So Gross! Page 5

  Marley knew better than to argue. With gritted teeth he raced to catch up with the others. He could see Alex at the back with the stragglers.

  ‘Hiya, Al,’ he said, matching his stride.

  ‘You’re late,’ huffed Alex. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Stayed up till midnight and slept in.’

  ‘Midnight? What were you doing till midnight?’

  ‘Research. For my presentation on Friday. It’s going to be about the box I was given,’ answered Marley.

  Alex didn’t believe him.

  ‘Suuure. What is it with you and that box anyway? Bet you were watching TV.’

  Marley was getting fed up. ‘No, Al. I was actually out on a hot date.’

  Unfortunately for Marley they were running past Miss Riley when he said that. She gave him the Boulder but it didn’t stop him in his tracks. He just kept on running.

  By the time he finished his twenty laps of the courts, the others had paired up for a practice hit. Normally Marley would have partnered Alex, but Candace Tan was away and Alex had to go with her partner, Gina Thesopholous.

  Alex wasn’t impressed. If Marley had been on time then Alex wouldn’t have had to play with some dumb girl.

  Marley looked around. He wasn’t too impressed, either. The only one left with a racquet was Miss Riley.

  ‘Grab your balls, Mr Morgan, and go down the other end.’ Miss Riley did a practice serve. The ball whizzed past Marley’s head as he walked to the service line. It landed perfectly in the corner. Marley touched his box for good luck and gripped his racquet. If he wanted to be a champion at tennis he couldn’t let one fat old teacher get the better of him.

  To Marley’s credit he slammed and lobbed and blocked and rallied with the best of them, making Miss Riley lunge all around the court. He got several Poison Darts for his efforts but a huge amount of satisfaction. By the end of it Miss Riley was red in the face and breathless.

  ‘Nice one, Marley,’ whispered Alex, who couldn’t stay angry for long. ‘You showed her.’

  Miss Riley was not happy. While the others were getting changed for class, she made Marley lug the plastic bin of balls into the shed. Celeste Whittaker was given the responsible job of unlocking and re-locking the door. She tapped her foot and jingled the keys, but never once offered to help as Marley heaved and huffed his way towards the shed.

  When the bell rang for class, Celeste was fully dressed. Marley wasn’t. He filed into the classroom, his tennis shoes still on his feet.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Since when has Fullerton North Primary worn white school shoes on their feet, Mr Morgan?’

  When are you going to let up? thought Marley.

  ‘You are a disgrace. If Celeste Whittaker can be ready on time, surely you can be, too. Go outside and dress for class properly.’

  Miss Riley turned to the children. She was wearing a big Two-By-Four, which was a bit of a worry as she was very cross. ‘Class, our standards are falling. It’s time we had a uniform inspection.’

  Twenty-seven Poison Darts flew in Marley’s direction. If it weren’t for him this wouldn’t be happening. Alex refused to look at him.

  Marley slunk out of the classroom.

  Give me an angry tribe of pygmy hunters any day, he thought.

  Five children were given a lunchtime detention for not wearing the proper school uniform. Marley was one of them. In the rush to get out of the house that morning he’d forgotten to pack grey socks.

  Five children lined up with plastic bags in the playground, their punishment to collect a hundred papers each. Not that Miss Riley would count, of course, but you never could tell. Their shoulders drooped in the midday sun. It was another one of those days when you could fry an egg on a slippery dip.

  ‘Thanks, Marley,’ said Katie Solomon, wiping the sweat from her forehead. ‘It’s all your fault we have to do this.’

  ‘Yeah, Morgan,’ said Sam, who was no longer His Man. ‘If we get sunstroke you’re gonna pay.’

  Marley didn’t know what to say. They were right. Their only crime was that they were in the same class as he was. And that class happened to be run by an assassin. His heart sank. It was only week six of first term. How was he ever going to survive four terms of Miss Riley?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Marley, grabbing Katie and Sam’s plastic bags. ‘Go and sit in the shade behind the toilet block and I’ll be right back.’ Twenty minutes later he returned, their plastic bags brimming with lunch wrappers and papers.

  ‘You’re all right, Marley,’ said Sam, once more His Man.

