Crown Park Read online

  About Des Hunt

  After more than forty years working in education, Des Hunt is now a full-time writer living on New Zealand’s beautiful Coromandel Peninsula. Since the 1970’s he has shared his fascination with science and technology through textbooks, electronic devices, and computer programs. More recently he has turned to fiction as a way of interesting youngsters in the world that surrounds them. His first novel, A Friend in Paradise, was published in 2002.

  Three of his books have been finalists in the New Zealand Post Children’s Book Awards; one a LIANZA finalist; and seven listed as Storylines Notable Books.

  For more visit www.deshunt.com

  Other Books by Des Hunt

  Fiction

  A Friend in Paradise Harper Collins

  The Moa Cave Harper Collins

  Frog Whistle Mine Harper Collins

  Where Cuckoos Call Harper Collins

  Shadows in the Ice Harper Collins

  The Tooth Harper Collins

  Whale Pot Bay Harper Collins

  The Last Tuatara Scholastic

  Cry of the Taniwha Harper Collins

  The Crocodile Nest Harper Collins

  The Peco Incident Harper Collins

  Cody’s Unexpected Catch Harper Collins

  Steel Pelicans Harper Collins

  Phantom of Terawhiti Harper Collins

  Project Huia Scholastic

  Nonfiction

  The Naughty Kid’s Book of Nature

  Illustrated by Scott Tulloch Harper Collins

  Physics 2000 Longman Paul

  Beyond 2000 Longman Paul

  Crown Park

  Des Hunt

  www.oceanbooks.co.nz

  Copyright

  Des Hunt asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work under the terms of Section 96 of the Copyright Act of 1994 (New Zealand.) All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be produced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  © Des Hunt 2013

  ISBN 978-1-927199-41-1

  Cover: Nikki Slade-Robinson

  Editor: Jenny Argante

  References to Magic Thinks Big by Elisha Cooper published by Greenwillow Books ©2004.

  ISBN 978-0-06-058165-7

  Contents

  About Des Hunt

  Other Books by Des Hunt

  Copyright

  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 1

  School was nearly over for the day and for Jack Stewart it couldn’t come soon enough. The whole day had been trouble. The whole week! He hated the place.

  “Jack,” called Miss Finch.

  No response.

  “Jack Stewart!”

  Jack looked up at her. “What?”

  “Could you pick up the paper under your place, please?”

  “I already have.”

  “Then what are those three pieces I can see?”

  Jack tilted his desk forward until he could see the paper. How did that get there? He looked around, and sure enough Liam Bennett was smirking at him.

  “Be a good boy and pick up your rubbish, Jack Spewit,” said Liam.

  Jack breathed deeply for a time before kicking the papers into a heap. He bent over, crushed them into a ball, and took it to the bin by the door.

  The bell rang.

  Everyone scrambled to sit up straight.

  Miss Finch stood at the front, slowly scanning the room, looking for anything that was not quite perfect. The scan stopped at Jack’s desk. A frown crossed her face.

  “I told you to pick up those papers.”

  “I did.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “So how come they’re still there.”

  Jack looked down. Now there was more rubbish than before. His face tightened.

  “Liam Bennett put it there,” he said.

  She shook her head slowly.

  “I don’t care how they got there. It’s your job to pick them up.”

  “No! Make Liam Bennett do it. It’s his rubbish.”

  That’s when Miss Finch finally lost it.

  “Jack, get out of your chair and do it now,” she yelled.

  Unfortunately, Jack had trouble hearing people who yelled. Buzzing in his ears would turn the words into something else. This time he heard, “Get out of here! Do it now!”

  So that’s what he did. He stood, picked up his bag, and marched towards the door.

  “Where are you going?” screamed Miss Finch.

  Jack stopped and glared at her. “You told me to get out.”

  She pointed to his desk. “Get back there and pick up that rubbish.”

  Jack returned to his place, mumbling to himself. “Make up your stupid mind.”

  Instantly the room was silent. Jack looked around. The whole class was staring at him with shocked faces.

  Miss Finch marched up to him with her hands on her hips. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing, Miss,” said Jack avoiding her eyes.

  “Oh, yes, you did. Are you prepared to repeat it?”

  “No, Miss.”

  “Jack Stewart, at this school, students do not insult teachers. If they do, they usually end up going someplace else.”

  She spun around and moved back to the front where she glared at the silent class. “OK,” she said. “Chairs up and you may leave.”

  The silence exploded into a clatter of chairs and noisy voices as the class left. Jack moved to follow.

  “Not you,” said Miss Finch. “You’re coming with me to see the principal.”

  Jack was about to reply when the principal marched into the room.

  “Has there been some trouble in here?”

  “Yes,” replied Miss Finch, pointing at Jack. “Him!”

  “Oh, it’s you,” said the principal. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Maybe because she always picks on me?” suggested Jack.

