Launched! (4 page)

‘Should be on a lead.’

‘Here it is,’ said Clem, pulling the lead from the basket and clipping it on to Bella’s collar. She stared at the object Bella had dropped but couldn’t make out what it was. It looked like a dead mouse. When Clem moved, a sharp pain shot down her leg and into her heel. She winced, clinging onto the lead with a vice-like grip. No way was Bella going to take off again! She lowered Bella into her basket, attached the lead
to the metal frame and pushed her bike towards the station ramp, realising that she’d have to go back onto the street and all the way around to meet the others.

Following the guard Clem detoured via the dead mouse, hoping it was dead and not half-mangled and needing to be put out of its misery. But when she squatted down to inspect it she got a surprise. It wasn’t a mouse. It was a doll’s head. Mouse fur turned out to be doll’s hair, and it was obvious that it hadn’t come from some old pile of rubbish. Except for the fresh Bella drool it was clean, and the hair was parted and plaited and tied with ribbons. Someone loved that doll. Clem wondered who it could belong to and how it had come to be in the tunnel. The guard began to hurry her again so she slipped the head in her pocket and followed him.

Halfway to the exit stairs they halted. One whole wall had been bombed with graffiti: tags and throw-ups, and one intricate piece that looked like a work of art.

‘Bloody kids,’ said the guard. ‘Vandals, that’s what they are. It’s wanton destruction, it is.’ He straightened up as he added, ‘In my day we never did such things.’

There were paint cans, caps and tips strewn across the ground.

The guard reached out and ran his finger down a tag. The paint was still wet to the touch. ‘Criminals,’ he said, then he sucked in his breath and spat.

Clem blanched at the spit at her feet and wondered who was worse: kids who defaced public property or unhygienic men. She stared at the letters, struggling to comprehend their meaning. All of a sudden her eyes widened. For on the wall, in a colour that was blue tinged with green, the colour of the ocean on a stormy day, was the word ‘PHREE’.

Clem sighed a sigh from the deep. She worried that Bryce had gone back to his old ways, that he was in trouble again and needed her help, but she wasn’t sure whether she should ask. She knew how sensitive Bryce was on the subject, how he leapt down Darcy’s throat whenever it was mentioned, so she decided to stay silent. After all, lots of taggers could be called PHREE, couldn’t they? She trudged up the ramp and went to join the others.

‘
Finally
,’ said Darcy when Clem appeared. ‘We were about to send out a search party.’

‘This guard stopped me and escorted me to the gate. Dirty old man.’

Darcy’s eyes flew open. ‘He didn’t hurt you, did he?’

‘No. Nothing like that.’ Clem’s face scrunched as she said, ‘He spat.’

‘And you’re such a lady.’ Darcy rolled his eyes, then laughed as he added, ‘Not!’

Tong interrupted. ‘What Bella want, Clem? Why she run?’

‘This.’ Clem held up the doll’s head, swinging it by the hair, aware of how macabre it looked.

‘Some kid’s probably dropped it,’ said Darcy. ‘They’re running around cradling a headless dolly, like some sort of Goth.’

‘What a got?’ asked Tong, the strain of trying to follow the conversation showing on his face.

‘Not got. Goth. With a “th”.’

‘Got.’

‘Did you find anything else?’ interrupted Mio.

Clem bit her lip. She mulled over whether or not she should mention the graffiti, and decided that she would. She told them about the wall and the empty spray paint cans. She told them about the caps and tips. Then finally, she told them about PHREE.

Immediately Darcy whirled on Bryce. ‘You didn’t, did you?’ It sounded more like an accusation than a question.

‘No!’ Bryce gulped, his face pale under a sheen of sweat. ‘You know I wouldn’t go back to graf.’

Darcy’s eyes narrowed as he taunted, ‘Wouldn’t you?’

‘No!’ Bryce reared up. Now his face flooded with colour.

Mio placed a cautionary hand on Darcy’s arm, saying, ‘Bryce doesn’t do that stuff any more.’

Darcy turned from Bryce to Clem and asked, ‘You said the paint was wet?’

Clem nodded. ‘So what?’

‘So, Bryce could well have done it.’

‘Except that I didn’t.’

‘Except that we can’t be sure,’ said Darcy.

‘What’s your problem?’ hissed Clem, rounding on her brother. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘Last night,’ Darcy continued, ignoring his sister. ‘When you didn’t make it into our carriage,’ his voice dropped even lower, ‘did you miss the train on purpose?’

Instead of answering, Bryce turned away.

‘What sort of answer is that?’

Bryce’s fingers clenched as he turned back. Anger screamed like a siren in his stomach.

‘It’s perfect,’ went on Darcy. ‘You pretend to see something so you miss the train. You’re at the station, long wait on your hands, thinking, how’m I gonna pass the time?’ Darcy’s voice needled. ‘What’s a little paint between friends, eh?’

Mio found herself holding her breath and waiting. Whether it was for the two boys to go
head-to-head or whether it was because she needed to hear Bryce’s answer and convince herself it wasn’t true, she wasn’t sure.