  ‘Yeah, thanks, Marley,’ said Katie. ‘It’s not your fault that Miss Riley’s got it in for you.’

  Marley smiled back then looked around. Where were those others? He found them sweltering in the lower playground.

  ‘Hey, guys,’ he called. ‘Come over here.’ The children dragged themselves towards him. ‘Open up your bags.’ Marley grabbed his own bag, topping up each of the others till they were overflowing with papers.

  ‘Gee, thanks,’ they cried.

  ‘You’re ace, Marley Morgan,’ said Alice Langer, giving him a smile. Her green eyes sparkled, making his temperature gauge rise.

  For the rest of the day Marley kept his head down and went quietly about his work. The afternoon passed. By three o’clock he’d managed to stay out of trouble.

  Friday tomorrow. Thank goodness.

  This was one week that he couldn’t wait to be over.

  ‘You haven’t forgotten that presentation tomorrow, have you, Marley?’ reminded Miss Riley as he filed out of class.

  ‘No, Miss,’ he said, looking her straight in the eye. ‘I think you’re going to find it very interesting.’

  That evening Marley pored over his library book again, the little wooden box beside him on the desk. He carefully wrote out his information on palm cards, then practised his speech in front of a mirror.

  When his dad came home, Marley told him about Miss Riley and the presentation. He explained that it had to be on something cultural and that he’d decided to do it on the box Great Grandpa Wal had given him.

  ‘From Grandpa Wal’s deep dark past, eh?’ laughed Dad. ‘I suppose you could call that cultural.’ He leant forward, suddenly serious. ‘Are you going to tell them what’s inside?’

  ‘No. I promised Great Grandpa Wal,’ cried Marley.

  ‘From where he is now,’ said Marley’s father looking heavenwards, ‘he might have a bit of a chuckle when the truth comes out.’ Marley gave him a look that said, I don’t believe you. ‘Suit yourself then. Won’t matter either way.’

  Marley’s dad wished his son good luck and went to have his dinner.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning when Miss Riley called him up for his cultural presentation, Marley was ready. He stood up confidently and walked to the front of the class.

  Marley explained about his Great Grandpa Wal and told the children he’d take them on one of his adventures. Gingerly he held up the little wooden box and announced, ‘This once belonged to an African pygmy.’

  There was a sharp intake of breath around the room.

  ‘It was given to my great grandpa over seventy years ago, in thanks for saving a man’s life.’

  Oohs and ahs meant that he was having the desired effect.

  ‘This pygmy came from the Mbuti group.’ Marley said this very slowly so that it sounded like mmm-boot-eee. ‘The Mbuti still live in the Ituri Forest of Zaire. In Africa. They are the smallest pygmies in the world.’

  From the corner of his eye Marley could see Miss Riley nodding. He took courage that he was on the right track.

  ‘Mbuti men only grow to 137 centimetres and the women a little less. That’s up to here for all of you who are mathematically challenged.’ Marley held his hand to his forehead. ‘About the same height as me.’ He turned to Miss Riley, holding her gaze. ‘I could be a man amongst the Mbuti.’

  Their eyes locked.

  Miss Riley was the first to break.


  ‘It takes more than height to be a man,’ she said. ‘Now continue.’

  ‘The Mbuti are hunters and gatherers. They live in a tropical rainforest. It provides all their basic needs — food, water, shelter and firewood.’

  Miss Riley leaned forward in her chair to hear better. She seemed extremely interested in the presentation.

  Marley told the class that the Mbuti people didn’t really have a religion. They prayed to a Kind Forest God and that was about it.

  ‘They don’t believe in any sort of afterlife either. You know, having a soul or a spirit. Once you’re dead, you’re dead,’ announced Marley.

  By now the class were getting a bit restless. It was time to hit them with the juicy stuff.

  Marley told them how his great grandfather had stumbled on a pygmy hunting party. By accident. One of the hunters had been gouged by a wild boar. It was so deep you could see the bone. Great Grandpa Wal had cleaned the wound and sprinkled antiseptic on it. The pygmies thought it was magic. He’d stayed for a few weeks looking after the man. The man survived. Marley told the fascinated class that the pygmies were so grateful they gave his great grandfather the carved box. He held the box high for all the class to see.

