My Life and Other Failed Experiments

by Tristan Bancks

  About the Book

  I’m Tom Weekly.

  My life is one giant experiment.

  Discover what happens when you mix one kid with nine attack possums. Observe the result of a guinea pig hostage situation. Learn from my get-rich-quick scheme to put Australia’s angriest ice-cream man out of business. Get ready to judge the world’s deadliest fruitcake competition. And if I survive all that, you can call the experiment a success.

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Hostage

  Tom Weekly’s Must-Read List of Weird Stuff About Guinea Pigs

  Author Visit

  10 Funny Books

  Razorblade Fruitcake

  What Would You Rather Do?

  Detention

  I’ve Decided to Eat a Car

  The Angriest Ice-Cream Man in Australia

  ButtMan

  Eight Reasons to Get Your Parents Off Social Media. Right. Now.

  The Wrestler

  Who Would You Rather Be?

  The Last Video Store on Earth

  Tom Weekly’s Handy Hacks for Common Household Chores

  Attack of the Possums

  What Parents Say and What They Do

  The Christmas Kiss

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Books by Tristan Bancks

  About Room to Read

  Imprint

  Read more at Penguin Books Australia

  ‘Give me all your money or the guinea pig gets it.’

  These are the first words I hear when I arrive home from school. I’m standing in my bedroom doorway. My evil sister, Tanya, is holding Gus, my brand-new guinea pig, out the window. Gus has long, ginger hair. He paws at the air with his tiny claws.

  ‘What did you say?’ I ask.

  ‘I said give me all your money or I drop your guinea pig onto the concrete.’

  It’s at least a three-metre drop to the path below. I’ve always known my sister was evil. She once threw a hamburger patty at my head. She’s used me as a slave for at least four years of my childhood. She made me eat Vegemite off her big toe. But to threaten to take the life of the world’s cutest guinea pig? This is a new low.

  So I say the obvious thing: ‘I don’t have any money.’

  ‘LIAR!’ she shouts, almost making Gus’s black marble eyes pop out of his head.

  ‘Put. Him. Down!’ I demand, dropping my school bag to the floor.

  ‘If you say so,’ she says, shrugging.

  ‘No!’ I rush forward.

  ‘I thought you said put him down?’ she says, all innocent.

  ‘Give him to me now,’ I demand in a low growl.

  ‘Be a good little boy,’ she says. ‘Unlock your trapdoor and give me your money, then you can have the ranga back.’

  I’ve warned her not to call Gus a ‘ranga’. It’s not nice to make fun of people with red hair. Or guinea pigs.

  ‘I’m going to the movies with Bella in fifteen minutes and I need cash,’ she says. ‘So make it snappy.’

  Gus swings in the breeze, his eyes pleading with me to follow her instructions very, very carefully. But I can’t. Listening to Tanya is against my religion. And every hostage movie I’ve ever seen has taught me one thing: don’t give in to the evil kidnapper’s demands.

  Sweat trickles from my forehead and into my eye. I wipe it.

  I need time to think.

  I kneel down and peel back the edge of the rug in the middle of my bedroom floor. I roll it back to reveal my trapdoor – a small, square hole in the floor, about a school ruler wide and long. It is secured with a flat, gold padlock.

  I glare up at Tanya. I take one of the keys from the string around my neck. I open the padlock. She and Gus watch closely. I lift the lid. It stops Tanya from seeing what’s inside –all my worldly possessions:

  four-and-a-half packets of Wizz Fizz

  a small tub of premium quality homemade slime

  a long cardboard pack of sparklers

  a book of horror stories that Mum says I’m too young to read

  a hundred water bombs

  a pre-licked giant lollypop in cling wrap

  a small, black cashbox.

  The cashbox has my birthday money in it: $50 from Nan, $50 from Mum, $80 from kids at my party and some loose change. My entire fortune. I’m saving for a bike, so there’s no way I’m giving Tanya $180. Think of everything I could do with that kind of bankroll. Gus only cost me five bucks at the pet shop. I could buy another 36 guinea pigs for $180 and set up a guinea pig farm. I could milk them and start a new hipster craze for guinea pig milk. I could tell everyone that it’s a superfood with mysterious healing qualities, and they could extend their lives by putting it in their cappuccinos.

