by Ruth Fox
“Oh, well, that’s interesting,” said Mrs. Appleby. “Why didn’t you like it?”
Morton’s voice had dropped so that it was barely louder than a whisper. “There weren’t any nice people there.”
Everyone leaned forwards in their seats to hear him, their interest making them breathless.
“Mrs. Appleby!” Zach called loudly. “I did my homework last night. You said you’d check it first thing.”
Mrs. Appleby sniffed. “Zach Morgenstern, how many times do I have to tell you not to yell out in my class?”
But the distraction had worked. With the teacher’s attention firmly on Zach, Morton did his curling-up act, as much as he could. A moment later, there was a loud crash as Aashna’s chair tipped over, sending her books flying. That was all it took to start Mrs. Appleby on a long-winded spiel about classroom safety and how that translated into risk assessment in the real world, and after that, nobody was paying attention to anything except the clock as it inched closer to giving them their freedom.
Lunch time arrived at last. Zach expected that he and Ryder would head for their usual spot. He supposed he was willing to let Morton come with them. But Morton was waylaid by a crowd of people at the lockers, as he pulled his lunch from his bag.
“You have to eat with us,” said Lex. “Trust me. You don’t want to get stuck sitting with losers.”
“Um, okay,” said Monster-boy. Zach stared, wide-eyed. He’d expected Monster-boy to attract attention because he was a freak. But he hadn’t expected him to be asked to sit with the popular crowd.
Especially Ida’s crowd.
But that’s exactly what happened; Lex dragged Monster-boy off to the table near the oval, where their group ate while they watched kids playing footy and soccer and cricket.
“Wow. Wish I was that popular on my first day,” said Ryder.
“I don’t believe it.” Zach stared after them. How many times had he wished he could sit with Ida? But he’d never been invited. Now, on his first day, Monster-boy was sitting right next to her!
Chapter Eight
Morton was out of bed as soon as Mrs. Morgenstern called through the door in the mornings. He ironed his own uniform shirt. He washed the dishes and packed his schoolbag.
He didn’t need to ask Zach to show him around anymore—he had his new friends for that. Vincent had decided that having a monster on the footy team would be an advantage against North Silvershine High School. “They’d be so scared when they saw you coming; they’d kick goals for us! Right?”
“Um, maybe,” said Monster-boy with a shy grin (though he carefully kept his pointed teeth hidden). He still had a habit of not looking at people, and he wore his sunnies whenever he could. He was obviously getting used to being noticed. And probably liking it, Zach thought bitterly.
Even Ryder seemed to be drawn to Morton.
“It’s just that he’s so different,” he said once. “He’s not like anyone we know.”
“Of course he’s not. He’s a monster,” Zach reminded him.
“Yeah, but he’s cool, isn’t he?”
Teachers liked Monster-boy, too. Once they got over the initial shock of him having spent more than three years out of school, they found him an attentive student. Monster-boy, for his part, seemed to like school. He could read and write, and he did so very slowly and carefully, making sure he sounded out his words perfectly in his quiet voice, and writing everything out in an exacting and neat hand.
Mr. and Mrs. Morgenstern buzzed around with smiles on their faces, practically glowing with excitement about everything. TV shows—the same ones they’d watched every night for the past twelve years—were suddenly great events. The morning ride to school in the Putterwagon was an adventure. An after-school snack required planning and forethought.
They went out of their way to make sure Zach and Morton were together as much as possible. They insisted on them doing their homework at the same times, and suggested they play the SonX together. But whenever they were alone, Zach and Morton sat in silence—it wasn’t even awkward silence, now, just a stubborn one on Zach’s part, and an accepting one on Monster-boy’s.
Zach had still been half-hoping that his parents would change their minds and send Monster-boy back to the Hope Orphanage. But as every day passed, that became less and less likely.
The other thing that was looking less likely was finding Bella Campbell.
