So Sick! Page 2

  I get a break and head in on the crest of a wave, scrambling up on a rock before I get sucked back in. Ollie’s hot on my heels.

  I look up. I’m face to knee with Stella Mazoni.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Stella!’

  I’m thinking, what a pretty knee she has. I want to tell her that I love birthmarks that are the same shape as Africa, but I don’t.

  Ollie drags himself up and flops beside me. His undies are positively bulging. Seaweed flows over the waistband. Long tendrils have escaped from the leg area. One curiously-shaped bubble bit is curled over at the top, like a giant knobby finger pointing to his you-know-what.

  I check out myself. Undies, which once floated gracefully in the warm current, are suctioned to my body. But only in parts. Other bits have the bulge-and-droop. Jellyfish push up against the material. I look like I’m covered in boils!

  Stella places a delicate hand over her delicate mouth. Her delicate eyes are convulsing. ‘What are you two doing?’ she asks.

  ‘R-r-research,’ I stutter.

  ‘Ain’t it obvious,’ spits Ollie, tearing at bits of foliage and flinging them to the ground. ‘We’re communing with nature!’

  As much as I want to, I stop myself from ditching the jellyfish. I’m not groping around my private parts. Not while the girl of my dreams is standing in front of me. I grab my shirt and shrug it on, hoping against hope it’s long enough.

  ‘Karina’s going to love this!’ says Stella. ‘Someone else who’s managed to make themselves look like an idiot at the same rock pool.’

  I decide not to reply. Even the tiniest little movement could send the jellyfish into a slide. Who knew where they’d end up? I suck in my cheeks at the thought. The ones in my face, too.

  Stella has finished eyeballing Ollie and has turned her sights on me. I stand there, pretending nothing is happening. I nominate myself for the Mr Cool of the Year Award. At the same time I’m getting a massage I’ll never forget!

  ‘We came to collect sewerage samples,’ I explain to Stella.

  ‘For our presentation,’ finishes Ollie.

  I can see that Stella is trying real hard to believe us. She’s developed this charming little tic on the side of her lip. God, I love tics! Call it a swoon, I guess, but I tripped.

  The jellyfish made their escape. They flopped onto the rock face, quivering from the exertion. It looked like a scene from a sci-fi movie.

  One landed on Stella, squishing on her uniform. She shrieked and leapt away.

  I prayed for a tidal wave.

  Without a backward glance Stella started to run, hopping from rock to rock.

  Like a gazelle! I sighed.

  Plop! Another jellyfish made its exit.

  As soon as I was sure that Stella was out of earshot I flung it at Ollie. It left a mark on his shoulder as good as any water bomb. But it still wasn’t enough to pay him back.

  ‘You made me look like an idiot,’ I snapped at him.

  ‘Could be worse,’ said Ollie, trying to cheer me up.

  ‘How?’ I asked, thinking of Stella as she bolted home and how she’d probably think I was contagious and to be avoided at all cost.

  ‘Could’ve been attacked by a shark,’ said Ollie.

  I closed my eyes, thought of Stella, and sighed. ‘Would’ve been a blessing.’

  Trudging home we discuss our predicament. ‘No sewerage sample. No Psuedomonas putida. No presentation,’ I say.

  ‘We’ll think of something,’ says Ollie. ‘Even if we just write some information on a piece of cardboard. At least we’ve done it.’

  I stop walking and grab his sleeve. ‘You don’t get it, ya big butthead. I was going to do something awesome, something to impress Stella.’

  ‘Cardboard can be awesome.’

  ‘Cardboard sucks — worse than jellyfish undies.’ I start dragging my feet real slow.

  Ollie catches up. ‘What about making a model?’

  I glare at him and keep walking. ‘Last model we made looked like it’d come out of a rubbish bin.’

  ‘It had come out of a rubbish bin.’

  ‘It was a box with toilet rolls stuck on it.’

  ‘Hey! That was my robot!’ Ollie pretends to look offended but it doesn’t work. He chuckles. ‘Remember how all the toilet rolls fell off and it ended up looking like a box.’

  I give him a bit of a shove. ‘It was a box, stupid!’

  ‘Maybe there’s a video on sewerage treatment works we could show. See if they’ve got one in the library.’

