by J A Mawter
Evan snaffled two chipolatas from Salvatore’s morning tea and wedged them up his nostrils. Waddling around and flapping his arms like flippers, he asked in a deep barking voice, ‘How’s it hangin’?’
Con and Salvatore laughed, but Ross didn’t. Evan had been doing that trick since Grade 1.
‘It’s wicked how they look like walrus tusks,’ Con said to Evan.
‘Yea-h-h,’ agreed Salvatore.
‘No, they don’t,’ said Ross. ‘They look like Bondi cigars.’ Bondi was famous for its sewer outlet.
‘Yuck!’ cried Evan, ripping the chipolatas from his nose and flinging them across the playground, making Con and Salvatore laugh harder.
Ross grinned as Evan cleaned his nasal passages using his famous bushman’s hankie. Evan held the unofficial record for snot ball — two metres.
‘What’s brown and sounds like a school bell?’ asked Ross, milking the moment.
‘Dung!’ chimed Con and Salvatore, giving each other a high five.
Ross wrinkled his nose, saying, ‘That’s exactly what this school smells like!’
He was right. There was something in the air.
Just then the bell went. Usually it rang for ages but today it was cut short, interrupted by the school PA system sputtering into life.
‘This is an official announcement. Students may no longer partake of food or recreation in the school playground.’
‘Huh?’ said Ross, straining to make sense of the crackle. ‘Wonder what she means?’
‘All students are to come inside. Now!’
‘That’s not fair!’ said Con. ‘It’s second half of lunch — play time.’
‘It sucks!’ said Salvatore.
‘By order of the principal. ‘
Ross looked around the playground. It was bouncing with kids. Why make us leave? he wondered.
‘Maybe it’s the smell?’ he said, getting a whiff of something rank. Ross poked Evan. ‘It’s getting so bad it could kill a cow.’
A waft of air nudged past, its stench making it sluggish.
‘Wasn’t me,’ said Evan.
‘Phew!’ cried Salvatore, pinching his nose and pulling a face. ‘It’s a dead’un, all right.’
‘Phwoarr!’ agreed Con. ‘Criminal.’
‘And it’s getting worse,’ said Ross. ‘Wish we knew where it was coming from.’
All children to come inside. To the school hall — immediately!’
By now, the playground was almost empty. Ross, Evan, Con and Salvatore were among the stragglers.
‘I’m not going in,’ said Evan, sitting back down in defiance. ‘They can’t make me!’
Con joined the sit-in, saying, ‘Me either.’
‘Count me in,’ said Salvatore, pulling up his schoolbag and plonking himself down.
Ross took a hesitant breath. So much for fresh air! It wedged in his throat, making him gag. He wondered if mustard gas in the war smelt like this. Ross frowned as he inspected the playground. It looked the same, but it sure didn’t smell the same — hadn’t for a few weeks, now he came to think of it.
Ross cleared his throat. ‘Smells like Con’s farts when he’s been eating bran biscuits,’ he said, smacking his lips and poking out his tongue as if he could taste them. He turned to his mates and pointed to the school building. ‘For once she’s right. Come inside. No point staying out here. It’s feral.’
Another vile puff of air hit them from the south.
‘Uggh!’ cried Ross. ‘Let’s go. Come on!’
The boys joined the last lot of children who were filing in.
‘Because the smell is getting worse we have decided — reluctantly I might add — that from now on, every child must come to the hall for recess and lunch,’ announced Mr Briar, Ross’s teacher. ‘Just till the smell is dealt with.’
The room rumbled with protests.
‘When will that be?’ called out Ross.
Mr Briar shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ he said, looking upwards as if waiting for a divine answer.
The ceiling stayed stubbornly silent.
Ross stared out the window at the playground, at the vacant stretches of asphalt and grass. He looked at his classmates, squashed together like forwards in a ruck.
How long will we have to be cooped up like this? he wondered.
The sight of the abandoned playground made Ross mad, very mad. Without the playground there would be no games of handball and without handball … How would he get through the day? Ross stood at the front of the room and clapped his hands for attention. ‘Oi!’ he ended up shouting, which had a better effect. The room quietened to a low hum.
‘Is it okay if I say something, Mr Briar?’ asked Ross.
Mr Briar stroked his beard. He did that when he was thinking. Eventually, he nodded.
‘We’re stuck in here,’ announced Ross, ‘because of the stink!’
The low hum turned into an angry grumble.
‘We don’t know for how long!’
‘We’ve been assured it won’t be for long,’ said Mr Briar.
