Concealed

Group Name: Half a Dozen Authors: Kaye Amores, Mia Huang, Brigette Newing, Molly Green, Mahee Navaratne & Victoria Huang Illustrators: Victoria Huang & Kaye Amores

By: Half a Dozen

Copyright Published by Half a Dozen, Somerset College, Mudgeeraba, Mia Huang, Brigette Newing, Kaye Amores, Molly Green, Mahee Navaratne & Victoria Huang

Copyright Ó 2020, 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 1

The smell of freshly printed paper and dust was the first thing I noticed when I first started working here, I can't believe it’s already been a year. A year and still I have only been given rookie cases. It’s clear that my co-workers don’t respect me, but that is okay, and I understand it may take a while for them to see me as more than some just naive kid. But for the time being I need to remember that I am a professional editor and journalist in training. Every time I think of an interesting case which has the possibility to be front cover, they steal it from me, Sheilia (my colleague) said that ‘You shouldn’t spend weeks on a case that doesn’t have a clear direction, so don’t bother. People’s attention spans are decreasing, the readers want an easy reading story, one that makes them say “aw” and move on with their day, leave the hard-hitting cases to us’. I never want to become like them. That happened after my first month. But now it has been a year and I have no important articles too my name, I can’t prove her right about me. Last night my supervisor sent me an email saying that he urgently needed to have a chat with me as soon as I arrive. As I enter the building, I walk past the obnoxiously large sign which reads “Bluebird Publishing”. I can’t stop thinking of all the different possibilities of why he needed to talk to me, I know I haven’t been reaching my potential recently, but I don’t deserve to be fired. I knock on his hard-wooden door, “come in.” he says, I open the door and the smells of burnt coffee greet my nose abruptly. He called me in, I sit down in the blueish grey metal chair in front of his desk. We exchanged small talk about each other's days, we exchange an awkward smile and he wipes a droplet of sweat rolling down his forehead, it becomes abundantly that he is avoiding something. ‘We need to discuss your recent work, or lack thereof. Look I don’t want to pressure you, but head office is talking about dismissing you from your position here at Bluebird Publishing.’ He uncomfortably adjusts his position in his chair. I love this job it’s something I’m passionate about, I cannot afford to lose it. I ask if I am being fired. ‘No, don’t worry, there was just a little bit of talk around dismissing you from your position,’ he emphasised dismissing, as if the word “fire” was too harsh. ‘Look kid, I’ve talked them into giving you a second chance, I see a lot of potential in you, you have a sense of optimism that the other people here seem to lack, and again I don’t want to put too much pressure on you, but you have to find and write on a big case, a real hooker article, you know? And if you don’t then sorry but we’ll have to dismiss you.’

I can’t lose this job; this is my dream. He continued to complement my enthusiasm and called my “go-getter personality” admirable. He hands me a paper file; I open it up too reveal a new story they want me to write on. ‘But also head office wants you to go down to Rockwell High and write a story on the new cricket field’ ‘Great, I’m loving the enthusiasm.’ He replies, a big grin appears on his face and he gives me a less awkward thumbs up as I exit the room. Chapter 2 As I walk towards Rockwell High’s school oval , I hear a blaringly loud whistle ringing in my ears. Gold light filters through the overcast clouds, not yet full enough to rain. Lucky for the cricket players who have their first match this season. They have already started playing, and it looks like they’re winning, but apart from the fact that I must report on this story, I couldn’t care less. I was never much of a cricket fan, but as they rounded into the second quarter, something caught my eye. A little off the side of the oval was a red, rusted mailbox. It was hard to see from all the moss that covered it. I walked towards the mailbox with a fast pace, I try to pry open the lid, I can tell it’s very old. After what feels like a century, but was only a couple minutes, I get the lid open. I don’t know what I was expecting to find, but what I do find is a black satchel. I look back to the game, they are just finishing the second quarter. I take out the bag and as I do, I can’t help but open it. Inside is an old brown box, with photographs, clippings and other small assorted items inside. I find it strange that this would be mailed to a school and, why is there a mailbox here in the first place? Who sent this ‘mysterious gift’ and why has not one found it yet? When I dig down further into the box, I will find my answer. A photograph, torn and brown shows a bunch of small houses. It seems random at first, but as I look closer, I notice a small cricket pitch in the distance and just past that, a school building. Almost identical to the school I was at now. The date on the bottom of the photograph shows that it is from twenty years ago, the land I am on now must not have always belonged to the school. I see another piece of paper and as I read it, chills run up my spine; ‘It’s done, I did what you asked. You’ll never hear from me again.’ I feel like I should turn away, ignore this, it’s probably nothing. That’s what I should be doing, it’s not my business and yet, the journalist in me wants to keep going. To see what this could lead to, it could be the big break I have been looking for. Maybe this once bland story was meant to lead me here. To my destiny. Chapter 3 I must find answers. What does the ‘ mysterious gift’ mean? Where could it lead me to? To find out I head back to the main reception. As I enter, the receptionist glares at me, with her sharp beady eyes, trying to understand my reason for being here. Before she could speak, I interrupt her by asking for details on the school’s history and records. I could tell with the tension between us I wasn’t going to go anywhere. I agree and put the file into my rough leather satchel.

