Ishmael and the Hoops of Steel (7 page)

‘What! What are you getting at?'

‘Settle down, Ishmael. No need to throw a tissy-fit. I wouldn't want you smearing your mascara now.'

‘Oh, that's a riot, Razz. Look, there's nothing
wrong
with me, OK? Cindy's great, but she's just … I don't know … she's just …'

‘… not Kelly Faulkner?'

‘No, it's not just that. We're different, that's all. Cindy's too … she's too … she's just too …
much
… for me anyway.'

‘Too much? Geez, sorry, dude. Next time would you like me to fix you up with some weird-looking chick who thinks you're a total drop kick? Would
that
be more fun for you?'

‘That's not what I mean and you know it.'

‘What I
know
, man, is that every guy in this room would chew through a brick wall to go out with Cindy, ‘
specially
after your extension story.'

Those last words stuck in my head but I didn't reply. I was through arguing. Beside me Razz rocked back on his chair.

‘All right, man, all right,' he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. ‘Back to the drawing board, I guess. Just hope Cindy doesn't take it too hard.'

I was wondering about that when Mr Guthrie called for attention.

‘Thanks, boys. Look, before we run out of time I just wanted to say well done to all of you for helping out at the Arts Fair on the weekend. Top effort. I've only heard glowing reports, particularly about our Year Eleven tour guides.'

‘Aaaah, sir? I heard one complaint.'

Everyone turned around to Danny Wallace who had his hand up at the back of the class.

‘Really, Danny? I'm very surprised by that.'

‘Yeah, sir, me too, but apparently someone wasn't very happy with Ishmael.'

Mr Guthrie threw a worried look at me.

‘Ishmael?'

‘Yeah, well, she was complaining that his personal
extension
tour … was way too
short.
'

The rest of the Homeroom cracked up. I sat there with a ‘yes, yes, very funny – I
don't
think' sort of smile smeared on my face. Mr Guthrie gazed around at us like we'd all gone mad.

When I left Homeroom that day something was playing on my mind and it wasn't Danny Wallace's joke. It was that bit Razz said about how all the other guys in the class would chew through a brick wall for the chance to go out with Cindy. If that was true, then why was I different? Was it just because of Kelly Faulkner? Or was there some other explanation?

Like maybe there really was something wrong with me.

Following our painful break-up, Cindy somehow managed to pull herself together and struggle on with her life. Just two days after the Arts Fair she met a guy at a mall and they became what Mum likes to call ‘an item'. Or, as Razz put it, ‘She was all over him like melted cheese on a hot beef patty.'

Back at school, I didn't really have time to think about Cindy or Kelly or anyone else for that matter. Year Eleven was Year Ten on steroids. It was all homework, assignments, tests and study – then repeat the dose. And just to add to the fun, the start of the debating season was only two weeks away.

As soon as Mr Fitler lifted Razz's library ban for ‘destroying school property' and ‘behaving like a savage', Scobie booked the discussion room again for another meeting. Mr Fitler still didn't seem that sure about it. Every few minutes he'd wander past the door and peer in at us. Razz had too much other stuff on his mind to even notice.

‘Man, what was the Wreckin' Ball
thinking
? I mean, is she crazy or what?'

The Wreckin' Ball Razz was going on about was actually Ms Heckenvaal, our Modern History teacher. She wasn't called the Wreckin' Ball just because it sort of rhymed with her name. Ms Heckenvaal was slightly on the ‘biggish' and
‘roundish' side, a bit like a top-heavy barrel with legs. She was also one of the best teachers in the school.

‘I mean, I get all the World Wars stuff we did last term. Some of that was pretty cool. But the History of Feminism? Is she nuts? What do we need that for? I mean, can you
see
any chicks around here?' Razz said, spreading out his arms wide and looking around crazily. ‘Can you? She does realise this is an all-guys school, doesn't she?'

‘Perhaps,' Scobie said, peeking over the top of his little round glasses, ‘
that's
the point.'

‘Point? What point?'

‘Well, because we
are
an all-boys school, it could be that Ms Heckenvaal feels it might be a good thing for us to have some understanding and empathy for the struggles and challenges of the other half of the population.'

Prindabel immediately held up his official ‘objection' finger.

‘Correction. The other 50.2 per cent of the population, to be precise – at least according to the most recent census. You see, the life expectancy of women is approximately – ‘

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Google. Can I just stop you there?' Razz interrupted. ‘Maybe you could rest your search engines for a while before you give us all a boredom overload, OK?'

Razz turned slowly back to Scobie, pulling his eyes off Ignatius only at the last second.

‘Yeah, well, that's all fine and dandy, Scobes, but how come we always have to learn about
chick
stuff when they never have to learn about
guy
stuff? What about
our
struggles and
our
challenges?'

‘Such as?'

