Book - Catch of the Day

Copyright Published by Epic Underdogs, Somerset College, Somerset Drive, Mudgeeraba QLD 4213.

Mi-Jung Kim, Marcus Ware, Ella Wood, David Nicolau, Lilly Thompson, James Thompson, Aditya Naik, Rishi Veramachaneni. Copyright © 2018 Somerset College

All rights reserved. This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Enquires should be made to the publisher.

CHAPTER ONE Outside the Terminal

It was a typical outback day in Central Australia - not a cloud in sight, and bathed in golden sunlight. The only shelter from the scorching heat was the tiny tin airport terminal; a slither of silver amongst the red dirt expanse. From afar, the building was blinding, as light bounced off the dull metal. It was here, under the aggressive noon sun, that Finn Foster decided to fly to Tasmania. You see, Finn had been invited to compete in Australia’s Next Top Fisherman , (more affectionately known as ANTF). It was something he had dreamed of since his father gifted him his first rod.

Upon the dawning of the afternoon, Finn’s bulbous stomach growled. Finn had always loved lunchtime; and right now, he couldn’t think of any better way to prepare for the competition than reclining in Seat 14 E and enjoying a nice tuna sandwich. So, he hoisted his backpack straps a little higher and hummed a little louder to the crunching drumbeat of his shoes on the red gravel. ‘ If this is spring in Australia, I wonder how hot summer is!’ He wondered.

Inside the Terminal

It was inside the terminal, where the summer heat and the never-ending shift and never-budging shift of the clock hands caught up with him. Through hooded lids, Barry sneaked a peep at the time. Midday was dawning; his morning coffee, on the other hand, was wearing off. The airport was anything but buzzing. Upon second thought, the only thing buzzing was the horsefly whizzing around his head.

Barry Baker was the sole security guard at Redrock Airport. In fact, he was one of a mere two working staff there, but Wayne Wakowski never showed up. He was always busy consumed by the telly, and always, always consuming Four ‘n’ Twenties. Wakowski could never get enough of Grant Denyer’s blinding smile. Nothing ever happened on Mondays. The peace and quiet, with a provision of free coffee and biscuits were the sole reason Barry ever turned up these days. Barry couldn’t think of anything better than lounging in the peace and quiet of the terminal, surrounded by a landscape built from Orange Creams, and Tim Tams, and mounds upon mounds of Milo. It was this that he wanted to do forever and ever; comedy. ‘It’ll be any day now’ , he reckoned. After all, the horseflies definitely enjoyed hearing his jokes. Yet, it was just as Barry was about to come up with his best joke to date, that the automatic doors creaked open, blasting him with red dust and hot air. A rare sight indeed, that left the man startled beyond belief. “Bugger it!” Barry grumbled under his breath. Frustration engulfed him; ignited by the prospect of his failing memory erasing the glimmering joke hidden in the cobwebs of his mind rather than by the stranger. Yet, it was frustration all the same. The red dust swirling in the doorway settled, revealing a pair of Birkenstocks settling into the terminal. Accompanying them, were a pair of khaki cargo shorts, and a blue collared t-shirt - too spick and span for Central Australia, Barry thought, hidden under a prickly beard and the brim of a brand-new cork hat still boasting the price tag from the servo down the road. From it, beckoned a voice dripping in a thick American accent.

“Hey, buddy!” he called. His voice echoed through the terminal. “Or should I say, g’day?” A wide mouth smile leant in towards Barry – a sight too enthusiastic for midday, especially on a Monday in Barry’s opinion. The stranger elbowed Barry. A melodic laugh escaped his lips. “I’ve been working on my Australian.” Barry shuffled the papers around on his desk; a vain attempt to locate the right immigration forms amongst the clutter of his desk. “Righto mate,” he sighed absently. “Bags and passport please”.

“Don’t I do them separately?” The American beamed. Barry wondered if those bushy eyebrows of his ever lowered or whether his lips ever soured into a frown. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Right mate; here’s what you’re gonna do. You go find someone to do the passport, and I’ll take the bags.” The American - still grinning that everlasting grin – nodded, before disappearing into the maze of whitewashed walls. His bags, on the other hand, pooled compliantly at Barry’s feet. Under his breath, Barry allowed himself a chuckle. Americans were his favourite tourists to practice comedy on. Their reactions were priceless. They simply cemented his dream; of living for laughter for the rest of his life. It didn’t matter that it was his own laughter - one day others would cackle at his jokes with him. Prior experience noted that tourists were like boomerangs; it would be a mere five minutes before they figured out there was no-one else in the terminal, guaranteeing their return. With

