So Gross! Page 2

  Chapter Two

  Most of us kids were pretty cool about holding worms. Even the girls.

  Except Samantha Saunders.

  She said she’d hold the plastic bags but if anything slippery or slimy touched her she wouldn’t be responsible for the consequences. Somehow I couldn’t see Samantha Saunders all touchy feely with a worm either.

  We made big posters for our stall saying things like ‘Environmentally Friendly Pets’ or ‘See if you can worm out of this one,’ or ‘Have you got worms? Well, you should.’

  That was my idea, that one.

  Tom’s dad agreed to lug the breeding bin to school on the back of his work truck and we all found plastic bags to put the worms in.

  The fete started at ten but Mrs Sher made us get there at nine so we could start filling the bags. She must’ve thought there’d be a bit of a rush, but whoever heard of a worm frenzy?

  Things started off all right.

  Each kid grabbed a plastic bag, carefully counting in twenty worms before they sealed it, then put it on the table for sale.

  Tom was real careful of his worms, insisting there was an umbrella up to give them some shade (they hate the light) and squirting a bit of water into each bag before they were sealed.

  Despite this they didn’t seem too happy. They writhed around, their bright pink bodies throbbing with blood as they looked for somewhere to bury themselves.

  I felt sort of sorry for them.

  What if families were being separated? You know, mothers and fathers from their babies. I said something about this to Tom and felt a right knob when he explained to me that in Worm World you’re both the daddy and the mummy. You make the sperm and have the babies. Not at the same time though. You do have to mate with a partner, but that partner could be a boy one minute and a girl the next.

  Confusing, eh?

  In a future life I hope I never come back as a worm.

  By ten o’clock we were ready for business. We’d even had a customer. Mr Rogers, the school handyman, bought two bags, saying they’d taste great with a bit of pepper on toast. Mr Rogers is weird at the best of times. He has these great conversations with someone called Ted.

  But Ted’s never there.

  Even Mrs Sher seemed reluctant to hand over the bags.

  People started arriving in hordes and by ten-thirty we’d already sold twenty-three bags. At times they were queuing. We couldn’t fill up the bags fast enough. People were shouting for service and complaining about having to wait.

  And that was the beginning of all our problems.

  Chapter Three

  The customers started yelling out and pushing, so we really had to get a wriggle on.

  We started hurrying so fast that David Winegarten accidentally flicked a worm on Samantha Saunders. Samantha naturally screamed and jumped backwards, and that would have been okay, but she knocked over Katrina Britton, who fell into the arms of Dave Gray. Dave caught her very smoothly, I felt, but she completely freaked out at the thought of Dave’s boy germs and flung her arms up in the air, knocking over our display table and sending our entire Worm World slithering across the playground.

  It wouldn’t have been so bad if everyone hadn’t panicked, but of course they did.

  There was a mini stampede. A tidal wave of worms. Kids clawing at each other to get out of the way. Mrs Sher making these noises like a stranded whale. Samantha Saunders still screaming and crying, all at the same time.

  And in the middle of it, thousands of worms, slithering and sliding and getting smashed to smithereens.

  Blood and guts everywhere.

  Tom R. Oach was as white as tripe. He didn’t dare move his feet in case he squashed more. He stood there with these lead feet, scooping his precious worms into his lap, looking like someone had tipped a giant plate of pink noodles over him.

  You had to feel sorry for him.

  They were like family, you know.

  In the end Mr Rogers got the hose and swooshed them all across the playground into the flowerbeds. At first he turned it on too hard, sending a second wave of worms spraying up into the air but then he got the water pressure just right. There were lots who didn’t make it into the flowerbeds. If you stood real still you could see bits of the playground on the move.

  That’s until someone trod on them.

  Sometimes it was a mistake but sometimes, especially for boys like Alexander Poll, it was a game. Who could jump across the playground landing on the most worms?

  The playground looked like there’d been a massive spaghetti fight.