  ‘And Great Grandpa Wal gave it to me.’

  Miss Riley came forward. ‘Could I have a closer look?’ she asked.

  Oh, no, thought Marley. He didn’t want Miss Riley holding his precious box. The last person to touch it, besides him, was Great Grandpa Wal. Somehow that made him seem closer.

  ‘I — I don’t think so, Miss Riley.’ He searched for a reason why. ‘Only the owner can hold it. You see — er — it’s got special powers for them.’

  ‘Nonsense, child,’ said Miss Riley. ‘It’s only a box.’ She went to take it from his hand.

  ‘No,’ yelled Marley, louder than he meant to.

  Miss Riley puffed up with air, her huge bosom nearly touching her chin. ‘What did you say?’

  Marley looked miserable but he was determined not to hand over the box. It was his great grandpa’s and he wasn’t budging for anyone.

  ‘I said, give it to me.’ Miss Riley snatched at the box.

  There was a struggle.

  The box flicked onto Miss Riley’s desk, hitting a paperweight and splitting apart. The lid landed upside down, the box on its side, but it was the other thing that twenty-eight pairs of eyes were glued to. Twenty-nine if you included Marley’s.

  ‘Looks like something that’s shrivelled up and died. Something that’s been residing at the bottom of a schoolbag,’ said Miss Riley.

  Marley quietly agreed.

  Miss Riley’s chubby fingers plucked it off the desk. She turned it over and over in the palm of her hand.

  It was black, wrinkly and hairy.

  Miss Riley slung Marley a Poison Dart. ‘What is it?’

  Marley bit his bottom lip and thrust his hands in his pockets. ‘I can’t tell,’ he whispered. ‘I promised Great Grandpa Wal.’

  ‘I said, what is it?’ Spit came flying out of Miss Riley’s mouth.

  Marley squirmed. A flush of red travelled up his neck. Again, he shook his head.

  ‘Looks like some sort of dried fruit to me. If it is just an old prune and this is yet another case of Mr Morgan fooling around you’ll be sorry, my boy,’ threatened Miss Riley. ‘Mark my words.’

  Marley didn’t know what to do. He stood with his head down, waiting to see what Miss Riley would do.

  Miss Riley lifted the thing to her nose and sniffed. Twenty-seven pairs of eyebrows shot to the ceiling.

  ‘Smells like … meat,’ she announced, pulling a face at the same time. ‘Is that what it is?’

  Marley looked at the thing clutched in Miss Riley’s hand. He remembered his promise to Great Grandpa Wal.

  ‘Old meat? Is it?’

  Marley looked at Miss Riley’s angry face firing questions at him. He remembered his dad saying that Great Grandpa Wal wouldn’t mind.

  It was time to take a stand. Time to get even. To do something that would make sure that Miss Riley would never pick on him again.

  ‘Maybe…’ he answered.

  There was no going back.

  ‘Crocodile meat?’ She looked at him like a cat toying with its prey.

  ‘Nuh-uh.’ Marley never dropped his gaze.

  ‘Snake?’

  ‘Ummm. You’re completely on the wrong track,’ he said.

  Miss Riley sniffed the thing again. ‘Are you going to tell me or will you be on detention every afternoon for the rest of the term?’

  ‘I don’t want to tell you,’ said Marley, ‘but I’ve got no choice.’ He shifted uneasily from foot to foot. ‘Promise you won’t get mad? Promise not to punish me when you find out?’

  The children in the room held their breaths.

  Miss Riley hesitated, but only for a minute. She was busting to find out what was in the box.

  ‘Oh, all right.’

  ‘You can double-check my story with Dad if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘Yes, yes, child. Get on with it.’

  ‘It’s…’

  Marley glanced at Alex who winked at him for courage.

  ‘It’s…’

  The Best boogie collection in All the World

  Miss Riley was leaning forward, nostrils flaring; the thing still clutched in her hand.

  ‘It’s a…’

  ‘Spit it out, boy.’

  ‘It’s a … petrified pygmy penis,’ said Marley.

  For the longest of seconds nothing happened, then suddenly everyone shrieked with laughter.

