Naked Bunyip Dancing Page 7

  in hospitals,

  in burnt out buildings,

  in old cars fleeing the tanks,

  in dusty streets

  and

  I don’t think

  we’re doing a very good job.

  Michael and the winner

  Billy put his hand up

  as soon as Sophie

  finished her poem

  and said,

  ‘Sir. I don’t think

  we need a secret ballot.’

  And even though

  he didn’t mention Sophie,

  we all knew what he meant.

  So I said,

  ‘Yes, sir.

  I reckon we all know

  who should read her poem,

  don’t you?’

  And Mr Carey looked around

  at each of us in class,

  and he smiled

  and said,

  ‘Great.

  Congratulations, Sophie.’

  And we all cheered,

  except big strong Billy

  who went over and gave Sophie

  a huge hug,

  and held her hand high,

  like a winner.

  Billy

  I didn’t mean anything by it.

  I really loved her poem,

  so I gave her a hug,

  and raised her arm,

  like they do in

  World Championship Wrestling

  when Killer Kostassi

  spins off the ropes

  and lands slam flat

  on his opponent for a knock-out.

  The referee holds Killer’s hand high.

  So I did the same for Sophie.

  But what worries me is,

  on the bus home,

  Sophie sat beside me

  and talked to me

  about poetry!

  And you know what’s worse?

  I kind of enjoyed it.

  Talking about poetry!

  Maybe I could invent

  a new sort of poetry,

  with Sophie’s help.

  Punk poetry?

  Anna and the genius

  Billy is a genius.

  We’re all sitting around class

  talking to Mr Carey

  about how busy we are

  with all the rehearsals,

  and Sophie is practising

  how to perform her poem,

  and the J-man’s

  rapping every night,

  and Emily’s dancing,

  and Jason has joined a gym –

  pumping weights so he can catch Emily –

  and I’m having a rethink…

  Beyonce? Or an original number?

  And Ms Libradore

  still won’t let Billy play punk piano,

  and Ahmet is mastering his

  soccer ball juggling act,

  which the Principal says is

  ‘an insurance question mark’,

  whatever that means…

  when Billy leans back is his chair

  and says,

  in the most sincere voice

  I’ve ever heard in my life,

  ‘Sir, I’d love to finish

  my Maths homework tonight,

  but I have to spend all evening

  working on my song.’

  And Mr Carey laughs,

  and says,

  ‘All homework is cancelled

  until after the concert.’

  Everyone cheers,

  and I swear Mr Carey

  winks at Billy,

  who just keeps grinning

  all afternoon.

  Love is in the air

  (Anna’s latest secret)

  Peter said it’s true

  and he wouldn’t lie,

  well, not often, anyway.

  He said he saw

  Mr Carey and Ms Park,

  the Year 5 teacher,

  at the movies,

  together,

  on Saturday.

  And they were laughing,

  even though the movie wasn’t that funny.

  Sophie reckons it’s marriage.

  Sarah reckons they already live together

  but Sarah also thought

  Mr Carey had a fake beard

  when he first arrived,

  so I wouldn’t believe that.

  Billy says his dad says

  teachers always marry other teachers

  like movie stars marry movie stars

  and pop stars marry pop stars.

  While we all thought about that,

  Michael said,

  ‘No way can they marry.’

  ‘Why?’ everyone asked.

  ‘Because of Ms Park.’

  ‘What about Ms Park?’

  ‘Her first name,’ said Michael.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s Sherry!

  Sherry Carey!’

  Emily suggested Mr Carey

  could take Ms Park’s name.

  ‘Even worse,’ said Michael.

  ‘It’s Mark.

  Mark Park!’

  Mark Park

  or Sherry Carey.

  The bell rang for class,

  and Sarah said,

  ‘Let’s hope they

  keep living together!’

  The Billy poem to end

  all poems, okay!

  There are lots of poems about

  streams bubbling along nicely

  over rocks and pebbles and

  the guggle giggle tinkle pinkle

  sound they make.

  There’s lots of poems like that.

  Well, this isn’t one of them.

  There are lots of poems about Auntie Jean

  who knits colourful socks

  for her pet goldfish and

  talks to the parrot named Pete

  who’s been dead for months and

  she wonders why he doesn’t sing.

  There’s lots of poems like that.

  Well, this isn’t one of them.

  There are lots of poems about food.

  Spaghetti on babies’ heads

  and ice-cream with nuts and

  chocolate sprinkles and topping,

  yeah, caramel topping, and

  a double-crunch cone with maple flavouring.