‘Who wants to know?’ she says with a look so deceiving and irritated. ‘I am with Bluebird Publishing about...’ before I could finish, she lets out a snarl.

‘Down the school attic, near the school oval, don’t be longer than 20 minutes.’

I could feel the anger inside of me boil, but I was too focused on my goal that with one loud sigh I just turned around and walked off with no sign of mercy or appreciation. Heading down the ladder into the darkness of the abandoned school attic, I can feel the chills running down my spine. The only light, the only brightness in these dark walls shines through so lightly that near to nothing can be seen. However, enough to see the dusty air particles dance in front of me. One by one they fall in front of me as they sway in the distance. The piles of papers stacked up against the wall has been left untouched still stands tall after a decade. Records stuck up together, cemented together holding up the proud writings of this school’s history. Records that climb higher than Mount Everest can only be touched with caution and care. So, where should I start?

Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes turned into hours. With no trace of anything I began to lose hope. The air around me has become so stuffy that it became hard to breathe, but this could be my new story. This could be my big break. As if all hope is lost as fate would have it, a thin paper, so fine and so coarse that it could cut like knives, lifted itself from its original place and floated down like a leaf off an autumn breeze. It lands on the black bag. On it details the land information in the 1960s. That is when I realised that the school had not always own this land, well not all of it. Half of used to be this school’s oval but the other half was owned to an unknown owner, who’s house used to stand there. This must be it!

This must be why there was a mailbox, as it used to belong to the house that stood there years ago, but what happened to it and who owned it? I examine the image again and notice that next to the house is a man: he is tall, stocky and has a large scar placed left arm going down all the way from this shoulder to his elbow. I immediately realised who it was. He was the umpire from the game before. With all the air and strength, I have left, I lifted myself back to the game. Luckily, they were just about the end the game, but I saw him, the umpire. His scar still lays there telling us the story of his pain. Chapter 4 Maybe it is plain fate, or dumb luck that I happen to stumble across this ‘mysterious gift’ . But, the old edges of the paper and tatter cricket team photos give off a mystifying aura that I have never felt when reporting on a story before, maybe that is so much more enthralling than the usual amateur cricketers, playing their puny little Saturday games. The nature of the pictures and newspaper articles are especially enticing; the dates suggest that they are nearly two centuries old – but also obviously intending for someone to open it. The message I found earlier which reads, ‘It’s done, I did what you asked. You’ll never hear from me again,’ gave me a sense there is more to the story, than what was reported on this seemingly normal newspaper article. Just the thought sent a sinister tingle down my spine, but also a sense of hope; there was a new story afoot, and it was calling my name. Still optimistic of the new story that is emerging, I direct myself out of the oval – hastily packing up my notebook and briskly sticking my pencil in my bun, rushing to the exit, to find myself at the student directory to find more information in the school records. Colours blur and so does the world around me. It is exhilarating, I am already concocting theories about what happened on that mysterious day. As my mind gets lost in thought, I feel a sudden person in front on me, hindering me from my path. I step back in shock, nearly dropping my notebook. As I return to reality, my eyes focus on the distressed figure standing Infront of me. I recognise him as the usual umpire directing the cricket games, with the abnormal scar found on his upper arm. ‘Sorry, sir’ I quickly respond. He gives me his blatant stare and then returns his attention back to the game. I roll my eyes and continue my search to uncover more information about this perplexing mystery. After searching the winding paths of Rockwell State High School, I find a small building located near the opening of the school that is named ‘Information Services’ I walk in to hear the clicking of a computer mouse, where I am then greeted with a disgusted stare from the desk lady. ‘Hi there, I’m an intern a Bluebird Publishing, I was wondering if I could have access to some of the past school records?’ I ask awkwardly. She rolls her eyes, and wheels her chair near a cabinet ‘Don’t do anything that’ll get me fired, ok kid?’ I give her another half-smile, and proceed to the ladder pathed room, and insert the rusty keys, turning it revealing a room full of old files. The files gave off an unpleasant acrid

