Dirt Bomb

by Beale, Fleur

  Yeah right! I was nothing like my loser father. He was a gambler for starters. I got up and raided the kitchen.

  But what if I did get a job? I’d have to be looking for real this time next year anyway. Unless I went to uni, which wasn’t going to happen. I’d had a gutsful of school already.

  I found a tin of spag deep in the pantry. Heated it up and ate it. Speck stared at me.

  ‘You don’t like spag.’

  She kept staring.

  ‘Looks like you think I should sell my soul,’ I said

  She jumped up on my knee.

  I shovelled in the spag without tasting it. I needed money. It wouldn’t kill me to get a job. Probably.

  ‘But,’ I told Speck, ‘if I do, I’m not going to do a Dad with my pay.’

  I went back to the computer and looked for jobs for five minutes. All I found was babysitting. Not for me. I’d kill the little bastards.

  ‘I could babysit animals, Speck. Know of anyone in need of a cat-sitter?’ Somebody who would pay fifty bucks an hour?

  I heard Gramps turn into the drive. Not a smooth stop. I bet the fifty I didn’t have that the front of the car would have dipped down. Apparently that happened if you jammed on the brakes because you got a sudden weight transfer.

  ‘G’day Jake. How’s the car going? Come and give me a hand with dinner, will you?’

  I can recognise an order when I hear one. ‘I’m busy, Gramps.’

  ‘You want to eat, you come and help.’

  ‘I’m looking for a job.’

  Silence. Then he came into the lounge with a big fat smile on his face. ‘Good for you, lad. Good for you. I knew you had it in you.’

  ‘Don’t get excited,’ I said. ‘I haven’t found anything.’ I frowned. ‘You reckon I’d be any good as an exotic dancer? Good money, apparently.’

  He cracked up. ‘Tell you what — I’ll buy you the feathers and spangles.’ He bent down to peer at the screen. ‘You’ll have more luck with the paper.’ He fished in a pocket. ‘Take this. Go and buy one.’

  I walked down to the dairy. It was official? Jake Stringer was looking for work? It felt stink, like I’d been cornered and the whole world was yapping at me, Get a job get a job. And here I was just caving in, joining the rat-race.

  I sat on a stone wall to think. It was nice in the sun. People who slaved their lives away doing jobs they hated didn’t have time to sit in the sun.

  But there was no way out of it. I needed the cash.

  I bought the paper.

  Not even a sniff of a job.

  I helped Gramps cook dinner. Stir fry with too many vegetables.

  Mum came home. Gramps opened his big mouth and told her I was looking for a job. She hugged me. Tears in her eyes again. Talk about over-reacting — I didn’t even have anything to apply for yet.

  I DECIDED NOT to say anything to the guys. But when Robbie yabbered on about how he’d made the appointment to sit his learner’s next week, out it came. ‘I’m looking for a job.’

  Buzz stared at me. ‘What brought this on?’

  Robbie put a hand on my forehead. ‘You got a fever, bro?’

  ‘Very funny.’ I shrugged. ‘I want my licence. Gotta pay for it myself. Need a job.’

  ‘People always need relief milkers,’ Buzz said.

  ‘I’m not that desperate,’ I said. ‘I’d rather clean offices. Come on, let’s get this show on the road.’

  I won paper scissors rock. Yes! Things were looking up.

  I started the car, listened for the revs, tried to synch them with the gear changes. Didn’t worry about going fast. Didn’t try a handbrake turn. Tried to get round the corners without jerking the steering wheel and without braking in the middle. Practised changing gear and braking before I got to the corner. Practised powering out of it. Then I tried cornering without braking. Sent the car rocking on its wheels a few times.

  Robbie was all determination when he slid in for his go. We watched him try yet another handbrake turn.

  Buzz said, ‘Almost! Nearly nailed it that time!’ Then he looked at me. ‘You given up on the handbrakeys?’

  I told him what I was doing. He looked impressed. Then he looked thoughtful. I could see him wondering if he was a rough and aggressive driver.

  It can’t have bothered him too much, though. He went right on perfecting the doughnut.

