Extreme! (4 page)

When Mio reached for her combination lock, which admittedly had been quite useless the day before, she found the combination dials plugged with chewing gum. ‘Someone’s having a go at me again,’ she whispered to Clem, glancing up and down the corridor to see if she was being watched. But the hallway was just full of the usual chattering and clattering of students meandering their way to class.

Clem reached over and grabbed the lock. None of the three discs would rotate. She tried to pick the gum from between the numbers and the discs with her fingernails but she couldn’t get a good grip and the gum wedged in further. ‘What a nuisance,’ she said. ‘You’re going to have to get the maintenance man to cut it off.’

Mio went from locker to locker to inspect if anyone else’s lock had the same problem. ‘Someone’s out to get me,’ she said to Clem.

Clem grabbed Mio’s sleeve and shook it as she said, ‘Don’t be silly. This happens all the time. Some loser who thinks they’re being smart.’

A furrow formed between Mio’s brow. ‘Has it ever happened to you, Clem?’

‘Well, no.’

‘Or Darcy?’

‘No.’

Mio stamped her foot. ‘See! They’re targeting me.’ Just then the bell went and Mio had to make a decision. ‘Do I go to class without any books and get into trouble. Or find the maintenance man first, get to class late, and
then
get into trouble. Neither option’s looking good,’ she said.

‘First period’s Sport,’ said Clem. ‘You won’t need your books.’

Mio let out a long slow sigh. All would be okay. At recess she’d get the maintenance man to help.

Mio and Clem arrived at the oval and began the compulsory couple of warm-up laps. As Mio raced along, the thought of her ruined lock fuelled her stride so that Clem was struggling to keep up.

‘Aim-ing, f-for, the O-Ol-Olympics?’ she panted.

‘Not a bad idea,’ Mio replied, tearing up the turf.

‘Who w-will you run for?’ asked Clem. ‘Us or Ja-Japan?’

Mio stumbled over a clump of grass and pulled up quickly. She was about to say ‘Japan, of course’, but then, this was her new country, and now she wasn’t so sure. Mio sat down and plucked at the grass as she tried to re-arrange her thoughts. For most of her life Japan had been home. Her grandparents were there. Her aunt and uncle were there. Her friends were still there! Mio thought of the email she’d got only yesterday—an email from her best bud and e-pal, Sachi, telling her about her new mobile phone with its
tombodama
[glass bead] phone strap and goldfish wind-bell. How she text-messaged during class, and how she’d send Mio a photo of the new shoes she wanted to buy. But that world only existed in cyberspace whereas here was real—at The Met, with her friends Clem, Darcy, Bryce and now Tong. That other world no longer felt real.

‘It’s not such a difficult question, is it?’ persisted Clem.

Mio flung blades of grass into the air. She watched as some floated whilst others spear-dived to the ground, a bit like Mio’s thoughts. Not even a week ago her mother’s words
No matter how long I am here I feel empty
had echoed in her ears.

‘Which country is home?’

‘Both,’ said Mio, then her voice faded as she added, ‘And neither…’

At the look of anguish on her friend’s face, Clem plonked herself down, saying, ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.’

‘I know,’ said Mio, ‘but sometimes I feel so confused.’

Clem straightened her legs out and leant back on her elbows. ‘Oma and Opa, my grandparents, went through the same thing as you,’ she said. ‘They came after the Second World War with nothing. And now they have a great life.’

‘My life’s pretty good too,’ said Mio. ‘I’m just not sure who’s living it. The Mio of today or the Mio of yesterday.’

‘Aren’t you both?’

Despite herself Mio giggled, then said, ‘Yeah. I guess.’

After sport Mio and Clem went in search of the maintenance man. ‘Not again!’ was his response as he pulled himself to his feet. ‘Happens all the time.’

‘See!’ said Clem, her voice ringing with triumph. ‘I told you it wasn’t just you.’

