Dog Gone

by Carole Poustie

  ‘I’d feel much better if I could have a glass of water,’ Molly said, and looked directly at the Principal.

  ‘Of course,’ said the Principal.

  I could see he didn’t know what to make of her.

  As soon as he’d left the room, Gran turned to us to speak. She was fuming. Although she didn’t get a chance to say anything because the door flew open again.

  The Principal was back. ‘A student will bring the water, presently.’ He sat down behind his desk and looked straight at me. ‘Now, Michael, I hope you’re good at maths.’

  I let out a huge sigh.

  ‘You’ll be in Miss Beech’s class,’ he continued. ‘She’s very particular about her students knowing their thirteen, fourteen and fifteen times-tables. And anyone who’s half-hearted about fractions spends their whole lunchtime doing revision sheets.’ He giggled and looked pleased with his little fraction joke. ‘I hate maths and my name’s Ish, not Michael,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, it says Michael on –’

  ‘His real name is Michael,’ interrupted Gran, who hadn’t managed to get a word in the whole time we’d been in the Principal’s office, ‘but we’ve called him Ish since the day he was born.’

  The way Gran was looking at me, I knew I was going to be in big trouble when we got home. I don’t know what made me say I hated maths, because I actually like it. The Principal was giving me the creeps.

  ‘We don’t know how long the children’s mother will be overseas,’ Gran continued, standing in the middle of the room and shuffling her feet as she talked. She kept pulling at something near the top of her skirt. I didn’t really hear what else she said; I was too busy watching a white frill gradually appear below the hem of Gran’s dress. As she talked and shuffled, the white frill moved lower, a bit like the curtain going down at the end of a concert. As more and more white frills came into view, I realised, in horror, they were bloomer shaped.

  Then, without warning, Gran’s enormous frilly underpants fell to the floor, and sat there, around her ankles.

  The Principal’s mouth opened so wide, you could see the little dangly thing at the back of his throat. His eyes goggled so much I thought they might fall out. Fortunately, Molly didn’t say anything, choosing instead to turn her back and stare out the window again.

  ‘I must fix the elastic on those,’ said Gran, and casually stepped out of her underpants and put them in her handbag. She didn’t seem bothered at all.

  I was dying of embarrassment. The Principal’s whole head looked like a red balloon and he was frantically trying to loosen his tie.

  Fortunately, there was a knock at the door and a girl came in with the glass of water.

  ‘About time,’ said Molly, turning around. ‘Don’t they have taps here – did you have to go and find a well or something?’

  The girl looked from Molly to the Principal and back to Molly again.

  ‘Der. Can I actually have the drink? Or are you going wait till it evaporates?’ Molly grabbed the glass and spilled some down her front as she sculled it.

  ‘Yes, yes, well, I think we’ll show Michael and Molly to their rooms now,’ said the Principal, as he stood up and waved the girl out. ‘You can be first, Michael.’

  As we made our way to my new classroom, the butterflies in my stomach began to feel like moths. And my grandmother was walking around the school with no underpants on.

  At least it wasn’t windy.

  The corridors were long and crammed with school bags. As we came to the junior section, a large boy sat in the middle of the corridor. He was surrounded by coloured blocks.

  ‘How are you today, young man? Working hard on your counting, I can see,’ said the Principal, then turned to Gran. ‘You’ll have to walk around Nicholas, Mrs Douglas.’ He guided Gran to the side of the blocks so she wouldn’t trip over them.

  ‘She’s been walking around knicker-less for the last ten minutes,’ said Molly. ‘Gran’s knickers fell off in your office. Remember?’

  The Principal shot her an angry look, as did Gran.

  Molly shrugged and rolled her eyes. ‘Whatever.’

  Chapter 12

  The Principal flung open the door, pushed me inside, tried to tell Miss Beech my name and got completely tongue-tied. He started saying ‘Michael’, then changed it to ‘Ish’ and confused it with ‘Molly’.

  In the end he said, ‘Everyone, the new student’s name is Milly.’

  Of course the whole class burst out laughing.

