Cool School: You Make It Happen

  John Marsden’s life recently took a new turn when he established a small alternative school just outside Melbourne.

  Candlebark School, with 75 students, embodies John’s commitment to education that is imaginative, lively, spirited and invigorating. He has applied the same principles to his writing, which is now read avidly around the world, but never more eagerly than in Australia, where his sales have passed two million.

  Recently John became only the fifth author to receive the prestigious Lloyd O’Neil Award. He joins Ruth Park, Tom Keneally, Morris West and Peter Carey to be honoured for lifelong services to the Australian book industry.

  Also by John Marsden

  So Much to Tell You

  The Journey

  The Great Gatenby

  Staying Alive in Year 5

  Out of Time

  Letters from the Inside

  Take My Word for It

  Looking for Trouble

  Tomorrow . . . (Ed.)

  Cool School

  Creep Street

  Checkers

  For Weddings and a Funeral (Ed.)

  This I Believe (Ed.)

  Dear Miffy

  Prayer for the 21st Century

  Everything I Know About Writing

  Secret Men’s Business

  The Tomorrow Series 1999 Diary

  The Rabbits

  Norton’s Hut

  Marsden on Marsden

  Winter

  The Head Book

  The Boy You Brought Home

  The Magic Rainforest

  Millie

  A Roomful of Magic

  The Tomorrow Series

  Tomorrow, When the War Began

  The Dead of the Night

  The Third Day, the Frost

  Darkness, Be My Friend

  Burning for Revenge

  The Night is for Hunting

  The Other Side of Dawn

  The Ellie Chronicles

  While I Live

  Incurable

  Circle of Flight

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  First published 1995 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  This Pan edition published 1996 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  1 Market Street, Sydney

  Reprinted 1997 (three times), 1998, 1999, 2001, 2002, 2004, 2005, 2010

  Copyright © John Marsden 1995

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  cataloguing-in-publication data:

  Marsden, John, 1950—.

  Cool school: you make it happen.

  ISBN: 978-1-74334-631-0

  I. Title.

  A823.3

  Theis electronic edition published in 2012 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  Copyright © John Marsden 1995

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  This ebook may not include illustrations and/or photographs that may have been in the print edition.

  Marsden, John.

  Cool school: you make it happen.

  EPUB format 978-1-74334-631-0

  Macmillan Digital Australia www.macmillandigital.com.au

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com.au to read more about all our books and to buy both print and ebooks online. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events.

  To Christopher Templin

  Joanna Templin

  Matthew Templin

  A book for you. Enjoy!

  Contents

  About the Author

  Also by John Marsden

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  t’s the day you’ve been thinking about for a long time. You don’t know whether to be nervous or excited or sick. You decide to be all three at once. You don’t eat any breakfast. Your mother gets upset: she tells you you’ve got to eat. She offers you porridge, Corn Flakes, toast, stewed fruit, Rice Bubbles, boiled eggs, Weet Bix, orange juice, omelettes, Coco Pops, hash browns, baked beans, muesli, bacon and eggs, but you refuse them all. Finally you have a Mars Bar. That’s breakfast.

  You get on the bus. There are a few kids from your old school, so you sit with them and try to be cool. The other kids look bigger, tougher, meaner than anyone you’ve ever seen outside a World War Two movie. The bus driver looks like he’s out of a World War One movie.

  You arrive at the new school. You walk through the gate. The school motto is carved on an arch above
the door. It says: DEVELOP YOUR POT.

  You wonder if there are a few letters missing. You go on down the hallway.

  There’s a sign saying: NEW STUDENTS REGISTER HERE. You start to fill in the form they give you. You spell your name wrongly and you can’t remember your address, but apart from that you do OK.

  They give you a locker. One door’s hanging off its hinge and the locker smells of sardines, old jocks, ashtrays and dead mice. You put your books in there, as neatly as possible. As you finish the job you realise someone’s standing watching. You turn around, slowly. The someone looks like a Sumo wrestler, only bigger and uglier. He says just one word: ‘Mine.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ you say.

  ‘My locker,’ he replies.

  ‘No, I think there’s some mistake. It’s mine.’

  He swells. Now he’s the size of an adult hippopotamus, but not as pretty.

  ‘Do I hear you right?’ he asks.

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Are you saying you won’t move?’

  ‘Um, I think I am.’

  He raises his arm and you realise you’ve made a big mistake. You turn and run. He comes crashing after you. You turn left into a short corridor.

  There’s a door on either side, and a wall straight in front. One door’s pretty wrecked, but it looks like it might lead to a bathroom. You can’t tell about the other one. You’re trapped. The doors are your only hope. Which one will you go for?

  ou throw the door open. It’s a bathroom all right: even though the frosted glass in the door is broken, there’s no mistaking the aroma.

  You rush through. You’re standing in the middle of a long smelly bathroom. There are at least a dozen students already there.

  They’re talking, laughing, telling each other what they did in the holidays. A cloud of blue cigarette smoke is rising from several of the cubicles. But suddenly the students see you. There’s a huge silence.

  A huge huge huge huge huge silence. You know why. You’re in the wrong bathroom. With the glass broken on the door there was no little drawing of a man or woman to tell you which was the right one. You go bright red. You stand there in shock. This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you. It’s a make it or break it moment.

  What are you going to do?

  n panic you chuck a sharp turn and crash through the door on your right. The moving mountain doesn’t follow you, and for a moment you just stand there, panting hard, hoping you’ve escaped. Then you look up. You’re in a big room with white walls and lots of windows. There’s a pool table, a dartboard and about a hectare of bulletin boards. But you hardly notice any of that. What you do notice is the thirty or forty teachers standing there looking at you.

