The Long Game

“Oh boy, please tell me that isn’t Deshi.”
“I’m afraid it is Jun,” said Chun, Jun’s best friend whispered to her at the top of the staircase as they looked out of the window and down to the ground. From here, Jun could not discern which of the boys in the pile up her esteemed brother was indeed. She clucked her tongue in distaste as she and Chun descended the stairs towards the ground floor and the ruckus outside. How come, even when he fought every boy who came within touching distance, he was still the favourite? The thought dispersed from her head as she reached the exit into the compound where the fight was taking place. As had her thoughts a few seconds ago, the crowds that had gathered around the boys, now dispersed upon her arrival. For some reason, they all thought she was some kind of river god ever since she had pulled that poor English kid from the river last July, so they all backed off and bowed every time they saw her. Most of the time it was annoying, but at this moment in time, it was extremely helpful. Jun walked through her crowd of bowing followers towards the mixture of boys and dust that was collecting in the middle of the space. She came to a halt with Chun behind her and stood with her hands on her hips, singling out Deshi from his old classic red converses. Other than those, he looked as black as the others, because of the dust all over them. Jun looked round and saw that a few of the teachers had accumulated by the school entrance, ready to make an escape if things turned even uglier, no doubt. No help there then, she thought to herself and turned her attention back to the heap of boys, where a crack had just resounded from, followed by a whimper. Right, that’s it, she thought to herself, enough of this, before anyone gets killed. Even if she was a girl and she was going to speak out of turn, she thought that her parents would be more displeased by their son’s death than her stepping above her place.
“Oy! You lot! Cut it out! Yes you!” She marched into the crowd of dusty boys, picking her brother up as she went. His arm had been broken strait in half, with the second piece hanging by the skin at right angles. The boys all stared at her as she turned round to address them all.
“If this was over race again, congrats, you all look like Obama now. Go and get cleaned up before Mrs McTavish gets out here.” To her secret delight, they all scampered off at the thought of their Scottish exchange head teacher seeing them. She turned her attention to Deshi now; reaching into her school bag, she took out her left over apple from lunch, her ruler and a spare length of bandage she always carried around for moments like this. She placed the apple in his mouth.
“I’m afraid this is going to hurt.” She bent his arm back to the normal position and placed it on the ruler. At this point, there was nothing left of the apple. Deshi screamed all hell at her as she wrapped the bandage around his arm, using the ruler as a splint. At this point, he calmed down, slightly.
“Honestly Deshi, 2 years older than me and you still scream like a child.”
Deshi grabbed her with his good arm and held his face close to hers.
“You disgrace me! How can you dishonour me like that! A girl coming to her older brother’s rescue! Unheard of, Jun!” His face was hurricane Katrina itself. She removed herself from his clutches, and straitened herself up.
“Would you prefer to have a dead honour?” She look him quizzically in the eye. She could see he had taken her point.
Jun now realised that the crowd that had gathered was still surrounding them.
“Ok, clear off you lot!” They obeyed their river god and scuttled off as she led Deshi across to the school gate and passed a group of rather perplexed looking teachers.

“Jun! You have dishonoured this family!” Jun counted this as the 36th time she had been told this in an hour. The family was at dinner, with her brother in the cast he had received from the hospital that afternoon after school, sitting across from her, and her mother and father at the ends of the table. She had been picking at her noodles for the last 40 minutes since dinner began, waiting for her father to finish his lecture so that Deshi could speak. That’s how it worked in her home. The females weren’t allowed to voice their opinions; the elder male would speak, and then pass the subject to the other males in the house to comment. Finally, her father finished and passed on to Deshi. She looked at him hopefully, and, for once, the meaning of his name was reflected in his actions, he was moral.
Deshi went on to explain what had happened, labouring on the point that he would have been dead had it not been for her. A slight exaggeration she thought, but as long as her father bought it, it could only bring her favour. Deshi finished, and her mother and father shared a look, before her father looked into his empty bowl and pointed to the stairs. She stood up, bowed, and then fled up the stairs, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to Deshi on her way past. She had gotten through that with only a telling off, not grounding or sleeping in the garage this time, thanks to Deshi. Although he was always in fights and trying to protect his honour, he was her closest friend, besides Chun. She was sure she could always trust him.

Where on earth was it now! Jun had spent 20 minutes emptying her school bag for the essay assignment that had to be completed for tomorrow. Now, with her carpet replaced by papers and her school bag empty, she admitted defeat. It must have come out with the ruler at school she thought. Sighing, Jun pulled on her own red converses, her brother’s hand-me-downs, and slowly went down to the kitchen. She requested permission to visit the library for a school project, her parents would have been displeased if they thought she had lost a homework assignment. She was granted 20 minutes, so she took off, hoping Mrs Wáng was still at school. When she arrived at the school gates, she climbed over the fence, glad of the gymnastic lessons the school had been issuing to the students. The lights were off in Mrs Wáng’s room, so no chance of getting a new assignment from her then. She began searching the compound in the moonlight for the now, oh so important, piece of paper, when she noticed a stranger walking towards her. When they got close enough, Jun realised that this person, male and white, was expecting her to be here.
“Are you...” He looked down to the piece of paper in his hand, “... Huáng Jun?”
“Yes, that’s me. Who are you?”
“Wow, you look... Um, I mean, I’m... “He looked at the paper again, “...John Smith.”
“Someone told you to say that, didn’t they?”
“How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess. Why did you need to see me?”
“Oh, yes, umm... Here you are.” The man, about 19 years old she reckoned, passed her the other piece of paper in his hand, besides the one he kept checking. It was the missing assignment.
“How’d you get this?”
“Never mind, I was just told to give it to you.”
“But I only lost this today...” She opened the paper and noticed that someone had added something to the typed assignment in pencil. She couldn’t read it in this light.
“Sorry I can’t be more help, I’ve got to go, I’ve got a taxi waiting.”
“Oh, ok. Thanks...Hold on! Where do you live?”
“Sorry, was told not to tell you that either, I think.” He checked his piece of paper, then nodded. “Yep, not supposed to tell you that either, sorry.”
“Ok, thanks then. See you round.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you will.” He gave her a wink, then disappeared into the taxi.

Jun collapsed in a chair in the library. What was that about?! Now under electric lights where she could make out the words, she unfolded the sheet of paper. The message had been scribbled in pencil, and now she looked closely, this assignment wasn’t the same one she had been given at school, the question had been typed in a different font. The pencil message was a web address. She asked the librarian for an internet slot. She was given a 10 minute slot, and severely reminded that they were closing in 15 minutes and that she would be locked in if she wasn’t out. Jun made a little bow, and then made her way to the computer block. She was going to stretch her curfew time, but she felt this couldn’t wait until the morning. Jun logged on and entered the address into the address bar at the top of the web page. She groaned at the painfully slow dial-up connection, they still hadn’t upgraded! This was 2041! Ahhh... she felt like screaming at it. Jun had just started to count the number of tiles on the roof when the page finally opened. Right, Jun thought, staring at the screen. She looked behind her at the librarian. Finding her well occupied shooing a couple of girls out of the building, Jun turned her attention back to the screen. She looked again at the address, making sure she had copied it right. She had: www.thunderstorm.com. Breathing out slowly, she decided that perhaps this was one thing that she shouldn’t tell Deshi.