  ‘Shhhh – that’s enough everyone!’ Miss Beech yelled over the commotion. She pointed to a spare table, and nudged me over to it. My face was so hot it could’ve glowed in the dark. I kept my head down, not daring to look at anyone. I dropped my pencil case and, as I stood up, I came eyeball to eyeball with the boy from the river, Brody Callahan.

  ‘Nice name,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Where’s your dress?’

  Miss Beech heard his taunt and told him to stay in at lunchtime so he could write me an apology.

  ‘You’ll pay,’ he said, under his breath to me as I sat at my table, which of course was right next to his.

  Then if that wasn’t enough, when everyone had settled down and started work, Gran knocked at the door. She came in all flustered and explained to Miss Beech that she’d forgotten to give me my lunch. She came over to my table and as she pulled my lunch out of her handbag, somehow her underpants fell onto my books. It looked like she was giving them to me. Like it was normal to give big frilly undies to your grandson.

  Everybody fell off their seats laughing again.

  I thrust them back at her, wishing I could become invisible.

  Gran laughed, popped the undies in her bag and walked out. Then she blew a kiss through the window in the door!

  My stress level sky-rocketed into the extreme zone. I felt like I was stuck in jail. I could hardly breathe. So when Miss Beech told everybody to write a story about the most precious thing they’d ever owned, I nearly choked.

  All I could think about was Lucky. And Grandpa. And Mum and Dad. I was furious with them for leaving me stranded. If Mum hadn’t gone on that stupid holiday and if Dad hadn’t gone to Sydney, I’d be with my friends at my own school. And I’d still have Lucky.

  And I wouldn’t have to sit next to Brody Callahan.

  ‘I haven’t seen you write anything yet, Ish,’ said Miss Beech, from her desk at the front of the classroom. ‘You’d better get a wriggle on or you’ll be keeping Brody company at lunchtime.’

  Miss Beech looked like a witch. She had long, white stringy hair and beady black eyes that were so mean they could burn a hole right through you. She had a square, thin face and a pointy nose with a drip hanging off the end. Her bony fingers had long curled fingernails that were painted dark purple. Her voice grated on my ears. All she needed was a cauldron, a coned hat and a black cat. I found my pen scribbling down a limerick about her.

  Old Drippy Nose

  I’ve been lumped with a teacher called Beech

  Whose voice makes a horrible screech

  She looks like a witch

  And casts spells with a twitch

  She’s so ugly, she gives me the creeps!

  I’d be done for if she came around to have a look.

  Brody Callahan had written about two sentences. I couldn’t see what they said, but his writing was big and messy. Every now and again I could feel his eyes on me. I covered my own work with my hand. I could feel other kids’ eyes on me too. How would I ever make a friend now?

  Suddenly, Miss Beech’s voice rattled into the quietness of the room again, making me jump. Brody was about to say something to me, but changed his mind when Miss Beech’s eyes lasered him.

  ‘Pens down, everybody. Who’d like to read their story out first? Brody?’

  Read their story out! My heart began to thump.

  ‘I haven’t finished yet, Miss Beech,’ said Brody, then looking at me, ‘I couldn’t concentrate with the new boy sitting next to me. He kept whispering t
o me all the time, threatening me.’

  The girl sitting at Brody’s table looked at me and then Brody, but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Ish – is that true?’ fired Miss Beech, her eyes glaring at me again between layers of black mascara.

  ‘No, Miss Beech,’ I said.

  ‘He’s lying Miss –’

  ‘I haven’t got time for arguments in class. Read out what you’ve got Brody, and Ish can go next. If he’s spent all his time whispering he won’t have much to read out either, will he?’

  ‘The-most-precious-thing-I-owned-was-my-puppy,’ read Brody, each word separated from the rest with a little pause and all in the same low tone.

  ‘Is that all?’ snapped Miss Beech.

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ said Brody.

  ‘In all this time you’ve only managed to write one sentence?’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘Who gave you the puppy?’

  ‘My Mum, Miss.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Miss Beech suddenly looked uncomfortable. ‘Let’s hear from our new boy now. Stand up so we can all see you, Ish.’ The fire had gone from her voice but still burned in her eyes.