  I was trying to help Tom but it was hopeless. He stood there, copping an earful from Mrs Sher about how this would never have happened if they’d stuck with lucky dips. You could tell that he was trying not to cry.

  I really felt for the guy.

  We saved about a hundred. Enough for Tom to start breeding again.

  But he didn’t.

  Reckoned he could never look a worm in the eye again. If they had one. An eye, that is.

  I’ve gotta say this for Tom. He doesn’t stay down for long. He just moves on to something else. Which is how he got started on his true vocation. Went on to bigger and better things.

  Well, that’s my opinion.

  You be the judge.

  Chapter Four

  It was getting further into summer and we’d had all this rain and heat.

  Perfect conditions for breeding, Tom noticed.

  If you’re a cockroach.

  In no time at all he’d built up a pretty impressive collection of cockroaches. From the big, juicy Australian bush ones, to the smaller, more golden German numbers, to the eensy black ones with white stripes across their backs that look like beetles from a distance.

  He kept them in a fish tank and used a piece of glass with a brick on it for the lid. They were fed every two to three days, usually scraps from his lunch box. They loved Vegemite sandwiches the best.

  Of course, Tom never told his mum. She’d’ve freaked.

  The cockroaches lived under the house, hidden behind this brick pylon. Tom would crawl under there with his torch, feed them, watch them for a while, then crawl out, all the while thinking of ways to make a bit of dosh, seeing as he’d retired from the worm business.

  One day he made me a proposition. In the playground. At recess.

  ‘I’ve trained my cockroaches to do tricks,’ is what he said. ‘You an’ me, Eddie, should go into business together. You scam up an audience and me and my cockroaches will do the rest.’

  ‘Get outta here.’

  ‘I’ll show you.’

  Tom put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a glass jar. An old Vegemite one with tiny holes punched through the lid.

  ‘This is Bertha,’ he said, introducing me to this whopper of a cockroach, like I was about to shake its hand. ‘She an’ I are mates. I’ll show you.’

  He unscrewed the lid and carefully gripped Bertha by the sides. By the look of those legs flying around, this wasn’t Bertha’s idea of a good time. I took a tiny step back. It wasn’t my idea of a good time either, being this close to a cockie.

  Tom held Bertha up to his lips.

  For a second there I thought he was going to kiss her, but he didn’t.

  He whispered in her ear. I’m not kidding. I couldn’t hear what he said but she stopped wiggling for a minute so she must’ve liked what she heard. Then he got Bertha and gently sat her behind his ear.

  I held my breath.

  Was he for real?

  Bertha dive-bombed into his ear and turned around. Only her feelers stuck out.

  I could almost feel it crawling in my own ear. It tickled something awful. I had to give it a good scratch, just to make sure.

  ‘Now, Bertha,’ said Tom. ‘Don’t be shy. Come out and say hello to Eddie.’

  Tom’s face was dead serious. You wouldn’t read about it but out she came.

  ‘Now I’m going to get Bertha to walk across my head and over to the other side.’
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br />   With two fingers he tapped beside his ear. Tap, tap. Rest. Tap, tap. Rest. Then he did the same on the other side.

  Blow me away if Bertha doesn’t begin her midday stroll, coming out of his ear, walking up over the soft skin of his temples before disappearing in the undergrowth of hair.

  I’ve got to say it. ‘Unbelievable.’

  I’m glued to Tom’s hairline, watching for any little movement. Every now and then I think I can see some of the hairs part, before collapsing back into place.

  My own head is itching like hell.

  Tom’s eyes have glazed over. You could see him willing her to make it to the other side.

  I’ve got to admit I clapped when Bertha crawled out and perched on Tom’s other ear.

  This was a real goer.

  Kids would pay to see something like that.

  Even I’d pay to see Bertha do it again.

  ‘How’d you do it?’ I asked.

  ‘Secret. But I promise you, she’ll do it every time.’ Tom winked. ‘You supply the crowd and I’ll give you ten per cent of the profits.’