‘What is it with you?!’ shouted Bryce. ‘Always riding me. And for what?’

‘Yeah, Darcy, for what?’ demanded Clem, her face rigid. She knew that being the oldest of six kids made Darcy act like a prize rooster sometimes, but the Darcy she knew was also kind and gentle, with endless patience for their little brothers. So what was going on? Clem decided to do what she’d seen her mother do many, many times. She held up her hands towards Darcy and Bryce saying, ‘Stop it, you two. Grow up. Now shake on it and quit acting like babies.’

‘Why should I?’ asked Bryce. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’

Darcy slumped at the familiar words and his anger defused. ‘You’re right, Clem.’ He thrust out his hand saying, ‘Sorry, Bryce.’ But his suspicions had been aroused, and it would take more than a denial from Bryce to make them go away.

‘So you should be,’ said Bryce, holding Darcy’s hand far longer than was necessary in a death-adder squeeze. The two locked eyes, and Darcy returned the pressure. Bryce was the first to break. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said, pulling away. ‘It’s getting late and Cara’ll be chucking a mental.’

‘How is your step-mum?’ asked Clem.

‘Alright, I guess.’

‘She must be getting big.’

Bryce nodded, then hung his head so his fringe flopped into his eyes. ‘Baby’s due in two weeks.’

‘Two weeks. That’s when the bike trials are on,’ said Mio.

Bryce gave a wry smile. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t let you down. I’ll make them, even if I have to deliver the baby before I get there!’

Clem pulled a face, saying, ‘Stranger things have happened.’ She remembered how almost two years ago her youngest brother, Drew, had decided to make his entrance a month early, and how he’d come in such a hurry that he’d been born on the laundry floor, much to the shock of her mother. Fortunately, her dad was home at the time, but it was still pretty scary.

Tuesday after school was visiting Mr Lark day. On the way the kids collected Bella and practised some tricks. First they mounted a small brick wall and rode along it, then dropped onto the nature strip and did a skid stop. Bella’s ears propelled into the air, then she sneezed and grinned, her tongue lolling out as she panted in anticipation of the next big thrill.

‘My skid’s the furthest,’ said Darcy.

Tong got off his bike. Using his hands to measure both skids he said, ‘Excuse me, Darcy. So sorry but my skid the very long.’

‘Longest,’ corrected Mio.

‘Longest,’ echoed Tong.

‘All rise for the new skid champion,’ said Darcy, standing up on his pedals, removing his cap and taking a bow.

With all solemnity, Tong bowed back.

Mr Lark beamed when he saw them. ‘You’re late,’ he said. ‘Thought you weren’t coming.’

‘We went home to get Bella,’ said Clem. Bella jumped out of her basket and went straight up to Mr Lark, plonking herself down on her rump and holding up her paw.

‘She knows “shake”,’ said Mr Lark, taking the paw and pumping it up and down.

‘She knows lots of things,’ said Clem. ‘She’s very talented.’

‘So talented I’m thinking of renaming her,’ said Darcy, a twinkle in his eyes. ‘With a pedigree name, like Miss Incomparable Chow Hound.’ He paused to think. ‘Or Miss Sock Thief Extraordinaire…’

Clem stuck her tongue out at him. ‘Only because you leave them lying around.’

‘Or The Quintessential Miss Sniffer.’

‘Alright already. We’ve got the message.’ Clem nuzzled her nose into Bella’s neck, murmuring, ‘Or
Miss Canine Best Bud.’ Bella stood up and nuzzled Clem back.

Mr Lark chuckled and leant down to scratch behind Bella’s ears. Automatically, her back legs collapsed. Mr Lark chuckled again, saying, ‘Good trick.’ Then he pulled himself up by the kitchen benchtop and asked, ‘Who’s for some cheese scones?’

‘They’re my favourite,’ said Bryce, but with less enthusiasm than usual; he was still smarting because of Darcy’s comments.

‘Mine too.’

‘And mine.’

Mio looked at Tong. ‘I don’t know about you, Tong, but I’ve never had cheese scones before.’

‘S-s-cone.’ Tong rolled the word around his tongue as though he were taste-testing it.

‘Scone. Rhymes with Saigon,’ said Mr Lark helpfully.

‘Saigon?’ asked Clem.

‘Ho Chi Minh City now,’ said Mr Lark. ‘Since ’75.’ At the children’s blank faces Mr Lark said, ‘Guess I’m showing my age,’ and began reaching for ingredients.

‘Scone like hamburger?’ asked Tong hopefully.

‘Yes,’ said Mr Lark. ‘If you take away the meat, the tomato and the lettuce.’

All this confused Tong even more, so he said, ‘You make—I eat,’ and plonked himself on a
kitchen chair. He patted his thigh and Bella obliged by sitting alongside him, melting as she got another pat.

‘Wash your hands,’ ordered Mr Lark. As the kids traipsed into the bathroom he placed the ingredients on the table and turned the oven on. ‘Get out a mixing bowl, Clem, and Darcy, you get the wooden spoon.’