  I took a deep breath. I was going to have to make it up as I went.

  ‘My favourite thing is my fishing rod,’ I began, my voice wobbling all over the place. ‘When my Grandpa died, I got to keep it.’ I kept my eyes on the page, as if I were reading. I went on about how I used to go fishing with him. When I’d finished, Miss Beech was actually smiling, along with some of the others in the class.

  As I sat down, Brody grinned at me and I realised my big mistake.

  Chapter 13

  I walked home along the river. I had to find the fishing rod before Gran twigged – if Brody and his mates hadn’t wrecked it, or somebody else hadn’t already found it. And I knew it was a small chance, but maybe the ghost would make another appearance and I could see if it was Grandpa. If it was, he’d be sure to help me find Lucky.

  It was good to be back by the river after such an awful day. Mount Selview Consolidated was a prison – Molly was right. I crunched through the twigs and leaves under the gum trees that lined the river, and felt as if I’d been freed.

  The late afternoon air was filled with the calls of currawongs and noisy mynas. I heard a treecreeper, too, somewhere close by. I stopped to look for it. Grandpa had taught me how to recognise most of the local birds by their calls. Treecreepers were easy to pick by their loud piping sound, and by the way they ran up the sides of tree trunks – which always made me laugh. I scanned the trees in front of me until I saw a movement. The bird stopped, about halfway up the trunk of a young gum tree, and stayed very still. It looked right at me, just as if it was smiling.

  On my way through the cemetery, I stopped by at Grandpa’s grave. I looked at the gold writing on the stone, his name, the date he died – my birthday. I missed him so much. I was sad I’d never had a chance to say goodbye to him. Are you the ghost, Grandpa? I hope you are.

  I passed the beehives at the bottom of the cemetery and made my way down to my fishing spot. It was cold now, the winter sun low in the sky. I slid onto my log, feeling the damp seep through my jeans into my legs.

  I listened to the water bubble over a submerged branch shaped like a coke bottle. Every so often, the sun would come out and filter through the trees, brightening up the world for a few seconds before it disappeared again. In those moments I watched small insects flit in and out of the shafts of light, until they became invisible in the late afternoon haze.

  With dusk approaching, the light began to fade, the air grew heavy and so did my heart. It felt dark like an underground cave and heavier than a hundred sinkers. I thought about Lucky. And Mum and Dad, their angry words swirling around in my memory like a swarm of angry wasps. Then I fished my journal out of my bag and wrote a Lucky poem while I could still see.

  Day 9 - He’s Leaving

  I want to block out the sound

  put my hands over my ears

  so I can’t hear

  the beep beep beep

  of the removalist truck

  reversing down our drive

  I sit on the floor

  in the empty spot

  where he used to rock

  in his chair

  with his feet up

  I throw my arms

  around Lucky’s neck

  bury my face in his fur

  and rock and rock and rock

  I picked up a stone and tossed it upstream. The little circles it made in the water grew bigger and bigger. A patch of red caught my eye in a clump of bushes further along the river track. It was the jacket I’d been wearing when Brody crept up on me. Amazingly, apart from some mud and dust, it seemed to be fine. I slipped it on, glad of an extra layer for warmth and relieved that I wouldn’t have to explain how I’d lost it.

  I had my head under a bush, having one last look for the fishing rod, when a voice made me jump.

  ‘Looking for something?’

  I looked up to see Brody Callahan holding my fishing rod out to me. I reached for it, but he snatched it back with an evil grin.

  ‘Not so fast, frilly pants.’ He held the rod up in the air. The lead weight and hook swung from side to side. ‘If you want your dear, dead grandpoppy’s precious junk back, you’ll have to earn it. Got that, city boy?’

  ‘What do you mean – earn it?’ I spat at him. How dare he refer to my grandpa and his fishing rod like that.

  ‘You heard. Earn it back. Pay for it,’ he said, still grinning.

  ‘I don’t need to pay for it. It’s mine.’