  I give him the eye. ‘What? The Adventures of Splot? The only videos the library has are Learn to Touch Type videos.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. It’s also got Fierce Creatures of the Deep, ‘ says Ollie.

  I am feeling pretty fierce myself. But then I get an idea. I start to wave my hands about in excitement. ‘Fierce Creatures of the Deep is exactly what we need,’ I say.

  Ollie looks at me as if I’ve gone troppo. ‘What?’

  I look back. I know I am wearing one of those smirky looks that people get when they’ve just had a brilliant idea but they haven’t told anyone about it yet.

  ‘Pseudomonas putida are not fierce creatures from the deep,’ says Ollie.

  ‘No.’ I pause while I count to five. ‘But we can be.’

  Chapter Five

  Ollie’s been muttering all morning — at the bus stop, on the bus. Even when we hit the playground he is still muttering. ‘How’s being class clown gonna impress Stella?’ he eventually asks.

  ‘Trust me,’ I say. ‘It’s not your problem.’

  Just at that moment Stella arrives. On her way to her friends she walks straight past Ollie n’ me. ‘Hi, Stella,’ I say. She holds her head high and keeps on walking. I love the way her nose speaks to the sun. ‘You could do plastic surgery commercials,’ I call after her.

  Stella flashes me a look — a look that could nuke a jellyfish.

  What have I said? ‘The “After” shots,’ I try to explain.

  But Stella’s gone.

  The bell goes and it’s time. Time to do our HSIE presentation.

  Mr Bryson calls us up. We explain that we need a minute in the corridor to get organised.

  Picture two Year Six boys.

  Picture two Year Six boys wearing brown body-stocking suits, flippers and snorkels flopping around their necks (I agree, the snorkel bit was a tad overdone).

  We shuffle in to the classroom carrying a large plastic bag full of water with corks floating in it (use your imagination!) and a label stuck on it saying, Sewerage Treatment Processes. We prop the plastic bag on Mr Bryson’s desk. And then we start …

  We’re flap dancing, see, singing this song.

  Me: Pseu-do-mo-nas Pu-ti-da.

  (Sue doe moan us, Poo tea dahhh)

  We feed off your poo-o-o.

  Ollie: Pseu-do-mo-nas Pu-ti-da.

  Me: (singing backing vocals) That’s Poo tea dah — not PUTRID–ahhh.

  Ollie: Life’s one great big loo-o-o-o!

  Me: Sewerage is yu-u-m.

  Ollie: Though it comes from your bu-u-m.

  Me: We turn it back to water-r-r.

  Ollie: We’re a sorta sorter’s sorter-r-r

  I agree. That last line needs a bit of work.

  ‘Enough!’ That’s Mr Bryson. He’s on his feet but he sure ain’t tap-dancing.

  ‘Disgusting!’ agrees Stella.

  Disgusting? This?

  I can hear some kids start to giggle. ‘This is a deep and meaningful song about bacteria,’ I say.

  ‘Not!’ Mr Bryson says this with such emphasis that the spit on his ‘t’ launches into the air.

  ‘It is a deep and meaningful song about the bacteria used in sewerage treatment works,’ I try to explain.

  Mr Bryson interrupts. ‘The only deep and meaningful thing in this room … ’

  I look into Stella’s eyes. Deep and meaningful have turned into blank and disinterested.

  Mr Bryson is stil
l breaking wind from the mouth. ‘The only deep and meaningful is the discussion I’ll be having with a certain pair of mutant-looking bacteria during lunchtime!’

  Mr Bryson slams his hand on the table.

  The plastic bag catapults into the air with such force that the knot at the top springs open. I’m hit by a wall of water. I look down in horror. I am wearing a wetsuit. Only it’s not black.

  The brown stocking is transparent. So transparent you can see the skin through. Skin?

  Kids are rolling on the floor.

  I cover myself with my hands.

  Ollie’s pissing himself — so’s his snorkel. Mr Bryson is in shock. He’s opening and closing his mouth like a stranded goldfish.

  And Stella? She’s grinning like a barracuda in a shoal of herrings.

  Doesn’t life suck?!

  Footrot Fair

  Chapter One

  Cal sat watching the foot as it snuck from behind the school bag. Millimetre by millimetre it slid along the floor. He noticed that the foot was flat, not arched like his own, making it look pudgy. Cal could see the tiny muscles expanding and contracting, contracting and expanding, as the foot crept along the boards.