  Towards home time I decided I’d worked hard enough to deserve a foot-to-the-floor blat around the paddock. I wound up the engine, put my foot down and took off with a shower of wheel spin that sent the bros ducking for cover. I chose a different line round the paddock and the reverse direction from how we’d been driving it. I had my eye on a slight hump in the terrain. I aimed for it, floored the gas and hurtled over it. The car left the ground. I was flying, but had no time even to yell — I was too busy getting the wheels lined up so that I didn’t flip it on landing. The old girl rocked left, right, then left again, before she decided to stay upright. I cruised back to base, the adrenalin still pulsing.

  I could see Buzz and Robbie bouncing around on their toes, just about pulling me back they were so keen to have a go.

  Robbie graunched the gears all the way round. He managed to get the car a massive ten centimetres in the air, but he couldn’t get any more out of it. He came back shaking his head and muttering.

  Buzz took off with his usual smooth gear changes. ‘He’ll do it, no sweat,’ Robbie said. He sounded gloomy.

  We watched Buzz roar up to the hillock and yelled, ‘Way to go!’ as the car floated through the air and landed with barely a wobble.

  I did the perfect run my second time out, but the third time I don’t know what happened. There was one hell of a thump somewhere round the rear of the car as I landed, and next thing the exhaust was dragging along the ground. I drove back grinning — the motor sounded real grunty without the exhaust.

  ‘Good one, bro,’ Robbie said.

  ‘I vote we don’t fix it,’ Buzz said.

  I pulled myself out of the car. ‘Suits me.’

  But we decided to wait until the morning to undo the remaining bolt. That was after I’d stretched out a hand to grab hold of it, yelled and dropped it in a hurry. ‘Too hot to handle.’

  THE NEXT DAY when we got to the paddock, we found a stack of road cones dumped inside the gate.

  Robbie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Bastards! They’re going to start ripping this up. We haven’t even been here a week!’

  ‘Unknot your nightie,’ Buzz said. ‘Dad said he’d drop them off if he had time.’

  I got it. ‘A slalom!’

  First, though, we dealt to the exhaust pipe. Then we set up the cones — twenty of them — in a line the length of the paddock. The trick was to put them far enough apart to let us get through the spaces but close enough to make it interesting. Seeing it was all Buzz’s idea, we let him have first go.

  ‘Bet he knocks six of them over,’ Robbie said.

  ‘Nah,’ I said. ‘He’ll get right through and make us feel really stink when we knock them all over.’

  He clipped the first one, sending it spinning. Flattened the next one so that it spat out from under the car. Got round the third one. Took the fourth with no problem and totalled the next three. After that, he sped up, driving a weaving line that looked okay, except that he took out every one of the remaining thirteen cones, with the final one teetering, tipping, then falling.

  Robbie said, ‘He sucks bad.’

  Buzz, laughing his head off, came back on the outside of the carnage. We put the cones back, and as I chased after the ones that had got away I promised myself that no way was I going to be as bad as Buzz.

  It was my turn next. I slid in through the window, revved the motor and took off. I must have been going slightly too fast, because I had to stand on the brakes to slow down enough to get through the space between the first two cones. The brakes squealed, the tyres spun, but through I went.

  I wrenched the wheel back to attack the next gap — an
d ran over cone number three. Floored the accelerator to power out of the bend. Swung wide and missed cone five. Damn it! We had the things much too close together … Well, that was easy fixed. I’d just aim for every second gap.

  That was better. I liked the feel of the car swinging out of one bend, then back the other way to attack the next gap. I spoiled the run by clipping the final cone, but I was pleased. Counting the last cone, I’d only taken out two.

  ‘Eat my dust,’ I said as I hauled myself out of the car.

  But Buzz had already raced away to reposition the cones so they were further apart.

  Robbie went at it like the world was ending, and even with the wide gaps left only four out of the twenty cones standing.

  Buzz nailed it on his next go.

  It took me a couple of turns before I managed it, but we lost count of how many runs Robbie did before he came back happy and with twenty cones standing in a line behind him.