  ‘Yeah, but finders keepers, remember?’ he said, and jabbed the rod at me as if it was a sword. ‘I found it. You gave it to me when you left it behind.’

  ‘I didn’t have a choice, did I?’ I tried to avoid the sinker as it swung dangerously close to my ear.

  ‘Listen up, frilly Milly. Tomorrow morning we’re having a maths test.’

  ‘So?’ I said, wondering whether I should make a grab at the rod, despite the hook, and run.

  ‘If you want your p-r-e-cious fishing rod back, then make sure I get a better mark than you.’

  ‘How am I supposed to do that?’ I said.

  ‘Figure it out for yourself, silly Milly.’ He jabbed the rod into my stomach now, to make sure I got the point. ‘You look like a maths nerd to me. Well I’m not. Get it?’

  I was starting to feel hot. I thought it was because I was feeling so angry. But as he jabbed the fishing rod into my stomach, the feeling I’d had in the cemetery began to rattle through my bones.

  Before I had a chance to work out what was happening, Brody’s expression suddenly changed and the colour drained out of his face. His eyes, wide with fear, were looking at something behind me.

  Chapter 14

  Brody’s hand started twitching and the fishing rod began to jiggle up and down. His eyes, though, remained fixed on whatever it was he was looking at behind me. I snapped my head around to see if it was the ghost. All I saw, however, was a single branch of a nearby gum tree waving backwards and forwards. The light was fading fast, and a strong smell of river mud and evening air wafted past.

  I turned back to look at Brody, who was now watching his own hand as if it belonged to someone else. He was trying to let go of the rod but couldn’t. The rod was swishing all over the place, just like it had the morning I’d seen the ghost in the cemetery.

  I became aware of a strange sound. It felt familiar. There was no mistaking it – the whispering. I turned around again. The ghost must be here somewhere. Brody let out a wail and ran off down the track, trying to shake the fishing rod out of his hand. Every now and again, he fell over and picked himself back up. It was as if Grandpa’s fishing rod had permanently attached itself to Brody’s hand with invisible glue. It was funny as! Except he still had Grandpa’s rod.

  I heard him cursing long after he’d disappeared through the trees. I wondered if he’d seen the ghost.

  Gran’s alarm clock in the next roo
m woke me out of a deep sleep. I rolled over and looked out at the last of the night sky. A kookaburra laughed somewhere in the distance and, for a moment, I had no idea of where I was in time. Then my inside calendar flipped over to today, and my stomach lurched. It was exactly ten days since Lucky had gone missing.

  The police still hadn’t heard anything and no dogs matching Lucky’s description had turned up at the pound or lost dogs’ home. Gran had phoned all the vets in Mount Selview and nearby towns. No dead dogs. Phew!

  I debated about whether I should visit Nelly Arnott on the way home from school. If she’d organised to have him kidnapped, then maybe, if Lucky was still alive, I could convince her to tell me where he was.

  I rolled over again and looked up at the ceiling. How was I going to get through another day without Lucky? How was I going to survive Mount Selview Prison? I didn’t want to get up. What would I do about the maths tests? Could I sneak in at lunchtime and fix up any mistakes on Brody’s test, while still making sure I made a few mistakes on mine?

  The whole idea made me feel sick. But how else was I going to get Grandpa’s fishing rod back? If I told Gran, I’d have to confess about being down at the river without her permission. Then she’d stop me from going altogether.

  Brody Callahan had me – and there was nothing I could do about it.

  I pulled on my jeans and the Mount Selview windcheater that one of Gran’s neighbours had lent me. The only thing that got me out of bed was my poster plan. Last night I’d visited Mr Ironclad after tea and he’d let me use his computer to make some more posters for Lucky. His computer was pretty ancient and slow, but it certainly beat Gran’s old typewriter. I’d planned to put posters up at the school. I had to do something to get Lucky back.

  Molly seemed keen to get to school. She’d had a better first day than me. I’d heard her telling Gran about someone in her class. A boy. This morning she even washed everyone’s breakfast dishes and offered to walk to school early with me, to help with the posters. I’m always suspicious when my sister offers to help.