  ‘Twenty per cent,’ I quibbled. I can’t help it. It’s in my blood.

  ‘Ten,’ said Tom. ‘She’s my cockroach and it’s my head.’

  ‘Done.’

  Chapter Five

  At lunchtime that day I convinced four boys to meet behind the toilets and bring their money with them. We decided to charge them one dollar each.

  ‘That’s too much,’ said Alexander Poll. ‘I’m not paying.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ I said. ‘But I promise you, you’ve never seen anything like this.’

  He caved in and paid his money.

  Just to show what a good sport he was, Tom did the trick three times in a row.

  Alexander Poll looked impressed, although I’m not sure if it was with Bertha, for finding her way home, or with Tom, for never flinching. ‘You gonna do it tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘Cause I’ll be there.’

  I looked at Tom.

  He nodded.

  ‘Sure. Bring your friends.’

  The next day eight kids turned up. They handed over their money. Sure enough, Bertha strutted her stuff.

  Tom made $7.20 for his efforts.

  I, on the other hand, only made eighty cents. It wasn’t enough. ‘If you’ve got any other tricks we could charge more,’ I said.

  Tom thought for a moment then smiled shyly. ‘Sure. Leave it with me. Give me the weekend to practise and I’ll have something for you.’

  I met Tom before school on the Monday morning.

  ‘Did you teach Bertha a new trick?’ I asked. ‘Uh-uh,’ said Tom. ‘She wasn’t in the best of moods.’

  I wondered how you could tell a cockroach was in a bad mood but knew better than to ask. Tom pulled out his Vegemite jar again. There was Bertha all right, but now she had a friend. ‘This here is Willy,’ he said, pointing to one of those German cockroaches. ‘Has he got the trick for you.’

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ said Tom again. ‘He gets too tired. Once a day is enough. I’m telling you, he’s good. They’re paying two bucks each or I’m outta here.’

  I spread the news about Willy and by lunchtime seventeen kids had turned up.

  Things were looking good in the finance department.

  We couldn’t all fit behind the toilet block so we decided to duck into our classroom. It’s called The Portable. Ages ago the school got it as a temporary building. Before Tom an’ I started there. It had been put down the bottom of the school grounds so it would be easy to get at if it ever got moved again. But that’s never happened. It now has this verandah that Mr Rogers built and a flower garden across the front.

  The kids filed in and sat on top of the desks while Tom stood in front. After everyone had parted with their two bucks he began. He took out the Vegemite jar and held it up for everyone to see.

  The glass seemed to magnify Bertha. She looked truly magnificent.

  Bertha strutted her stuff and I have to say, even though I’ve seen it more than a dozen times I was still impressed. I even thought I could see her smile.

  ‘And now for a new trick,’ announced Tom. ‘For this we need absolute silence.’

  Samantha Saunders giggled, nervous-like. One look from Tom and she soon shut up.

  This boy meant business.

  ‘This is Willy,’ he said, holding the little golden fellow between his finger and thumb. ‘Willy is going to walk where no cockroach has walked before.’

  You could see Willy’s feelers rubbing together with glee.

  Chapter Six

  Tom walked along the front of the desks, giving everyone a chance to see Willy thrashing his legs about.

  I don’t know how to describe the next bit.

  If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t believe it.

  Tom got Willy and carefully shoved him up his nose.

  Yes, you read that right. Up his nose.

  Willy took off, back legs kicking. I waited for Tom to sneeze or something, but he’d gone into that trance-like state of his. We all waited. And waited. My nose started to itch.

  ‘It’s dead,’ yelled out Alexander Poll. He hadn’t missed a show. He was addicted to this stuff. Tom barely, just barely, shook his head. We waited some more.

  I noticed my heart thumping and hoped Tom didn’t have cockroach on the brain.

  The seconds ticked past. They felt like minutes, or even hours.

  Just when everyone was about to get up and leave, Tom gulped, like he was about to dry retch, and opened his mouth.

  Out crawled Willy, a bit soggy looking, moving a lot slower, but definitely Willy. Waving his feelers at the crowd.