Lex had filled up three notebooks so far with her scribblings. Zach knew this because she’d taken to carrying them everywhere, as if afraid she’d lose them. It was a valid concern. Lex wasn’t the most organised person.
“I heard Bella’s mum talking in the library,” she said, grabbing her glasses before they slipped off her face. “The police said the case has been classified ‘confidential’. They think she might have been kidnapped.”
“Why would anyone kidnap her?” Hayley asked, leaning over from where she’d been sitting, listening in. “Her mum’s a hairdresser and her dad’s a vacuum-cleaner salesman. They don’t have money for a ransom.”
“Well, they’re calling it ‘suspicious circumstances.’ Isn’t that cool?”
“It’s not cool,” said Ida quietly. “It’s horrible. That poor little girl is alone somewhere . . . or . . . worse.”
Lex shook her head. Her glasses slipped to one side.
“What I meant was, it’s a cool mystery. I think it’s just what the Middleview Hills News needs—an ongoing investigation. I bet I can solve this case before Police Chief Andy!”
Nobody doubted that she would try. When it came to the newsletter, Lex always gave everything she could.
It was as if Bella Campbell had vanished into thin air, Philip Nielson informed them in his very serious, but very excited tone as he gave the news report. “What may hold the key to this case is its similarity to earlier vanishings. We can now reveal that two other children were listed missing in the last two weeks. The children were initially thought to be runaways, but Bella’s disappearance points to more sinister possibilities.
“This news has hit our community hard, with some residents overwhelmed by the idea that a kidnapper might be wandering our streets.”
The screen filled with Mr. Majewski’s red face. Philip Nielson liked Mr. Majewski, who was vocal and opinionated, no matter the subject. He interviewed him whenever he could.
“Just not surprised at these turns of events!” Mr. Majewski said. “The world these days . . . it saddening me to see this happen in our Silvershine City . . .”
❖ ❖ ❖
On Sunday morning Zach woke earlier than usual. After trying to go back to sleep unsuccessfully, he jumped out of bed, got dressed and went downstairs. As he did, he noticed something different. Two new photographs had appeared on the wall.
Nestled between a photo of their annual Christmas holiday to Craggy Beach and one of Zach taking his first splashes in the pool at Wild World, this one was of his dad, showing Morton how to start the lawnmower. Morton’s claws were perfect for slipping in under the starter-cord, and Mr. Morgenstern was laughing heartily.
Zach remembered the time Mr. Morgenstern had tried to show him how to start the lawnmower. He’d pulled and pulled at the cord, but couldn’t get more than a whining phut-phut-phut from the stupid thing. Monster-boy, obviously, hadn’t had any problems, because there was another photo of Morton pushing the mower across the front lawn, waving shyly.
❖ ❖ ❖
Mr. Morgenstern arrived home with the brand new, gleaming Silvershine Motor Company Sportsmover that afternoon. This new car just looked wrong. It didn’t fit properly in the garage. The oil stain in the shape of a goat seemed disgraceful, poking out from the front of the silver bumper. The car was too roomy inside, too shiny outside, too new.
Once the Putterwagon was gone, the last tether
to the time before Monster-boy had arrived was cut. They were a family of four now, who wouldn’t fit in a bench-seat van with no back seats.
The house felt different. Familiar places—the bathroom, which held Monster-boy’s toothbrush and towels; the kitchen, where there were salted crackers in the larder, because Monster-boy liked them; the coat-rack, where Monster-boy’s jacket hung—had all changed. Zach’s own bedroom was the worst.
Mrs. Morgenstern had taken Zach’s model fighter jets out of the garage to show Morton. Morton had admired them so much that Mrs. Morgenstern told him he could take the box upstairs. “I thought you told me to pack these away,” Zach said to his mum when he found his favourite model, the F-15 Strike Eagle, sitting on Morton’s side of their desk.
“Oh, Zach,” said Mrs. Morgenstern. “Morton doesn’t have any toys at all.”
