The petition kept me pretty busy, which was good because it stopped me worrying about Smooch. Every day I searched all the trees on the way to school and on the way home, but he wasn’t in any of them.
The orange stakes were still down the creek. There were even some up near the yards now. People in fluoro jackets tromped all over our paddocks just about every day, but mostly they stayed away from the house.
‘How much longer till we have to . . . you know . . . ?’ I asked Gran late one afternoon. We were sitting on the verandah, eating homemade scones, and I didn’t want to ruin the moment by saying the word ‘move’.
‘Not quite yet,’ said Gran. ‘There’s still that hiccup with the contract. They’re letting us stay on until they sort it out.’
My brain fizzled with joy. There was still a hiccup? Was it because of my letters after all? Or the petition? Maybe they’d already passed a law preventing the developers from chopping down Smooch’s trees. Or maybe the developers had just changed their minds. Perhaps, because I’d been brave and spoken up, they’d decided to leave us alone.
‘So we won’t have to live with Uncle Malcolm?’ I said, sitting a little straighter.
‘No love. Well, yes, but not for the time being. We can wait until they sort things out.’
‘Oh,’ I said, sinking back into my chair. Then I jolted upright again. ‘But that means there’s still time to save Smooch’s trees. There’s got to be something else we can do.’
‘No, I don’t think there’s anything else, Rosie,’ said Gran. ‘Mrs Henry up the road tried to save a few scribbly gums when her land was sold, and although the developers nodded their heads, they bulldozed them anyway.’
I took a bite of scone but even though it was smothered in delicious strawberry jam, thinking about bulldozers made the dough all sticky in my mouth.
‘I understand you’re upset about us selling the farm, Rosie, but your Uncle Malcolm’s right. It really is for the best. We’re not getting anywhere near the money we used to for strawberries and I’m not getting any younger.’
‘It’s not that,’ I huffed. ‘I know we have to sell the farm and everything. I just don’t want them to bulldoze all the trees.’
I’d explained all the stuff I’d read on the koala websites to her before but she never seemed to listen. It was like she’d already given up on the farm and didn’t want to fight.
I was never going to give up.
‘Maybe it’s time for a protest march,’ I suggested. ‘They’d have to listen then, wouldn’t they?’
‘Maybe,’ said Gran, taking another sip of tea. And then, not sounding very convinced, ‘You could try.’
I woke the next morning with Gran shaking my arm. ‘Rosie!’ she puffed breathlessly. ‘You’ve slept in. I’ve fed the animals, but you’d better skedaddle. You’ll be late for school.’
My alarm hadn’t gone off! I dived out of bed and raced to school without breakfast. I would have made it too, if only I hadn’t seen a white and grey lump on the side of the road. I stopped dead. Smooch?
A car roared past, blaring its horn. The lump didn’t move. I wanted to shout, ‘Get away, quick!’ as I started running towards it. When I was about a metre away, I froze. What if it was Smooch? All bloodied and ripped? I stepped backwards. A sudden gust of wind flicked a strand of hair across my face. I pushed it away. The same gust caught the white and grey thing from where it lay. It flapped and rose and fluttered away. It wasn’t Smooch. It was just a plastic bag!
I exhaled and tried to settle my pounding heart. Maybe this time it hadn’t been him but what about next time? I sank to the curb and held my head in my hands. That bag was a sign. A sign that if I didn’t do something, Smooch would end up dead on the side of the road. He needed me to help save him. If I didn’t, who would?
I strode off to school, determined to talk to Mrs Glover about a protest march. I stepped into the classroom, my head held high. All eyes turned to me. I was late – again – but today would be okay. I had a good excuse. I steeled myself for a lecture and made my way to my desk.
But then I stopped. Tahlia was standing up the front holding a set of sharp teeth. Behind her, pictures of fierce Tasmanian devils flashed across the interactive whiteboard. I glanced around the room. One girl had a model of a large crab-looking thing sitting on her desk and another held a jar with something green and slimy cowering inside it.
Of course – presentation day! The PowerPoints! Mrs Glover waved an impatient hand at me and I slunk into my chair. I had only three measly slides on my USB and not a single prop. If only I hadn’t spent so much time researching ways to save Smooch, I might have been more prepared.