  Miss Riley screamed and threw the penis into the air. It landed on Celeste Whittaker’s head.

  Celeste leapt out of her chair, horror written all over her face.

  Miss Riley began to swipe furiously at her hands, making loud aaah, aaah noises before running out of the room in search of a tap.

  Celeste followed close behind.

  Marley said a quiet sorry to his great grandfather.

  It took a long time for the class to settle down. Two-By-Fours were everywhere.

  Alex Zatt looked at the friend he knew so well. ‘Is it really a petrified pygmy penis?’ he asked.

  Marley smiled a secret smile.

  ‘Trust me. You don’t want to know.’

  The Best Boogie Collection in All the World

  Chapter One

  Hhhucch. Cccchh. Hhhoick!

  Dillon Quinn cleared his nasal passages and lobbed one at the sandwich on the ground. The blob of mucus mixed with spit spread across the surface like green butter.

  ‘Yes,’ he shouted, one fist in the air as he turned to his mates. ‘Beat that.’

  Simon Dewer stepped up to the crease, clearing his throat to warm up. ‘Uh, hmmm. Hmmm! He sized up the distance, taking particular notice of the position of the sun and the strength of the wind.

  In this game you couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

  He rearranged his lips and … ‘Pphhtt.’ It was high. It was long. The perfect gollie. Splat!

  Green butter with a clear bubble topping.

  ‘Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,’ said Simon, bowing to his friends. ‘Autographs later.’

  The two remaining boys, Gumby Mason and Yonnie Toft, fell to the ground, wishing their turn was over, praying for an instant storm to put them out of their misery.

  Blue skies looked down.

  ‘How’s your appetite, fellas?’ asked Dillon.

  If you missed the sandwich you were the loser, and the loser got to eat the sandwich.

  ‘I’m next,’ said Gumby, gently shoving Yonnie out of the way. Things weren’t looking too good, even for a boy whose favourite hobby in life was adding to his boogie collection.

  Gumby stood at the crease eyeing up his shot before pacing it out. Just like he did in footy. Except this time there were no nice wide goal posts to aim between. There was a tiny white square on the grass.

  Gumby hawked a couple of times, rolling the phlegm a
round his tongue before letting rip. It arced left, caught a freak updraught and landed a good ten centimetres north of the sandwich.

  ‘Oh, no.’

  His stomach recoiled, before settling like a lead weight of protest in his gut. Gumby looked at Yonnie. The best he could hope for was that Yonnie would miss, too, and they’d have to share it.

  ‘Hope you miss,’ he said, jumping around in front of Yonnie. ‘Miss. Miss. Miss.’

  Dillon walked over and punched Yonnie on the arm. ‘Aim high,’ he yelled, pointing to the sky.

  ‘No, low,’ shouted Simon, pointing to the ground.

  ‘Don’t aim,’ whispered Gumby, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  Yonnie took a deep breath. He crouched down on the ground to measure the distance, like a golfer on a putting green. He walked round and around the circle until Dillon exploded, ‘Get on with it.’

  Yonnie cleared his throat. ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Hmm?’ said Simon. ‘You won’t even hit your own shoe with that.’

  Yonnie tried again. Cccht. Ccchht! He sounded like a motor bike revving up. ‘Aaaghccchhtphhtl’

  Four faces turned into the wind.

  The spag sailed up. The spag sailed down.

  And missed.

  ‘Yes,’ said the other three, fists to the air.

  Gumby went up to a defeated Yonnie. ‘Another centimetre and you would’ve done it.’ Yonnie couldn’t speak. He didn’t even like sandwiches, let alone ones with topping. ‘Come on, mate,’ said Gumby. ‘I’ll give you a piece of chewy for afters. To take the taste away.’

  Dillon had already scooped up the bread and was trying to break it in half, which wasn’t easy. It didn’t get the name ‘The Soggy Sandwich’ for nothing. He handed over a slimy glob to each of them.

  ‘Spew on you,’ said Gumby to his mates, throwing his piece down the hatch and swallowing with one go before quickly shoving some gum into his mouth.

  Yonnie took his time. That was his trouble. He always took too much time.

  ‘The quicker the better,’ said Simon, trying to be helpful.