by Alison Hart
Alex and I agree to all her terms because snails are being used for entertainment and profit. And we think a Field Medical Centre is a good idea and wish we’d thought of it first.
We form a committee to sort out a few rules. The committee is made up of Alex, Braden, Jun, Minha and me. Jun is only a silent member, though, because he thinks it might conflict with his vice-captaincy contract. We only need a fifth person in case there’s any voting to do.
The rules are as follows:
Rule 1: All snails must be registered and allocated with a number at the beginning of each event (lunchtime).
Rule 2: All snails must be declared fit to race by the Snail Welfare Officer (Minha).
Rule 3: Bets must not exceed two dollars.
Rule 4: No touching, blowing or spitting on your snail during a race.
Rule 5: No touching, blowing or spitting on anyone else’s snail during a race.
Rule 6: No decoration of snails is allowed.
We included the last rule because after I drew the ‘A’ on Alonso, some kids wanted to decorate their snails with coloured paint and glitter and stuff. Minha says that stuff could be toxic to snails and anyway, it’s not dignified. Instead, all the competitors have to wear a number sticker. One of those low-stick red dots that are designed not to wreck your furniture and stuff when you move house. Braden has a whole box of them.
Alex takes over the betting part because he does extension maths and doesn’t need a calculator to figure out the money. We don’t use actual money because no one really has any. He just writes down which snail wins and their earnings in an exercise book. Mrs Leeman would be pleased with his attention to detail; he’s drawn margins and columns and everything.
Alonso keeps winning so I agree to rest him for the last few races of the day to even the field a bit. I’m pretty busy, anyway. It’s a lot of work organising everything and making sure everyone’s following racetrack protocol.
After the bell goes and the crowd begins to leave, Alex says, ‘Hey, isn’t that Peta? Standing over there?’
I look where he’s pointing. ‘Yeah …’
When Peta sees us looking in her direction, she turns around and disappears behind the bike shed.
Braden says, ‘Maybe Leini’s got Peta to spy on us … and she’ll tell Ms Kendall, then Mrs Leeman will …’
We all let this thought hang in the air.
‘No …’ I say. ‘Peta would never tell on us.’
‘How do you know?’ Alex asks.
‘If I thought Peta knew something, I mean … I don’t think she’d tell,’ I say, feeling my face turn red.
I can’t tell the others how I know Peta can keep a secret.
I do know she was hiding from us. No one goes near the bike shed at the end of lunch by choice. If you do, the teacher on duty makes you go around the whole playground and pick up all the sports equipment.
By Thursday, the atmosphere of the track has changed. There are way too many spectators. I don’t even have a chance to race Alonso because everyone keeps asking me to do stuff for them. And the problems don’t stay at the track. A lot of the low-stick dots are more like no-stick. They keep falling off. Even though the Preps like picking them up in their new role as groundskeepers, I keep seeing them around the school: in the hallway, in the bathroom. Mostly on the Preps themselves. It’s only a matter of time before Miss Agostino starts to notice her students are numbered. Without stickers, it’s becoming a bit hard to tell which snail is winning. Snails don’t always go in one direction. Sometimes they go around in circles or just sit in a little cluster not really doing anything. A lot of the competitors are not very competitive.
I can’t help thinking someone is going to get into trouble and that person could possibly be me.
I call an emergency committee meeting and suggest that we have one final race tomorrow, and then close the operation down. The vote is four to one in favour. Confidentiality prevents me from disclosing who voted no, but he’s a silent committee member anyway so it doesn’t matter.
Friday is overcast but not rainy – a good racing day. At lunchtime, we’re all so caught up in the carnival atmosphere of the track, nobody notices Mr S striding across the oval like an army general, heading straight for the betting circle. You can’t get away with anything when he’s around because he’s seen it all before. I guess he wondered why, in a school of two hundred and eighty kids, only about twenty are playing in the adventure playground. And no Preps anywhere.