  Then Buzz did a run that made me and Robbie think he’d lost his marbles. He clipped every single cone — and he came back looking pleased with himself.

  ‘Beat that,’ he said to me as we swapped over. ‘You’ve got to clip each one of the suckers with the back of the car. See how far you can fire it.’

  That kept us busy, and it was harder than it looked — but then I was finding out that most of this stuff was. Like handbrakeys, for starters. Just to prove it, I tried one at the end of the run, missing the final cone in the process.

  I’d kind of given up expecting it to work but the whole thing came together and just flowed. Foot off the gas, turn the wheel with right hand, pull on the handbrake, foot on clutch, release handbrake — and I was round. I drove back to the others, waving through the window and punching the air.

  Robbie climbed in for his turn. ‘I’ll nail the bastard,’ he muttered, and he didn’t mean the slalom, which he ignored.

  He nearly did nail the handbrakey, but the car didn’t quite make it right round.

  Buzz’s phone started playing some dumb song. Time for him to go to his stink cows. Time for Robbie to head for his broom. Time for me to sit in the sun.

  Except that when I got home, Gramps had other ideas.

  ‘Here, Jake. Take these and put them up at the dairy, any café you can think of, and drop a few off round the neighbours.’ He shoved a bundle of paper at me.

  ‘What the …’ I couldn’t believe my eyes. The old bugger had done a flyer with a photo saying what a hard worker I was and how I needed a job I could do round school hours.

  I shoved the flyers right back at him. ‘No way.’ I glared at him. ‘And don’t you put them up either. How’d you like it if your face was plastered all over town?’

  He took a look at the page like he’d never seen it before. ‘You could have a point there, Jake. No problem. Just cut it off.’

  Hell, he just didn’t get it. ‘No. No leaflet drop. No flyer. Final.’

  I had a look at the newspaper he’d left spread out on the table. ‘There’s nothing there,’ he said. ‘That’s why you need to advertise.’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

  I fired up the computer. There was an article about driving a slalom. I wondered if Buzz and Robbie would read up how to drive one. But no, they wouldn’t have time — too busy earning money.

  The next day when we were setting up the cones, I said, ‘Let’s put them closer together. It got too easy yesterday.’

  ‘Suits me,’ Buzz said.

  He won the first run. He was much slower than when the cones had been wide apart and he wasn’t as tidy.

  ‘I reckon he’ll knock seven down,’ Robbie said.

  Wrong. Buzz only left seven standing.

  My turn. I decided not to follow the advice from the article, not yet. I needed to get the feel of the course first, but I went at the same speed as the day before, swinging so wide to get through the first gap that I missed it completely, along with gap number two. I slowed down enough to get me through gap four, stepped on the gas and missed the next three, slowed to a crawl to finish the run. And drove back to my mates who were slow clapping.

  Robbie climbed on board next. ‘Watch and learn, my friend. Watch and learn.’

  ‘How not to drive a slalom,’ Buzz said as Robbie skittled just about every cone.

  I decided I’d try what the article said to do. One thing was for sure — I’d be better than Robbie, whatever I did. But I wanted to be better than Buzz. So I tried it on my next turn, which meant I had to slow right down. And when I came back, Buzz and Robbie were on their knees crawling along the grass.

  Fair enough. I had driven at a crawl. But it was hard, trying to watch where I wanted to go instead of directly in front of me.

  I thought about what to do — stick with the instructions or just go for it. It was more fun just going for it. I did that for an hour or so, but it got boring when there was no challenge in it. Any idiot could knock over road cones. I went back to trying to look ahead of where I was driving, back to trying to keep my eyes on where I wanted to go, trying to keep my head upright instead of leaning into the corners. That was meant to help. It didn’t seem to, any more than the other rules did. I nearly gave up. Run after run, I sent cones flying, and not just one or two either. I slowed right down to a crawl. Got right through, but — hold the champagne — you could do it with eyes shut at that speed. Robbie and Buzz were lying on the ground when I got back from that one. I kept trying. Nothing felt different, and concentrating like hell was no fun.