The maintenance man shuffled down the corridor, his metal cutters in hand. In no time at all the lock was removed and a new lock put in its
place. ‘This one’s key controlled,’ said the man, giving Mio a set of two identical keys, ‘with a master key that I keep in my office in case you get into strife.’

For the first time in days Mio smiled.

She opened her locker door, her face fired with hope that the dog tags would just be sitting there, then shook her head at her own stupidity as she stared at the vacant spot. She took out her books, and the petition which she intended to work on at lunch time, and headed for class, her new keys on a silver chain around her neck.

During lunch Mio collected another twenty-six signatures, so that the petition now stretched over several pages and was starting to look impressive. The council meeting was this Thursday night, before the opening, so that didn’t leave them much time.

‘I wonder if you have to nominate to have the skate park put on the meeting agenda?’ mused Clem as she sat finishing the last potato latke left over from the evening meal. ‘I’ve heard that local councils can be a total pain sometimes and you have to follow protocol.’

Darcy pulled out the mobile phone which he shared with Clem, saying, ‘Easy enough to find out.’ While Darcy was making a call to the council Bryce and Tong joined them.

‘Any news on Mr Lark’s dog tags?’ asked Bryce.

Mio shook her head. ‘We’ve got History again this afternoon. I was going to mention it then. See if anyone heard or saw anything.’

‘Can’t hurt,’ said Bryce. ‘But I’ll bet you don’t learn anything. Mongrel like that’s probably sold them on eBay by now.’

‘eBay?’ said Clem. ‘They wouldn’t.’

Bryce pulled a face, his brows meeting in the middle. ‘Sure they would. You can buy anything on eBay, from a celebrity’s empty lipstick case to the floor plan of Police Headquarters.’

Darcy snorted softly asking, ‘And which one did you buy?’

Ignoring the barb, and with his best pout Bryce answered, ‘The lipstick, of course.’ Then he got all serious. ‘It would be a good idea to check. Military memorabilia is hot right now.’

‘Pawn shop buy, too,’ said Tong.

Clem nudged Tong with her shoulder, asking, ‘And what would you know about pawn shops?’

Tong glanced away. How could he explain that he was very familiar with pawn shops? Back home in Vietnam pawn shops had put food on the table and clothes on your back. Paid for medicine in the winter. How could Tong explain to his new friends that in order to borrow money you had to
own
money, which meant having some in a bank. No
bank account, no credit card, no loan. It was as simple as that.

Clem continued, ‘I think pawn shops feed off the misfortune of others.’

Tong hung his head, his eyes almost closed.

Darcy nodded. ‘Like parasites.’

Bryce squared his shoulders and snapped, ‘It’s all right for you guys with your family’s savings accounts and credit cards. But for lots of us, pawn shops are the only bank we’ve got.’

Noting Tong and Bryce’s discomfort Mio added, ‘Of course, pawn shops have their place. Everyone has the right to borrow money.’

Bryce laughed, saying, ‘I heard the new currency at pawn shops is “Mobile Money”—phones are so easy to steal and sell they’re as good as money.’

They all laughed, then Mio grew serious. ‘Why don’t we check out the local pawn shop to see if they’ve got the dog tags?’

‘Unlikely,’ said Bryce. ‘Most pawn shops shuffle stuff between stores.’

Darcy shot an inquiring look at Bryce which Bryce shot back, daring him to make further comment.

‘It’s worth a try,’ said Mio.

‘I agree,’ said Darcy. He turned to Bryce and Tong, saying, ‘This afternoon after school we
should check out the pawn shops, and someone should do a search on eBay.’

‘What if we find them? Are we meant to buy them back?’ asked Clem.

‘What?’ Bryce chafed inside his shirt. ‘Then we’d be up for receiving stolen goods.’

‘But they’re not stolen. They’re ours!’

‘Not ours. Mr Lark’s. He’d have to deal with the pawn shop owners or eBay guys through the police.’

