Launched! (2 page)

The next day the kids met at The Van, their secret meeting spot. The van, once a loud and proud Kombi, was a shell of its former self. Rusting, with faded paint and curtains that you couldn’t even describe as rags, The Van was like a second home. Many an afternoon snack and a story or secret were shared in that van. It held their laughter and fears, kept them safe and warm, and in return the kids guarded it closely. Only Freewheelers were allowed inside.

Four bikes were secured with a heavy chain to the bumper bar by the time Bryce arrived.

‘Finally!’ said Darcy.

‘Well sor-
ry
,’ said Bryce, shrugging a backpack off his shoulders and undoing the clasp. ‘I had to
sweep out the garage before Dad would let me come. Punishment for losing my keys. But they weren’t lost—they were stolen, along with all those other things.’

‘Stolen?’

‘Are you sure?’

The corners of Bryce’s lips turned down. ‘Positive.’ He was angry at himself for letting it happen. Equally frustrating was the fact that despite replaying the scene over and over in his head, he hadn’t been able to pinpoint how he knew the girl. As Bryce opened his backpack a furry little snout buried itself inside. All that could be seen was a compact tan body, a white-tipped tail pointing to the ceiling, and four white paws. From inside the bag came muffled snuffles and yelps.

‘Bella!’ yelled Clem, yanking the squirming body from the bag and securing it on her lap. Bella perched there, her mouth open in a wry grin that matched her owner’s. ‘Sorry, Bryce,’ said Clem. ‘She’s so quick.’

‘Beagles can be so naughty,’ said Bryce. ‘You’ll have to train her better.’

Clem threw a hand up in defeat. ‘I’m trying, but it’s not that easy.’ She flipped the dog around and rubbed noses with it. ‘Is it, little miss?’ Bella’s pink tongue zapped out to give Clem an almighty lick.

‘You’re spoiling her,’ said Bryce. ‘You need to be firm.’

‘Exactly what I said,’ said Darcy.

‘But she’s so stubborn!’ exclaimed Clem. ‘Once she gets an idea in her head she won’t let up.’

Darcy spread his hands out wide. ‘Wonder where she gets that from?’

‘Ooooh!’ Clem gave her brother a shove that sent him flying into Mio’s lap.

‘Watch it,’ she cried. ‘There’s not enough room in here to act like two-year-olds.’ Mio was right. With five upturned milk crates, an old television and a suitcase, The Van was getting pretty squashy. Squashy, but cosy too.

Tucked in the corner, Tong watched and listened but said nothing. These days he understood most of what he heard but he still struggled to put his thoughts into spoken English.

Bryce reached into the backpack and pulled out some peanut butter, celery sticks and a box of sultanas. ‘Get us a plate and a plastic knife, someone.’

On Clem’s lap Bella strained forward, her nose twitching as she tried to identify the smells. ‘No,’ warned Clem, pulling her away.

Mio opened the suitcase and plucked out a paper plate and a plastic knife. She inspected the knife closely before handing them both over. ‘Here,’ she said at last.

Bryce scooped out dollops of peanut butter and spread them up the inside of each of the celery sticks. As he did so he sang, ‘
The ants go marching one by one, hoorah-h-h, hoora-h-h.
’ Bella’s tail swished to its own beat and hot puffs of doggy breath filled the air.

‘Where ant?’ asked Tong, intrigued.

‘You’ll see,’ said Bryce. He reached for the box of sultanas and ripped off the cardboard top, then took out a handful and pressed them into the peanut butter in a long line. The others did the same. ‘Ants on a log,’ said Bryce, holding the finished stick up to show Tong. ‘Yum!’ And he took a big crunchy bite. The tartness of the celery was overcome by the richness of the peanut butter and the sweet tang of the sultanas. This was Bryce’s idea of heaven. Clem and Darcy chewed with gusto, Mio took nibbles, but Tong did nothing. He just sat there with his celery stick, frowning.

‘Try it,’ urged Clem. ‘It’s good.’ Then she laughed as Tong took a tiny taste, pulling a face as if he’d swallowed battery acid. ‘Bella likes it,’ she said, holding out a peanut butter-smeared finger which Bella cleaned in one lick.

When they’d finished, Mio asked, ‘What do you want to do now?’

‘Visit Mr Lark?’ suggested Clem. Mr Lark used to be Clem and Darcy’s neighbour, but as their
family grew and grew they needed a bigger house. Even though they’d moved one suburb away, Mr Lark remained a much-loved friend.

‘Go get some more food?’ asked Bryce hopefully.

