Elizabella went over to her.
“We have two things to discuss. Walk with me,” said Minnie, leading the way. “I got here early this morning to do a reconnaissance mission for Operation Bin Puppets.”
“A what mission?” asked Elizabella.
“A reconnaissance.”
Elizabella blinked at her.
“To examine the location,” Minnie explained. “Anyway, look,” she said, motioning towards a bin. “No lid.” They walked over to some more.
“No lid. No lid. No lid.”
“This one doesn’t even have one of its sides!” said Elizabella, pointing to a particularly broken bin.
“I’ve scouted all of them,” Minnie continued. “Every single bin in the playground is too defective to be a puppet.”
Elizabella took it all in. “Oh no!”
“And,” continued Minnie, “I went to the tuckshop and Miss Duck said that the paper plate budget had been cut and she didn’t know when they were going to be getting any more in!”
“Sheesh. What is going on with this school?” Elizabella asked.
“I don’t know but I’m sensing blanger.”
“Do you mean danger?”
“Yes, blanger.”
“Huh?”
“Elizabella, this brings me to the second thing we need to discuss. I have finished our new language, Minbella.”
Elizabella looked at her. She was about to correct her and say “Elizinnie” but she stopped herself. If Minnie really had come up with a whole new language, maybe she should get naming rights. But could she have actually done that so quickly?
Just then, the bell went.
“You can teach it to me at recess,” Elizabella said.
“We can’t wait that long. And besides, it’s easy.”
“But the bell went already.”
“By the time we get to our class line, you’ll be fluent. Listen,” Minnie commanded. “Blello, pow clar poo? Now, what did I just say?”
Elizabella somehow knew the answer. “Hello, how are you?” she replied.
“You got it,” said Minnie.
“You mean, foo mot vit,” said Elizabella.
“Splexactly. Just say words that rhyme with the words you mean. The meaning is pretty clear. That’s how you speak Minbella.”
“Won’t other people understand us too?”
“Not if you speak fast and don’t emphasise any words.”
“You really think that’ll work?”
“When I said frum peer before, you didn’t know what I meant, right? But now that you understand Minbella . . .”
“I know you were saying come here!” said Elizabella.
“Splexactly. And if you’re in a hurry, you can use English for all the bitsy words and Minbella for the important ones.”
“Mook! It’s Glister Mobblemump!” said Elizabella.
“Splexactly,” said Minnie again, as she turned to where Elizabella was pointing.
Mr Gobblefrump marched up and down the playground, yelling into his megaphone. Sweat droplets fell from his cheeks and onto his waistcoat.
His toupee jumped an inch off his head with the force of each word:
“SPECIAL ASSEMBLY! SPECIAL ASSEMBLY!”
“Weird,” Elizabella said. “I wonder what that could be about?”
Minnie shrugged. “Maybe he has a new edition of the Bilby Creek Primary School Rule Book?”
Everyone gathered in their class lines as usual and sat on the ground. Mr Gobblefrump stood in front of them and spoke through the megaphone.
“As you all know, our lovely school building and playground are a little worse for wear.”
“I’ll say,” whispered Elizabella to Minnie, surveying the rundown scene around her.
Mr Gobblefrump continued: “Last week, the door to the music room came off its hinges, and as far as the play equipment goes, well, enough bars have fallen off the monkey bars that they are no longer monkey bars at all. Only a gorilla could swing between them now. In fact, they’re officially out of bounds.”
A gasp went through the crowd. Elizabella saw a lady in a Bilby Creek Council uniform stringing thick, red tape around the monkey bars.
“And of course we all know about the–” Suddenly Mr Gobblefrump went quiet. He continued to talk about the leaky roof in the boys’ toilets, but no one could hear him.
“Speak up!”
“What was that?” came cries from the crowd.
Mr Gobblefrump stopped talking and peered down at his megaphone. It was broken. He sighed.
“Et tu, megaphone?” he said to his beloved instrument of noise, paraphrasing a very famous Shakespeare quote that was uttered by Julius Caesar when he was betrayed by his best friend Brutus. The megaphone was like Mr Gobblefrump’s best friend and just like Brutus, it had let him down.