  Stuck in its sock of wool Cal could feel his own foot. What started with a sting, then a prickle, was now a full-scale explosion of itches. It took all Cal’s strength to stop himself from ripping his shoes and socks off and giving his feet a good scratch.

  In front of the class Mr Langtry tapped on the board, unaware of the foot traveller before him. ‘Quiet, please!’ he called.

  Cal glanced at the foot. It glistened in the fluorescent light. To Cal it looked as though it had been basted with olive oil. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. Baked foot! Yuck! His own foot twitched in protest.

  The foot glided forward, up and over a pencil sharpener, down and under a sports sock.

  Those ripples remind me of a belly dancer, thought Cal, smiling at the memory of an exotic dancer he’d once seen in a Lebanese restaurant.

  ‘I’d like to finalise the details of the fundraiser,’ announced Mr Langtry. ‘The fair is not far away.’

  Year Six at St Mary’s School sat up straighter. Cal slumped in his chair.

  ‘I’m going to go around the class,’ said Mr Langtry. ‘One by one you can tell me what you will be doing for our most important money-making event.’

  Cal frowned. He had no idea what he was going to do. Deep in his shoe his tootsies agitated for attention.

  ‘Right!’ said Mr Langtry. ‘Emma? We’ll start with you.’

  ‘Crazy Nails,’ called Emma, scoring a smile. ‘I’ve got nail polish and stickers and glitter.’

  ‘Lovely!’ said Mr Langtry, making an entry beside Emma’s name in his book.

  ‘Tristan?’

  ‘Skittles.’

  Another Langtry smile. ‘Superb! Hayley?’ ‘Make-up,’ said Hayley.

  You don’t need make-up, thought Cal. He sighed as he caught a glimpse of the most perfect skin, the most perfect eyelashes, the most perfect everything in the whole wide world.

  ‘You know,’ Hayley went on, ‘lipstick, face glitter, eye shadow — that sort of thing.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Mr Langtry, writing it all down in his book.

  Behind his hand Cal smiled at Hayley, thinking, Isn’t she heavenly? Heavenly Hayley. Sigh!

  ‘Stephen?’

  Cal’s thoughts were wrenched back. Stephen sat in front of him so it would be his turn next! Cal sifted though his brain, searching for something to do. But his efforts were in vain. His mind was drawn to the foot. There it lay, glistening in the morning light, a skid mark stretching behind it.

  Cal’s own feet were burning, lodging their protest at being imprisoned in tight school shoes and itchy-scratchy socks.

  Stephen cleared his throat. ‘Flipper races,’ he answered Mr Langtry.

  Mr Langtry’s beam faded to a questioning grin. ‘Flipper races? I’m not sure what you mean.’

  ‘It’s like a sack race and three-legged race all in one, but instead of a sack you wear flippers,’ explained Stephen. ‘And you’re tied to a partner.’

  ‘Gotcha,’ said Mr Langtry. He smiled a knowing smile. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

  ‘There’ll be heats and finals,’ said Stephen. ‘First prize is two tickets to the movies.’

  Cal imagined himself at the movies sitting beside Hayley. Sitting beside Heavenly Hayley and holding her hand.

  ‘Calvin!’ called Mr Langtry.

  Cal almost met with the ceiling.

  ‘Why the dopey look?’ askedMr Langtry with a half-smile.

  Cal’s face matched his burning feet. Everyone was staring at him. Even Hayley! His heart started to pound. His breath came in rasps. His tongue lay in his mouth like a dead …

  ‘Snail!’ began Cal, licking his lips. ‘I, um, I’m going to have snail races.’

  Mr Langtry looked down his nose. His mouth zipped into a straight line. ‘Pardon?’ he said.

  ‘Snail races,’ repeated Cal, then warming to his theme, ‘you know, with snails. You paint numbers on their back. Put them in the centre of a circle. Kids put money on them.’

  At this Mr Langtry rose to his feet. ‘They do what?’ Mr Langtry glared at Cal, daring him to continue.

  ‘The first snail to reach the circumference wins,’ said Cal. He liked the way he’d thrown in circumference, but he didn’t like the bubbles appearing at the corners of Mr Langtry’s mouth.

  ‘This school does not condone gambling!’ said Mr Langtry, emphasising every word. ‘Of any kind.’