  Yeah, there’s lots of poems like that.

  Well, this isn’t one of them.

  My poem is an invisible poem about whales!

  Yeah, whales.

  It goes like this…

  Anna and the big night

  We all get to the school hall

  really early for our big night.

  Everyone is rushing around backstage,

  fixing their costumes,

  finding the marks on the stage

  where they should stand.

  Ms Libradore sits at the piano,

  humming along as she plays

  endless slow ballads.

  Ms Park scurries around

  adjusting the props

  and checking the lights.

  Alex is admiring his fantastic backdrop –

  an amazing mural of Class 6C.

  He’s drawn me

  dancing and singing and smiling.

  I hope it comes true tonight!

  Peter stands at the microphone,

  repeating the words,

  ‘Check. 1, 2, 3, 4, 79. Check, check.’

  Ahmet sits against the wall

  with his soccer ball

  rolling it slowly, hand to hand.

  Sophie stands behind the curtain

  with her eyes closed,

  mouthing the words to her poem,

  over and over.

  Mr Carey is super calm.

  He sits on his ‘director’s chair’

  beside the stage,

  saying softly,

  ‘Don’t worry, Class 6C.

  Everything will be fine.’

  The only time he looks anxious

  is when he s
ees Billy’s outfit.

  You guessed it:

  torn jeans, big boots,

  and a mohawk!

  Mr Carey says,

  ‘There will be young children

  in the audience remember, Billy.’

  Billy grins,

  ‘Trust me, sir.

  Have I ever let you down?’

  Silence hangs in the air

  as Mr Carey considers his answer.

  Michael and the raffle

  Maybe Mr Holditz

  and all his talk about Economics

  somehow

  wore off on me.

  I volunteer to sell raffle tickets

  before the concert begins.

  So I wander among the teachers,

  and the parents

  who are all talking excitedly

  and checking their video cameras,

  ready for the big event.

  Only problem is I’ve forgotten

  to organise a prize...

  So I tell everyone

  that Mr Carey

  will shave his head

  and we’ll donate all the money

  to charity,

  to the Save the Children fund.

  I don’t know why I said that.

  It was the first thing

  that popped into my head.

  Why would I buy a raffle ticket?

  To win a trip to Disneyland,

  or to see Mr Carey bald?

  Simple.

  I can’t believe how many tickets I sell!

  Billy’s dad even offers

  to get his shears from home,

  and do it onstage tonight.

  I reckon I’m the best salesman in school!

  J-man Class 6C Rap

  Well, yo there! Family,

  I’m up here tonight

  to bring you Class 6C…

  We got Sarah, Michael, Billy and Peter,

  who moves so fast you’d swear he was a cheetah.

  Don’t forget Rachel, Sean and Ahmet,

  he’s the funkiest ball-juggler, no sweat!

  Then there’s Jessica, Bella and Emily,

  she’s a wicked dancer, I think you’ll agree.

  Wait one second, remember Anna?

  She’s going to sing a tune to the piana.

  So sit right down, stay cool, you can’t lose.

  Let old Class 6C, entertain youse!

  Emily

  I’m not nervous.

  Not at all.

  I’m not shaking.

  It’s just a little cold,

  so I’m shivering,

  standing here

  behind the curtain,

  in my leotard.

  I see Jason

  stage right,

  ready.

  He doesn’t look too scared,

  but it’s hard to tell,

  because he has his head in his hands,

  and I think I hear him moaning.

  Maybe he’s just trying

  to remember his moves.

  That’s it.

  He’s going through each dance step.

  He’s not groaning,

  he’s whispering to himself.

  He’s whispering every move.

  What a professional!

  Ms Libradore plays piano,

  just softly,

  as the curtain slowly parts,

  and the first people I see

  are Mum and Dad

  in the front row.

  They’re beaming

  and the crowd starts to applaud

  but I haven’t done anything yet.

  Then I hear my cue,

  I raise my arms high,

  gracefully,

  and pirouette…

  Jason

  I’m standing in the wings,

  holding my head in my hands

  and all I can think of

  is when I was six years old

  and I went to Michael’s birthday party

  and they had so much food:

  chocolates,

  lollies,

  potato chips,

  red cordial – litres of it!

  and ice-cream cake

  and trifle

  with lots of green jelly.

  I remember I ate everything.

  I stood by the table

  for the whole party,

  reaching for a new treat every minute.