It hadn’t even occurred to me to check whether Mr S was at school today. A serious oversight. He’s a bit like Mrs Leeman in that he always turns up at the worst possible moment. Another teacher might have told us to break it up and go back to the playground.
But not Mr S. He glances around and takes in the whole scene. Little racetracks drawn on the side of the water tank, piles of discarded betting slips, red dots all over the ground and about a hundred snails with number stickers on their shells. He figures it out in about three seconds. I start to wish I hadn’t worn Grandpa’s bowler hat and leather satchel to school.
As he approaches, Jun steps forwards. ‘Are you interested in a trifecta, sir?’
So much for the silent bit.
Mr S separates me, Alex, Jun, Braden and Minha from the rest of the group without even having to ask who is on the committee. I notice Ian standing in the background watching Mr S manage the situation. He must have been studying Mr S for a while because he’s wearing the same expression on his face. He can make his face go exactly like Mr S’s. It’s pretty impressive.
The five of us are sent to wait outside the principal’s office. Miss Creighton picks up the intercom and lets Mrs Overbeek know we’re ready, even though her door is about eleven steps away from where we’re sitting. I can’t see Roland anywhere. Maybe he went on his lunchbreak and caught a bus interstate.
Mrs Overbeek opens her office door and we all file in and stand in a little group. She doesn’t ask us to sit down and anyway, there are only two chairs. I’m relieved to see no parents here.
Yet.
Mrs Overbeek sits on the edge of her desk and addresses me as if the others aren’t even in the room.
‘Jesse,’ she says. ‘Do you mind telling me what’s been going on?’
I do mind, actually.
The others look over at me, obviously wondering what I’m going to say. Maybe they’re hoping I’ll say they had nothing to do with it, but Mr S saw everything and everyone. Mrs Overbeek already knows what’s been going on. She’s only asking me to tell her about it in case Mr S left out any good bits.
I start to talk in a little squeaky voice I don’t recognise.
Nothing at all like a racing events organiser.
I wish I had a bee suit now.
Mrs Overbeek makes me go over the whole thing without interrupting once. The room’s quiet except for my voice getting softer and softer. After I finish we all wait.
Mrs Overbeek sits at her desk and eventually folds her hands together. ‘Quite the entrepreneur, aren’t you?’ she says.
I don’t answer because I think it’s one of those questions you’re not expected to answer. Also, I have no idea what an entrepreneur is.
‘Apart from everything else,’ Mrs Overbeek continues, ‘there are endless violations of school rules here. Endless! And this goes for all the students involved, not only you five. What I can’t comprehend is the mindless cruelty of your actions. Snails are living creatures; they don’t exist for your selfish entertainment. And as for the example you’re setting for the Preps … I really don’t have the words …’
Mrs Overbeek does have the words, though – about twenty minutes of them, before we’re given our punishments. I get two weeks’ detention and a letter sent home to my parents to be signed and returned.
Jun gets two weeks as well. Predictably, Mrs Overbeek said as vice-captain, he should be setting a better example. I consider telling her that Jun was only a silent participant, but the look on her face persuades me to be s
ilent myself.
The others are given one week’s detention, even Minha. When Mrs Overbeek announces the punishments, I look over at Minha, but her expression doesn’t change. She probably thinks this is the price for representing the snails’ welfare. I’m guessing it won’t be her last brush with the law.
When we leave the office, Minha and Braden hurry straight back to class. I take the view that I already have two weeks of detention, so I can more or less do what I want.
I’m surprised to see Peta waiting for us in the corridor.
‘What happened?’ she says. ‘Did you get in trouble?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Two weeks’ detention. It’s a good thing you weren’t there.’
‘I was going to come but—’
‘Why are you always hanging around on the steps with Leini and Gina?’ Jun interrupts suddenly. Peta goes a bit quiet.
‘Oh, that …’ she eventually says.
We all wait for the rest.
‘I … Leini said … I thought we were only going to meet on the steps, then go and do stuff, you know?’ Peta explains. ‘I didn’t know being on the steps was the thing.’