  Cal blinked as rapidly as he was thinking. Without pausing he added, ‘Oh, it’s not gambling. The kids buy the snails.’ He grew taller, more confident with his argument and said, ‘They get to keep them.’

  Mr Langtry licked away the bubbles. Slowly he sat down. ‘Aaaah!’ he said, then echoed, ‘They get to keep them.’

  Cal nodded. He’d often wondered if there was a God of Snails. And now, he knew. Silently, he said a prayer of thanks.

  Meanwhile, the source of his brainwave was cruising along the floor leaving a silvery trail in its wake. When it hit the chair the snail’s stemmy eyes shrunk into themselves, closely followed by the whole foot till all that was left was a shell.

  Cool! thought Cal, sliding his finger under his instep and giving it a good scratch. Wish I could do that.

  Chapter Two

  ‘This fair’s gonna be awesome,’ said Daniel, Cal’s best friend, as they sat eating their lunch. ‘Dad’s gonna help me make toffee apples.’

  ‘Good,’ said Cal.

  ‘Blue ones!’ announced Daniel with a grin.

  Cal finished the last bite of his sandwich and reached for his pear.

  ‘We’ll all look like blue-tongue lizards!’ Daniel went on.

  Cal sat quietly, munching his pear and saying nothing.

  Daniel frowned. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘Is something wrong?’

  Cal sighed and looked at his friend. With a wistful voice he said, ‘I want to go in the flipper race with Heaven, I mean Hayley. I want to take her to a movie.’

  ‘Rumour has it she might be interested,’ said Daniel. He leaned forward and in a conspiring way whispered, ‘Why don’t you ask her?’

  ‘No!’ said Cal, flinging his pear core at a bin. And with that he curled into a tight ball, his knees tucked under his chin.

  ‘She might say, yes,’ Daniel persisted. ‘Ask her.’

  Cal snorted saying, ‘Hayley wouldn’t go in a flipper race with me.’

  ‘Scared?’ asked Daniel. ‘Scared she’ll turn you down?’

  Cal shook his head. ‘No, you moron. I’m scared she’ll say, yes.’

  ‘So?’ asked Daniel with a shrug, ‘What’s the problem, then?’

  ‘My feet!’ Cal dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Footrot feet, remember?’

  Daniel scratched beside his nose and wore a vacant expression. He was being particularly thick. ‘So?’ he said, again.
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br />   ‘So, Hayley will see them if I have to wear flippers.’ Cal prised off a shoe and peeled down his sock exposing a raw expanse of angry-looking skin. The area between the toes was red and weepy. Thick crusts had built up around the nails, which looked like they were about to fall off.

  ‘I see what you mean,’ said Daniel, trying not to flinch but looking like someone who’s discovered they’ve sat next to a fresh cow pat. ‘You’re right,’ he said, shuffling to move away. ‘You can’t ask Hayley for a flipper race with hoofs like that.’

  ‘It looks like leprosy,’ said Cal, reaching down and flicking off a cluster of scales from the top of his foot.

  The playground developed dandruff.

  ‘I read that the nine-banded armadillo is a carrier for leprosy,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Gee-e-e, thanks for the info,’ said Cal. Then, seeing Daniel’s face drop he added with a smile, ‘Don’t tell me I have to stop playing with my nine-banded armadillo!’

  Daniel went on, nodding his head to look knowledgeable and saying, ‘They spread it by their snot.’

  Cal laughed. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have let that armadillo …’ From here his voice became singsong, ‘wipe his nose, on my toes.’

  Daniel frowned, then finally he twigged that Cal was having a joke. ‘I know we don’t have leprosy in our country …’ he began, trying to regain his dignity. ‘I was trying to cheer you up.’

  Just then a ball landed at Cal’s feet. A hand appeared to retrieve it.

  Cal looked up. Hayley’s hand!

  Cal grabbed the first thing he could find and threw it over his exposed foot. Yoghurt splashed from his heel to his ankle and over to his toes — up, up, right up Hayley’s arm. ‘Yuck!’ she exclaimed, launching herself backwards and giving Cal her most scathing of looks. ‘What did you do that for?’

  Cal could feel the heat creep up his neck and into his face. ‘Sorry,’ he said, reaching over and trying to scoop the yoghurt off Hayley’s arm. ‘It slipped out of my hands.’