Ishmael and the Hoops of Steel (30 page)

‘So you want to exploit my sister just to get some cheap points.'

‘Exactly. OK, we've got the players all organised. All we need is a lead singer. Now, the ability to actually
sing
would be handy, but not essential. What we basically want is someone who can leap around screaming like a maniac out the front. That rules me, Ishmael, P-buddy and Prudles out because we'll be playing instruments. So what about you, Billy? You're in the college choir. Maybe you could twirl a few hoops while you sing. It'd be really cool if you could set them on fire.'

‘I think I'm more ABBA than heavy metal, punk rock.'

Razz frowned and pointed a finger at Bill.

‘Kingsley, what'd I say about never mentioning that name in my presence? OK, but I'm putting you down for backup singer and roadie. That leaves you, Scobes. You could do it, man. You've got the confidence. You've got the charisma. People love you.
Please
, I'm begging you, tell me you can sing.'

Scobie smiled encouragingly. ‘Not a note,' he said.

‘What? You're kidding.'

‘Afraid not.'

‘Maybe you're being too hard on yourself, man. You don't have to be that great. Just loud and in tune every now and then. Sing something. Sing the college song. Go on.'

Scobie shrugged his little sloping shoulders and sang.

Razz held up a hand.

‘Stop, man, you're killing the grass! I think someone might be strangling a cow in your throat.'

Sadly, on this occasion Razz wasn't exaggerating.

‘But fortunately, Scobes, what you have there is definitely the voice of a band manager. Apart from catering for our every whim, you may have to spend a lot of time with Prudles, because she's the only chick in the band and she might get lonely. How does that sound to you?'

‘When can I start?' Scobie said.

‘That's my boy! And we'll also get you up on stage to mime some backing vocals with Bill. The crowd will love it. Still down one lead singer but,' Razz said, scanning the tables spread around the Senior area. Suddenly he was on his feet.

‘Bunga! Hey Bunga! Got a minute?'

Theodore Bungalari wandered over to us.

‘Here he is,' Razz said, ‘the man himself. Every chick's dream guy. The Smokin' Gorokan!'

Theodore's face remained unchanged.

‘Anyway, Bunga, enough of this idle chit-chat. We're looking for a lead singer for our heavy metal, punk rock band and I reckon you've got “it”. I know you're in the choir like Billy here, so how's about belting out the first verse of the college song for us?'

Theodore's head remained still but his dark eyes moved to each of us at the table.

‘I will sing for you,' he said.

He did. He sang the first verse of ‘Men of St Daniel's' in a voice that was high and pure and perfect.

When he'd finished Razz gave his verdict.

‘Bunga, this has got nothing to do with any of that cannibal crap of Wallace's, but I think you might have swallowed an angel, dude. That was rigidly beautiful, man. Which means, of course, you failed the audition miserably. Best I can offer you is the job of backup singer and roadie along with Bilbo here.'

Theodore looked at Bill and gave one of his rare smiles. ‘I will take it,' he said and wandered off.

‘Man,' Razz said stirring his hair up into a frenzy, ‘we're
soooooo
close. We just gotta find someone who's more out there. Someone who could …'

A throat-shredding cry ripped across the school yard. It was followed by a few wild yelps. Over on the tennis courts Melvin Yip was thrashing his racquet around like a weapon and attacking each shot from his opponent as if his, and every member of his family's life, depended on it. As we watched, Melvin leapt into the air to take a high bouncing return. At the peak of his leap, he shrieked like a mountain lion, performed a wild scissor kick and smashed the ball over three tennis courts and on to the roof of the science block.

Razz snapped his fingers. His face was invaded by mad scientist eyes and a wide, mad scientist grin.

‘Time to unleash Mel!' he said.

After a bit of shouting and waving Razz managed to get Melvin Yip's attention and he jogged over to us.