‘Now that’s appropriate,’ said Bryce. He picked up the wooden spoon, his eyes narrowing as he asked Darcy, ‘Ever get hit with one of these?’

‘Nuh. You?’

‘Yup.’ Bryce hated how small his voice sounded.

Mr Lark took the wooden spoon from Bryce and shook his head. ‘Back in the old days we used to cop it all the time.’

Bryce’s voice was hushed. ‘This isn’t the old days…’

Mio reached out, gently resting her hand on Bryce’s arm. She smiled to reassure him. Although hitting kids was illegal in Japan, she knew it sometimes happened. Once, when she was little, she saw a child hit, when she was queuing to go ice skating. The child was belted across the cheek, so hard his head almost snapped from his slender neck. She could still hear the
whap!
and see the palm imprint, each finger outlined and angry like a bluebottle sting. Huge waves of revulsion had
washed over her. She couldn’t sleep for many nights. Even now Mio found it hard to read books or watch movies where little kids get hit.

Mr Lark shimmied across the kitchen waving a bowl. ‘While we get the scones under way, fill me in on your news. It’s been a while.’ He pushed the bowl towards Mio, saying, ‘Two tablespoons of butter.’ To Tong he said, ‘
Môt trúng.
One egg.’

‘Tong’s English is pretty good now,’ said Bryce. ‘You don’t have to translate.’

‘Sorry, Tong. Force of habit.’

‘No worries,’ said Tong.

Mr Lark chuckled, saying, ‘Cheeky monkey,’ and cuffed Tong on the shoulder.

The butter and egg were mixed with a handful of grated cheese, some milk, the self-raising flour, and baking powder to form a soft dough. While Mr Lark kneaded, the kids brought him up to speed about the bike trials and the training they were doing for it. As he rolled the dough and cut it into rounds they told him about The Peak and how they were practising at the unused part of the railway yard.

‘Sounds good.’ Mr Lark placed the rounds on a greased tray then melted some butter in a saucepan, mixed in some more grated cheese, spooned a dollop of the butter and cheese on each scone, then put the scones in the oven to bake.

‘How long?’ asked Bryce. ‘I’m starving.’ Then he started to sing, ‘
I am star-ving. Oh, so hun-gry,
’ and patted his stomach to the beat. ‘
Yes, I am. Sure I am. How I am.
’

‘Bryce!’

Bryce shrugged, then stopped.

‘With these bike trials we enter as a team,’ Darcy continued explaining to Mr Lark.

‘We can win money,’ said Clem.

‘Many, many money.’

‘We’ll be rich,’ announced Darcy. ‘Not.’

‘If you’re a team, what’re you going to call yourselves?’ asked Mr Lark. ‘The Freewheelers?’

Clem, Mio and Tong said ‘Yes’, but Darcy and Bryce said ‘No’. Darcy explained. ‘“Freewheelers” is our own special name. I don’t want other kids knowing about our group.’

‘Me neither,’ said Bryce. ‘Keep it private. Have a different name for competitions.’

The room buzzed with silence as each kid wrestled to find a name.

‘What about The Dragons?’ asked Mio. ‘We have
tatsu
in Japan.
Fuku Riu
is our good luck dragon.’

‘No offence, Mio,’ said Darcy. ‘But this isn’t Japan.’

‘Really?’ Mio’s nostrils flared as though she were impersonating a dragon. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

Darcy ignored her. ‘We could be The Devils,’
he suggested, holding his fingers to his head like horns.

‘The
Darcy
Devils, no doubt,’ said Clem.

‘No, the
Daring
Devils.’

‘I like daring,’ said Mio.

‘Me too,’ said Clem.

Bryce bolted upright in his chair, saying, ‘I know. How ‘bout The DEHD? Stands for Dangerous, Edgy, Hip and Daring.’

‘As long as it doesn’t stand for digger, endo, header, dab,’ joked Darcy.

Mr Lark’s eyebrows knotted. ‘Which means in plain English?’

‘Face plant, going over the handlebars, going over the handlebars again, and foot-down-you’re-out.’

‘The DEHD,’ said Bryce. He thought of all the really cool bands he knew that had ‘dead’ in their name. Dead Prez. Dead Beats. There was that really old one, too, Grateful Dead. ‘The DEHD,’ he said again. ‘Has a ring to it, don’t you think?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yeah.’

‘It does.’

‘Me like.’

Woof!

Bella wasn’t really joining in. Her sensitive nose had smelt the cheese burning in the oven.
Woof,
she went again, and pawed at the floor.

Mr Lark grabbed the oven mitt and yanked open the door. Smoke billowed out, triggering the fire alarm and a swear word from Mr Lark. Darcy grabbed a tea towel and flung it up to stop the incessant wails of the fire alarm, but they soon started again. The only way to stop it was for Clem to stand on the kitchen sink, fanning the fumes away from the sensors. When the smoke dissipated all that was left was a tray full of charred lumps, like tree stumps after a bushfire.

‘Spare the teeth and shut the gums, eat that lot and you’ll get the runs,’ quipped Bryce, copping a tea towel from both Clem and Darcy and an oven mitt from Mr Lark.