Naked Bunyip Dancing Read online

  A winner.

  Legend.

  Hero.

  Turn off my PlayStation, Mr Carey?

  Play cricket, in the sun?

  Me?

  Sorry, sir.

  I’m allergic to sport.

  Billy asks

  Mr Jonesforthwalton

  a question

  Can I have a late note, please?

  No. I’ll give you one immediately.

  Music, with Ms Libradore

  Good morning, Class 6C.

  We’ll start today’s class with piano.

  Can anyone play piano?

  Anyone?

  No, Billy. Not the drums,

  the piano.

  Yes, Sophie.

  I’m sure Billy is very good on the drums,

  but I don’t see any drums in class,

  do you?

  Yes, Billy.

  You could use the desktop as a drum,

  but not right now.

  We’re learning piano today.

  Yes, Michael,

  we could use the desktop as a piano,

  but why?

  We have a piano here,

  right beside me.

  What do you think this big black thing is?

  A coffin?

  Very funny, Alex.

  What, Emily?

  A glory box full of wedding presents?

  No, it’s a piano.

  Yes, Peter.

  A piano would be a very silly place

  to put wedding presents,

  but there are no presents in this piano.

  No. Nobody stole the presents.

  There weren’t any in the first place!

  No, I don’t know who’s getting married.

  And yes, getting married and not receiving a present

  would be very sad, Emily,

  but no one is getting married,

  and no one is not getting presents.

  What?

  No one is not getting presents means

  someone is getting presents, Sarah?

  Well, yes. It does.

  But it’s not what I meant, is it.

  First, we’ll learn about keys.

  And before anyone makes a stupid joke

  about keys and locks and doors,

  I’ve heard them all before, okay?

  Let’s start with the key of C.

  No, Billy. You can’t see C.

  C is a sound.

  A is a sound.

  B is a sound.

  C, A, B.

  No, not cab,

  not taxi!

  Keys!

  The key of C.

  The key of A.

  Listen.

  C.

  A.

  B.

  Any other keys?

  No, Z is not a key.

  Y is not a key.

  They are letters of the alphabet.

  Yes, like A,

  but A is a key.

  Oh, very funny, Billy.

  A is A-key,

  I see the joke.

  Achy Breaky Heart

  Now would you please stop singing

  that stupid country music song!

  I give up, Class 6C.

  Forget piano.

  Yes, Billy.

  We’ll do drums next lesson.

  Michael and Maths

  Mr Carey has a weird way

  of teaching.

  Take Maths.

  (I’d like to take Maths

  and throw it off a cliff !)

  For Maths,

  Mr Carey asks twenty questions

  every morning,

  just to ‘refresh the memory’

  as he likes to say.

  Only the questions aren’t

  ‘What is 84 divided by 4,

  multiplied by 5?’

  Mr Carey’s typical question is:

  ‘If Collingwood kick 20 goals,

  and 4 behinds,

  what’s their score?’

  or

  ‘If Australia beat New Zealand

  58 to 56 in netball,

  how many points were scored,

  in total?’

  When Mr Carey first asked

  that question about Collingwood

  we were all so surprised

  no one had the answer.

  So Billy, who goes for the Sydney Swans,

  put up his hand and replied,

  ‘If Collingwood kick 20 goals,

  the answer, sir, is:

  IT’S A MIRACLE!’

  The class meet Sharita

  It’s Friday afternoon.

  Co-curricular.

  Mr Carey stands onstage,

  a broad smile creasing his face

  as wild rhythmic music

  pounds from behind the curtain.

  Flutes,

  thumping drums,

  floating whistles

  and wailing vocal howls.

  We look at one another.

  What’s happening back there?

  Snake charming?

  Camel racing?

  Trapeze artists flying across the stage?

  With a flourish

  Mr Carey opens the curtain

  to reveal

  Sharita the Belly Dancer

  and her band

  (actually, a CD player).

  She shimmies

  and shakes

  and wiggles

  and belly rolls

  across stage

  as Mr Carey claps in time

  and calls out,

  ‘Welcome, Class 6C,

  to Co-curricular belly dancing.’

  Sarah and belly dancing

  for beginners

  It’s fun!

  True!

  Sharita,

  whose real name is Sally

  (and she’s Mr Carey’s sister),

  shows us each a special move.

  Peter does the camel walk,

  complete with suspicious noises.

