Alana Oakley (12 page)

A thought struck. “If you had sixty seconds to save one thing from a fire, what would it be?” Khalilah asked.

Maddie pulled her finger from the flame. “My violin,” she said without hesitation.

Sofia pulled a face. “Just one? Well, Nostradamus, obviously.” Thinking that there was nothing more important to her than the mongrel she'd rescued from ‘death's door' seven years ago … apart from her lucky charms and amulets … and her drumsticks … and the autographed Jet Tierbert t-shirt … “How about three? Surely in one minute we have time to grab
three
things?”

Khalilah smiled. “Okay. Three things then. What would you choose apart from Nostradamus?”

“Well,” said Sofia, ticking the choices off her fingers, “I wouldn't take Nostradamus because of course Mum or Dad would bring him, so I would choose my lucky charms – all of them, because they fit quite comfortably around my neck if I'm not watching tennis – my drumsticks and my favourite t-shirt,” she said, fondly stroking Jet's unprotesting face in printed 100% cotton. “What about you?”

Sushi, her portly pet cat, Khalilah said, would be on the top of her list because her mum would be too busy saving her research and her dad his massive camera and fifty-two accessories. She would also rescue her pillow and diary. “Although,” she wondered aloud with an enigmatic smile, “there are probably secrets in there others would want burned.” This of course made the others desperately curious as to what the secrets were, and whether they knew any of them. “Of course,” she lied, “you're my best friends and I tell you everything. Alana's turn. What would you take?”

Alana sucked on her pen thoughtfully. “I'd take my mum,” she said after a while, “because she'd be so busy rescuing everything else, she'd forget to get out of the house.”

The voice of Sofia's dad calling them for dinner and the thundering footsteps that followed, reminded the girls that they had better hurry. Sofia's twin brothers, Pepe and Bob, were not averse to lying, cheating or swindling anybody out of their food if it was left on the table for too long.

Alana followed after the others. Her mandala – ‘mystery solved' – would have to wait.

CHAPTER 20

Alana delves deeper

Emma had interviewed presidents and political activists. She had dined with rebels and rock stars. She'd even spent time up a tree in the jungles of Borneo being groomed by a 70-kilo orangutan! Yet somehow she couldn't string two words together whenever she had to speak with Dr-Gray-please-call-me-Oliver. Whenever she tried, her tongue felt like it had been stung by a bee. Dr-Gray-please-call-me-Oliver stood by the entrance of the Second-Chancer's room, one arm against the door frame, looking very Buff. ‘Buff' – Khalilah had informed her – was what she hoped to be when she got older. “You know, lots of muscle, toned, ripped –”, Khalilah explained, biting into her third cream bun of the day. “I'm working on my six-pack now.” She poked her stomach. “It's in there somewhere.”

Emma had the feeling Dr-Gray-please-call-me-Oliver had a six-pack. By the look of him, probably even more. His arms were practically bursting out of his t-shirt to make their own introduction. Emma gave him a quick, small smile. For the second time she tried to explain how she felt about dating.

“You see,” Emma said, dodging his amused eyes to drop her gaze to his lips and then seeking refuge in the ceiling, “I haven't been in the saddle for many years and I know that once you ride a bike you never forget how to, but it's been a long time.” At this, she looked Dr Gray in the eye and said intensely, “and I mean, a
very
long time,” she faltered, “since I had a … ride.” She could tell it wasn't going well. He was laughing at her now. She was mixing up her idioms like her mother did and was Botching It Up. She tried again. “But I know it's time to get back on the horse again, and have another go. I'd just,” she paused, “like to take it slow.” She looked at him pleadingly.

Dr Gray's eyes crinkled even deeper. “
Neigh,
” he whinnied softly, causing her to blush.

The raucous entrance of the Second-Chancers saved Emma from replying.

“Hey, it's the doc,” cried Tr
ầ
n. “Hey, Doc, how you been, man?”

Dr Gray straightened up, startled, but recovered himself and greeted the group with a friendly wave. Boris was even more excited. “Whoa, Doc, that low-carb diet you're on is really paying off. You think mine will get there soon?” Boris pushed up the sleeves of his leather jacket and flexed arms the size of matchsticks. The others laughed and pushed him away.