that in mind, Barry settled back in his chair, pen poised ready to write out his newest stroke of genius. Yet, it was at that very moment, that the all-too-familiar smiling face reappeared at his desk. “Excuse me?” the American chirped. Barry sighed and set his notepad aside. “Yep?” It was then, that the smile had finally morphed into a look of confusion. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone else here.” “Shocker,” Barry muttered. The papers shifted through his shuffling fingers once more. “So, um who checks my passport?” Barry’s eyes rolled so far back into his head that he thought he might catch a glimpse of his brain. “Look mate - you know what? You seem like you’re struggling, so I’ll help you out. Clearly, I’m the only one here, so I’ll say it again. Bags and passport please. At Redrock, we do ‘em together.” The American’s lips flipped into a U-turn smile. “Oh, I get it! I love how you Aussies do stuff all different! It’s so much fun!” Barry found the form and plucked his pen up from the wasteland of his desk. “First things first, have you got a name?” “Finn Foster. Utah born and raised, out here for Australia’s Next Top Fisherman. On my way to Tasmania to compete. Nice to meet you...” He squinted at the paper name badge pinned onto Barry’s breast pocket with a safety pin, “...Barry.” Barry’s head rattled with the chuckle that escaped his lips. “I only asked for your name, mate. And everyone calls me Bazza.” Finn rummaged through his bag, producing his passport and sliding it onto Barry’s desk. “So, you’re a fisherman then?” Barry inquired. His eyebrows crooked upwards as Finn hauled his bursting bag onto the desk. “That’s right. I-”

Before Finn could finish his sentence, Barry jumped up. “Woah, woah, woah, what are those?” he interrupted. For the first time, the smile evaporated from Finn’s face. “My um... fishing rods?”

It came out as more of a question rather than an answer. He allowed himself a momentary pause, before the grin rose once more upon his face. “I registered them ‘specially with the airport, so I should be able to take them through.” Barry leaned back into the crevice of his chair. “Oh well then, that should be fine. Just go register them at the other desk and come back, alright mate?” “Thanks buddy!” And with that, Finn set off to do another lap of the terminal. Barry remained, chortling. Americans are so gullible! This is my best work yet! He thought smugly to himself. He decided to jot it down in his notebook. That was, until Finn arrived back at his desk.

“Find it?” Barry asked. At this point, he was hardly able to keep a straight face. “No,” Finn replied, defeated. “Maybe he’s on lunch.” Barry widened his eyes in disbelief. How could somebody be so gullible? “No mate, I’m the only one here. I said that.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I don’t know how to do that registering thing so according to my protocol, but there is one thing I’m sure of; you can’t take them through.” Finn’s mouth fell ajar in protest. “But I -” Barry stood erect from his chair. “A-a-a-a! what did I say?”

“You said I can’t take them through but -” “I said you can’t take them through. No arguments. Sorry mate, you’ll just have to get new ones. Now, I'm finished with your passport. You can go and take a seat.” Finn’s eyes darted around the empty terminal. The only seat available was a chair in front of Barry’s desk. “Where should I sit?” he inquired. Barry gestured to the chair. “You’ll have to sit there, I’m afraid. We were supposed to get new seats in a year ago, so we threw the old ones out, but they never came. Typical Australia Post. Anyways, it’s not so bad. You’ve got a good view, after all,” he joked, gesturing to his chest, puffed with pride. “There’s more where that came from!” “I’m something of a comedian, it’s been said,” he continued. “Founding member of the Redrock Airport Staff Comedy Club. Won silver in the annual RASCC competition last year.” Finn settled down in his seat. Intrigue seeped into his voice, as he exclaimed an excited “Who won?” Barry grimaced. “Wakowski, unfortunately. Check-in guy. Never shows up. Not even a member until he showed up at the competition - thought it was just a normal day at work he did. Tripped on his way in. Was enough to get the crowd in fits.” Finn’s eyebrows perked up. “Get a whole crowd for that?” “Uh...Yeah...I mean if you count the passengers out back waiting. They didn’t really anticipate the show, but they were, and that’s what counts. Anyways, I’m determined to win this year. Leave the past in the past, y’know? Bit of a struggle practicing here all on my lonesome though.” Finn gave him a sympathetic nod and glanced around. “Not much material to work with here, is there?” “Nah mate, not much at all.” Suddenly, a curious commotion bubbled up outside the yellowing terminal walls. The two men perked up from their seats instinctively; only to see a kangaroo – nimble and innocent, yet still enough to block a staggering commercial plane. It was enough to set Finn’s eyes alight. “Woah!” he exclaimed breathlessly. “Is that a real kangaroo?” Barry was one to leap at any opportunity to crack a joke; and this was no exception. “Nah,” he snickered. “Just a fake we put there for fun.”

Just like a QANTAS plane, however, the joke flew right over Finn’s head. “Right. Australian culture and all that,” he sighed. Barry guffawed in disbelief.

