Mr Chambers sprays a mist of water
on my hair
and snips on top.
Grandpop finishes texting
and slips the phone into his pocket.
‘Now, what was I saying?’ he asks.
Mr Chambers winks at me and says,
‘Football, you were talking about footy.’
LAURA
Ms Arthur said,
‘It’s not
pop stars
or actors
or supermodels
or celebrities
or millionaires
or sports stars
who are lucky and special . . .
it’s
someone who has
a partner
a friend
a parent
who loves them.’
I remember her saying that
when I’m walking home from school
and I see Mum,
waving to me
from the front verandah,
waiting to take me to Johnson’s Café
for a strawberry thickshake,
to celebrate
her one day off work.
CAMERON
Mum was mixing gooey stuff in a bowl
when I woke up
and I thought it looked like fun
so I asked her if I could help,
you know, stirring it around
and maybe I could lick the bowl
when she finished?
She took off her apron,
handed it to me
and helped me tie it behind my back.
I felt kind of silly wearing it
but I could wipe my hands on it
whenever they got sweaty
from all the stirring I did
with the wooden spoon.
It took a lot of mixing before Mum was happy
with the gluggy goo in the bowl
and we added some shredded coconut
and then she let me stir it some more
while she spread a thin smear of butter
on a baking tray.
She checked the oven was the right temperature
while I dolloped lumps of the mix on the tray.
She showed me how to press them flat
with the palm of my hand
and then let me lick the bowl.
We slid the tray into the oven
and set the timer for twenty minutes.
I sat in front of the stove
eating my Weet-Bix
waiting
smelling
watching.
When Mum tipped the biscuits out on the rack
I couldn’t resist
even though they were so hot
I juggled one like a cricket ball
before taking a huge steaming bite.
Delicious!
Mum let me take ten,
yes, ten Anzac biscuits
to school
to share at lunchtime
with the gang.
My biscuits I’d baked.
MICK
It came to me
when we were eating Cameron’s biscuits.
Or ‘biting the bikkies’ as Selina joked.
They were sweet and crunchy
and smelt like warm butter.
I didn’t believe Cameron had baked them
until I saw him blush
when we all said how good they were.
And it came to me,
out of nowhere,
this thought,
this idea I can’t get out of my head.
In class all afternoon
I stare out the window thinking of nothing else,
except this single simple idea.
Only it’s kind of hard to explain,
that’s why I keep turning it over in my head.
It’s got to do with Cameron and his biscuits
and how we all loved scoffing them
and
how it made Cameron feel good sharing,
and watching us eat them!
And I remembered yesterday morning,
Laura watching Mr Korsky laugh,
and the look on her face.
That’s when I realised,
it all made sense
and I almost fell off my chair
which happens a bit during maths
but that’s because I’m usually falling asleep.
Not this time.
This time it was my brilliant idea.
Laura was happy doing something for Mr Korsky.
Mr Korsky was happy
with whatever it was she did.
Cameron was happy sharing Anzacs
and we were all very, very happy eating them
and
and
and
that’s when I knew what to do.
What to say tomorrow at lunchtime
to the gang
who think I’m a leader
when I’m not
but this time
maybe I can make a suggestion
and we can all try my idea
for a week
and see what happens.
CAMERON
I admit it,
I don’t usually ride home on Dexter Street,
where Ms Arthur
just happens to live
but
it’s a nice street
with no dogs to chase me
and there’s a scatter of gravel
where I can practise skids on my bike
and I can’t help it
if I glance,
just casually,
into Ms Arthur’s yard
and I’m not really looking for the sports car
or Pookie Aleera,
the ponytail man,
but, I swear,
if he comes out into the yard
I’m going to wave and call out his name
again.
Maybe I’ll stop and shake his hand,
introduce myself,
‘Hi, I’m Cameron . . .
and you’re . . .’
The old lady at the corner house,
weeding her garden
waves to me
every time I pass.
I wave back,
keeping a lookout for Pookie.
ALEX
On Baxter’s Hill
the wind bangs the door
of the ghost house
as Rachel and I
stand outside
staring into the lonely yard
where the dog chains
are rusting in the stinkweed
and every window pane is broken
and a piece of roofing iron
flaps like a wounded bird.
The gate creaks
as Rachel opens it
and steps through
reaching behind for my hand.
A crow lands on the chimney
and squawks,
as if to scare us away.
Rachel whispers,
‘Do you think Mr Baxter would mind?’
I hope his ghost
is as hard of hearing as he was.
The blade grass prickles my legs,
please don’t let there be snakes,
or spiders or rats.
We’re two steps away from the ver
andah
when the door opens
with the wind
and I can see
all the way down the hallway
to the kitchen
where one chair stands beside a table
waiting,
and Rachel says, ‘Alex’
as we reach the front door
and just as I’m about
to step into the house
the wind blows hard
and slams the door
like a hammer.
Rachel screams
or was it me?
We both turn and run
and don’t stop
until we reach the rock ledge
on the hill overlooking the ghost house,
the sweat on the back of my neck
chills my body
and Rachel says, ‘Alex’
and I answer, ‘Yes’
and she giggles nervously,
‘Can we not go inside, please?’
We both stare
at Mr Baxter’s house
and the door opens slowly
as if daring us to try once more
and I say to Rachel,
‘Okay, let’s not.’
SELINA
Today is mufti day
and we’ve all brought in a gold coin donation
for World Vision and the starving children
all over the world
and
everyone has worn their favourite clothes.