‘Let’s play Foot Down,’ said Darcy. ‘That’s heaps fun.’

‘Foot Down!’ said Mio, wrinkling her nose. ‘One of us always ends up getting hurt.’

‘And it’s usually me,’ added Clem.

‘I wouldn’t mind a game of Foot Down,’ said Bryce. Turning to Tong he went on, ‘It’s easy. All you’ve got to do is ride round and round in circles.’

‘And push everyone off their bikes.’

‘But if you put your foot down you’re out.’

‘Winner’s the last one riding.’

‘Come on,’ urged Darcy. ‘It’s fun.’

Five riders straddled their bikes in the side-street alongside the warehouse next to The Van, strapping on helmets with viper-like stares, trying to psych each other out. Bella was tied to a pole, but her eyes and ears still twitched in excitement. Every so often she’d sniff the pole, squat, and leave her mark for the next visitor.

After a practice run to show Tong the rules, the chasing began. Darcy cut a wide swathe at the edge of the circle, pouncing on his sister and
nudging her off. Bella gave a little yap of commiseration. Clem laughed good-naturedly and joined Bella to watch. Mio rode defensively, keeping a good distance between herself and the other riders, but making no attempt to knock anyone off. Her tactic was simple: the longer you stayed on your bike the better your chance of winning. Tong was pretty much doing the same. Bryce decided to cruise against the flow, but an effortless shoulder check from Darcy sent him sprawling. His feet tipped down and he was out of the game.

Two down, three to go. Tong and Mio kept circling, speeding up or slowing down depending on whether or not they were being chased. Darcy was getting more and more frustrated. This wasn’t much of a game. He decided to get cunning. Cycling in reverse, he pulled around as he passed Tong and lifted Tong’s rear wheel clear off the ground. Tong toppled forwards over the handlebars, but managed to land on his feet. He saluted as Darcy rode past, and joined Clem, Bryce and Bella on the sidelines.

There was no time to gloat. Darcy was one-on-one against Mio. Round and round they rode, the circle shrinking as Darcy tried to cut in behind her. But Mio must’ve had swivel eyes, because every time Darcy got close she scooted out of the way,
determined that brute strength would not win over agility.

This cat and mouse thing has to stop,
thought Darcy. He put on a spurt, then swung his body low so that his bike followed his movements. Anyone with poor balance would have crashed immediately, but not Darcy. He stayed steady, swooping up to Mio like an eagle ready to pounce, and pulled up on her saddle, forcing her to hop off the pedals.

‘Yes!’ roared Darcy riding a victory lap before joining the others.

‘What d’you think of Foot Down?’ Bryce asked Tong.

Tong thought about the question for a long time before replying. ‘Touch down!’ he shouted and the others cracked up. Tong beamed. This was the first joke he’d made in English and he was proud of it.

After the game the group headed to the shops to buy ice creams. Bella took her place in Clem’s basket and raised her head into the breeze. Her ears flapped around her face, her lips parted into a doggy grin, and every so often she drooled—which, fortunately for Bella, Clem thought
adorable.
Secretly, Mio thought it disgusting. Yuki, her Japanese bobtail cat, would never do something like that.

As they neared the shop Mio pulled up at a big noticeboard. It was covered in scraps of paper promising everything from instant weight loss to babysitting to share accommodation. But it wasn’t those flyers that had caught Mio’s eye. It was the bright yellow one with big black lettering saying,
BIKE TRIALS.

‘Wait up,’ called Mio, so the others swung around and rode back to her. ‘Check this out.’

They huddled around the flyer. Clem read out loud for Tong:

Bike Trials

Street riders wanted

‘What is bike trial?’ asked Tong.

‘A competition for bike-handling skills: balancing, track stands, braking, that sort of thing,’ answered Darcy. ‘Should be good.’

Got the mettle to test your metal?

‘What that mean?’

Darcy thumped his chest, explaining, ‘It means, do you have the guts to try?’

Clem went on:

Teams compete for a cash prize.

‘Cool,’ said Bryce. ‘Paid for having fun. When is it?’

‘Two weeks,’ said Mio. ‘Up at The Peak.’

‘Where The Peak?’

Clem jumped in. ‘Not far from here. A few k’s. You know that steep climb near the used car yard? There.’ She turned to the others. ‘What do you reckon? Should we do it? We’d have to train pretty hard.’

‘We can do it.’

‘No problem.’

‘Cinch.’

Clem looked at Tong. ‘What about you, Tong? You want to be in it?’