stench. I skim through the file of 1963. Stumped in thought, I lay on the floor and stare into the pictures from the gift again hoping to miraculously find new information. Then a sudden sense of realisation washes over me, I look closer to magnify my view of the young boy in the picture, with a recognisable scar on his left arm, almost identical to the one the umpire had.

The horrors of the incident became more vivid as secrets are beginning to be uncovered. It appears people who were present on the day of the missing boy, were staying quiet for a reason. Chapter 5 T he sun was slowly setting, as the as minutes turn into hours of searching for new clues. My heart skips a beat when I make the breakthrough with the boy in the photo and the umpire, the scar in both photos were uncanny in their resemblance – I stand up and lower myself down the ladder to reach the main office again. I begin storming my way through the school oval to question the Umpire, when I start to think rationally through my scattering thoughts. Was he the reason for the mysterious disappearance? Just off his appearance he seems more than capable to do so, with his inhumane, icy cold stare. “I’d rather not re-live those moments.” He says when I question him. “Oh, so you do talk?” I reply sarcastically. “There’s a reason why there’s no media coverage in the past decade over a missing boy. I’ve spent years trying to erase those events from my past, by swarming off wannabe Nancy Drews just like you! And I won’t let you jeopardise my life!” I back away speechless. It is clear now that he is hiding something. Why is he so private about the events in 1963? Obviously, he had something to do with the disappearance, but why? Was it out revenge, jealousy or maybe even hatred? As I think this over, I notice something else in the photo. A boy named...Tommy Figus. The same boy who disappeared! With my heart racing, I rush back to Bluebird Publishing to my computer and begin sending email after email to school, sport centres, anywhere I can think of that he might have gone to...

We began to talk about the house that used to be where the cricket field, I sensed that he got agitated when I brought up the house, almost as if I struct a nerve and was accusing him of something.

‘Would you be able to partner up with me, I think there’s very promising case here.’

‘A case! How do you know about that?’

‘Can you tell me all you know?’

‘I can’t relive that day, those memories, he was my best friend you know, what happened to him is one of the worst experiences of my life. I gave a confused look, ‘you don’t know what I'm talking about, do you?” I continue asking him questions, trying to get as much information as I could. I try to persuade him to help me, he agrees to help me, but he is hesitant to tell me too much. Why would he agree to help me if he can barely even speak of the event? He then went on to speak about how he chooses not to speak about the event as much as possible, but that he assists with me throughout the investigation and tell if I am on the right track. He is a reserved man and he has a pessimistic demeanour about him. But I am grateful for his help. The only thing he said after that was: “I don’t want to replay that day”. Wow I can’t believe how bubbly she is… it’s annoying. I was just trying to have a nice productive day doing my job of umpiring the game. After the game, before I could ask why she was bothering me, she started blurting out questions. I couldn’t understand a thing. Following her never-ending press conference, she calmly asked the question, “Are you the one that owns the house at the back of Rockwell High’s cricket field that stood there 20 years ago?”. Filled with confusion and hesitation, I answer with a yes. She instantly replied by shoving an old picture in my face. I took a step back and realised that was my old cricket team. How did she get this? I don’t want to remember those days. I decide not to give her any information. I know she would report anything she can dig up. Just like those irritating reporters. She instantly points out a player with a large scar on his arm, and questions if that was me. I never want to relive those disappointing, miserable days. But something tells me that she can be the bat that leads the ball to a triumphant future, I trust her. However, I didn’t want to reveal too much. So, I told her that I am the one with the scar and the guy next to me was my best friend, the star player our team who went missing. Suddenly she asks me to help her with her investigation. I too am curious as to what happened back then. Still tentative, I agree to only go along with her. I still don’t want everything to be released into the public. Chapter 6 Umpire’s Perspective

