Naked Bunyip Dancing Read online

It’s not that type of bug.

  He is ill with a bug.

  Sick with the flu.

  Not a flying bug, Peter!

  Please, Class 6C!

  Yes, I guess

  we could be Class 6H, today,

  if you’d prefer.

  H for Holditz.

  No, Billy, not

  ‘Holditz by the tail until it barks.’

  Class 6H!

  And Peter,

  Class 6 Spiderman

  is certainly not an appropriate name.

  Can we get started Class 6C?

  I mean Class 6H.

  Today, I thought we’d talk about Economics.

  Does anyone know anything

  about Economics?

  No, Anna,

  it’s not the gym class

  your mum goes to on Friday mornings.

  And no, we can’t do exercise, instead.

  Economics means

  money, commerce, business.

  Yes, Jackson,

  I’m sure your dad says

  it’s no one’s business

  how much money he makes.

  And Peter,

  I’m sorry you don’t have any money

  for lunch.

  Well, I suppose

  Peter could get a loan from a bank, Sarah,

  that’s part of Economics.

  Peter, sit down, please.

  Where do you think you’re going?

  To the bank for lunch money.

  Perhaps I can loan you $2,

  would that be suitable, Peter?

  Yes, $2.50 is fine.

  You can pay me back tomorrow.

  What?

  Yes, Mr Carey is off for the week,

  I’m afraid.

  Yes, it was a very big bug, Michael.

  No, we can’t visit him at home

  to squash the bug, Billy.

  It’s not that sort of bug, remember?

  Economics!

  Not Health. Not Medicine.

  Not Biology. Not Zoology.

  Economics!

  Yes, Peter, let’s make it $3

  so you can get a drink as well.

  Was that the bell?

  It was.

  My how time has flown.

  Like a bird.

  Yes, Michael, like a bug!

  No, not like the flying bug that

  made Mr Carey sick!

  It’s not that sort of…

  See you after lunch, class.

  We’ll talk about bugs!

  Mr Carey’s first day back

  Good morning, Class 6C.

  It’s good to be back.

  I’d like to thank you all

  for your get-well cards.

  They made me feel much better

  and I thought the class drawing

  of Bob Dylan

  was rather lifelike,

  right down to his prominent nose

  and curly hair.

  I’d particularly like to thank

  the student who sent me

  the can of insect spray

  with a note about killing the bug.

  Very clever.

  He didn’t sign his name,

  but the spelling revealed

  a true sense of originality.

  So, thank you,

  you know who you are.

  And all the class looked at Billy,

  who looked out the window,

  whistling a quiet tune.

  Doodle Alex

  Mr Carey saw the doodles

  all over my school bag,

  and on my exercise books,

  and even on my pencil case.

  I wasn’t sure what he’d say,

  but he smiled,

  and said,

  ‘Great drawings, Alex.

  Lots of character.’

  For the rest of class,

  he sat at his desk

  while we did our

  comprehension test.

  Every time I looked up,

  I’d catch him,

  staring out the window,

  deep in thought.

  Maybe he was still feeling sick?

  When the bell rang,

  he asked me to stay behind.

  That’s it.

  Trouble for sure,

  and all over some stupid doodles.

  But he asked me

  to forget my homework tonight

  and instead

  to do some drawings,

  simple line drawings

  of a few classmates,

  and, if I didn’t mind,

  he’d show them to Ms Park

  because he had an idea,

  an idea he’d tell me about tomorrow

  after he’d looked at the drawings.

  Alex the cartoonist

  I couldn’t wait to get home.

  I raced to my room,

  got my best pencil

  and my art book

  and started.

  Billy was first.

  He’s easy –

  tall, big, gangly,

  with stubbly hair.

  I just had to draw Anna

  as a dancing pop star.

  And the J-man,

  rapping,

  baggy pants and baseball cap.

  Emily and Jason

  I drew together,

  close together.

  I sketched Ahmet

  juggling five balls all at once.

  And finally,

  I did Mr Carey,

  only I was careful

  not to go overboard

  on the big nose

  and ponytail.

  I drew him playing guitar

  standing in front

  of this huge peace sign.

  I knew he’d like that.

  Emily learns the truth

  It was something Peter said.

  I couldn’t sleep all night

  thinking about it.