  Ahmet is an expert

  at the Turkish hip lift.

  He thinks it will help his soccer.

  Anna loves temple hands and snake arms.

  She says it’s like noisy yoga.

  The J-man becomes expert

  at the Egyptian hip drop,

  which he calls

  ‘the Egyptian hip-hop!’

  But, best of all

  are the zills –

  little cymbals we wear on our fingers

  and we click in time with the music.

  Billy wears them on every finger

  and even straps some to his toes.

  He invents ‘punk belly dancing’,

  although

  it’s a bit much

  when he lifts his shirt

  and tries a belly roll,

  a shimmy

  and a zill dance

  all at the same time!

  Alex’s empty suitcase

  On Sundays,

  my dad and me

  go to a football match

  and eat a hot dog

  and chips.

  We drink thickshakes,

  caramel, double ice-cream.

  Sometimes we go to the zoo instead

  and laugh at the monkeys

  pulling faces at us.

  I take a photo

  of Dad in front of the gorilla.

  In summer

  we go to the beach:

  boogie boards

  and sandcastles,

  frisbees

  and kites.

  Once we went to the museum

  and saw dinosaur bones

  and butterflies from New Guinea

  in a glass case.

  On Monday,

  when Dad dropped me at the bus

  after a Sunday

  playing cricket in the park,

  he asked,

  ‘Where would you like to go

  next Sunday?’

  I thought of everywhere we’ve been

  in the
months since Dad left,

  and I said,

  ‘I’d like you to visit me,

  at home,

  and stay…’

  Dad looked sadder

  than an empty suitcase

  and said,

  ‘We’ll go the beach,

  will we?’

  A concert? A play?

  After a few weeks of co-curricular

  with belly dancing,

  guitar playing,

  singing,

  and Mr Carey’s special acting lessons,

  half the class

  want to stage a concert

  with music and singing,

  and dancing.

  The other half

  want to do a play,

  especially Emily,

  who wants to do

  Romeo and Juliet.

  No prizes for guessing

  who plays the lead.

  Mr Carey doesn’t mind,

  so he suggests a vote,

  after lunch.

  A secret ballot to decide.

  Michael does a quick count...

  At lunch,

  Emily offers everyone

  a role in her play.

  She’s got 14 students,

  including herself,

  who’ll vote for a play,

  and 14 students

  who’ll vote for anything but the play!

  The bell rings

  and we all head back to class,

  deadlocked!

  We each write our choice

  on the special ballot papers

  (Mr Carey’s yellow Post-it notes),

  and wait

  while Mr Carey counts.

  Everyone’s sure it’ll be 14 –14,

  but the smile on Mr Carey’s face says

  there is a result...

  He stands

  and announces,

  ‘Concert: 15 votes

  Play: 13 votes.

  It’s a concert!’

  Class 6C are stunned.

  We look at each other,

  everyone whispering,

  ‘It wasn’t me.’

  Emily

  If I find out

  who voted for the concert

  when they promised me

  they’d vote for a play –

  where Jason

  could have been Romeo

  to my brilliant Juliet –

  I’ll make them pay!

  And I had the perfect plan

  to win a recount tomorrow.

  I was going to

  download a photo

  of Johnny Rotten

  off the internet.

  How ugly is that!

  And I’d scrawl a signature

  across the bottom.

  I was going to give it to Billy

  first thing

  to make sure he changed his vote.

  He’d do anything

  for a Rotten autograph!

  But somebody voted different

  to what they said.

  Jason looked so

  disappointed.

  To help him feel better

  I’ll get him to dance with me

  in the school concert.

  Me and Jason,

  and ballet.

  Peter the host

  I’m not stupid you know,

  no matter what everyone thinks.

  As soon as we decided

  on a school concert

  I put my hand up

  to volunteer,

  and I acted heaps eager.

  ‘Please Mr Carey,

  please can I be the host?

  I’ll do my best, sir.’

  The whole class

  was so surprised

  they all joined in.

  ‘Come on, sir.

  Let Peter do it.’

  Mr Carey had to say yes.

  Too easy.

  I’m the host.

  Do I want to be the host?

  Well,

  the real question is:

  do I want to hide away

  until the last minute,

  avoiding any part in the concert

  until someone gets sick,

  or Mr Carey realises

  that I don’t have a role...

  and suddenly

  I’m forced to dress

  in some stupid costume

  being ordered to sing

  or dance.