‘Yippy, I need you to sing the first verse of the college song and I want you to give it everything you got, man. Imagine you're singing it for all your awesome ninja bros 'cause you're all about to go out and do all this awesome ninja-ing stuff.'

The scary thing was that Melvin didn't even bother to ask why he was doing it – he just agreed straightaway. And it was quite a performance. It went a bit like this:

Into battle
(fierce grimace plus flashing hands and wild karate kicking)
proudly
(hand beating on chest)
we go
(fist punched into air plus bloodthirsty shout)

Facing
(chin and bottom lip thrust out)
every fear
(disturbingly horrified expression)
and foe
(tongue out and face like a demented zombie)

All men
(grabbing and shaking groin)
of St Daniel's know
(jabbing index finger where brain is located in other people)

We will fight
(more fierce grimaces plus extended version of flashing hands and karate kicks)
for justice
(recap of highlights from above, all ending in an enthusiastic but painfully awkward attempt at the splits).

Yippy got the gig.

‘Bingo!' Razz said as Melvin sprinted his way, ninja-like,
back to the tennis court. ‘The last piece of the puzzle falls into place, gentlemen. Now comes the most important part. The name. We need something that sort of sums us up. Any ideas? What about you, Scobes? You're good with words.'

‘How about the Debaters?'

‘Well, your High and Mighty-ness, I wouldn't say that was the worst band name I've ever heard … No, wait on, you know I actually would. That's the worst band name I've ever heard.'

Scobie narrowed his eyes at Razz but said nothing.

‘What about you, Iggy? You must have something rattling around that massive cranium of yours that could help us out. We're a heavy metal, punk rock band, man. We need something that says “energy”.'

Prindabel's brow knotted with concentration. Then it slowly relaxed.

‘What about the Islets of Langerhans?'

Razz spoke behind his hand to Scobie. ‘Hold the presses, Herr Scobmeister, I think you may have just been pushed out of top spot in the worst-band-name-ever rankings.'

Then he turned back to Ignatius.

‘The Instep of Wanker
what
, Prindabel?'

‘The Islets of Langerhans.'

‘OK,' Razz said, shaking his head, ‘I'll bite. Why?'

‘You wanted something that said energy.'

‘Yeeeeeeeees.'

‘Well, it's obvious, isn't it? The Islets of Langerhans are regions of the pancreas responsible for the secretion of insulin. When glucose levels rise they produce more of it. Insulin makes us store glucose as an energy supply in our cells. Other parts of the Islets produce glucagon, which releases this energy supply back into our blood. You wanted something that said energy. The Islets of Langerhans are all about energy.'

‘Well, thanks for that, P-bud. I'll certainly give your suggestion serious consideration, just as soon as someone puts a rocket launcher to my head.'

Razz patted me on the shoulder. ‘What about you, Ishmael? I realise the standard of competition is
incredibly
high, but would you like to have a go at naming the band?'

‘Well, I did have one idea. You said the name should say something about us and I was thinking how we're all friends and everything, so I thought it could just be “friends”, but we could spell it
F-R-E-N-Z
.'

‘Wow,' Razz said like he was in shock. I knew straightaway I was in trouble. ‘You don't think that might be a bit too
edgy
, man? You know, a bit too controversial? We wouldn't want to fall foul of the spelling police.'

Razz didn't say any more. He just squeezed his eyes shut for a couple of seconds then snapped them open.

‘OK, Bill. I'm ready. I can take it. What's
your
suggestion? ABBArama? ABBA Dabba Doo? Spawn of Bjorn?' Razz stopped. ‘Actually, Spawn of Bjorn's not bad. We'll put that one aside. Come on, big guy. What have you got? Maybe something with a hoop theme?'

Bill shifted uneasily in his seat.

‘Well, actually … I
have
got a hoop theme one, but you'll probably hate it and think it's crap.'

‘Yes, of
course
I will, but that hasn't stopped anyone else, has it?'

Bill took a deep breath and went on.

‘OK then. You remember that
Hamlet
oral I did last year?'

