to a question Ms Arthur has just asked.
Four fingers:
‘Your mother . . . won’t play with me!’
We both giggle.
Dad relaxes.
Five fingers:
‘We can’t throw an iPad forty metres in the house!’
Six fingers:
‘I’m bored!’
Seven fingers:
‘I need to lose weight.’
Eight fingers:
‘My dad threw a cricket ball with me
when I was your age!’
Nine fingers:
‘I need an excuse not to mow the lawn!’
Ten fingers:
‘Did I mention it was a beautiful day?’
I turn off my iPad.
Me and Dad play parisian rings
until it gets dark
and we beat our record
of one hundred and fifteen throws
without dropping it once,
when Mum calls out to Dad,
‘Don’t forget you promised
to mow the lawn today!’
PETE
After Sunday lunch,
Nan goes out to the garden
with a pair of scissors
and cuts a single flower
a rose
and she slowly walks
across the paddock to Grandpa’s grave,
the flower in one hand
her walking cane in the other.
She sits on the cool granite
and places the flower in the vase
next to his headstone
then she sings Grandpa a song.
Nan’s voice
floats on the wind,
as fragile as glass
and
as sad as loneliness
and Mum stops washing the dishes
and listens
from the kitchen window.
SELINA
Ms Arthur wears a football jersey to school
even though it isn’t mufti day.
It has red and blue stripes
and when Cameron raises his hand
and asks the name of the team she supports,
Ms Arthur smiles
and instead of answering,
she asks Cameron and me to draw the curtains
on either side of the classroom
and she shows us a video on the Smart Board.
It’s highlights of her football team
and Ms turns down the commentary
and tells us the story of their best player
who scores lots of goals in the video
and how when he was twelve years old
he could barely walk
because he had a growth hormone deficiency
(she writes it on the whiteboard).
No one would give him a chance
to do what he wanted
which was to play football
except this one club in Spain
that had a special school
that taught football differently than anywhere else
and the teachers saw this boy was special
and they accepted him into their family
and now
he’s the most famous footballer in the world
who earns millions of dollars
and his name is Lionel Messi
and the club is FC Barcelona
and they’re world champions
and Ms Arthur stops the video
and points to the logo on her shirt
which reads
UNICEF
and she tells us that
instead of taking money for sponsorship
like every sporting club in the world
Barcelona gives money
to the United Nations Children’s Fund
and then she giggles
and bites her lip as if she wants to tell us
something else about them . . .
we wait . . .
and wait . . .
and finally, Cameron says,
‘Come on, Ms, what else?’
And Ms Arthur giggles again
and says that the supporters of her team
are nicknamed ‘Cules’
which in Spanish
is a rude word for bottom
or bum
because when the club started
their stadium was so old
that the supporters would sit
with their bottoms hanging over the rafters.
We all laugh
and, sure enough,
Cameron raises his hand
and says,
‘Ms, I’d like to be a bum too!’
RACHEL
Monday lunchtime.
The gang sits in a circle,
each of us with a smile bigger than Uluru.
Everyone has a parcel on their lap,
except Mick,
who nervously looks towards Laura,
still on her seat.
Alex looks at me and says,
‘You first.’
Everyone fumbles with their parcels,
all of us eager, at the same time.
I shake my head.
‘Let’s open them together.’
We’ve all spent the weekend
thinking
what to do
to be nice to each other,
Mick’s idea.
All weekend.
Selina nods
and I count to three.
The five of us unwrapping together.
Nervous giggles.
Selina, Cameron, Pete, Alex and me,
everyone has the same surprise
which isn’t a surprise at all.
Five batches of freshly baked biscuits.
Mick says,
‘Mum was out of flour . . .’
We count them.
Seventy-four biscuits.
Too many to eat in a week of lunchtimes.
Alex puts the lid on his container and asks,
‘What do we do?’
Silence.
Mick slowly grins.
He reaches across and lifts two from my cake tin.
I nod.
He says,
‘Maybe Laura is hungry?’
He stands and takes a deep breath.
As he walks away, I understand.
I gather my tin and
ask Alex if he wants to make friends
with the Year Fours playing cricket.
Selina walks to the staffroom.
Pete says,
‘Year Fives will eat anything, I reckon!’
And Cameron spies Jacob with the Infants,
adding, ‘Jacob’s always hungry!’
It’s the best lunchtime I’ve ever had.
Me and Alex giving biscuits
to the sweaty kids in Year Four!
LAURA
I could smell the warm yeasty aroma
before he sat down
next to me
on Mr Korsky’s seat.
He handed me one
without saying a word.
My first impulse was to say no.
No thanks.
My voice caught in my throat
as he held it nearer
and I took it quickly.
He took a big bite
and said,
with his mouth
half-full,
‘Rachel baked them. Not me.
If you’re worried . . .
about food poisoning.’
I giggled.
Then I took a big bite to stop myself
from laughing at Mick Dowling
sitting beside me on the seat,
more nervous than me.
I chewed slowly
with my mouth closed
like Mum says I should.
‘It’s . . . delicious, Mick.’
I said his name,
like we’re friends.
He looked at the half-eaten biscuit in his hands
as if it could tell him what to say next.
He smiled,
‘I can get you another one . . . if you want?
Geez . . . I can get another fifty!’
I shake my head, quickly.
And then I decide what to do
when I get home this afternoon.
Chocolate crackles.
Mum’s recipe.
For tomorrow.
For Mick
and his friends.
CAMERON
Me and Jacob
eat one biscuit each
just to make sure they taste okay.
They taste better than okay!
So we call the Kindy kids
playing on the monkey bars
and, pretty soon,
there are too many children to count
pleading for a biscuit
and I have no idea what to do,
the kids swarming like ants over a sugar bowl!