  Or sing and dance!

  No way.

  So, I got in early.

  I chose the simple role.

  All I do is stand up

  and announce the next fool –

  sorry,

  announce the next performer!

  Sophie and poetry

  I waited until the end of class

  and I went to Mr Carey’s desk

  and asked him

  in a really quiet voice,

  in case anyone was outside listening,

  if I could read a poem

  in the school concert

  instead of singing.

  A poem of my own

  on any topic I like.

  He smiled so wide

  I thought his face would split!

  Simple.

  And I’ve got months to write it!

  Jason’s secret

  Think about it,

  for just a minute, okay?

  Emily wants a play.

  Emily wants to be Juliet.

  I’m Emily’s boyfriend.

  Who do you think

  would have to play Romeo?

  Hours and hours of rehearsal

  in our dusty old school hall

  when I could be outside

  playing football,

  or riding my bike

  down to the shops,

  and just hanging out.

  It was a simple choice really.

  And yes, I feel bad

  about letting Emily down,

  but

  onstage

  in front of the whole school...

  I shiver at the thought.

  The Rap Master ducks

  for cover

  I’m a mean mother

  a rapping brother

  like no other

  duck for cover

  because here I come – the J-man.

  I got nerves of steel

  that’s how I feel

  I’m hyper-real

  you get the deal

  because here I come – the J-man.

  Don’t get in my way

  or you’re gonna pay

  hear what I say?

  scared, me? no way

  because here I come – the J-man.

  Here’s the school gate

  don’t care if I’m late

  everybody can wait

  because I’m great

  that’s right, yeah – I’m the J-man.

  Pupil-free day?

  Teachers only today?

  No way!

  Oops.

  No, I’m cool.

  Hey, I’m the J-man.

  Mr Carey tells us about

  his first game of football

  I was nine years old

  when a bigger boy

  came up to me on the school oval

  and said,

  ‘You’re okay.

  You wanna play soccer?

  My dad coaches for a club.

  You should join.’

  That afternoon

  I ran home faster than

  a winger with the ball at his feet.

  ‘Please, Mum.

  Can I join?

  Brian’s dad will take me. Please?’

  All afternoon. Please, Mum.

  Dinner. Please, Mum.

  Dessert. Pleeeeeease, Mum.

  YES!

  I put on my old sandshoes,

  shorts and t-shirt,

  and ran to Brian’s place.

  He took me to training,

  where I met all my team-mates,
<
br />   including a kid who looked like a duck.

  Everyone called him ‘Duck’.

  All night, under lights,

  kicking a ball,

  yelling ‘Pass, Duck.’

  Or my favourite,

  ‘Shoot, Duck, shoot.’

  They told me I needed

  soccer boots

  shin pads

  team socks –

  white with two green hoops –

  all before Saturday,

  and my first game of football.

  ‘Please, Mum, please.’

  Endlessly, all week.

  Saturday.

  Sunshine.

  I rode my bike

  six kilometres to the field,

  wearing new boots,

  new shorts, new socks,

  and my shin pads

  strapped to my arms

  like a skate warrior.

  (To this day, I don’t know why

  I put them on my arms,

  not my legs.)

  Our coach gave me

  the number 8 jersey

  and said,

  ‘Play up front,

  pass the ball

  and help out in the middle.’

  I ran non-stop,

  tackled,

  yelled,

  dribbled,

  and yes, passed,

  and passed,

  and passed.

  Thirty-four years later

  I remember

  one pass...

  The ball came to me

  fast.

  I trapped it with the instep

  of my shiny new shoes.

  I dribbled it a few paces

  and when a defender

  came in for the tackle

  I passed the ball

  just out of his reach

  to Duck,

  who kicked it smack bang

  into the goal.

  Everyone ran to Duck

  to shake his hand

  and pat him on the back.

  I jogged back to the half-way line,

  thinking

  this is the best fun

  I’ve ever had in my life.

  And passing the ball

  is the best thing

  a kid could do,

  ever!

  Peter tells us about his

  first game of football

  It was 0-0

  with two minutes to go.

  My team was shattered,

  worn-out, beat, dog-tired,

  whacked, helpless

  and fading fast!

  I got the ball

  on the half-way line.

  I controlled it perfectly

  on my thigh,

  brought it down with a neat flick

  and jinked past the Italian defender.