‘And what do we do when the police ask why we didn’t report them stolen?’

Mio felt winded. No matter which way she went she couldn’t win. Somehow this secret was going to get out. And soon.

That afternoon before their History teacher arrived Mio told the class about the stolen dog tags and asked if anyone knew anything about them. Heads shook all round. Mio searched face after face, trying to gauge if they were telling the truth or not. She particularly noted Leks, who’d asked to hold the dog tags and had thrown a wobbly when he couldn’t. But Leks was staring at her, his eyes wide open, his face devoid of embarrassment.

Mio tried one more time. ‘If anyone knows anything, please, please tell me. You see, for the man who owns the dog tags these are his life. They’re who he is. His wife died and he doesn’t see his son. These tags mean everything to him. He doesn’t look at them and see silver chains and
discs, he sees his whole squadron, his mates—Donald and Graham and Peter and Bill—who didn’t make it home…’ Mio’s voice broke. She wondered if the importance was lost on this group of kids who’d never known bombs or bullets or hunger. Not that she had, either, but she’d listened to Mr Lark often enough to realise that these tags were not some kind of costume jewellery.

‘…anyway,’ Mio concluded, ‘if you hear anything or see anything I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know.’ She began to pass around pieces of paper adding, ‘Here’s my phone number and email address. Message me any time.’

Clem and Darcy gave her a reassuring smile as she went past. ‘We’ll find them,’ whispered Clem. ‘You’ll see.’

Mio bit her bottom lip and crept back to her seat.

That afternoon after school the kids went to Mio’s apartment to use the internet to find out where all the local pawn shops were and to do a quick search on eBay. It was the ideal place to come—neither of Mio’s parents would be home till late and there would be no interfering brothers or sisters to deal with. It was at times like this that Mio gave thanks for being an only child.

The kids huddled around the computer, eating Pocky, milk chocolate dipped wheat sticks
Mio’s grandmother had sent in a food parcel from Japan.

‘These are so yummy,’ said Bryce happily munching stick after stick. ‘They remind me of pretzel sparklers I once made—pretzels dipped in melted white chocolate then rolled in sprinkles. They were my favourite. But these are my new best favourites.’ He took another nibble of his Pocky stick and rolled it round his mouth. ‘I think I could become a Pockyholic, you know.’

‘You and half of Japan,’ said Mio. ‘In this country we’d have a health warning on the box—
This product can make you a chocoholic
—but back home there’s Pocky addicts everywhere,’ she explained. ‘My favourite’s grape but it’s hard to find, so Grandmother knows I’ll settle for milk chocolate.’

‘I think I’d like Japan,’ said Bryce, taking another handful from the box. Then his eyes were drawn to a sword mounted on a wall. It was approximately thirty centimetres in length, with a long thin blade that ended in a point fine enough to pass through the eye of a needle.

‘That looks lethal,’ he said, pointing to the sword.

‘It is,’ said Mio. ‘It’s a
Tantō
sword which has a
hira zukuri
blade—smooth with no ridges. The sword was used by samurai, but women and children carried small ones for protection.’

Bryce shuddered as he joked, ‘Remind me not to get on your wrong side.’

‘Actually,’ said Mio, ‘it’s commonly called a
hara-kiri
knife.’

‘
Hara-kiri
?’ asked Tong.

‘For
seppuku
. Ritual suicide.’

‘Oh.’ Bryce thought for a moment. ‘Maybe I’d only like
some
things about Japan.’

Just then, Yuki, Mio’s cat, leapt onto the desk, making Bryce jump.

‘Now, here’s something beautiful from Japan,’ said Clem, stroking the sleek snow-white body with its dramatic black splotches and plumed tail. Yuki stretched and purred in a way that sounded like singing. Through her one blue and one gold eye she surveyed the room, Queen of the Kingdom.

‘Hello,’ said Tong, leaning in to scratch under her chin. Yuki seemed to say ‘hello’ back.