  We were in the school hall,

  onstage,

  rehearsing for the concert,

  and Mr Carey said

  it was a dress rehearsal

  so I brought my spare tights

  for Jason,

  and he took an awful long time

  to put them on.

  Ms Libradore sat at her piano,

  calling Jason to come out

  from behind the curtain.

  And when he plodded across stage,

  Peter smirked and said,

  ‘Smart move, Jason.

  Voting to wear tights.’

  I didn’t think about it then.

  I was too busy hoping Jason

  wouldn’t drop me.

  But when I got home

  and thought about it…

  Didn’t Jason vote for a play?

  For Romeo?

  Jason

  That’s it.

  I’m going to punch Peter.

  Simple.

  I should get detention

  for something sensible

  like fighting,

  not kissing.

  And then I’ll face Emily.

  And I’ll try to explain

  but something tells me

  I’ve got more chance

  of surviving a fight

  with Peter,

  than with Emily.

  Sophie tells

  Have you heard?

  It’s true.

  Emily dumped Jason

  or

  Jason dumped Emily

  or

  they double-dumped!

  They won’t look at each other,

  or talk.

  They won’t stand

  at the same bus stop,

  or in the same line at the canteen.

  They sit on opposite sides of the classroom.

  When Jason answers wrong

  Emily scoffs.

  When Emily answers right

  Jason scoffs.

  They’ve crossed hearts off their pencil cases.<
br />
  They both swear

  they’ll hate each other…

  forever.

  It’s so romantic.

  Jason

  I hate her.

  She’s crazy.

  She hurt my heart

  and my leg.

  She kicked my leg.

  She missed my heart

  but it still hurt.

  She doesn’t understand.

  She thinks she’s always right.

  I hate her.

  It’s over.

  Never again.

  I won’t even look at her.

  Or talk to her.

  Or sit near her on the bus.

  No more movies.

  No more lunchtimes sharing

  Cherry Ripes.

  I love chocolate.

  I hate her.

  Another chance?

  Ring her and say I’m sorry?

  Ring her and see if she’s sorry?

  Oh, well…

  Maybe tomorrow.

  Now?

  But I hate her.

  Yes, I know I said she was sunshine

  yesterday.

  Oh, okay.

  I’ll call her now.

  I guess she’d like to apologise…

  Emily

  Emily walks home,

  throws her schoolbag

  on the kitchen floor,

  ignores the cat,

  the chocolate cake on the table,

  her baby brother holding an ice-cream,

  and says,

  ‘I never ever

  want to talk to that

  lying

  rotten

  smelly

  slobbery

  mean

  heartless

  careless

  stupid

  evil

  uncool

  stinking

  worse than brussel sprouts

  and

  uglier than a hippopotamus

  babbling

  awful

  Jason

  again.

  Never.

  Ever.’

  And then, the phone rings…

  Jason explains...

  It took hours,

  well,

  ten minutes,

  but it seemed like hours

  trying to explain to Emily

  why I voted for a concert.

  I wasn’t lying,

  like she kept saying –

  I just didn’t want to be Romeo.

  And I think

  we’re going out again,

  because she didn’t call me names

  and threaten to kick me again,

  and she said she’d see me

  at the bus stop tomorrow,

  and I think everything will be all right,

  even though I’m stuck

  with dancing at the concert.

  But we agreed,

  no tights,

  just normal pants.

  And I’m glad it’s worked out.

  I’m already preparing for detention

  this week,

  which will get in the way of rehearsal.

  But all this was caused by Peter,

  who’s going to get punched

  first thing tomorrow morning.

  Billy saves the day

  Jason walks right up to Peter

  at the bus stop

  and pushes him hard,

  so hard

  he falls over a little kindy boy.

  And Peter

  hurts his hand,

  landing on the gravel,

  and the little boy starts crying,

  so I step in between Peter and Jason,

  while Michael helps the little kid to his feet.

  It seems really weird,

  but Jason wants to fight Peter

  right in front of everyone

  because of something Peter said.

  And Alex is holding Jason back,

  and no one is holding Peter,

  which makes me think that,

  maybe,

  Peter might like to apologise

  for whatever it was he said.

  So I suggest that,

  and Peter shrugs

  and says sorry.

  That sounds fine to me,

  so I do what my dad taught me.