He took a deep breath and proceeded to yell the rest of the announcements. “LONG STORY SHORT, WE NEED TO MAKE A LOT OF REPAIRS. AND RIGHT NOW WE DON’T HAVE THE FUNDS. SO THERE ARE GOING TO BE SOME CHANGES AROUND HERE UNTIL WE CAN GET BACK ON OUR FEET. YOU MIGHT NOT LIKE ALL OF THESE CHANGES, BUT THERE’S NOTHING WE CAN DO.”
Mr Gobblefrump pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. He cleared his throat and drew in more air. “THE RECORDER PROGRAM IS HEREBY SUSPENDED AND ALL THE BILBY CREEK RECORDERS WILL BE SOLD.”
Upon hearing this, half the crowd yelled out objections while the other half cheered for joy. Playing the recorder was really something that divided people.
“FOR THE TIME BEING THERE WILL BE NO MATHS TEXTBOOKS.” This time shrieks of excitement came up through the playground. Mr Gobblefrump continued: “TEACHERS WILL DRAW MATHS LESSONS ON THE BOARD FOR THE CHILDREN TO WRITE DOWN.” The shrieks of excitement morphed into shrieks of horror from teachers and students alike.
“AND TEACHERS, IT IS REQUESTED THAT WHEN WHEN YOU HAVE YOUR MORNING CUP OF TEA IN THE STAFFROOM THAT YOU SAVE THE BAG TO RE-USE IF YOU WANT ANOTHER ONE.”
“An outrage!” came from somewhere in the throng of teachers.
“AND THERE WILL BE SOME BIG CHANGES TO THE TUCKSHOP.”
“What?” gasped Elizabella, thinking of Miss Duck. She looked back to where the tuckshop was. Miss Duck was standing outside, listening to the assembly from there. As usual she was wearing her tuckshop uniform, which she had fashioned from the school’s uniform, apron included. Miss Duck had run the tuckshop for as long as anyone could remember, and before that her mother had run it, and her mother before that. When Elizabella caught her eye, Miss Duck shrugged helplessly. This was clearly the first time she had heard of any changes to the tuckshop, just like everyone else.
Elizabella frowned. This can’t be good . . .
“Stink bugs taste like apples, tree worms like pork rind and crickets taste like nuts,” said Miss Carrol, who had bright red hair and wore high-waisted trousers with blouses tucked into them almost every day. She was teaching her Year Four class about eating insects. She looked around the room. Everyone was staring at her, blinking in disbelief. As she turned back to the board to continue putting up insects and their flavours, she heard someone audibly gag.
“Class,” she continued, “there are over a hundred million new people born every year around the world. By 2050 we’re going to need to produce about twice as much food as we currently are to feed them all, so it’s going to be up to your generation to get creative and work something out.”
“There has to be a better way than insects!” said Daphne, scratching her tongue with her fingernails, trying to scrub off the imaginary taste in her mouth. She shook her head, her blonde pigtails swinging about. “That’s plain gross.”
“Actually, Daphne, some of the finest restaurants in the world are using insects now. And in lots of other countries people eat insects all the time. In Mexico there are about two hundred and fifty types of insects you can eat.”
“I think I’ll stick to bacon,” said Sandy.
“If you like bacon, you might want to try bee larvae,” Miss Carrol sa
id. “It tastes just like bacon when it’s cooked right!”
“I’ll take your word for it, Miss Carrol,” Sandy replied.
Miss Carrol sighed. Maybe it was a bit ambitious to solve the global food shortage in one lesson with her Year Four class, but she had to try. Miss Carrol was always teaching her class to love and respect the environment and everything in it.
“All right, Show and Tell time.” Miss Carrol moved to her desk to look at the list and see whose turn it was today. “Evie, you’re up.”
Evie jumped out of her seat with a bag and took it to the front of the room.
“Good morning everyone, for Show and Tell today I’ve brought in my collection of bottle caps from every type of drink you can think of!”
Ava thumped her fists on her desk. “Evie, I was going to bring in my collection of bottle caps from every type of drink you can think of for my Show and Tell!”
Evie continued on: “I collect bottle caps from soft drinks everywhere I go in the whole world outside Bilby Creek.”