  When Dad came to pick me up,

  that’s what he had to do –

  pick me up!

  He carried me to the car

  and I’ve never felt so sick

  in my short little life

  until now,

  when I’m standing here

  and I know Emily is looking across,

  but I can’t raise my head

  to smile at her

  because if I open my eyes

  I’ll be sick.

  I moan slowly,

  in time with the music,

  waiting for my cue…

  Sophie

  It’s like I thought it would be.

  Absolute silence.

  Just me and my poem.

  But,

  as I stand onstage

  preparing to start,

  I realise the audience is quiet

  because they want to hear me.

  Silence isn’t scary.

  It’s like Mr Carey said,

  silence is my chance.

  And so I speak,

  slowly

  and clearly,

  and I don’t see

  the faces in front of me.

  I see the images of my poem,

  and I think only of what I’m saying

  and how much it means to me.

  My voice grows stronger

  and I don’t have to struggle

  to remember the words.

  I know them

  because I wrote them.

  Ahmet

  It’s like being in my backyard,

  just me and the ball,

  with a hundred neighbours watching!

  I start on my thigh,

  high-stepping around the stage,

  my eyes on the ball,

  my breath steady,

  and then I let it drop to my instep.

  This is a breeze.

  Hands wide for balance,

  counting,

  51-52-53-54-55,

  and all of a sudden

  I hear the audience

  gently clapping in time…

  in time with my juggling

  and it makes it even easier.

  I can’t stop.

  I’m sure I could do this forever.

  I’m one with the ball.

  Like Mr Carey says at yoga,

  ‘Relax.

  Be at peace.’

  So this is what he meant…

  Billy’s surprise

  We all expect Billy

  to come out screaming,

  and yes,

  his mohawk looks deadly,

  especially with the ragged jeans,

  and safety pins everywhere.

  I’m sure I see Mr Carey

  close his eyes

  waiting for the worst,

  until we hear

  the lone sound of a bugle –

  the gentle, haunting,

  unforgettable sound of

  Sarah’s Great Uncle Bob

  playing.

  He’s in uniform,

  in the darkness,

  offstage,

  blowing softly

  as Billy plays a single snare drum –

  a quiet steady drum-roll,

  getting faster, louder,

  as the bugle moans behind

  and Billy’s drum

  sounds like distant gunfire

  echoing.

  Great Uncle Bob

  plays so sadly

  as he slowly marches onstage

  to stand beside Billy,

  who plays softer, slower,

/>   so it’s like the gunfire is fading,

  fading away to nothing.

  Then all we hear is the bugle

  and Billy stands to attention

  with Great Uncle Bob

  blowing a final lingering note.

  No one makes a sound.

  It’s a minute’s silence.

  A perfect silence.

  Peter

  I couldn’t believe it.

  Not one mistake.

  Jason not only caught Emily,

  he spun her in mid-air,

  and everyone held their breath,

  but Jason wrapped his arms around her,

  swaying ever so slightly

  in time with the music.

  I think he was even smiling.

  The J-man shuffled across stage

  and did the Class 6C rap.

  He finished with a wild breakdance

  singing,

  ‘Remember me, I’m free.

  I’m J-man, call me Jackson.’

  Everyone loved Sophie’s poem.

  We knew they would.

  And Anna sang like a nightingale.

  I don’t know how a nightingale sings,

  but that’s what Mr Carey suggested I say.

  But I reckon he was wrong, you know,

  not because Anna didn’t sing well –

  she was fantastic.

  But a nightingale is a bird,

  and Anna didn’t sound like a bird.

  So instead of saying what Mr Carey told me,

  I announced,

  ‘Anna Baggio,

  better than Beyonce!’

  Mr Carey smiled

  and gave me the thumbs-up.

  And rumour has it

  that Ahmet might be signed up

  by the local football team

  after his soccer-juggling act.

  He can’t stop –

  he kept juggling the ball

  like a crazy seal at a circus.

  We had to close the curtain

  or he would have gone on forever.

  Billy’s peace song

  touched us all

  and Great Uncle Bob

  stood proudly

  all night, backstage,

  watching every performer.

  Mr Carey was very pleased

  Billy didn’t swear once.

  And Mr Carey said that the school

  is going to keep Alex’s mural

  as the backdrop for the school stage.

  But this is the strange thing.

  When I go onstage at the end

  to ask everyone,

  including Mr Carey,

  Ms Park,

  and Ms Libradore

  to join us for a final bow,