I did a quick calculation. Mrs Glover liked doing things alphabetically and Tahlia’s surname was Baker. There were 20 students on the roll between Baker and Nunn. Allowing one minute of talking per student and two minutes of questions plus the usual feet-dragging turn-around time. It would take five minutes for each person. Twenty people at five minutes apiece meant at least one hour and 40 minutes before Mrs Glover would call on me. It was now 9.15. We started sport at 12 and there was morning tea in between. If I was lucky, I might just slip through without doing my presentation.
I let out a deep breath and forced myself to concentrate on the whiteboard. Tahlia had included background music in her presentation and had all sorts of facts and figures. I shrank into my chair. My PowerPoint needed lots of work.
Tahlia finished her talk by asking for questions. I was pleased to see three hands shoot up. The more time we wasted the better. She answered each question perfectly and Mrs Glover smiled. She told us that Tahlia had delivered exactly the type of PowerPoint she’d been looking for and that she hoped she could expect the same quality from everyone in the class. There was some uncomfortable shuffling around the room.
Mrs Glover jotted down some notes in her mark book and then her eyes panned the room. I waited for her to call up Kellee. Her surname was Caper, and she was next on the roll after Tahlia. She even started gathering her notes and pushing back her chair.
I flinched when I heard my name.
‘Miss Nunn!’ repeated Mrs Glover. ‘Let’s hope your presentation was of higher priority than getting to school on time today . . . mmm?’
I gulped. Me? Now? I heard a snort from the back of the room. Tahlia and Kellee were waiting like red-bellied black snakes to strike. I had to think of an excuse. Quickly.
‘I . . . um . . . we had a computer glitch at home,’ I stuttered. ‘Our hard drive . . . um . . . froze . . .’
‘You don’t even have a computer,’ sneered Tahlia. A chorus of teehees trilled from the back. My face burnt.
‘Sorry, Mrs Glover,’ I mumbled. ‘Can I do mine tomorrow? I . . . I only need a few more pictures and then I’ll be ready.’
Mrs Glover tapped her pen on her hand. Twenty-six faces stared up at her in anticipation. I was hopeless at public speaking. And everyone knew it. I hung my head low. Please don’t make me go. Please.
Mrs Glover cleared her throat. ‘If you remember, Miss Nunn, I said no extensions. Do you remember me saying that? Class?’
Everyone murmured a nervous yes. I was sure I wasn’t the only person who hadn’t finished their slides.
‘Up you get, young lady. Let’s see what you’ve got.’
My hands shook as I rummaged through my pencil case. I hoped I couldn’t find my USB, but there it was, right on the top. I handed it to Mrs Glover. She plugged it into her laptop as I positioned myself in front of the whiteboard. My knees wobbled like crazy.
I twisted my hands together. ‘Good morning, class. Good morning, Mrs Glover.’ My eyes stayed glued to my shoes. I’d wound black tape over the toe to cover a large scruffy hole at the beginning of the year so Gran wouldn’t have to buy me a new pair. The tape had been peeling off all term. I’d need to . . . This isn’t about shoes. Focus, focus, brea
the.
It felt like an hour passed. Every time I opened my mouth a nervous giggle escaped instead of my proper voice.
‘There’s nothing funny about it, Rose. We’re waiting.’
‘My presentation today is about the . . . um . . . the . . . um . . . the endangered Australian animal, the . . . um . . . the koala.’ I reached for the remote to click on my first slide. My palm was hot and sweaty. The remote slipped and rattled noisily to the floor. I dived under the nearest desk to retrieve it.
‘But the koala isn’t endangered,’ said someone at the back of the room. It sounded like Kellee. I stayed under the desk longer than I needed to. Maybe Mrs Glover would feel sorry for me and let me go sit down.
‘Yeah. There are thousands of koalas, aren’t there?’ said someone else. ‘You can’t do a presentation on them.’
My fingers curled around the remote. Koalas were endangered. They were dying all around the place. Hadn’t the websites said that? I couldn’t make myself stand back up. What if I’d got it all wrong?
‘That’s enough, class. Let Rose continue. Rose, out of there. Keep going, please.’