  Samantha Saunders ran out and threw up in the flowerbed.

  Everyone else cheered.

  Willy the Magnificent.

  I saw dollar signs in my head. This boy had talent. He was destined to go far.

  Or so I thought at the time.

  But destiny does funny things …

  We did this show another couple of times. By now I was on the bludge. Kids were coming without any effort from me.

  Bertha learnt to detour along Tom’s eyebrow, down his nose, stopping to take a bow at the tip, before scuttling home to base. What an act.

  And Willy?

  Willy got quicker at finding his way. I was thinking of timing him and taking bets, but my idea never got off the ground.

  Thanks to Mrs Sher.

  Remember I told you how she felt about worms? Doesn’t come within cooee to how she feels about cockroaches.

  Chapter Seven

  It was a Friday and I reckon everyone was feeling a bit whacked, end of the week and all. Especially Tom.

  By now he was giving two performances, back to back. With no let up.

  It was the last performance of the week that did him in.

  He’d just got to the bit where Willy dives up his hooter when Mrs Sher walked in. ‘What’s going on?’

  Tom tried to bung on the innocent by shrugging his shoulders. I could tell he’d lost concentration. His eyes were crossed and he’d developed a bit of a lean.

  ‘N-n-nothing,’ I tried to say, being his trusty assistant.

  Mrs Sher’s eyes narrowed as she glanced around the room, giving a pretty good impersonation of a ferret. ‘I repeat. What’s going on?’

  I gather at this point in the performance that speech, for Tom, was pretty impossible. He shook his head.

  But Mrs Sher was on to something and wasn’t going to budge. ‘Tom Oach. I demand to know this instant what all these children are doing in my classroom.’

  Tom had gone quite red. He stood with his lips pursed and his head bowed. Still saying nothing.

  ‘Speak up,’ said Mrs Sher, taking a step closer. She must have decided he was choking. She walloped him on the back.

  She should never have done that.

  Tom’s mouth popped open.

  Willy lay there exhausted, one single feeler giving th
e occasional wave.

  Mrs Sher shrieked like a demented duck. She whacked Tom on his back again but instead of making him spit Willy out, it did the opposite.

  Tom coughed. Then spluttered.

  Then swallowed.

  It was the first time I’d ever seen him lose control.

  Mrs Sher was chucking a mental while Tom stood there mortified.

  He an’ Willy had been through a lot together and to have it end like this …

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Aaaghh!’

  Mrs Sher was flailing about so much she accidentally knocked over the Vegemite jar with Bertha in it.

  Bertha did what any self-respecting cockroach would do.

  She did a runner.

  Right up Mrs Sher’s leg.

  ‘Aaaghh! Eeeeee!’

  Mrs Sher started flapping at her legs, lifting her skirt up so we could see the top of her stockings overflowing with soft, white bulgy flesh. She was slapping at her clothes and stamping her feet, like she was doing a highland fling.

  Tom tried to rescue Bertha but I guess putting his hand up Mrs Sher’s skirt wasn’t the best of ideas. He just wasn’t thinking.

  By now we were busting our guts.

  Except for Mrs Sher.

  And Tom.

  He was getting desperate about Bertha.

  ‘There she is,’ he cried and dived under the dress. By the look on Mrs Sher’s face, old Bertha had gone places even the most intrepid of cockroaches wouldn’t dare to go.

  Tom came out, triumphantly waving Bertha in the air.

  That was another mistake.

  Mrs Sher knocked Bertha from his hand and with one swift move stamped her foot.

  The sound of crushing shell filled the air.

  Guts flew everywhere. The kids in the front row were splattered.

  There was deadly silence, and then all hell broke loose.

  Alexander Poll started hollering about the gunk in his hair.

  Mrs Sher looked like she was going to pass out. But then she pulled herself together and made for the exit, her screams ringing in our ears.

  And in the middle of it all sat Tom R. Oach, a strange look on his face.