‘Why didn’t you leave, then?’ asks Jun. ‘When you found out?’
‘It’s … I mean … I was already there …’
Ohhh. I think I get it, now. It’s a bit like the other night. I didn’t realise there was a good movie on TV until I’d watched nearly all of Take the Cake on another channel. It was down to two macaroons and a chocolate éclair. I couldn’t switch channels. I was too invested.
My vote was with the chocolate éclair.
Peta says, ‘Anyway … Leini and Gina are okay. I usually sit on the middle step … and they’re not mean to everyone.’
We all look at her doubtfully. Peta probably got told to stand on the middle step because Leini and Gina don’t even like each other.
After school, we let our snails go at the bottom of the oval so they can eat the grass and stuff. Lots of them go through gaps in the paling fence to the neighbour’s garden. I take Alonso home with me, though. I saw some nice new shoots where Dad planted some boring flowers he got out of a catalogue. The plants in the catalogue are really expensive but I think he deserves it. Alonso, I mean, not Dad.
Dad is nowhere near retirement.
Someone in my school has nits.
Several people, actually. That’s what the pink notice says.
We’ve got a colour-coded notice schedule. White for reports, blue for excursions and pink for parasites. That pretty much means nits. I doubt anyone’s parents are mean enough to notify the office if their kid’s got worms. And a red notice is for disaster. Like if the main water pipe explodes.
The pink notices have to go home so our parents can give the school permission to check us for nits. The receptionist has put a decorative border around the pink notice, which means Githa is probably back. The notices have been printed on shiny paper, too. Cartoon pictures of kids with crossed eyes and sticking out tongues are dancing around the page. Maybe they’re meant to look like kids who’ve gone wild with itchiness. As soon as I see it, my head starts to itch. I’d say everyone is feeling the same way because we all immediately stuff the notice out of sight.
Mrs Leeman has accidentally brought an extra notice from the office, but instead of leaving it on her desk like any other teacher would, she makes me and Braden return it to the office. She won’t let us fold it up, so we agree to take turns carrying it; me past the junior grades and him past the gym, library and office block.
When we get back there, it’s not Githa on the desk at all, but Miss Creighton. For some reason she is wearing a red scarf around her head attached to a kind of cape-looking thing that goes over her shoulders. She looks like the wolf in Little RedRiding Hood after the wolf has eaten Red Riding Hood.
Roland is still at the school. Today’s suit makes him look like he’s on his way to a wedding or something. His tie is black and white like a chequerboard.
Miss Creighton is at her computer as usual and Roland is at another desk reloading the industrial-sized stapler with enormous, brutal-looking staples. Miss Creighton keeps yelling orders at the keyboard: ‘Donald! You need to order more A4! Have you put new cartridges in the printer yet, Donald? Get those head lice notices into the teachers’ pigeonholes! And reload the stapler, Donald! It’s no good to me without staples!’
Roland has a blank expression on his face until Miss Creighton’s last instruction. He swivels his chair around so fast his tie leaps over his shoulder and stays there. He’s still holding the gigantic stapler.
Miss Creighton’s head lifts up nearly as fast as his tie leaped over his shoulder but as she opens her mouth to speak, Roland says, ‘Miss Creighton. It is 9.20 am. So far this morning I have recorded the attendance; notified the parents of absent students; spoken to the council about the new toilet block; checked and ordered new stationery; changed the printer cartridges; updated the anaphylaxis and asthma flow charts; designed, printed and distributed the pink notices; arranged alternative transport for the swimming carnival on Friday and, if you’d cared to look up before you spoke, Miss Creighton, you would have seen that at this very moment, I am reloading the staples in the stapler. Also, my name is Roland.’
Roland turns back to face his desk. There’s a big vein sticking out on his head. I hope it doesn’t burst.
There’s a long silence. Nobody moves. Finally, Miss Creighton clears her throat and says, all in one go, without a break, ‘Well, thank you, Donald. You obviously don’t need my assistance anymore. Well? Jesse? Braden? What do you two want? Don’t just stand there.’