I crawled out from under the desk and pushed my hair from my eyes. Breathe, breathe. Click. My first slide was a photo of Smooch, high up in his tallowwood tree. ‘This is a typical . . . um . . . a typical koala,’ I muttered, staring at my shoes. ‘They eat gumleaves.’
‘Duh!’ said Kellee. I waited for her to say something about me eating gumleaves, but I looked up to see Mrs Glover giving her a glare.
I started again. ‘They eat gumleaves. They have to chew them very slowly because um . . . because . . .’ I puffed out my cheeks. Stupid idea. When I let the air out, it made a ridiculous popping sound. Mrs Glover shook her head. Think, think. Why did they chew slowly? It had something to do with digestion. But I couldn’t remember. My brain had frozen. ‘Um . . . they chew slowly because . . .’
I gave up. I clicked on the next slide. It was the picture I’d found of the koala clinging to the only tree in a totally cleared development site. The room went silent. No fiddling or wriggling. Just silence. All eyes facing me. I was supposed to say that koala numbers were dropping fast, but that picture made my chest heave and I had to choke down a sob. I couldn’t trust my voice to utter another word. I was terrified I would cry.
‘Rose?’ said Mrs Glover, coming over to me. Her voice was surprisingly kind. ‘Rose, have you any more slides?’
I nodded but didn’t trust myself to speak. My eyes stung with tears.
‘Okay, well, I think that’s probably enough for today. How about you practise when you get home tonight and be ready to try again first thing tomorrow?’
I nodded again.
‘Right, let’s have Kellee up next. Kellee, are you ready?’
The rest of the day was a blur. All I remembered was someone talking about weird short-nosed sea snakes, which made everyone squeal, and Kellee giving an amazing presentation on the hairy-nosed wombat. I vowed to practise my talk a million times before tomorrow. I’d practise in front of Gran and maybe even Carol and I’d make sure I was super-prepared to present the next morning.
But the next morning, my PowerPoint presentation was the last thing on my mind.
11. Bulldozers
I woke up to the sound of Mickey whinnying. A high-pitched, terrified whinny. Over and over again. I raced outside in my pyjamas. He was galloping back and forth across his paddock, his nostrils wide. His tail was held high and his neck was arched. His body was slick with sweat. I vaulted off the verandah and ran to his fence.
‘Mickey!’ I yelled. ‘Mickey!’
He stopped and swivelled in my direction, ears straining and nostrils quivering. Finally, his tail dropped and he cantered over to me. He nuzzled my outstretched palm for carrots, but when he realised I didn’t have any, he took off. His tail streamed behind him as he galloped.
I scanned the strawberry patches first. What was he so upset about? Was he spooked by something flapping in the breeze? Like a piece of silver plastic broken free from under the strawberry plants and caught around a fence post? No. It had to be more than that. Mickey was going crazy. I turned to check the rest of the farm. That’s when I saw it. I clamped my hands to my head. A huge orange bulldozer was winding its way towards the creek!
I didn’t care about being in my pyjamas and started running. I ran through Mickey’s paddock and ducked under the fence. My bare feet pounded the damp grass.
The bulldozer roared forwards through the trees. Saplings split and cracked against its hard metal blade. The air smelt of eucalyptus and diesel. I sprinted up to the huge machine and leapt up and down beside the cab. ‘Stop!’ I yelled. ‘You have to stop!’ The driver was so high above me he didn’t see me at first. He was staring straight ahead as though knocking down trees was the most boring job on earth. I waved my arms frantically above my head. I yelled and jumped some more. ‘Stop! Slow down!’
Eventually, the driver saw me and slowed the bulldozer down. When it fully stopped, the window popped open and a yellow helmet appeared. The driver leant out and looked down at me with surprise. ‘What on earth . . . ?’ he shouted above the roar of the engine.
‘You can’t come through here. It’s private property!’ I shouted.
He turned the engine off and swung open the door. He pulled a pile of papers from the dashboard and flicked through them with thick, hairy hands. ‘Don’t say that here, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Says it’s the property of Hall and Young. Got orders to flatten the lot. All ’cept the house and yards. I’d stand clear if I was you.’ He threw the papers down onto the seat beside him and reached to close the door.