“I got you again! Mate, you are so gullible! I should write these down to use at the RASCC competition. It’d be a winner for sure!” Barry swore that he had never seen a tourist more perplexed in his life. Not with the befuddling timetables, or to find the bathroom - nothing. “You mean that’s real?” he exclaimed, exasperated beyond belief. “Yeah mate, real as.” “Wow! I’ve always wanted to touch a real-life kangaroo! Do you reckon I could catch it?” A hefty laugh erupted from Barry’s belly into the hollow terminal. “Yeah right. Listen mate, if you can catch that kangaroo, I'll eat my hat.” A new idea suddenly shuffled into his brain, leaving Barry jostled. At this stage, the fellow was beyond himself – grinning from ear to ear. “Even better -” he cried out. “I’ll let you take your rods on board.” “Really?” Finn looked like he was about to explode with excitement. Barry snickered. “Give it a go, mate. Why not?” “I’ve always wanted to try an Aussie pastime!” Finn exclaimed. “Wait, mate - that’s not something we d-” Yet before Barry knew it, let alone could finish his sentence, the American was sprinting through the automatic doors sun-free sanctuary and into the red dirt wasteland. Yet, it was an enthusiasm Barry no longer shared; for this time, he sensed in his Tim-Tam clogged heart, that he had taken a joke too far - and not through a plane to another state. “Bugger it,” he grumbled under his breath. Despite knowing the demise set before his fellow man, Barry couldn’t help but think; this as not a sight he wanted to miss.

CHAPTER TWO Outside the Plane

In trepidation, Finn approached the kangaroo. It was a moment he had been waiting for his whole life – from seeing cartoon kangaroos in the yellowing pages of his childhood, to spotting photographs of them embellishing his Instagram feed in his adulthood – yet nothing could prepare him for the sighting of one in the flesh. Its fur shone under the midday sun, and Finn couldn’t help but notice a patch of white on its belly. He was all but a bundle of adoration when suddenly, his eyes caught that of the kangaroo’s; in all its pricked-up ears and poised head glory. With a quick flurry of fur and limbs, the kangaroo had already hopped a few metres away. Finn couldn’t help but crack into a smile, thinking that it resembled a boxing champion retreating to its corner - just like the ones he saw on his TV back home in the states. Yet, it would be one that he could grapple in his hold. He couldn’t wait to tell all his friends back in Jersey about his Australian adventure! He would be a hero for sure; like Crocodile Dundee! A few feet away, Barry watched with amusement from the hot tin of the terminal. This wasn’t something you see every day! he thought to himself. Thankfully enough for his comedy career, he had also brought his notebook out with him. This was great material for a comedy set-up. A Mexican standoff, of sorts, without the Mexican. Barry could almost hear the classic Wild West music. It was at that very moment, that a poised, and ready Finn leapt at his opportunity (quite literally!). Yet, his best catch of the day to date managed to dash away from his unshaven arms like his short-lived dream of Aussie greatness, leaving only red dust and a cackling Barry in its wake. However, unbeknownst to him, Finn was a man of great determination. If this was a game of cat and mouse, Finn as already racing to the startling line. Here and there, the twosome darted, until the tourist’s lungs were as empty as the terminal on a Tuesday. It only took one final kick in the stomach, to send Finn flying backwards. However, determined to have the final say, the tourist did not back down. Instead, he got back up, dusted the dirt off his khaki, and charged once more at the kangaroo. Yet, rather than befriending the fauna, it was the flora’s home which he became known to.

With every last bit of strength he could muster, Finn forced himself back on his feet. His ribs ached, his mouth was as dry as a desert, and he could feel him feet wavering like a solar- powered bobble-head figurine. However, beyond belief, the man could still see through the blurring edges of his vision. He had to relocate this kangaroo. He needed to; for the sake of a good story. Yet, as soon as the plane came into his parameter he spotted something else. Something...Orange. It was then, that Finn suddenly realised – it was the kangaroo.

It was then, that he let out a defeated: “NOOOOOOOOooooOOOOOOOooooooooo!” With that, he began the limping journey towards the plane with all the might he could muster. Yet, it was too late. The cheeky roo had already hopped up the stairs and was up into the plane. Finn swore he even saw it wink from the window. Suddenly, a hefty hand hit Finn’s shoulder, startling him back to the brutal reality. His head snapped backwards, ready to pounce on whatever wild Australian predator was in his wake;

only to spot Barry’s bustling figure appeared beside him. “Take the rods, mate,” he announced. “You’ve earnt it”. An exhausted Finn forced out a final smile. “Thanks, mate”.

With a pat on the back and a whirl of the wind, Finn swung his rucksack and rods over his back, took a final glance at the red and the rocks and the roo, and boarded his plane.

CHAPTER THREE Inside the plane

Finn clicked the seatbelt into place. At long last, it was time for his tantalising tuna sandwich. “Guess it’s just you and me, mate,” he joked absently to a fellow passenger. A passenger that was orange. And furry. And - A kangaroo. Just as Finn was about to open his mouth in protest, he was cut off by a familiar Australian drawl sounding through the musty speakers. “G’day everyone, this is your captain speaking. My name is Barry, but everyone calls me Bazza. Please sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight.” Finn sighed, and turned back to the kangaroo in the seat next to him. Yet, it seemed as though there was no reason to fight anymore; after all, it would instead be a bother if they were to be stuck together for the flight all the way down the shores and deserts and plains of the great Australian country. “If you’re gonna be my new little pet we’d better get to know each other,” Finn remarked, defeated. “Do you like tuna?” Once again, he could have sworn he saw the kangaroo wink.