Chapter 8 I am waiting… staring at my blinding white screen for a whole 22 hours for a reply that could lead me to the star player. The calm blue sky became smeared with an array of warm

eloquent colours. Schools started to reply, but each one simply apologised and shut me down, one after the other. I checked my emails one last time before the clock hit 3. FINALLY! A positive reply! They send over his profile with all his information. But something seems off… His name is different. The name Umpire gave me was Tommy Figus, but his profile now says Wallis Jones. I wonder why he changed his name… is he hiding from something? Someone? …I’ll figure it out later. But for now, it seems like he’s become an umpire at this school. I need to find him. Chapter 9

As I drive into the school with Umpire next to me, excitement fills me. It finally feels as if all the pieces are coming together, allowing me to see the bigger picture. I was finally going to solve this case and find the star player who went missing so many years ago and I can find out why. Why did he disappear right before the biggest match of the season? As we arrive, I park out front and run with Umpire through the front gate all the way to the cricket pitch, where I see him standing there as a group of teens run back to class. He looks older now, but the features are still the same. He is stockily built like Umpire, but slightly taller. “Are you Tommy Figus?” He looks from me to Umpire and sighs, “I used to be, before I left that life behind. I go by Wallis Jones now.” As he says this, I notice a passing shadow of doubt and sadness cross his face. As soon as I blink, it’s gone. I’m about to say something, but before I can say anything, Umpire embraces him, and I realise that they must have been close. I think back to the photo I found of their old team, with them standing next to each other and It makes sense now, why Umpire would not want to relive that day. I look back to this man who calls himself Wallis, “Why did you run?” He thinks for a moment before answering and just when I think he isn’t going to say anything he answers, “I had to, there was no other choice. His brother wanted me gone. I didn’t want to cause trouble, so I disappeared.” I look with wide eyes at Umpire, that say, “Your brother did this?” and I know he can tell. Suddenly another piece of the puzzle clicks into place and I understand the motive behind why someone would want him gone. I originally imagined the Umpire would due to jealousy, but they were friends so that wouldn’t make sense. Instead it was his brother, who must have been jealous for the Umpire and wanted him to be the top player. “My brother moved out a long time ago.” Says Umpire and Wallis looks hopeful, “You could have come back, get the old team together. It wasn’t the same without you.”

In that moment I Knew that this was no longer just a case, nor just a story. I had done something special, now Wallis and the umpire and maybe even the rest of the team, could finally get back together and Wallis didn’t need to hide anymore. Chapter 10 As I sit down in my creaky editor chair, I stare solemnly at my lagging commodore 64 keyboard computer. I begin typing. I start capturing all the misleading adventures, all my discoveries, and all the answers to the closed mystery that was forgotten so many years ago. Suddenly, I remember what the Umpire said, “I don’t want to replay that day”. Thoughts of the chilling day rush into my head and his words spark something in me. Umpire specifically told me to not tell anyone, he didn’t feel comfortable exposing something so heartbreaking and traumatising all over the media. Should I do the right thing and maybe even lose my place as an editor? Or should I treasure my friendship with the Umpire? However, the realisation quickly hits me that some secrets are better kept concealed, as I press the delete button to my report and start afresh document titled, ‘Unrecognised team that doesn’t get enough credit.” I smile to myself and start writing about how we need to pay some tribute to a past team and to keep the mystery about the missing star player to me and the Umpire. As I finish the report, I take one last look as I click the send button. No scandal, no story, and no money are worth more than a close friendship that will last a lifetime. Arriving at a job promotion party I couldn’t hold my excitement. I still remember the scene clearly in my head. After my report got published, it took the world by storm. Everyone loved the story and most importantly the Umpire’s secret was safe with me. As I start daydreaming to myself, I hear someone calling my name, I turn around to see the Umpire standing there with his usual black-white top and black trousers. ‘Congratulations on the promotion!’ he said. As I thank him, I looked at my head journalist badge safety pinned to my sweater, I smiled to myself, remember to stay strong and there is always light at the end of the tunnel.

Blurb Robyn Brown is an editor for Bluebird Publishing, who wants to be promoted to reporter but can’t get any good stories. Instead she is stuck with page fillers, like an amateur sports game. Until one day when she goes to report on an amateur cricket game, but little did she know that she would leave with an enthralling story of old friendships and a missing sports star. What will it lead to?

Recommended ages: 10-16