  I look Jason straight in the eye,

  and I say,

  ‘He’s sorry.

  That’s enough. Right?’

  And Jason looks at me,

  and he thinks for a bit.

  I can see his brain ticking over,

  slow,

  like my brain does in Maths,

  and Jason shakes hands with Peter,

  and they both say sorry again

  and it’s all over,

  except we have to work out

  how to get this kindy boy

  to stop crying

  before a teacher

  comes along

  and we’re all in trouble!

  Peter

  Yeah.

  I guess Jason

  had a right to be angry.

  But the knucklehead

  didn’t have to push me over

  in front of everyone.

  I’m not stupid.

  I apologised

  and forgot about it.

  Teachers always

  go on about us calling names

  and making each other feel bad

  and all that stuff,

  so I didn’t mind saying sorry.

  Maybe teasing Jason

  wasn’t such a harmless joke.

  Alex agrees

  I gave Mr Carey the drawings,

  first thing this morning.

  He said he’d show them

  to Ms Park at recess

  and he’d talk to me

  during lunch,

  in the school hall.

  I could hardly eat,

  I was so nervous.

  What was this all about?

  At lunch I quietly

  entered the hall

  to see Mr Carey

  standing on the stage, waiting.

  He smiled and said,

  ‘Alex, thanks for coming.

  Can you answer a simple question?

  What am I standing in front of?’

  I didn’t understand.

  Mr Carey was onstage,

  there was nothing behind him

  but a wall.

  So I said,

  ‘Nothing, sir.

  A blank wall.’

  He grinned.

  ‘Precisely, Alex.

  A boring blank bland brick wall,

  if you’ll pardon the b’s!

  How can we present a concert

  in front of something so uninspiring?’

  I was beginning to understand,

  so I answered,

  ‘You can’t, sir.

  We need a backdrop.

  But not a boring bland brick backdrop!’

  Mr Carey laughed.

  ‘You see my point,

  don’t you, Alex?

  How about you, me and Ms Park

  drawing,

  no, painting,

  a bright, brilliant, beautiful backdrop?’

  I loved the idea.

  ‘It would BE a pleasure, sir.’

  Anna and the lasting war

  It’s been a month

  since Sarah’s Great Uncle Bob

  came to school

  and played bugle.

  But every time

  Mr Carey mentions war

  and what’s happening in the world,

  it’s like that haunting sound

  returns to the room

  and lingers.

  Michael asked Mr Carey

  if we could write a poem

  about war

  and maybe

  the best one

  could be read

  at the school concert.

  Michael said

  y
ou can’t just have

  singing and dancing.

  You should have spoken words.

  And even though Mr Carey

  was a little nervous

  about what our parents would say,

  he let us write the poems,

  and read them aloud,

  and vote.

  Yes,

  a secret ballot,

  again.

  Anna’s poem on

  World War One

  If they called World War One

  ‘the war to end all wars’,

  what happened?

  Peter’s war poem

  If everybody dies,

  how do you know who won?

  Billy’s war poem

  My dad says

  that if someone

  breaks into his house

  and tries to hurt us,

  he’s going to get really angry

  and fight back

  and not stop fighting

  until they leave us alone,

  or the cops come.

  Mr Carey’s war poem

  All around the world

  the birds were singing

  the salmon swam upstream to spawn

  a crab scuttled sideways

  on a lonesome beach

  enjoying the crazy dance

  a dog lazily wagged his tail

  as he dozed

  under a spreading oak tree

  and two butterflies floated

  on the warm east breeze

  to show us all

  how stupid we humans are.

  War (a poem by Sophie)

  Tanks on dirt roads,

  guns firing a deadly echo,

  planes swooping low.

  Green tracer lines across the night sky.

  Noise.

  Lots of noise.

  And dust,

  choking dust

  and

  and

  and

  children in hospitals,

  their mothers hunched over,

  wailing;

  and old men

  with sad vacant eyes

  walking on crutches,

  an empty flap where their leg should be.

  Bodies by the roadside.

  Bodies of ordinary people

  and none of them

  are wearing uniforms.

  They are dressed like you and me.

  And our Prime Minister

  stands in Parliament

  dressed in a suit

  with a clean white shirt and tie,

  and he has shiny glasses

  and he tells us

  we need to fight

  to help all the people we’ve seen