  Yes, it’s the staff room.

  There’s not a sound, not a movement. Everyone’s just watching you in disbelief. It’s obviously the first time in the history of the school that a student’s gatecrashed the staff room. You feel your mouth start to open, and it keeps opening. Your chin drops further and further.

  Now your mouth’s so wide open they could fill it with pool balls and you wouldn’t even notice. You’re trying to think of words to say but they can’t get past your tonsils. Then a woman teacher takes a step forward.

  ‘What on earth do you mean by charging in here like that?’ she demands.

  ‘Gulp,’ you say. Then you blurt out the first thing that comes along.

  our nerve cracks. You open your mouth but no voice comes out. You turn, wildly. As they advance on you, you rush to the nearest cubicle.

  You run into it and slam the door, locking it. The students are beating on the door, yelling and screaming. You sit on the loo to get your breath back. This is a nightmare. How could things go so wrong so quickly? These kids are about to lynch you. But luckily, the door’s too low for them to get under and too high for them to get over.

  You’re safe for a couple of minutes.

  Gradually the noise dies down. You can hear them though. They’re trying to work out how to get you out of the cubicle. They’ve got no hope. You’ll sit there for a week if you have to.

  Suddenly a bell rings. There’s a stampede outside. You hear one last set of footsteps, then complete silence. You begin to relax a little, get your breath back. You decide you’ll wait ten minutes before you come out, just to be on the safe side.

  To pass the time you look around at the walls of the cubicle. The graffiti is very interesting. You always wondered what kind of things they wrote on their toilet walls. Now you know. Some of the comments are very rude. On the back of the door you see one that looks fresh. It might have been done that morning even. You read it and sit back in shock. That’s your own name! You can hardly believe it! But it’s there all right. In the middle of a big heart, drawn in blue texta.

  It says ‘Sam J. loves . . .’ And it’s your name that follows.

  Amazing! You’re so amazed you break out in a sweat and have to tear off a sheet of loo paper to wipe your face. This school sure is full of surprises. You think hard, really hard. Who do you know with the name Sam J.? There were two kids called Sam at your old school who are also at your new school: Sam Jensen and Sam Jarre. Sam Jensen is great looking but has the reputation of being a bit of a snob. Sam Jarre has a more interesting face but seems a bit weird sometimes. Which one could it be?

  ou clear your throat and pull a piece of paper out of your pocket.

  ‘Right, I want your complete attention,’ you announce. ‘I’ve been sent here by the Principal to take the details of any students smoking in these toilets. So, those of you indulging in this disgusting pastime kindly line up at once and give me your names.’

  Within three seconds the bathroom is cleared. Panic-stricken students have fled, leaving you standing there alone. You smile to yourself and put your pen and paper away, then walk out into the corridor. You turn left and stroll along, congratulating yourself on a skilful escape from a situation that could have been embarrassing. But you’ve forgotten one thing: the Incredible Hulk who chased you into the bathroom in the first place. Suddenly darkness falls across the corridor. You get a shock. Has there been an eclipse of the sun? Has there been an electrical black-out? You look up. And there is the Hulk again, standing twenty metres in front of you, arms folded. He looks like a tow truck that’s lost its wheels. You stop dead in your tracks. For a full minute the two of you stare at each other. Then he unfolds his arms and takes a step forwards. His arms are reaching for your throat when you hear a noise behind you. Who’s there? You look around.

  ’m looking for my aunt,’ you say.

  ‘And who’s your aunt?’ the woman asks, suspiciously.

  ‘She’s the Principal,’ you say helplessly.

  Immediately the woman’s whole attitude changes.

  ‘Oh! Well isn’t that nice? I believe Mrs Riollo did say something about a relative. Well, it’s very nice for you to have your aunt here.’

  ‘Um, yes,’ you say.

  ‘Come and sit down dear,’ the woman says. ‘Let me get you a glass of cordial and a biscuit.’ She leads you past a group of teachers, one of whom mutters something at her. It sounds remarkably like ‘brownnoser’. But the woman takes no notice, so you don’t either.

  You sit there for a couple of minutes drinking your lime cordial and eating an Iced Vo-Vo. You’re waiting for a chance to get out of the room. But before you can make your move the door opens and two women walk in. One’s tall and tough: she wears glasses, shoulder pads, and has a hairstyle that looks like the top of a Scotch thistle. The other’s older, grey-haired, carries a tabby cat in one hand, a ball of knitting in the other, and wears an old fawn cardigan with a little teddy bear in her buttonhole.

  The lady who gave you the Iced Vo-Vo stands up. ‘Here you are dear,’ she says, ‘here’s your Aunt Crystal.’

  You stand up, too, and look at them both in dismay. Which one is meant to be your aunt?

  ’m the new teacher,’ you say.

  ‘But . . . but
. . . but . . .’ This lady seems to have a small vocabulary.

  ‘But, but, but, but, but,’ she says. Now she sounds like a lawn-mower starting up. You’re feeling desperate, but you’ve got to stick to your guns. The lady finally gets to the end of her sentence. ‘But you’re very young,’ she says.

  ‘Hey, did you ever see “Doogie Howser”?’ you ask. ‘You ever heard of Mozart? Does the name Nathan Cavaleri mean anything to you?’

  ‘Well,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded a little . . . ungracious. Please excuse me. Welcome to the school. Welcome to the staff, and let me show you your pigeonhole.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ you say. ‘I don’t have a pigeon at the moment.’

  She looks at you strangely, then gives you a stack of folders and notebooks.

  A loud electric bell rings. ‘Oh dear,’ she says. ‘We’ve run out of time. I’ll have to explain the other details to you at morning tea. Come along with me now and I’ll introduce you to your class.’