Move by Conor Kostick

Author:Conor Kostick [Conor Kostick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781847174208
Publisher: The O'Brien Press
Published: 2012-08-23T16:00:00+00:00

10

At Swim, One Boy

Every year our school has a show. The big hall is filled with the entire student body, sitting in rows that seem unusually neat and respectful for a concert audience due to the fact that we are all in uniform. Standing by the walls of the room, teachers slowly track us with watchful attention, like security cameras, knowing that if we get bored we will get restless. Then, it’s up to the older classes to entertain the highly sceptical audience.

Sometimes the show is pretty good, like when there are bands on. Often, though, it is awful: Miss Day’s recorder class springs to mind. This year Five A2 had a couple of acts. Some of the class, including Tara, were doing a spoof news programme. After them on the program was ‘Inextreme’. That was our band, Zed, Deano and me. We were going to do a version of ‘Gangsta’s Paradise’, a really good kick-ass punk version.

All day, we had worn woolly hats, which people had assumed was part of our act, but really it was because we had been at Zed’s house the previous night and had used his older brother’s electric razor to shave our heads close, with the remaining fuzz forming neat designs. The school was in for a shock when we hit the stage.

Standing in the wings, the three of us were impatient to get on, with Zed and Deano acting like stars and making dismissive comments about what was currently happening in front of us. The girls had a mock news studio set up and actually I thought they were pretty funny. The audience liked them too and were laughing at an interview between the reporter, Tara, and Michael Clarke, who was pretending to be the Monk. Michael was stuttering in horror as he responded to the news that the government had abolished homework. When they finished there was generous applause. The stagehands ran on to clear away their props while Mr Kenny went up to the microphone.

‘Next we have another performance from Five A2. Brace yourself for something extreme from our latest pop group: ‘Inextreme!’

‘Hats off, here we go.’ Zed led the way on to the stage and set up behind the drums. I plugged in my guitar and faced out towards the upturned and expectant faces. There were whistles and laughs as people saw our near-bald heads.

‘1, 2, 3, 4.’ Zed clicked his drumsticks together and he and Deano set up the backline.

At first it was a total blast; we were having exactly the desired effect. The kids were rocking, the teachers looked concerned, especially the headmaster, and Mr Kenny was scowling. We ruled. I looked over to where Tara had left the stage, in the hope that she had stayed to watch. Just as the thought occurred to me that the lyrics of the song were curiously appropriate to my situation, I felt the odd wrench that comes with a move.

My guitar was hopelessly out of tune and I was hitting all the wrong notes.

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