  I look over the lid, into Gus’s eyes, and I know that my dreams of being a guinea pig milk billionaire can never be realised. I love Gus. I could buy every guinea pig in the world and I’d never find another one like him. He’s smart, sensitive and loyal. He understands me in a way that only a guinea pig could.

  ‘My fingers are getting mighty slippery, ’Tanya taunts.

  ‘Gus is my friend.’

  ‘Well, that’s embarrassing. He’s only half a step up from being a rat.’

  She’s talking about Rarnalda, my pet rat who’s been missing for two months. I fear that Mum may have taken her for a long ride out into the bush. A rat-napping. I bought Gus to heal the wound left by Rarnalda’s sudden and mysterious disappearance.

  ‘Gus,’ I tell her. ‘His name is Gus.’ I figure reminding her that he has a name might make her care more.

  ‘“Pus”, did you say?’ she asks. ‘Nice name. It suits him.’

  I look back down into my trapdoor. I jingle some coins like I’m counting money.

  ‘I have a dollar sixty,’ I tell her.

  ‘That’s a lie.’

  ‘No, it’s not. You can come have a look if you like.’

  Tanya thinks about it for a moment. To look inside the trapdoor she’ll have to move away from the window, then I’ll tackle her, grab Gus and throw her out the window.

  ‘Nice try,’ she says. ‘You got tons of cash for your birthday.’

  ‘I spent it.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘Stuff.’

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘Lollies,’ I say.

  ‘You bought $200 worth of lollies?’

  ‘It was only $180,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, sorry. Because $180 is a reasonable amount of money to spend on lollies. Give me the money now.’

  ‘I told you, I –’

  ‘Gus doesn’t want you to lie, Tommy. And my arm’s getting real tired.’

  Gus isn’t even struggling now. He’s just hanging there, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. He’s given up hope. I’m the only one who can save him from the clutches of Tanya – the Death Eater of the guinea pig universe.

  ‘Okay, you got me,’ I say. ‘I have $5.35.’ I avoid round numbers, hoping that the randomness of $5.35 will trick her into thinking that’s all I have. I mean, how could I come up with a number like that just off the top of my head? Sometimes I amaze myself.

  ‘That’s it!’ she screams.

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Relax. Sheesh. Sensitive.’

  ‘Ten seconds,’ she says. ‘Ten … nine …’

  She looks serious now. I figure I have three options.

  1) Dive into my trapdoor, scramble beneath the house, drag the rusty slippery dip under the window, and when Tanya drops Gus he’ll go, ‘Wheeeee!’ and slide to safety.

  ‘Seven … six �
�’

  2) Give her a brown paper bag stuffed with Wizz Fizz wrappers and tell her it’s cash.

  ‘Five … four …’ Gus gives me one last pitiful stare.

  3) Tell her that Gus is my piggy bank, that he ate the money to hide it for me and that it’s inside him. So if she drops Gus she’ll be throwing away the cash.

  ‘Three … two …’

  Then it hits me. The perfect way out of this predicament.

  ‘One,’ Tanya announces. ‘Bye-bye, Pus. Nice knowing you.’

  At the last moment, just as Tanya goes to drop Gus, I grab the edge of the rug and pull hard. Tanya’s feet slip out from under her. She screams, her hip hits the windowsill, and she goes flying out. Gus does, too.

  They squeal as they fall. What have I done?

  I rush to the window. I hear the impact. I close my eyes and squeeze them tight. I don’t want to see what’s happened. What if Gus fell faster than Tanya and was squished beneath her? What if Tanya fell faster than Gus and I’ve put an end to my only sister? I’d have to go to jail and wear orange prison overalls for the rest of my life. Orange really isn’t my colour.

  I open one eye and look down. What I see surprises me.