Mio ran her hands along Yuki’s rump, taking comfort from the soft-as-silk coat, then she reached for the keyboard and typed in ‘Pawn Shops’, saying, ‘We’re wasting time. Let’s get on with this.’

After a thorough search on the computer, and now armed with a list of names and directions, the kids said goodbye to Yuki and left Mio’s apartment.

As they strapped on helmets and settled on their bikes Clem said, ‘I can’t believe the number of dog tags on eBay.’

‘Many fake,’ said Tong.

‘Yes, I know, but many aren’t. Did you see those World War Two ones? The ones from Russia? They belonged to someone. Their family should have them. It’s such a shame.’

‘Big shame,’ agreed Tong.

Clem wasn’t sure if he was talking about Mr Lark’s dog tags or the greater shame of people selling such an important part of other people’s lives.

The Freewheelers detoured via the Jacobs’ house, collecting an eager Bella who settled in Clem’s basket, her home away from home.

The first pawn shop was called Ted’s Pawn Shop. A neon sign with three gold spheres suspended on a bar hung from the awning while a smaller sign in the window flashed ‘Cash Loans. Cash Loans. Cash Loans’. Inside on one wall were two rows of guitars. Lines of shelves were stacked with toolboxes, power tools, TVs, video games and electronic goods, cabinets held tray after tray of jewellery, and rusty sets of golf clubs were leaning up against a back wall. The shop was dingy, its walls and floors layered with years of smoke and grime.

Mio tried not to cough.

In contrast to the shop’s appearance, the woman behind the counter was a walking signboard of designer labels. From her groomed hair to her manicured nails, snug jeans and body-hugging top she wasn’t what Mio was expecting.

And when the woman asked, ‘May I help you?’ Mio had to hold back her shock. She chided herself for jumping to conclusions about people who worked in pawn shops.

‘We’re looking for some dog tags,’ began Darcy.

‘Would have come in in the last day or so,’ added Bryce.

‘With an inscription.’

‘William Lark.’

The woman held up her hand, saying, ‘We haven’t got them. Haven’t had any dog tags for a long time.’

The Freewheelers thanked the woman and moved on to the next pawn shop, CashFast.

‘Got any dog tags?’ asked Bryce, leading the way to the counter.

‘Sure,’ said the salesman, pulling open the door of a cabinet. ‘Genuine 1952 US Marine Corps dog tags from the Korean war,’ he said, holding up a battered and worn set of tags.

‘Any dog tags come in, in the last couple of days?’ asked Darcy.

‘With the surname Lark,’ said Mio.

‘Nope.’ At the crestfallen look on Mio’s face the man offered, ‘But I have got badges, pins, military coins. You name it, I’ve got it.’

The man had an eagerness to sell war memories from someone’s life that made Mio shudder. He dropped his voice saying, ‘What about something else, missy. Phone p’raps?’

Mio shook her head and started to back away.

‘Musical instruments? Although, your lot always play violin and we don’t have any of them.’

‘Not interested,’ said Mio, whose
Bouvier
violin at home was one of the best.

Tong grabbed Mio’s sleeve to pull her away saying, ‘We go now,’ while the others headed towards the door. But just as Clem was about to go through, the door flung open, its bell jangling.

Bella yelped as the frame whacked her nose and scooted backwards in a frenzied dance of claws on floorboards as a boy hurtled into the shop.

‘You again!’ said Clem, squatting to comfort Bella, who was cowering behind her.

In the time it would take to strike a match the boy sussed out the scene, swung his skateboard under his arm, and backed off.

‘Dunk Dog!’ called Mio.

But Dunk Dog exited like a fox out of a rabbit hole.

‘Wait!’ yelled Mio, hurtling after him. ‘I want to talk to you about this skate park thing.’

In no time, Dunk Dog was way down the street.

With a toss of black hair Mio followed, calling to the others, ‘I’m going to catch him up.’