Zach spluttered at the unfairness of this. He’d made plenty of concessions to Morton already. So he waited until his mother was gone, then picked up the F-15 Strike Eagle. Slowly, and very deliberately, he snapped off one of the stabiliser fins.
When Morton came up later that evening, Zach watched with grim satisfaction as he picked up the broken toy, then, saying nothing, put it very carefully back down.
Zach had gotten used to sleeping in the top bunk, and had spent a good few hours pretending it was the cockpit of a fighter jet and he was outmaneuvering enemy spy planes. Good work, Captain Morgenstern, he imagined his commander’s voice coming over the radio. Return to base. He’d started to like his new bed.
That was, until Monster-boy created the Cave.
The Cave was made out of three spare blankets, which he tucked underneath Zach’s mattress so that they hung over the sides of the bottom bunk. Morton slipped under them and vanished from sight.
Zach waited until Morton was in the bathroom before he lifted one of the flaps. Inside it was a dark little grotto, but Monster-boy, with his luminous yellow eyes, wouldn’t need a lamp to see. He’d been reading some of Zach’s Ace Fighter Wars comics.
It looked cosy and comfortable. It was the best idea ever.
Zach let the blanket fall. He’d given Morton the bottom bunk as punishment. He wasn’t supposed to like it. He kind of thought Monster-boy had tricked him into taking the top bunk.
“Mum probably won’t want you using those blankets,” he said when Morton returned. “She’ll probably take them down when she sees.”
But she didn’t, of course.
Chapter Nine
When Zach was upset, he found the best thing to do was bake. One morning he decided to make lamingtons, because there was nothing more cheering than something covered in coconut.
“What is that?”
Monster-boy was coming in through the back door—he’d been taking the bins out, of course, because he never had to be asked. He set the plastic container back in the corner and peered curiously at the packet of desiccated coconut in Zach’s hand.
“You’ve never seen coconut?” Zach said incredulously. “Are you serious?”
Zach told him to hold out his hand, and poured some of the white flakes into it. Monster-boy sniffed it, his narrow nostrils working, and then flicked out a pointed tongue.
“Well?” said Zach. “What do you think?”
Monster-boy screwed up his face.
“How can you not like it?” Zach asked.
“Just joking,” said Monster-boy with a timid smile. “But it’s a bit dry.”
“You don’t usually eat it straight. It’s supposed to go on stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Lamingtons,” Zach said. “That’s what I’m making.”
“What are lamingtons?”
“They’re something that’s good to bake when you need to relax. They’re light and fluffy and . . . coconuty.”
“Can I help?” asked Monster-boy. “I mean—if you don’t mind—I don’t know how to make—”
Zach was about to say no, but it felt far too mean.
“All right.” Zach pulled out his special cooking knife—the sharp one that cut through anything and everything with ease, including skin, as he’d found when he’d slipped once—and started to chop a lime in half so he could add the juice to the cream for a bit of extra zing. “You can grease the pan.”
He thought this might actually work out well, if he got Monster-boy to do all the stuff he hated. But it soon turned out that Monster-boy was hopeless.
He put a hole in the sugar bag with his claws, leaving a trail across the floor. He spilled flour when he was measuring it into the bowl, covering himself in white dust. He then sneezed while he was putting the egg carton away and dropped not one but six eggs on the floor. When he asked if he could help stir the mixture in the bowl, Zach snapped,
“No! Just stand over there where you can’t wreck anything.”
Monster-boy looked downcast, and Zach’s anger mellowed a little, but before he could apologise, Monster-boy left the room.
❖ ❖ ❖
The next evening, Zach found Mrs. Morgenstern in the hallway, running a duster frantically over the frames of the family photos.
She looked panicked. “Go and brush your hair, Zach!”
“Why?”
She rubbed a stubborn smudge. “Don’t argue. Ms. Cutter is coming out to see about Morton.”
“Why—”
Mrs. Morgenstern pushed him towards the stairs. “She’s going to be here any minute. Go on!”