Tong threw back his shoulders, puffed out his chest and held out his hand. ‘Freewheeler,’ he replied.

‘Freewheelers!’

‘For bike trials you’ve got to be able to ride on really narrow surfaces, you’ve got to be able to balance—on the flat, on a rise, on objects, anything,’ Darcy explained to Tong. ‘And your feet are never allowed to dab—that means touch the ground.’

It was late afternoon and the kids—minus Bella—were gathered at an old unused section of the Clutara rail yard that the Railway Authority seemed to have forgotten about. There were a couple of abandoned carriages and some battered old trolleys; it was sort of like a graveyard for trains. Trains still used the station but the commuter platform was quite a distance away, too far to be a problem for the kids. It was the ideal
place to practise. Lots of privacy and lots of junk. Old planks of wood were strewn around, perfect for making jumps or things to balance on, even a ramp. Someone had dumped some concrete blocks, too. To a bike-rider, they were just right to balance on, then drop off.

Darcy pointed to the track, which was only a few centimetres wide. ‘We’ve got to practise and practise and practise till we can ride along this blindfolded,’ he told the others. ‘There’s always some test of narrow balancing in bike trials.’

‘Not as narrow as this,’ said Bryce, squinting as his eyes followed the line.

‘Probably not,’ agreed Darcy. ‘But if we can ride on this we can ride on anything.’

‘Let’s give it a go,’ said Clem. She lined her bike up on the metal track holding the handlebars, one foot on a pedal but the other on the ground. Gingerly she tried to mount, but as soon as she swung her leg up the wheel clunked to the ground and she lost her balance. ‘It’s a lot harder than it looks,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to work on it.’

‘We’ll all have to work at it,’ said Darcy. ‘Aim to just balance, staying still, first. We can go for pedalling later. Sort of like a track stand on rails.’ Then he explained to Tong, ‘A track stand is where the rider stops their bike but stays standing on the pedals without moving forward.’

Bryce groaned. ‘I’m no good at track stands on a road. How’m I going to do them on a track?
Cruisin’ for a bruisin’
,’ he sang.

‘It’s easier if you practise on a slope,’ said Mio. ‘I’m not sure why. I think it’s because you’re working so hard to stop rolling backwards that you lock into position.’

‘There’s an embankment over there,’ said Clem, pointing to a rocky rise. ‘I might start there and do a warm-up, then go onto the track later.’

‘Let’s all do a warm-up,’ said Darcy.

Arriving at the embankment Bryce glanced up at an abandoned carriage then stopped. Clem and Mio pulled in beside him, followed by Tong and Darcy. Mio whistled.

Clem stood with her mouth open. ‘Pretty impressive,’ she said.

Mio nodded.

Bryce’s lips hunkered into a grim line.

The abandoned carriage was covered in the most amazing mass of colours and patterns, pictures and signatures.

The stand-out one was a huge spray painting of a heart with a fist punching through it. Underneath it, with a stencil, someone had added,
If you could say it in words there would be no need to paint.
Bryce shut his eyes, thinking how true that was. Some things you feel. There are no words. His
heart clanged in his chest as moments from his last year flashed through his brain like stills in a movie. Then he forced himself to open his eyes.

There were tags written in distinctive cursive print, a hotchpotch of lines and letters, indecipherable to the unpractised eye, but not to Bryce. He recognised the handiwork of his old gang. There was RIP and ONZO and GRAF7, a few he didn’t recognise, and BRICK. His eyes flew to the panel at the back, and there, sure enough, was his own throw-up. The bubble letters in Storm Blue, his favourite colour, were now faded and worn. They looked babyish, almost cheesy, next to the sharp strong lines of the others, thought Bryce, but he remembered thinking, when he wrote them, that they were the best.

Darcy sidled over. He eyed the collage of symbols and signs then asked Bryce, ‘Anyone you know?’

Bryce’s heart skipped a beat. He tossed around the idea of telling a lie, but these were his friends and you don’t lie to your friends. ‘Yup,’ he said. ‘And that’s too much information.’

‘C’mon. Let’s practise,’ interrupted Mio. ‘We’re wasting time.’

Those who had mastered track stands practised on the flat; Bryce and Tong worked on the slope. The idea was to stay completely still with both feet
off the ground. After a few tumbles Bryce and Tong got the hang of it, and Darcy, Clem and Mio were not moving for longer and longer lengths of time. Sometimes they tried a one-handed track stand and once Mio went for a no-hander, but dabbed. They were ready to try it on the track. What looked so simple took heaps of patience and practice but eventually they did it.