Jacob whispers into my ear,
‘Half the size, half a biscuit.’
I give him the tin to hold
while I break each biscuit in half
and hand them
to the giggling kids
who don’t seem to mind sharing.
When all the Infants have
gone back to the playground
and left me and Jacob
with an empty tin,
Jacob grins and says,
‘Do you reckon, if I came over to your place,
you could teach me how to bake them, Cameron?’
CONSTABLE DAWE
‘Good morning Class 6A,
hands up if you remember my name.
Good, that’s everyone . . .
except the boy at the back.
Can anyone give him a hint, perhaps?
Yes, thank you for all pointing at the door.
Very imaginative,
my name is Senior Constable Dawe,
spelt D-A-W-E.
That’s right,
still Senior.
There is no Super Senior rank, I’m afraid.
Today,
we’re talking about bushfire safety,
but we agreed last time
to call it bushwalker safety.
Please don’t mention bunyips.
When camping, what’s the best way
to prevent a bushfire?
Yes, camp in your bedroom,
or in the backyard,
but what about in the bush?
What should you do with your camp fire?
Yes, have a big barbecue,
but afterwards?
Yes, of course,
eat all the sausages!
I mean after you’ve finished with the camp fire,
why are you giggling, young man?
What is so funny?
You’ve remembered how your dad
put out the camp fire,
well,
please share it with us all.
He what!
He did that on a camp fire!
I’m sorry, toilet humour is not appropriate.
Yes, even if it did extinguish the camp fire
but
a bucket of water from the river
would work just as well.
Now settle down, Class 6A,
we have established
that putting out the camp fire is important,
this giggling is really not getting us anywhere.
What happens if you’re caught in a bushfire?
Yes, this time you do run like heck, young man.
But where?
Away from the fire.
Yes, very sensible and logical.
To the river . . . good.
To a patch of ground without grass or trees, yes.
No, not up a tree, young man.
You’re not being chased by a bear.
Yes, I know bears don’t exist in Australia.
Koalas aren’t bears, young lady.
And being chased by a koala
is hardly life-threatening, is it?
Do not run uphill,
fires move faster uphill than down.
Look for a road or a gully without vegetation.
Yes, call the fire brigade, that’s correct.
Who knows what number to call?
No, not 911,
that’s in America, children.
Surely we know,
yes, of course, 000.
And tell the person, calmly, where you are.
No, screaming “I’m in a bushfire” won’t help.
Try to locate a landmark.
Finally,
and I really don’t want to go into this too much,
but what clothes should we wear
when walking in the bush,
and before anyone says it,
yes, underwear,
let’s all have clean underwear on,
just in case.
What else, Class 6A?
No, swimmers are not necessary.
Yes, I know I said to run into the river,
but keep your clothes on this time,
to protect against the fire.
What should you always wear on your feet
when bushwalking?
Shoes.
Not thongs, not barefoot, but good leather shoes.
I’m sorry your mum doesn’t wear leather
because she’s vegetarian, young lady.
Yes, we all want to save the world, young lady,
each in our own way.
So, are we agreed, Class 6A,
while bushwalking,
wear good protective clothing,
and in a bushfire,
run towards a river
or open ground without vegetation,
and yes,
throw water on the camp fire.
Okay,
pee on a camp fire
if it makes you and your dad happy, young man!
Thank you Class 6A,
that’s my last talk for this term.
It’s been . . .
enlightening.’
LAURA
I put four cups of Rice Bubbles
in Mum’s mixing bowl
sprinkle a dash of cocoa
and then more cocoa
and then even more because
too much chocolate is never enough.
I add a cup of icing sugar
and some melting rich Copha
the way Mum told me
when I rang her at work.
She asked me if I needed anything
and I suggested another packet of Rice Bubbles
just in case
my recipe turns into torture.
I mix everything together
&n
bsp; for exactly fifteen minutes
until my arms ache.
I sprinkle coconut on top and mix again.
I wonder if Mick likes crackles?
Everyone likes crackles!
One good turn deserves another.
I spoon the mix into patty cake papers
and slide the tray into the fridge.
I sit in the kitchen
waiting for them to set
wishing
fridges had glass doors
so I could watch
and check
and hope
that they taste as good as they look.
CAMERON
I ring her mobile
and when she answers
I act surprised and say,
‘Oh, hi, it’s you!
I meant to ring Mick.’
And she says,
‘Who is this?’
And I’m so nervous,
I answer, ‘It’s me.’
She giggles,
which is a start, I guess,
and says,
‘Hello me,’
and I say, ‘Hi’ again,
just to be polite
and then we both giggle
and I say I was going to ask Mick
if he’d like to meet me down at the river
near the campground for a swim
and maybe have a thickshake
at Johnson’s Café
and she says,
‘I like thickshakes.’
And I blush bright red
but that’s okay
because I’m hiding underneath our house
where I know I won’t be seen
and I say,
‘Why don’t we meet in an hour?’
and she giggles again
and says,
‘Sure.’
Then we both go silent
for a million minutes
until I say,
‘Great, I’ll see you then.’
And she says,
‘See you then, me.’
JACOB
Me and Mick sit on the back verandah
watching our dog Skip chase the ball
every time Mick throws it,
no matter where he hurls it.
I didn’t know Skip could swim so well.
Or Mick could throw the ball
all the way to the dam.
Mick keeps smiling to himself
and I know it isn’t because Skip
gets soaking wet
and shakes dam water
all over us,
the easiest way to cool down in summer.
It’s because of the biscuits,
Mick’s brilliant idea.
Pookie Aleera is Not My Boyfriend Page 8