“Hey, can you do that muscle thing again where you make a mouse jump from one arm to the other?” Tr
ầ
n begged. “You know, when you go like this,” Tr
ầ
n flexed his biceps to demonstrate, “and make this part of your muscle go down, while it pops over to the other side. It's so cool, Miss Emma,” he enthused, “you have
got
to see it.”

Emma fought back a smile while the others rallied around Dr Gray, urging him to do the trick. Dr Gray whipped his t-shirt off and then flexed a bicep until one small muscle seemed to bulge over the others. There were gasps of appreciation. With ease he turned his attention to the other bicep and made a similar bulge just as the original disappeared. Dr Gray did it again. And again. Up popped a muscle in one arm, down popped another. It
did
look like a tiny mouse scampering under the surface of his skin. Soon all of the boys were topless, trying to outdo each other. Tr
ầ
n clenched his teeth and squeezed, but only a very slight curve appeared. Enzo's show of muscle was more impressive, but thwarted by the bulge hanging over his jeans. Boris
harrumphed
and
hawed,
but the effort only made his rib-cage seem even hollower.

Emma watched Dr Gray pull his t-shirt back on. “I'm happy to take it as slowly as you need,” he whispered in her ear. His breath was warm. It tickled her hair.

“O-kay,” Emma looked up, and nodded, dry-mouthed. “Slow. Good.” She noted absentmindedly that his nostril hair was perfectly trimmed.

Dr Gray's eyes were drawn to her half-open mouth. Their colour darkened into deep pools of liquid jade. “You've got great teeth,” he whispered. “A few signs of tooth decay. But nothing a bit of regular flossing couldn't cure.”

What?
Emma shook her head.
For a minute she thought he was going to whisper Sweet Nothings about her ‘sensual lips'! Did she just hear him giving
dental advice?

With a chuckle, Dr Gray left.

Minutes later, there was a knock at the door. It was Alana. Three pairs of eyes swivelled to stare. Alana looked around the room of topless boys in various bodybuilding poses, struggling to display some form. She closed her eyes. She opened them. They were still there, still posing and
still
half-naked. What was her mum up to now?

“Hey, Miss Emma, is this hot chick your sister?” Boris asked, waggling a bushy mono-brow while he tried even harder to flex his muscles.

Alana looked affronted. “She's my
mum
,
imbécile
.”

“Alana!” Emma hurried over to see what Alana wanted.

But Boris, far from being offended at being called an idiot in French, was rather chuffed to have been given a special nickname. True, he didn't know what the word
imbécile
meant; nevertheless it made him feel flattered that Miss Emma's hot-looking daughter had singled
him
out.

“Hi, Mum,” Alana lowered her voice, “I was wondering if I you knew how I could join the kickboxing program?”

“Kickboxing? I didn't know you were interested.”

“Interested?” Alana scoffed. “I love kickboxing!

It's the most exciting sport ever,” she lied. Alana was determined to see for herself whether Flynn was a Second-Chancer or not.

“You can't join kickboxing,” Enzo said, eager for a unique ‘nickname' too. “That's just for people like us.” He puffed his chest importantly.

“She can join … if she knows the right people,” Boris argued. He made an extra effort and tensed his muscles again, straining like a constipated peacock. Only his eyes bulged.

“You mean the wrong ones.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Emma interjected with a frown. “I really don't think this is the time or place to discuss enrolment in a sport that has the words ‘kick' and ‘boxing' in it, Alana. Can we talk about this at home?”

Alana gave a shrug of acquiescence and turned to go.

“You could probably catch some kickboxing now. They should still be in the ring,” Tr
ầ
n called out helpfully.

“Great! You're The Man,” Alana said, shooting him a grateful glance before running off.

Tr
ầ
n almost floated away with pride. “Did you hear that? I'm The Man. Tr
ầ
n-The-Man.”

Boris refused to relinquish his crown. “Yeah, but
I'm
The Imbécile.”