‘Now somehow we’ve got to walk the line and balance too,’ said Darcy, grunting as his front wheel slipped off the track.

‘We need something easier,’ said Mio.

‘Like a beam,’ suggested Clem.

‘Or a fence,’ said Darcy.

‘Or a gutter,’ said Mio.

‘With gutter guards like they have for little kids at the bowling alley?’ scoffed Darcy.

No-one laughed.

‘How are we going to do uppers if we can’t walk the line?’ asked Darcy.

‘Uppers are like wheelies,’ said Mio, jumping in her saddle and taking off. Faster and faster she pedalled, her plaits bounding behind, before pulling on her handlebars and lifting her front tyre up, staying perfectly balanced. She rode back to the group, a satisfied grin on her face.

‘I’ll be impressed when you can do a wheelie hop,’ said Darcy.

‘One day,’ countered Mio, knowing full well that the wheelie hop was one of the hardest manoeuvres to conquer.

The kids dragged some railway sleepers and built a challenge course. A steep slope up to the carriage, a beam between two concrete posts, then a drop onto a single line of bricks.

‘Looks almost professional,’ said Clem, triggering a snort from Darcy.

Shadows were long on the ground when the kids decided to call it a day. ‘It’s getting late,’ said Bryce. ‘Dad ‘n’ Cara’ll be wondering where I am.’

‘Time to go,’ said Tong.

‘I’m going to ride up to the station to see what time the next train comes,’ said Bryce. ‘Might catch it instead of riding home. It’d be quicker.’

‘Me too,’ said Mio. ‘Mum will be expecting me.’

‘Let’s all catch the train,’ said Darcy. ‘Come on Clem, Tong?’

Just as the decision was made they heard the rumble of the approaching train. ‘If we hurry we might still make it,’ said Darcy, flooring it. The others followed, riding as if their lives depended on it. They came to the ticket booth where there were two people waiting. Now the train was a thundering roar.

By the time the people had bought their tickets the train had pulled up at the station.

‘I’ll buy the tickets and you stall!’ called Bryce.

Darcy hesitated for a second, then said, ‘Okay.’ He rode down the steps to the platform. If a guard was around Darcy would’ve been reprimanded or worse, fined, but being Sunday, there was no guard. Three other riders followed. The air filled with a
blee-bleep,
warning that the doors were about to close. Darcy ushered Clem, Mio and Tong on board then scanned the platform. Where was Bryce?

Clutching the tickets in one hand, Bryce attempted to negotiate the stairs, but as he got to the bottom, there was a flash of something in the corner of his eye, like when you think you see a cockroach but you’re not sure. In the time it took for him to check, his wheel wobbled and he lurched forward, going eye-to-eye with a small figure on the edge of the platform.

Bryce blanched. The girl! The one from the pickpocket day. Again, he wondered where he’d seen her. An image of an alleyway and overflowing garbage cans filled his head. Now he remembered! They’d fought over a loaf of bread. Bryce bent to retrieve his bike. He barely glanced down but by the time he looked up the girl had gone. He peered at the stairs. Not there either. So where was she? He heard cries of ‘Bryce! Bryce!’ from the carriage but still he didn’t move.

Bryce checked the empty platform. He had the terrifying thought that maybe she had headed for the edge and jumped.

‘Bryce!’ Darcy leapt out of the carriage and grabbed the tickets. Then he wrenched Bryce’s bike out of his hands and wheeled it aboard, calling ‘Get in’, and barely missing the doors as they slammed into position.

Bryce was left outside, unable to do a thing as the train started moving. He could see the crumpled face of Clem and the startled eyes of Tong. ‘Look after my bike!’ he yelled. Then he raced back to the platform edge and dropped to his belly to scan the track below. Fear scalded his throat and he prayed that he wouldn’t find someone dead on the track. He’d heard some horror stories about kids and trains, and seen a bad accident once. But all he was seeing now were silver lines snaking their way into a tunnel. Nothing more. The smell of oil and grime filled his nostrils, mingling with the cool evening air and making him cough.

‘Funny,’ said Bryce under his breath. ‘Must’ve imagined it.’ He hopped back up and thrust his hands into his pockets, then moved to a pool of light to wait for the next train, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t be asked for his ticket, because it was still clutched in Darcy’s hand. He stared
glumly into the inky blackness, resigned to the wrath of his father for being late. It was times like this he needed his own mobile phone.

From the shadows a pair of eyes watched the boy wearing the black Mandela T-shirt.