House got the message loud and clear. ‘One point at a time'.

The goal we'd set ourselves was modest and achievable – just not to finish up last. So with Scobie inspiring the troops Charlton House put in a massive effort. And … we finished up last.

We tied with Radley House. It ended up being the best
thing that could have happened, because it proved Scobie's ‘One point at a time' theory.

‘One more point. That was all we needed to come third,' he said when he addressed our next house meeting. ‘One measly point. One more person to have a go. One more person to try a little bit harder. One more person to do something they could have done for the team, but didn't do it. We should all ask ourselves this. Could it have been me?'

It was pretty stirring stuff, and after the disappointment of the result it was exactly what we needed. It was supported by Prindabel's analysis, which revealed that, compared to last year, we'd increased our points tally by a whopping 30 per cent and we were much closer to the leading two houses. Plus there were some real positives to come out of the day. We came first in the total number of participation points earned (mainly due to Razz's encouragement and organisation of the younger kids) and we took out quite a few of the novelty events. We also annihilated the other teams in the ‘best supporters' competition.

We had Miss Tarango to thank for that. She led our cheering dressed in Charlton House colours including gold sandshoes, long gold football socks, gold face paint and gold hair ribbons. She was practically gold from head to toe – as if we didn't know
that
already. And she kept it up all day, bouncing around like crazy and screaming herself hoarse. When Mr Guthrie brought home the teachers' race for us, I thought she was going to bounce into the pool.

Prindabel's analysis also revealed that it was a Charlton swimmer who had contested more events on the day than anyone else. We gave him three rousing cheers and Scobie presented him with a special ‘Top Saturation Participation' certificate with his name on it. That name was
Orazio Zorzotto
. I'm not quite sure what award Jimmy ‘The Main Event' Mainwaring was going for on the day. The Looking Good in My Bathers prize perhaps.

Not long after the Swimming Carnival, something happened that gave Operation Tarango an unexpected boost. Jimmy ‘The Main Event' Mainwaring got drunk one weekend and gatecrashed a party where he successfully offended every female he came in contact with in more and more creative ways (usually involving ‘pointed' references to himself being a ‘javelin' champion). Sadly for Jimmy, it was all captured on someone's mobile and posted on YouTube. Then it went viral. ‘The Main Event' had finally managed to become the main event. When Brother Jerome eventually caught the virus, Jimmy found himself faced with a last warning notice, a long suspension and the permanent loss of his Sports Captain's badge.

At Charlton House we didn't mourn very long over the demise of our leader. Luckily we had a ready-made replacement. And when asked if he was willing to take over the job, our ready-made replacement told us that he was ‘totally cool with that'. He also mentioned on numerous occasions that it was ‘awesome, man!'.