  Tanya is lying on her back, on top of the garbage bins parked on the path. Her head is on the recycling, her hips on the garbage and her legs are in the open green bin with all the compost and grass clippings. The bin lids are dented, but she’s only fallen half of the three metres to the path. Her eyes are open.

  ‘You’re alive!’ I say.

  ‘You’re dead,’ she says.

  But I’m more worried about Gus. I can’t see him. Did she squish him? Has he run away?

  Just then I see one furry paw. Then another, clawing out from beneath a rockmelon skin in the compost bin. It’s him!

  ‘Gus!’ I shout as his nose comes into view. ‘Hey, little buddy.’

  Gus squirms all the way out as Tanya sits up.

  I think quick, look around and lower my long, dark-blue curtain out the window. It hovers just above the bin.

  ‘Jump on!’ I urge.

  Gus doesn’t need to be told twice. He leaps up, digs his little claws into the bottom of the curtain and I reel him up. It’s like a helicopter rescue at sea.

  As Gus is pulled to safety Tanya reaches out and makes one last snatch for him. Gus poops with fear and the nuggets fall directly into Tanya’s open mouth.

  She squeals and spits, clawing at her tongue. ‘That’s IT!’ she shrieks, just as the garbage bin lid collapses and she falls in, squelching deep down into the rubbish.

  The doorbell rings.

  ‘That must be Bella,’ I say. ‘I’ll let her know you’re feeling a bit rubbish.’

  ‘Nooooo!’ Tanya calls.

  I peel Gus’s claws off the curtain and cuddle him into my chest. I brush somebits of rockmelon out of his fur, close my window, lock it and secure my trapdoor. Somehow, I’ve managed to hold onto my money, save my precious guinea pig’s life and do away with my evil sister all in one swift pull of a rug. I click my heels as Gus and I head off into the kitchen for a celebratory snack. Hostage situations sure make you hungry.

  I love facts – weird facts, funny facts, gross facts. They reckon truth is stranger than fiction. You’ll believe that after you read my list of freaky guinea pig factoids.

  Guinea pigs are not related to pigs at all, but female guinea pigs are known as ‘sows’ and males are ‘boars’. The babies are not guinea piglets, though – they’re ‘pups’. And, in the wild, they used to travel in ‘herds’. (I’ve seen a video of a guinea pig stampede. Terrifying.)

  Guinea pigs are actually related to capybaras, which are the largest living rodents. Capybaras can grow up to 1.3 metres long and 60 centimetres tall! Let’s hope they don’t get any ideas about world domination. One of my greatest fears is being eaten alive by an extra-large guinea pig.

  For thousands of years tribal people in South America have eaten guinea pigs and, in recent years, they’ve shown up on plates in fancy South American restaurants around the world. My motto is: ‘Never eat a guinea pig unless you want a capybara to eat you.’

  Another name for a guinea pig is a ‘cavy’. This is short for their scientific name Cavia porcellus. ‘Porcellus’ is Latin for ‘little pig’. According to Wookieepedia (a Star Wars fan site), Porcellus was also the head chef in Jabba’s palace on Tatooine in Return of the Jedi. I hope Cavy Bolognese wasn’t on the menu.

  When a guinea pig is excited it jumps up and down. This is called ‘popcorning’.

  The Guinness World Record for ‘Longest Jump by a Guinea Pig’ is held by Truffles, a Scottish guinea pig, who leapt 48 centimetres (almost half a metre!) on 6 April 2012. And the fastest guinea pig on the planet? Flash, a guinea pig from London, who ran 10 metres in 8.81 seconds on 27 July 2009. Dare you to train your G.P. to beat those amazing ‘feets’.

  An ancient civilization in Peru worshipped guinea pigs, and often included them in their artwork. I bet you didn’t know you had furry royalty living in your hutch.

  And how about this little-known fact? Guinea pigs eat poo pellets directly from their own bottoms, like a candy dispenser. This is normal for a guinea pig and is known as ‘coprophagy’. Sometimes they pull this sick trick 200 times a day. When they’re feeling ill, they steal and eat poop from other guinea pigs’ bottoms, too. At least they’re recycling, I guess.