“We collect!” Ava corrected her.
Evie ignored her sister. “This one is from a Cranberrily Bubbly Pop,” she said, holding up a bright purple lid, “which is a very popular beverage in Echidna Beach where we go for our family holidays.”
“Oh no! Remember, this happened last term with their chocolate wrapper collection!” Sandy was leaning forward in his chair and whispering to Elizabella, who was sitting in front of him. But Elizabella didn’t respond. She was staring straight upwards at a big crack in the ceiling and worrying about Miss Duck.
A very clean-cut looking man and woman, both wearing matching tan-coloured slacks, navy blazers and crisp white shirts, walked into Mr Gobblefrump’s office.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said. “Now, as I mentioned on the phone, we are in the middle of a funding crisis at Bilby Creek Primary School and I am in the market for a solution.”
Big, broad smiles slowly formed over the faces of the two visitors, like zippers opening up.
“Mr Gobblefrump, we represent Nutriicorporation,” said the man.
“Or Nutriicorp, among friends,” the woman finished his sentence.
“Because that’s what we are,” said the man. “Friends.”
“Friends . . .” repeated Mr Gobblefrump, uncertainly.
“More than friends,” said the woman. “By making your tuckshop a Nutriicorp tuckshop you become part of our family, and family comes first.”
Mr Gobblefrump suddenly felt a pang of guilt. He really did like Miss Duck. A lot. In fact just last term they had gone on a few romantic dates. Even though that had fizzed out, he still cared about her very much. And he knew that Bilby Creek Primary was like Miss Duck’s family, much like it was Mr Gobblefrump’s.
“Family comes first . . .” he said quietly.
“That’s what Mr Nutriicorp says,” the man said.
“There’s a Mr Nutriicorp?” asked Mr Gobblefrump.
“Of course!” cried the woman. “Mr Nutriicorp is the CEO of Nutriicorporation.”
“But he’s really more like a grandpa,” the man added.
“A nice, cuddly grandpa,” the woman elaborated.
“That’s why we call him Grandpa Nutriicorp.”
“I’d love to meet this Grandpa Nutriicorp,” said Mr Gobblefrump.
The reps looked at each other.
“Of course,” said the man.
“In good time,” said the woman.
“All in good time,” the man agreed.
“I see . . .” said Mr Gobblefrump. The pair could sense his uneasiness.
“Say, why is there an extra i in Nutriicorp?” asked Mr Gobblefrump.
“The i puts the you in Nutriicorp,” said the man.
“You as in me?” asked Mr Gobblefrump.
“You as in you,” agreed the woman.
“In that case wouldn’t it make more sense to have an extra u?” asked Mr Gobblefrump.
The man and the woman looked at each other, confused. After a long, awkward pause the woman said: “Nutriicorp welcomes all feedback via the Nutriicorporation members’ feedback system.”
“Once you’re a member, you can provide all the feedback you like,” the man continued.
“I do like a good system,” said Mr Gobblefrump. The man and the woman realised they were winning him back, so they pressed on.
“Because we’re such a large company, we can buy huge quantities of food in bulk, driving prices down and profits up,” the woman explained. “Plus with our winning Nutriicorp attitude and free stickers, the kids will be coming back for second, even third recesses.” “And we can quadruple your profits within a week,” the man said.
“Right!” said Mr Gobblefrump. He smiled, which made the Nutriicorp representatives’ smiles even bigger, so big in fact, they looked like they were about to extend past the edges of their faces.
They each placed a briefcase on Mr Gobblefrump’s desk, opened them with simultaneous clicks and began to show Mr Gobblefrump all their colourful graphs and charts.
They were very enticing.
At recess, Elizabella was playing handball with the gang. Ava and Evie were still angry with each other and not playing very well. For some reason, the angrier they were, the more uncoordinated they became, and they weren’t terribly coordinated to begin with. Huck skidded the ball to Sandy who slammed it hard into the ground. It bounced so high in the air that not even Minnie could reach it. They all watched it sail above the playground then down, down, down, where it crash-landed right in Daphne’s lunch box.
“My cottage cheese and carrot sandwich!” she said, horrified. Sandy and Elizabella ran over to her.