‘Well … stuff like how if a guy says that a chick's got a hot bod, some chicks love it but then some chicks think that guy's a sexist pig or something and they want to scratch his eyes out. How do you know what you're supposed to say? What about
that
challenge? I mean, if chicks don't want us perving at them, man, how come they wear stuff that gives us so much
to perve
at
in the first place? Where's the study unit on that?'

Scobie twisted his mouth back and forth for a moment. ‘Maybe you should raise those points with Ms Heckenvaal. I'd be very interested to hear her response.'

Bill, Ignatius and I smiled. Razz spat out a laugh.

‘Do I look like the kind of guy who would volunteer for a suicide mission?' Then he turned to the rest of us. ‘You guys agree with me about all this feminism stuff, don't you?'

Ignatius and I worked up enough enthusiasm to shrug. Bill mumbled out a few words.

‘I think some of it's pretty interesting.'

Razz gave him a patronising smile and patted him on the back.

‘Yes, yes, of
course
you do, Hoop Boy, and we
all
know why
that
is, don't we?'

Bill opened his mouth to respond but Razz had already moved on.

‘And another thing, what about that crap song she keeps torturing us with? I'm telling you, it's unnatural cruelty, man. I bet there's something in that Geneva Connection thing about it.'

‘Correction – Con
ven
tion, not Connection,' Ignatius threw in with another raised digit.

‘Correction, Prindababble – who cares!' Razz threw straight back at him with a slightly different raised digit.

The ‘crap song' Razz was referring to was ‘I am woman' by someone called Helen Reddy. I guess it was fair enough having to hear it once, because according to Ms Heckenvaal, it was the ‘call to arms' and the ‘anthem' of the women's movement in the 1970s. But recently she'd started to use it more as a weapon against us.

It was probably just revenge for all the groaning and laughing and smart comments that went on the first time she tried to play it. Now whenever the class gets a bit noisy or isn't working hard enough Ms Heckenvaal just says, ‘Sounds
like we're in the mood for a sing-song, boys!' and she belts out the opening lines, all about her being a woman and roaring in numbers too huge to ignore or whatever it is, and everyone starts working furiously so she'll stop.

(Of course the real lyrics shouldn't be confused with the ones that Danny Wallace wrote, which went more like, ‘
I'm a woman in the raw, my bum is too big to ignore/When I eat too much it goes on my rear end.
')

Back in the discussion room Scobie tried to get the meeting back on track.

‘Well, we're only doing feminism for this term, so maybe you'll like the next topic more. Now about our first debate …'

But Ms Heckenvaal wasn't Razz's only problem.

‘And what about Film and TV? Mr Nelson gave us this big assignment on the first day of term and it's due in a few weeks and there's heaps of work to do. An
assignment
for Film and TV! What's going on? I thought we'd just be watching movies and stuff. What a rip-off!'

‘What's the assignment about?' I asked, although Scobie didn't look too pleased with my enquiry.

‘Gotta make a community service advertisement thing for TV. Bill and me are doing it together. Ours is on sun safety. We've got to film it and write a report and everything. Sal and one of her friends are supposed to be in it except they reckon I have to change my script otherwise they won't do it.'

‘
You
wrote the script?'

‘Yes, Prindabella, I did. And it's pretty rigid even if I do say so myself. It's epic.'

‘If it's so
epic
, then how come the girls don't like it?'

‘Haven't got a clue. Who knows what goes on in chicks' heads? When I asked Sal what was wrong with it she wouldn't tell me. She just said, “If you don't know, there's no hope for you.” What am I supposed to do with that? I can't read minds. I'm not cyclic.'

Prindabel's finger went up but Razz had already disappeared
under the table and he missed it. When he resurfaced he held up a folder with a fringe of loose sheets desperately trying to escape from it.

‘Got it right here,' Razz said, extracting some crumpled A4 paper. ‘This is the bit they're going on about.'

Razz flattened the script out on the table and began reading.

‘Britney and Amber?' Ignatius said with a smirk.

‘Yes, Prindabelly. They're chick names. You remember chicks? They're those ones who run away screaming whenever you turn up.'

Ignatius lost his smirk. Razz continued with his reading.

Bill, Ignatius, Scobie and I looked at each other. Razz beamed a grin around the table. ‘Pretty good eh? Just wait. It gets even better!'

‘Did you notice how I used a bit of repetition there to emphasise our sun safety message?'

We all nodded.

‘Ingenious,' Ignatius said.

‘Inspired,' I added.

‘Subtle,' Scobie concluded.

‘Cool!' Razz said and grabbed up the script again.

When he'd finished reading, Razz slapped the script on the table. ‘Apparently
that's
supposed to be “offensive”. Can you believe it? How can that be offensive? There's not a single swear word anywhere in it.'

Razz glanced around at the four pairs of dazed eyes directed his way.

‘What?' he asked.

At the end of the table Scobie cleared his throat. Then he closed his eyes and bowed his head.