‘What, you mean the one where I tried to stop you from coming out but just ended up making a complete idiot of myself in Mr Slattery's English class and getting ten whole days of afternoon detentions from Mr Barker? No, can't say I do.'

‘Well, anyway, there's this bit in that Polonius speech I thought we could use because, like Ishmael said, it's about being friends. You know that bit that goes, “Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel”?'

Razz grimaced and put his arm around Bill's broad shoulders.

‘Nice try, Hoop Boy, but it's not exactly
punchy
, is it? I mean we might have a bit of trouble fitting it all on the front of the drum kit, don't you think?'

‘I didn't mean we'd use it all. Just the end part. You know, the “hoops of steel” bit. That's what I thought the band could be called. The Hoops of Steel.'

Nobody said anything for a moment. We were all running the name through our brains trying to find some reason to reject it. Finally Razz spoke.

‘You know, I actually think that's pretty cool. Yeah, the Hoops of Steel, man. That's awesome. Whataya reckon, Scobes?'

‘You can't beat the Bard,' James said.

‘Ishmael?'

‘I like it.'

‘P-buddy?'

‘Well, apart from the point I made last year about the relative strength of steel as opposed to carbon nanotubes, I'm happy with it.'

‘Cool!' Razz said. ‘Then I officially announce that the Hoops of Steel are set to rock the house!'

I looked from Razz to Bill, Scobie and Ignatius.

‘What, so we're really going to do this?' I said, hoping it might still turn out to be just some kind of hidden camera stunt. ‘In twelve days we're going to get up and play as a heavy metal punk rock group in front of actual people?'

Razz didn't answer me but turned to Ignatius instead.

‘P-buddy, how important is it for Charlton to win Battle of the Bands?'

‘Well, if Creswell does better than us they'll increase their lead on the overall points table. If they do that, then as far as us winning the cup is concerned, it's all over.'

‘And let me remind you, Ishmael,' Razz said, ‘Creswell at
the moment has
two
bands down to play compared to our
one
and both their bands are pretty good,
plus
they're gonna play stuff Crazy Eddie might actually like.'

‘He might like a bit of country and western too?'

‘Ishmael, the Filthy Pigs' last CD was called
Dog's Vomit Soup
. Eddie wrote its big hit, “You taste like chicken”. Do you really think that “down on the faaaaaarm” kind of crap that Dusty Roads play is going to appeal to him?'

‘Yeah, well, OK … but even if we have a band, what would we play?'

‘Ah, good question. And here's another bit of my brillo master plan. You get points for originality. Bands that play their own stuff always do better. At least, that's one thing the Dusties have going for them. So we definitely have to play an original song.'

‘What! We've got twelve days before the competition, we've never even played together as a band and
now
we have to write an entire song as well?'

‘No, not an
entire
song, Ishmael. You see, that's the real genius of my brillo master plan. The words are already written, man. They're done and dusted. We just have to add some pretty basic music and I'm thinking your dad could help us with that.'

‘What words are you talking about?'

Razz pulled something from his top pocket, unfolded it and slapped it dramatically on the table.

‘These words.'

I could see a few verses typed on an A4 page. But it was the title printed in bold capital letters at the top that sent a deathly chill through my veins.

HOT OR WHAT!

‘You've
got
to be kidding?'

I couldn't believe it. It was Razz's old love sonnet from Year Ten. The one he'd wanted me to give to Kelly Faulkner. The
one Ignatius described as ‘fourteen lines of crap' and that even Scobie crowned the ‘
crème
de la crap'. I thought I'd got rid of it, but it kept coming back like a bad case of head lice!

‘Yeah, it's pretty awesome, isn't it? I thought you'd gone and lost it on me. Lucky I made a copy, hey?'

‘Yeah, think I'll buy a lottery ticket,' I said.

Scobie's mouth was smudged to one side. He returned it to a central position and picked up the sheet. He read the first verse.