Most of the boys wear footy jerseys and jeans
and
the girls wear riding pants and boots,
but
the two best outfits are
Ms Arthur
who wears her old school uniform from Year Twelve,
‘Too many years ago,’ she says.
She looks funny in a tartan skirt
and a white blouse with matching socks!
And Cameron wears
black jeans and a red T-shirt
with his hair tied back in a ponytail.
On his T-shirt
he’s written in black texta,
‘Who is Pookie Aleera?’
When Ms Arthur sees him,
she giggles and says,
‘Nice haircut, Cameron.
I like a man with a ponytail.’
Cameron blushes,
redder than his T-shirt!
MICK
When we sit together at lunch today
Alex asks Cameron
if he’s got any more biscuits.
We all look eagerly at Cameron
who sadly shakes his head.
No one says anything for a minute,
all of us thinking of their steaming buttery taste.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ I say, nervously.
Pete answers quickly,
‘Anything to do with food?’
‘Not exactly.
But it could be, if you want.
It’s the best idea I’ve ever had.’
Everyone leans forward
and I wish I hadn’t said that.
‘Well, maybe the second best . . .’
I wait a few seconds,
just to be sure everyone is listening.
I keep my voice low,
‘We all agree, for one week,
to be nice to everybody . . .
and see what happens.’
I sit back and wait.
Rachel looks at Alex
who looks at Pete
who looks at Cameron
who looks at Selina
who stares at me and says,
‘So what’s your idea?’
‘That’s it,’ I say.
‘We be nice to everyone.
Just for a week.’
Rachel scratches her head,
‘But aren’t we nice all the time?’
Cameron looks at his empty lunch box,
‘I reckon a better idea
is to make another batch of biscuits!’
Selina giggles, ‘Yeah, now that’s real nice!’
I say,
‘No. No. No.
You don’t get it.
I mean really really nice.
Let’s go out of our way
to do something . . . special,
for someone else
and see what happens.
Just for a week.’
Cameron laughs and says,
‘Great idea, Mick. Brilliant!’
Everyone looks at Cameron.
I say, ‘Thanks.’
Cameron giggles,
‘That’s okay, I was just being nice.’
Everyone laughs.
Even me.
But we all agree
to give it a try.
For one week.
MICK
I should make the first move,
it being my idea.
So before the bell rings
for the end of lunch,
I leave the gang
and walk to the bench where Laura sits,
alone, of course.
As I sit down she closes the book she’s reading
her eyes looking everywhere all at once
except at me.
I’m sure her knees are shaking,
just like mine.
I stretch my legs, look at the hole in my right shoe,
even whistle a little
just to show I’m relaxed
and exactly where I want to be
except
I have no idea what to say
to Laura.
I can hardly ask how the nose is running, can I?
Two statues on a seat, that’s us.
I glance at my watch,
three minutes until the bell.
I don’t know what to do with my hands
so I put them under my legs
to keep them from waving around
like a lost puppet.
Laura turns to me and says
in a quiet voice,
‘Is this a dare?’
I look quickly towards the gang
afraid they’re all laughing
or making rude gestures.
‘No. No way, Laura.
I just . . .’
I haven’t really thought this through, have I?
She says,
‘I don’t need someone to sit beside, you know.’
She holds up the book
as if to say she has a friend.
‘Yeah. I mean, no.
I . . . I thought you might like to sit
with the rest of us.’
What am I saying?
Laura looks from me to the gang
and back to me.
She’s about to answer
when the bell rings
and I jump up
eager to get away
but
that makes me look foolish
so I sit down again,
as Laura stands
and when she looks at me
I notice the pity
as if she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.
All she says is,
‘Thanks.’
She turns to walk to class
and I call out,
‘Maybe tomorrow then.’
She doesn’t look around.
Tomorrow is Saturday.
<
br /> LAURA
Mum says,
‘If in doubt,
count to ten before answering.’
But when Mick invited me
to join his gang,
I wanted to spring up
and shout yes!
But Mum’s voice crept in
and I waited
and thought about it.
Why?
Why now?
Why me?
I didn’t like the answers
whispering in my head.
I looked across at his gang.
They were all doing their best
not to look this way
but I couldn’t trust myself
or them
or anything except the book in my hands.
Why did he pick on me?
I’m happy on the bench,
it’s my spot,
my place.
Why did he pick on me?
MICK
In class,
my mind plays gymnastics.
She likes a book more than me?
She likes a hard wooden seat
better than the grass
and the gang?
Ms Arthur wrote twenty questions
in her flowing handwriting on the board.
I answered them,
easy,
one after the other,
in my notebook.
I looked at Laura
sitting in the third row
and I asked my own questions,
and spent the afternoon
not answering them.
CAMERON
I’ve just switched on my new iPad
that Grandma bought me,
when Dad knocks on my door
and asks me if I want to play
parisian rings in the backyard
and
I’ve just linked to a YouTube video
of these skater dudes doing half-pipes,
but I don’t want to hurt Dad’s feelings,
so I mumble about homework
and Dad says
we should play parisian rings instead
if he can suggest ten good reasons.
So I pause YouTube
and Dad holds up one finger:
‘It’s a beautiful sunny day outside.’
He holds up two fingers:
‘It’s . . . it’s not raining’,
which is really just the same reason as his first one,
but I don’t say anything.
Three fingers:
‘It’s . . . it’s more fun than an iPad!’
I frown.
He hasn’t seen YouTube lately.
Dad’s starting to look fidgety,
like I do in class when I don’t know the answer
Pookie Aleera is Not My Boyfriend Page 7