A voice from the back called out, ‘Someone should come and get rid of it!’ ‘Now!’ came the unanimous cry.
Mr Briar held up his hand for quiet, then spoke. ‘Unfortunately we’ve already overspent our cleaning and maintenance budget.’
‘Boo-o-o-o!’
Mr Briar attempted to explain. ‘We’re on a waiting list for more funds and we —’
‘For how long?’ interrupted Ross.
Mr Briar pulled at his beard, then shrugged.
‘So it could be weeks — maybe months,’ said Ross.
Mr Briar gave a reluctant nod and his beard got a tug.
The boos swelled to a loud boom. ‘I can assure you we’ve been given priority,’ said Mr Briar, trying to speak over the angry students. ‘We need to stop the smell,’ called one. ‘And quick!’ said another. The boom went sonic.
Rowena Masters stood up. As the tallest pupil at the school, she always commanded respect. ‘How can we do that? We don’t even know where the smell is coming from.’
‘We can organise search groups,’ said Ross.
‘Some of us have tried,’ said Rowena. ‘We’ve had no luck.’
‘Maybe we can divide the school up,’ said Ross. ‘Pin it down to one area.’
‘The wind is the problem,’ Rowena answered. ‘It keeps changing direction. It’s impossible to locate the smell.’
‘We have to do something!’ Ross burst out, so loudly that the students in front jumped.
‘We’re all gonna die!’ shouted Con, going into a slow-motion death roll.
‘Locked inside forever,’ added Ross.
‘If any of you can come up with an idea,’ said Mr Briar, yanking away at his beard, ‘I’d be most interested.’
No one answered.
Mr Briar strode across the hall, pulling so hard at his beard that Ross wondered if it was about to come off. At the doorway Mr Briar stopped. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have some business in the staff room to attend to.’
With Mr Briar gone, Ross stood in front of the students, groping for an idea. Seeing them squashed in together reminded him of political prisoners he’d seen on TV. In the prison they had barely enough room to sit, let alone lie down and sleep. They had gone on a hunger strike. Their protest was beamed on the nightly news into family rooms all round the world.
Ross remembered that something good had come out of their protest. The prisoners had been freed.
That gave him an idea.
For the first time since entering the school hall he felt hopeful. Again, he called for quiet, this time using an ear-splitting two-finger whistle. ‘We have to get attention,’ he yelled.
‘Yeah,’ cried Evan.
‘Make a stink of our own!’ said Ross. ‘You mean have a stinkfest?’ asked Evan. ‘Exactly!’ said Ross.
Con butted in, saying, ‘What? Make more stink?’
‘No, you dummy,’ said Ross, starting to grin. ‘We’ll protest, yo
u know, grab people’s attention. Get the media behind us.’
‘Y-a-a-ay!’ cheered the students.
‘We’ll protest!’
‘We’ll picket!’
‘We’ll go on strike!’
The air throbbed with ‘Strike! Strike! Strike!’
‘Hang on!’ called Ross. ‘A strike might work, but then again, it might not. What we need is positive publicity. First, we get the media’s attention. Next, we show them what a great school this is. Then we tell them we’re being crippled by the smell. Last, but not least, we demand that the school is cleaned up.’
‘How do we get the media interested?’ asked Rowena.
‘Yeah, how?’ insisted Salvatore.
‘It’s not exactly the world’s biggest smell,’ said Rowena.
‘Maybe not. But it could be the world’s biggest something …’ Ross felt a surge of excitement. ‘I know!’ He waited till the grumbling had stopped before screaming out, ‘I know how we’ll get attention! This will be news — big news. Let’s get in the Amazing Book of Records!’
Chapter Two
‘What can our little school do to get into the Amazing Book of Records?’ asked Evan, kicking at a rock as he and Ross waited for the school bus. An Amazing Records book lay spread out on the bench between them.
‘We’ll think of something,’ said Ross, flipping the pages. He pointed. ‘Look! There’s a record for snail racing … oh, yuck — and one for swallowing live worms.’
‘Where’s Kyle when you need him?’ said Evan. Kyle, a close friend, had left Maryton only last term.
‘There’s even one for blowing bubbles with a tarantula in your mouth!’
‘Sick!’ said Evan. ‘Where do they get their ideas from?’
Ross shrugged. ‘Who knows? The question is, what will we do?’
‘What about seeing who can burp and fart at the same time?’ asked Evan.
Ross rolled his eyes. ‘That’s not going to impress anyone.’