  The principal snorted. “Children who say they’re being picked on usually deserve it because of their bad behaviour.” She glared at Jack. “And that’s certainly true in your case. Come with me and I’ll show you the long list of things that you have done in the five weeks you’ve been with us. After that I’m going to contact your parents. It’s time to get this sorted once and for all.”

  An hour later Jack finally left school. Nothing much had happened except he now had a letter to take home. The principal’s attempts to phone each parent had failed. All she’d got was voice mail. Jack could have told her it was useless. His mother’s phone would be turned off while she was working. His father’s might be on, but there was no signal in the places where he worked.

  Jack pulled the hood of his jacket over his head, and set off towards Crown Park. There was no rush to get home — no one would be there. Instead he would mess around with Chainsaw. But first he needed money.

  Crown Park is a large open area at the back of Taupo. It’s a nice spot for those wanting to enjoy a bit of time out. It’s also a place that tourist buses visit as it has great views of Tauhara, the ancient volcano that watches over the town and the lake beyond.

  Jack sat on a low rail
that surrounded the car park. For him the best thing about Crown Park was the steam that rose from a narrow gully. He liked the idea of being close to a geothermal area. It was about the only good thing he’d found in Taupo — that and Chainsaw.

  As he watched, a touch of colour appeared in the steam drifting across the park. It was Fluoro Fred, the town’s most visible homeless person.

  Jack didn’t know if his name was Fred or not. Probably nobody knew except Fluoro himself. Jack had never seen anyone talking to him. Certainly the kids at school didn’t. They generally kept well clear unless they wanted to show off. Then they would throw stuff and call him names. Madman, nutter, psycho, sicko, freak… and worse. All because Fluoro wore strange clothes and mumbled to himself.

  The clothing was every shade of orange, beginning with a fluorescent beanie and ending with the brightest basketball boots you would ever see. In between was an orange tracksuit covered with a fluorescent orange worker’s vest.

  Fluoro’s arrival at the car park was a sure sign that the afternoon tourist bus was due. Fluoro might be mad, but he still kept good enough time to be sitting on the grass when the bus arrived. He took his beanie from his shaved head and tucked it in a pocket. Next he pulled a bowl from under the vest. He put this in front of his crossed legs and began mumbling.

  To Jack the mumbling was just that. He had trouble enough hearing people when they spoke clearly. The way Fluoro mumbled made it impossible to make out anything. To Jack it seemed like a few words were repeated over and over. Just what you would expect from a crazy man.

  Within a minute of Fluoro’s arrival, the tourist bus pulled into the parking area. About thirty tourists climbed from it and walked around taking photos. Last out was the tour guide, who quickly arranged the group so that they were facing Tauhara.

  “Tauhara,” he shouted, “is a volcano just like Lake Taupo. They’re both part of the same system except Tauhara oozes lava whereas Taupo really blows its top. Tauhara last erupted 65,000 years ago. Taupo’s last blast was only 2,000 years ago. That eruption destroyed everything within a hundred kilometres of here.”

  There was a chorus of oohs and aahs from the tourists. One put his hand up and asked, “Were people here to see?”

  The tour guide smiled. “Probably not. If there were, they certainly weren’t around afterwards, I can tell you.”

  There was laughter from those who understood English. The rest simply nodded their heads.

  “OK,” continued the guide, “you can have five minutes to take photos before we move off again.”

  Jack knew why they were taking a five-minute break. It was so the tour guide could duck into nearby bushes and have a smoke. Jack didn’t mind, for this was the time he was waiting for. He moved towards a group of tourists and held his hands up to his face as if he was photographing them.

  Soon he had a dozen or so cameras and was snapping photos of groups big and small. All he had to do was aim and push a button. It really was money for nothing.

  Except this time there was no money. Usually some of the tourists would give him some coins. Every other time he’d made at least five bucks. This time, nothing.

  As the bus pulled out he waved his fist and yelled at them — the bus continued on its way. He turned and looked at Fluoro Fred who was still sitting and mumbling. Jack moved closer to the man, wondering if he’d got anything. He had. In the bottom of the begging bowl was a heap of gold coins, along with a single twenty-dollar note.

  Jack felt the pressure of anger forming in his head. Why should Fluoro Fred get money when all he did was mumble? It wasn’t right. Then Jack realized he could easily even things up. He bent over and grabbed the note. As he straightened he sensed that the man had lifted his head and was looking at him.

  Jack turned and walked away, forcing himself not to look back. One of the kids at school had said that if you looked Fluoro in the eyes, you’d end up mad yourself. Jack didn’t really believe that, but why take the risk? Some part of it might be true.

  Chapter 2

  Jack went to the takeaway shop down the road from Crown Park. He ordered his usual of one fish and a carton of chips.