As Zach was trying to smooth his hair there was a knock at the door. He watched from the landing as Ms. Cutter walked into their house.
Her sharp nose was stuck high up in the air. She was wearing a stiff suit of salmon-coloured material, and her heels were so tall and thin they stabbed holes in the carpet. She carried a briefcase and a clipboard and her first words were, “I’ll have tea. No sugar.”
“Oh, of course,” said Mrs. Morgenstern, who had answered the door. While Mr. Morgenstern ushered Ms. Cutter into the lounge room, saying, in a rather nervous voice, “Morton is just through here, watching an educational documentary on birds.” Mrs. Morgenstern looked up at Zach and motioned urgently for him to come down.
He did, reluctantly.
“Be polite,” she said, quickly brushing invisible dust off his shoulders. “Answer any questions. Just . . .”
“Mum!” said Zach, feeling an urge to comfort her. “It’ll be fine.”
She smiled gratefully, and Zach stepped into the room. Monster-boy had, in fact, been watching a documentary on birds; Mr. Morgenstern didn’t need to exaggerate Morton’s scholarly disposition. He seemed determined to soak up knowledge like a dry sponge soaked up water.
Ms. Cutter was sitting on the edge of the couch, as if she was incapable of relaxing her rigid posture for a second. Or maybe she just wanted to limit her contact with their shabby old couch. She certainly had an expression of severe distaste on her face as she looked at Mr. Morgenstern and Monster-boy, then back down at the clipboard in her lap.
“. . . so tell me, Morton, how you’re dealing with living with a normal family.”
“It’s nice,” said Monster-boy quietly. He had removed his sunglasses but he was looking at his feet.
Ms. Cutter scribbled some notes. “Nice? Can you be more specific?”
“I like it.”
Ms. Cutter heaved a sigh. “I see being here in the real world hasn’t improved your skills in communication.”
“I’ve always lived in the real world,” said Morton. “Haven’t I?”
He wasn’t being rude—it was an honest question, the type that Morton always asked, when he asked anything at all.
But Ms. Cutter’s cold face turned colder. She muttered and scribbled on her clipboard. “Seems to lack understanding of the change in his social and economi
c environment.” She turned to Zach. “Well,” she said. “Perhaps you can tell me a bit about your adopted brother.”
“He’s . . .” Zach stopped for a second, unsure how to continue. It suddenly occurred to him that at this moment, Monster-boy’s future was in his hands as much as his parents’. If he said the wrong thing, Monster-boy could be on his way back to the orphanage by tonight. He’d never have to see Monster-boy again.
He looked at Ms. Cutter. Her sharp eyes were focussed unwaveringly on him.
Zach glanced at his dad, who was also looking at him steadily, as if he knew his son would say the right thing.
Zach took a seat in the armchair opposite Ms. Cutter. “Morton,” he said, “is a really cool brother. He’s doing really well at school, too. He’s fitting in great.”
Ms. Cutter looked faintly disgusted. She made some more notes, muttering “working industriously at schoolwork—possible problems with balancing work and play?” before Mrs. Morgenstern came in with a tray of tea and some of the lamingtons Zach had baked the other night. “The boys made these,” she said proudly.
Zach gritted his teeth. Monster-boy hadn’t done anything except mess things up. Zach had done the baking, and if they looked really yummy now—and they did—it was all thanks to him.
Ms. Cutter raised her eyebrows. “Thank you, but I rarely eat sugar,” she said, scribbling on her clipboard and muttering, “Sugary treats served as casual snacks—health issues.”
Mrs. Morgenstern was noticeably flustered, putting the tray down with shaking hands and flicking nervous glances at her husband. “Well,” she said. “We’re so glad to have Morton here. He’s a wonderful young man.”
Ms. Cutter looked up at this. “Surely,” she said in a dry voice, “you’re not encouraging him”—she flicked a gaze at Morton—“to think of himself as a young man.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Morgenstern. “Well, that’s what he is . . .”