We hand over the single pink piece of paper then retreat backwards to the door, which we stumble through and race back to class.
Mrs Leeman makes us turn around and go back up to the office to get it again. Jun thought you only had to take one if you had nits. It didn’t seem to bother him – thinking we all had nits, except him.
Miss Creighton isn’t at her desk when we return. Two parents are there, talking. About nits, I think.
‘Well, I think it’s unbelievable,’ the first one says.
‘What I think is unbelievable is that we got this far into the year before the kids came home with lice,’ the second one says.
‘I know! It’s unbelievable.’
‘I gather my girls together and we all put the lotion on, then watch a movie together. It’s so much fun! They hardly notice the lotion.’
‘Unbelieveable,’ the first one says again.
Wow.
I thought my house was boring.
Roland reappears and gives us another nit notice. We take our time walking to class. I really want to scratch my head, but I don’t want Braden to think I’ve got nits. I can’t help noticing that Braden is scratching his head. I try to look at his head without him noticing. It’s hard to tell if there’s anything there because his hair is kind of nit-coloured already. He might not know he’s spreading them around the class. He looks like he’s becoming suspicious, though, so I stop looking at his head and pretend I see something interesting behind him. He is my friend, after all. I’ll just have to leave a metre or two clearance between us until I know for sure.
At lunchtime Roland comes into our classroom with the detention list. There’s all of us from the snail-racing committee and three others in our grade. The other three are all from Mrs Leeman. She must go through about fifty of those detention booklets a term.
When the bell rings, there’s a big bunch of kids in the hallway. Leini and Gina are both on the top step only letting people through a couple at a time. I don’t see Peta at first because she’s on the bottom step today. I can hear Leini saying, ‘Oooh … Peta. Your hair’s sooo long.’
I don’t know if Peta looks bored because she already knows her hair is long, or because blocking the doorway is pointless and she knows that as well.
We all go to the detention room and have our names ticked off by Ms Kendall. She’s my favourite teach
er for detention. Today she asks us to do a thinking exercise.
‘Okay, everyone. What we’re going to do is imagine that you’ve been shipwrecked. On a deserted island. There’s ten people, including you, but there are limited resources, so only five are allowed to stay on the island.’
‘What happens to the other five?’ Jun asks.
‘Don’t worry about that now, Jun. That’s not the point of this exercise. What I want you to do is choose which five people are allowed to stay. I’m going to write up a list on the board. After that, we’ll all discuss our choices. Remember – there are no right or wrong answers.’
Ms Kendall writes a list of nine people on the board. Most people choose the baby and his mother, the teacher, the doctor and the actor unless it was someone boring that we’ve never heard of. Ms Kendall comes over to look at my list.
‘What made you choose the eighty-nine year old, Jesse? And not the baby?’
‘Well, I think we’ll be rescued soon …’
‘… And?’
‘… And I’d rather hear stories about old times and what people did before TV was invented, stuff like that, than listen to a baby cry.’
‘That’s very interesting. It’s good to see you thinking outside the box.’
Jun is the only one who chooses the mathematician. He wants her to calculate a way of keeping all ten people on the island. Ms Kendall doesn’t say anything about Jun’s answer, but she looks really happy and asks Jun for his permission to show it to Mrs Leeman.
I hope he included the eighty-nine year old if Mrs Leeman is going to see it.
The half hour goes really quickly. I would have liked to stay in detention a bit longer, but my head is itching so bad and I can’t scratch it when there are only nine people in the room.
Even though we’re not allowed to, I walk home through the teachers’ carpark. I’m surprised to see Ian still at school. He’s talking to Mr S, which is funny because I don’t remember Mr S being at school today. Ian must have been assigned to work with him as a punishment of some sort.
I’m not sure but I think they were talking about hair. Mr S is probably telling Ian to cut off his long hair and get a boring haircut like his.