  Buzz climbed into the car after a run where I’d only hit three cones. ‘Good work, Jake my man. You went faster than a crawl that time.’

  He took off, belting up the paddock. He jammed on the brakes, slid smack into the first corner, went wide so that he left the next eight cones standing because he zapped past them on the outside. Right at the end, he barreled back into the course and flattened the final cone.

  Robbie shook his head. ‘Fast but not tidy.’

  Buzz wasn’t worried. ‘We’re here to have fun, my men. Fast is fun.’ He sat on the car door and swung his legs over. ‘Try it, Jake. It’s a blast.’

  What the hell. I floored the gas and took off with a roar of exhaust. Yes! I was laughing, fighting the car, turning into the bends with brakes screeching. I sent cones flying at every turn.

  Robbie and Buzz were cheering when I got back. ‘Told you,’ Buzz said.

  Robbie jumped in, fired up the engine, crunched into first gear, blipped the gas, spun the wheels, then powered off.

  Buzz shook his head. ‘Mate, we could be needing a new gear box.’

  We heard every single gear change. I pictured little pieces of metal flying off the cogs every time Robbie messed up a change. I drove so much better than he did — almost as good as Buzz did, I reckon. It just proved what a bit of practice could do.

  Which led me right round to thinking about whether or not I wanted to beat Buzz at the slalom. I didn’t have to think long and hard about that one: yes I did, I so absolutely did.

  I watched him carefully when he did his next run. Robbie was yabbering away beside me about how good Buzz was and how he was going to practise so he could beat him. I said yeah and good on you to make him think I was listening. My mind was on Buzz. He was getting slightly faster, but he never did a run without knocking over at least half the cones. I tuned into what Robbie was saying and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Me too, bro. Tell you what, though — I’m going to beat the both of you.’

  Robbie said, ‘Yeah, right! Slow and sure never won a slalom, bro.’

  No, but fast and furious when you didn’t know what the hell you were doing wasn’t getting us far either.

  I went back to following the rules. They went back to mocking me. I so wanted to floor it, to screech into the turns, to feel the car judder as the wheels lost traction, but I didn’t. The only way to get better than Buzz was to learn how to do it properly. I just hoped that bloody article was right, b
ecause I was going to look a proper wally if I kept up my granny-driving and never got any better.

  Then, suddenly, things changed. I stopped feeling like I was fighting the car. The gear changes flowed better, the turns felt smoother. I was still hitting more cones than I missed but, yes! I was getting somewhere.

  After about ten more attempts, I did a run where I only hit one cone. The next time I got through with every cone untouched. I wasn’t going the speed the others were driving at, but I wasn’t crawling either. The guys watched me come back, hands on their hips, thinking-type looks on their faces.

  ‘Okay,’ Robbie said, ‘so what’s the secret?’

  ‘Well, it’s like this. You have to …’

  Buzz turned to Robbie. ‘Any shit, and we deck him. Okay?’

  Robbie flexed his biceps. ‘Absolutely.’

  I got myself out of the car before I said anything. ‘This article I read … it said you have to focus on the bend you’re coming up to. Forget the rest of the course. Just take each corner in turn.’

  They squinted at me, faces all intense and thoughtful. Then they looked at each other and shook their heads. I took off before they did, racing up the paddock, swerving, snatching up a road cone before turning to face them. Couldn’t run any further because I was laughing too hard. I held the cone in front of me like a shield. ‘Okay, cool it! Here’s the real deal.’

  I told them as we walked back to the car. ‘Is that all?’ Buzz asked, and I got the picture that if it wasn’t I’d be toast.

  ‘Honest, that’s all,’ I said. ‘It felt really boring and dumb to start with. You’ve got to keep at it.’

  They both had a go, keeping their eyes on the course ahead of them. They stuffed up big time. When it was my turn again, they didn’t wait at the start. Trusting buggers — Buzz stood halfway along the course and Robbie went up to near the final cone. They’d be watching to see where I was looking. If I could have worked out a way to fool them, I would have, but I figured that’d take a lot more skill than I had, so I just drove the best I could. I didn’t miss a gap, didn’t hit a cone either. Yes!