  “Your mum gave you plenty of money today,” said Melissa, lifting the twenty dollars off the counter. “Is it your birthday or something?”

  “Nah!” replied Jack. “She didn’t have anything smaller.”

  Melissa nodded and sorted out his change.

  While the food was being cooked, Jack paced around anxious to find Chainsaw. After a while, he looked out the door to see if he’d arrived yet. There were people talking outside the dairy, but nothing happening outside the takeaway shop.

  There was still nothing when his order was ready.

  “You doing anything for the long weekend?” asked Melissa, handing over the packet.

  “Nah! Just hanging around home,” said Jack. He moved towards the door.

  Melissa watched him and smiled. “I think you’ll find Chainsaw out the back,” she called. But Jack was already gone.

  * * *

  Melissa was wrong. Chainsaw wasn’t out the back, which meant Jack would have to wait.

  He sat on the concrete with his bag as a cushion supporting his back against a concrete wall. The chips were on one side of his legs, the piece of fish on the other. He pulled the batter off the fish so that it would cool quicker.

  Munching on the batter and the chips, he settled down to wait.

  He’d first met Chainsaw at the end of his second week at school. He’d been feeling really low. He hadn’t made any friends, and Liam Bennett had started teasing him about being so small. Lunchtimes were the worst. Liam wouldn’t let him play in his game of touch, so Jack had to play with the little kids. This led to more teasing.

  Then he had met Chainsaw. He’d bought a hamburger and was sitting out the front on a wooden bench when this huge tabby cat hopped up and began rubbing against his thigh. Jack stroked it and gave it some of the meat filling. That was when he heard the cat’s deep, rumbling purr for the first time. It sounded just like an idling chainsaw, so that’s what Jack called him — Chainsaw.

  This day Jack had almost finished the chips before Chainsaw arrived and rubbed against his side. Jack broke off a piece of fish and held it out.

  Piece by piece the fish went until nothing was left but the smell. Chainsaw then climbed onto Jack’s lap. After turning around a couple of times, he settled into place. That’s when the purring and kneading started. First Chainsaw would stick one set of claws into Jack’s thigh, and then the other. It hurt, and sometimes drew blood, but Jack never tried to stop it.

  Chainsaw was not a beautiful cat. At one time he might have been, but now several parts of his body were well worn. One ear was almost missing, his nose looked as if it had been bashed by a hammer, and his tail had a kink near the tip. Jack didn’t mind the flaws. They just made Chainsaw more special.

  As the cat quietened and went to sleep, Jack also began to dose off, thinking about cats and how nice they were. He’d never owned a cat, but at home they had a picture book called Magic Thinks Big. The story was about a cat that went places in its mind. The journeys were more than dreaming: the cat felt as if he was actually in a different place. Jack thought it would be great to do things like that. Whenever you got fed up, you could go off to some magical place and do things that nobody else —

  “Jack! You shouldn’t still be here.”

  It was Melissa.

  Jack came to with a start. Chainsaw had gone and the sun had set.

  “What time is it?” he asked

  “Six fifteen.”

  “Oh!” he said, climbing to his feet.

  Without any goodbyes to Melissa he started running. If his mother or father arrived home and found him missing, there’d be trouble. Especially if they’d read the message the principal had left on their cell phones.

  Jack need not have worried. Neither parent was home, although his mother obviously had been for she’d left a note on the table.
r />   Working late. Meet me outside the supermarket at 6.30 and we’ll have dinner together — Anna

  Jack looked at the clock on the stove — six twenty-five. If he took his bike he might make it on time.

  It was two and a half kilometres from the Stewart house to the supermarket in town. Jack did it in seven minutes. He skidded to a halt just as his mother came out of the worker’s side door.

  “Perfect timing,” said Anna with a grin, squeezing her son’s arm. “Now, how about chicken for dinner? I’ve got to be back here by seven.”

  That was OK by Jack. They always had chicken on Friday night when Anna was working, and always in the same place.

  After the food arrived they ate in silence. In between bites, Jack studied his mother, trying to work out if she’d got the principal’s message or not. It was hard to tell. Any emotion was masked by tiredness.

  “Why are you staring at me?” she asked.

  Jack gave a little shrug.

  “Are you trying to work out if I got that message from the school?”

  He lowered his eyes.

  Anna reached out and took his hand. “What’s the problem, Jack? The principal says you’re always in trouble.”

  Jack pulled his hand away. “It’s not me. It’s that stupid school.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Everything!”

  His mother sighed. “A new school is always going to be difficult at first. Give it time. It’ll change.”

  Jack looked up at her. “No, it won’t. Miss Finch isn’t going to stop picking on me, and Liam Bennett isn’t going to go away.”

  “Teachers don’t pick on kids for no reason,” said Anna.

  “This one does. She mumbles all the time and when I don’t understand, she starts yelling at me.”