It only took a few minutes for Alana to reach the ring in the gym, but by the time she got there, someone looking very much like Flynn had already reached the exit. Alana barely caught a glimpse of the familiar hunch of shoulders before the boy disappeared. Alana launched forward, but upon reaching the door, she saw him already jogging down King Street, as if he knew she was in pursuit. Alana put Coach Kusmuk's back-breaking training to use and pelted after him. Past the souvlaki take-away, past the coffee shop, past the Body-Builder's Gym. But Flynn – who was also Elite Squad – had a decent head-start. After a sudden twist and turn past the florist and Church Hall, he was lost from sight.

“Im-possible,” Alana wheezed, doubled over, panting. “He was just (
pant
) here (
pant
) a minute ago. (
Pant, pant, pant
). I swear it.” But there was nobody who looked remotely like Flynn on the streets. There were just a few Uni students, a girl on a skateboard and two women with tattoos and piercings putting up posters for a gig. Alana looked around, continuing to pant hard as she caught her breath.
Where could he have gone?
Now there was nothing for it. She would have to hack into the school computer with her new buddy, Miller if she wanted to find out the truth about the mysterious Flynn.

Back at the Police Boys' Club, the sound of panting could also be heard. But it was no longer the panting of frustration or exertion. It was the panting of excitement as Tr
ầ
n, Enzo and Boris (with shirts back on) gave their presentation. The three youths were confident they were on the Right Track with their Team Building project. Their scheme satisfied every point Emma had explained. Yes, the project utilised their unique talents. Yes, they each had a special job they were required to do. Yes, it was vitally important to work together and cooperate for the project to succeed.

“So while Enzo guards the door, and Tr
ầ
n is waiting in the car, I says, ‘Give me all the money in the till',” panted an excited Boris, as he paused dramatically and looked around the room, “
please
,” and with a roar of approval from his new team mates, nodded his head in self-congratulation.

CHAPTER 21

Stranger than fiction

Dr Gray was true to his word and did not push for a second date. He took things very slowly – two months! – and Emma began to worry. Two months. A lot can happen in two months. You can buy your first comic book. You can discover you don't like okra. You can try online gaming and create ‘Maggie', who is invincible with a slingshot. You can start blogging and then stop because you keep forgetting your password. Emma knew exactly what could happen in two months. She was pretty sure she was now ready for a date, especially as Dr Gray's brand new motorbike had been delivered to the Second-Chancers' room at the Police Boys' Club. Ordinarily, she disliked showy displays of wealth and power, but this
was
a Harley Davidson.

“He has a Harley Davidson?” Katriona and Ling Ling had squealed.

“What kind? Is it a DYNA Glide, Softail, Touring, VSRC, or Sportster? Low Rider? Night Train? Road King? Screamin' Eagle? Night Rod? What does it look like?” Katriona cried. With Tony from Tony's Tattoos as a friend, it was little wonder she was something of an expert.

Emma laughed. “I don't know. All I know is it was very wide and low and shiny.”

“Probably a Fat Boy, then,” Katriona sniffed with authority. “You're going out with a real ‘Bad-Ass'!” Ling Ling nodded her approval.

“Anyway, he signed for his Harley and then he said the weirdest thing …” Emma continued.

Her friends leaned forward eagerly, “What did he say?”

“He said, ‘I'm not riding that!' Then, when I looked at him strangely, he said, ‘I mean, it'll mess up my hair'. And when I looked at him even
more
strangely, he grabbed my hand and said, ‘Stuff it! Life's too short not to live dangerously'.” She paused. “Then we sat on his bike …”

Katriona and Ling Ling gripped hands in excitement, “Yes?”

“… and we
pretended
to ride his Harley … through Mexico.”

“What?!”

“Yep, he made all the sound effects and everything. Next time,” she said with disgust, “he wants me to bring my
sombrero
.”

“Never mind, never mind. Relak, relak lah,” Ling Ling assured her, massaging Emma's tense shoulders. She eased Emma down with soothing noises until she was lying on her back on the daybed in her office. Emma reached into her bottle of painkillers and took one, chewing it in her anger. “At least,” Ling Ling said over the sounds of Emma choking, “it gives us time to show you how to act properly on a date. Here,” she clicked her fingers imperiously, “Katriona will show you how to walk.”