“Sorry, Daphne,” Sandy said. He peered into the lunch box. “It’s still good, I think. Just a little squished. In fact it will be easier to eat, ’cause it’s already a bit broken up so you’ll have to do less chewing.”
Daphne scowled at him, displeased with his reasoning. “I am not eating a squashed, broken-up sandwich covered in handball ball germs!”
“I’ll eat it if you don’t want it,” said Sandy. Daphne stared at him in disgust. She held out the little flattened, crumbly mess in its foil and Sandy gobbled it readily.
“What are you going to eat?” asked Sandy, suddenly worried. He didn’t want Daphne to go hungry. “I’ll go to the tuckshop for you!”
Elizabella knew that Sandy didn’t have a lot of money. She also suddenly remembered that she wanted to talk to Miss Duck.
“What do you want, Daphne? I’ll get it for you,” Elizabella offered. Sandy looked relieved.
“I’ll have one peanut butter and one Vegemite sandwich,” Daphne said.
“But we only broke one sandwich!” Sandy cried.
“The second sandwich is interest,” said Daphne, clearly prepared to milk this situation for all it was worth.
“Let’s call it insurance for the next time we break a sandwich,” said Elizabella, trying to negotiate.
Daphne narrowed her emu-egg bluey-green eyes at Elizabella. “And a chocolate frog.”
“You sure know how to push your luck,” said Elizabella.
“Mr Gobblefrump!” Daphne called out. “They broke my–”
“Sheesh, okay,” Elizabella cut her off, “I’ll see what I can do.”
And with that Elizabella skipped off to the tuckshop. She found a rather frazzled Miss Duck counting pikelets and checking the cash register.
“Hi, Miss Duck!” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, hello, Elizabella. Sorry, it seems I’m a few dollars short in the till and I’m trying to work out where I went wrong. I can’t even afford to be five cents down in the current economic climate!”
“So what’s going on?” Elizabella asked. “What’s Mr Gobblefrump planning to change around here?”
“I don’t know,” said Miss Duck. She sounded concerned. Right on cue, Mr Gobblefrump entered the tuckshop.
“Hello, Miss Duck,” he said, a little gravely.
“Hello, Chest–” Miss Duck remembered Elizabella was there. And even though she was a friend, she was technically a student and Miss Duck should probably be using Chester’s Teacher Name in front of her.
“–Mr Gobblefrump. It’s been a busy recess, I can assure you. The sandwiches are flying out the door.”
Mr Gobblefrump glanced around the empty tuckshop. An audible breeze gushed through its wide-open doors.
“I’m buying two! One peanut butter and one Vegemite please, Miss Duck!” said Elizabella, holding out some coins. Miss Duck had such skill and speed that Elizabella and Mr Gobblefrump merely saw a whirr of bread and spreads and hands and then, ten seconds later, there were two perfect sandwiches, each tucked into its own brown paper bag.
“Wow,” said Elizabella. “No wonder no one is here, Miss Duck is so fast all the customers have already been served!”
“Elizabella, I need to speak to Miss Duck,” Mr Gobblefrump said.
“Oh, and a chocolate frog, please!”
Miss Duck gave Elizabella a chocolate frog and took the silver coin she was making a big fuss of handing over.
“Here you go! Another successful tuckshop transaction.”
“Elizabella.” Mr Gobblefrump was losing patience.
“Of course,” said Elizabella. “I’ll shut up.”
“Elizabella?” said Mr Gobblefrump.
“Yes?”
“Vamoose.”
“Vamoose?”
“It means leave.”
“Ah, right, yes. This is me vamoosing,” Elizabella started to walk backwards towards the door, “with my sandwiches. And my frog, which I bought because I love spending money at the tuckshop. Who doesn’t?”
And with that she left. Well, she made quite a show of leaving and then hid just outside so she could listen in to their conversation.
“Petunia, I’m afraid it’s bad news,” Mr Gobblefrump said as soon as he thought Elizabella was out of earshot. “The tuckshop isn’t making the kind of profit we need to help bring Bilby Creek Primary back into shape.”
Elizabella and the Great Tuckshop Takeover Page 2