  Sources: petsforhomes.co.uk, onlineguineapigcare.com, calicavycollective.com, guinnessworldrecords.com

  ‘We are very lucky to have a special visitor to the school today,’ Mr Skroop, our deputy principal, announces. He’s standing on stage at the front of the assembly hall.

  Skroop is tall and skinny, and he has leftover food in his teeth. (Possibly bits of the small children he ate for breakfast.) He wears a black suit and a thin grey tie. The very special visitor is standing next to him. He is jolly-looking, with a silver beard and a ‘Reading is Fun’ t-shirt.

  ‘As a special treat we have invited the entire school and I know that you will all be on your best behaviour,’ he says with a threatening glare. ‘No chit-chat. No laughter. No silly questions.’

  The kindy kids are on the floor up front, wriggling and writhing. The primary kids are on chairs. Jack and I are up near the back.

  ‘Our guest is a real live author who writes books,’ Skroop continues. ‘His name is …’

  Skroop scans the piece of paper in his hand. He looks uncertain.

  The author leans in and whispers something in Skroop’s ear.

  ‘Barry Cheese,’ Skroop announces.

  The author leans in again and whispers something else. Skroop whispers something back and the author nods.

  ‘I’m sorry. Gary Cleese!’ Skroop corrects.

  Jack and I snigger. Kids whisper and giggle.

  Skroop, red-faced, raises his voice. ‘If I am embarrassed by student behaviour, there will be severe and immediate consequences. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, Mis-ter Skroop,’ we all chime.

  ‘Excellent,’ he says. ‘Well, without further ado, I would like to welcome Mr Chee … Cleese!’

  Skroop hands over the microphone and hurries down the stairs at the front of the stage.

  ‘Hello, children!’ the author says, his eyes wide. ‘How are we all today?’

  Kids mutter:

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Not bad.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Alright.’

  ‘Been better.’

  The author shuffles in place before pasting a wide grin across his face. ‘Are we ready to have some fun in the wonderful world of books and reading?’

  A kindy kid up front raises his hand. The author points at him. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you have a cat?’ the kid asks.

  ‘Um … no, I don’t have a cat. My son, however, has a guinea pig.’

  Another few kindergarten hands shoot up. The author points to another kid.

  ‘My cousin had a guinea pig. It
s name was Brussels Sprout.’

  ‘That’s fantastic!’ the author says. ‘We all know the importance of vegetables to a well-balanced –’

  ‘It died.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Jack laughs. I don’t think he means to. He doesn’t have anything against guinea pigs. Skroop narrows his brows to let Jack know that Brussels Sprout’s death is no laughing matter.

  ‘That’s very sad,’ the author says. ‘But, today, I’m here to talk to you about books. Specifically, my books.’ He points to the five books he has set up on the table out front. They look like fantasy novels. I can make out a serpent-man on the cover of one and a unicorn-woman on another … and maybe a sword-wielding dragon on another.

  A girl’s hand shoots up right in front of him. From year two, I think.

  ‘Yes? What’s your question?’ the author asks.

  ‘Do you think books are more important than guinea pigs?’

  ‘Well, guinea pigs are friends for a time, but a good book will last you a lifetime.’ He smiles.

  ‘You don’t care about Lenny’s dead guinea pig!’ she accuses.

  ‘Not my dead guinea pig,’ Lenny says. ‘My cousin’s.’

  The author looks up to the teachers for help, but they seem perfectly happy to see someone else in the line of fire for once.

  ‘I’m actually writing a story about a guinea pig at the moment!’ he says, which gets everyone’s attention. ‘Maybe you can help me write it and I’ll thank your school in the back of the book.’ He picks up a marker and writes ‘Guinea Pig Story’ on the whiteboard.

  ‘Why should we write the book for you?’ a red-headed boy on the floor calls out.

  ‘I just thought it’d be –’