‘No!’ I screamed. But the driver shook his head and I tripped backwards as the bulldozer roared back to life. The caterpillar tyres rolled forwards and the enormous orange monster lurched towards the trees. My heart lurched with it. I had to do something! Anything!
There was only one thing to do. Before I could change my mind, I ran to Smooch’s tallowwood tree. I hugged my arms around it, clasping the trunk like a sinking life raft in the ocean. I squeezed my eyes shut. The only way I could stop myself from running away was to imagine I was riding Mickey, high above the clouds. His chestnut coat glistened like the Melbourne Cup favourite Dad had hoped he would be. We flew in perfect silence, he and I, his mane drifting like silk behind us.
‘I said – MOVE!’
Mickey and I crashed to the ground. The driver was stomping across the dewy grass towards me. Now that the engine had stopped, I could hear Mickey, still whinnying in his paddock.
I held my breath. The driver was getting closer. What was he going to do to me? His arms were so strong and muscly. They looked more like legs than arms. They could crush a girl like me in seconds . . .
A strange sound came from high up in the tree. The driver stopped and looked up. The sound came again. A mixture of a pig’s grunt and cow’s bellow. With my arms still around the trunk, I tipped my head up too. A familiar grey shape sat high in the canopy of the tallowwood tree.
Smooch!
My heart swooped. He was alive! He was actually alive! Carol must have been right – he’d just gone walkabout and now here he was, as if nothing had happened!
I grinned. It was great to see him.
But his timing couldn’t have been worse.
The driver started towards me again. He was close enough for me to smell his sweat. My stomach squirmed. I prepared for the worst. Suddenly, a loud voice shouted, ‘Don’t take another step. If you lay a hand on my granddaughter . . .’
Gran was wearing her usual green overalls, the ones with strawberry stains down the front. She planted herself firmly between the driver and me. ‘You okay, Rosie?’ she said from the corner of her mouth.
I nodded. She smelt like strawberries.
‘You’ll have to move!’ shouted the driver. ‘I ain’t got time
for games. I got wages to earn.’ He flicked a broad hand at me as if I were a wasp buzzing around his head.
Gran squinted at the driver. Her lips thinned. ‘Bobby Dwyer?’ she said. ‘Ginnie’s youngest? I always wondered what became of you.’
Bobby let his hands fall from his hips. He pulled off his helmet and glanced nervously at the bulldozer and then back at Gran. ‘With all due respect, Mrs Nunn, we gotta job to do here. Can’t you—?’
‘How’s your mum doing, Bobby? She’s up at the retirement village now, isn’t she?’ asked Gran.
Bobby shuffled in his big worn boots. He fiddled with his ear and kept his eyes down. He cradled his helmet in one arm like it was a round yellow baby. ‘Mrs Nunn, we’ve got orders. We have to—’
‘Be sure to say hello from me next time you visit her, won’t you, Bobby?’ said Gran, her voice all deep and growly.
Bobby swallowed. ‘Yep, yep, sure will.’ His voice sounded kind of squeaky. He mumbled something I couldn’t hear and then, with a scratch of his head, suggested he get Mr Young from the developer’s office. ‘You know. Just to sort everythin’ out.’ He turned to leave. ‘Good luck to ya, Mrs Nunn.’
‘Yes, thank you, Bobby,’ said Gran. ‘See you.’ We watched him lumber back to his bulldozer and grab his keys before stomping off towards the road. I wished he’d taken the bulldozer. It towered like a huge metal predator over the broken trees.
‘Rosie love,’ whispered Gran when he’d gone. ‘You can’t stay here. You heard what Bobby said. They’ve been told to clear all the trees. It’s too late, Rosie. It’s going to happen.’ She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. A fat hot tear rolled down my cheek.
‘But Gran, Smooch is back. They’ll kill him if they knock down his trees,’ I sobbed. ‘If I go, they’ll bulldoze him.’
Gran shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Rosie. You’ll get hurt if you stay here. I know it’s awful, but you’re going to have to move.’
I opened my mouth to say no but I closed it again when I heard a horrible ear-splitting squeal. Someone was using a chainsaw!
Smooch & Rose Page 5