‘Who can do the loudest fart?’
Ross shook his head. ‘Since Kyle left, no one comes close.’
Evan smiled at the memory of Kyle dropping one of his famous bombs. ‘I guess,’ he said.
‘Besides,’ said Ross, ‘we need something that’ll get good press, not turn people off.’ Suddenly, his eyes lit up. ‘What about the world’s biggest hug? The whole school could be in on it. That’ll get ‘em …’ he placed his hand over his heart, ‘ … right here!’
Evan laughed. ‘You just want to be in the middle of it, with a girl!’
Ross smiled in agreement. ‘Sure! Why not?’
Evan frowned and shook his head, saying, ‘Tsk, tsk,’ in mock disapproval.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Ross. ‘We need something more attention grabbing. Something that’s never been done before.’
They slumped against the school fence, each deep in thought.
‘What about the smelliest fart?’ asked Evan. ‘They always grab my mum’s attention.’
‘That’s not the sort of attention we’re after.’
‘I saw on the news where these blokes had a competition to see who could spit a dead cricket the furthest,’ said Evan. ‘The Amazing Records people were there for that. Over nine metres, the winner got.’
Ross pulled a face. ‘And you’ll be the first cricket-spitting volunteer, I s’pose?’
Evan kicked at a rock so hard that his shoe went flying into the air. The only thing he spat was the word, ‘Not!’
Just then the breeze picked up, depositing an unfriendly reminder up their nostrils. ‘Arrgh!’ said Ross. ‘Yecchh!’ said Evan.
‘See?’ said Ross. ‘If we don’t do something soon we could all be dead.’
Evan sniffed the unsavoury air again. ‘What’s invisible and smells of carrots?’ he sidetracked.
Ross was not in the mood for this. ‘Dunno.’
‘Bunny farts,’ said Evan, back to his favourite topic but not with his usual amount of enthusiasm.
‘Ha, ha, h-a-a-a.’ Ross pushed off the fence and started to walk away. Before he’d gone more than two steps he stopped and whirled around. ‘Not bunny farts!’ he cried, grabbing Evan’s arm.
‘Leave it!’ said Evan, scowling because his joke had fallen flat.
‘Reminds me of that camp we went on,’ Ross persisted. ‘Not the bunny fart camp.’ He took a big whiff of air. ‘The baked-bean fart camp.’
Evan chuckled at the memory. ‘We almost died in that tent.’
‘Cooked in our own dutch oven,’ said Ross, giggling at the memory.
‘Remember how Kyle farted Happy Birthday to You?’ said Evan. ‘Inside the tent.’
‘The feral!’ agreed Ross.
Evan sighed, saying, ‘Can’t beat that.’
‘Yes, we can!’ cried Ross. ‘What about the World’s Biggest Meal of Baked Beans?’ He began leaping around with excitement. ‘Everyone can bring a can from home. It won’t cost us anything.’
‘We want to get rid of the smell,’ said Evan with a laugh. ‘Not add to it!’
Keeping a straight face Ross said, ‘I can see the headlines now: Maryton Solves Mystery with Methane.’
Evan laughed harder, clutching his sides to stop himself getting a stitch.
‘Let’s get back to this,’ said Ross, pointing to the food section in the book. ‘There’ve been records for the world’s biggest doughnut, the world’s biggest hamburger, even pizza. Why not the world’s biggest meal of baked beans?’ His eyes glowed with excitement. ‘It’ll work. All we’ve got to do is find out if it’s been done before and how many people hold the record …’ He began searching through the pages.
‘Then do it bigger!’ shouted Evan.
‘The sky’s the limit!’ said Ross, jiggling with excitement. He glanced at his watch. ‘Bus’s late. Dad’ll kill me. I’m gonna have to go. We’ll run it by Mr Briar tomorrow!’ he called over his shoulder as he took off down the street.
Later that evening, Ross sat with his father over dinner. ‘You know how I’ve told you there’s this smell at the school?’ Ross began. ‘It’s a real nostril basher.’
‘Ye-e-es,’ said Mr Moon, putting down his fork and listening intently.
‘The school’s run out of money to fix it. They’ve asked for help. We’re on a waiting list. We could be poisoned before they send someone.’ Evan thumped the table, making his father jump. ‘Us kids are putting together a plan. We’re going to try to make them fix it.’
‘How can you make them?’ asked Mr Moon, placing his knife beside his fork.
‘By going public!’ announced Ross.
Mr Moon hooked his thumbs in his belt, leant back and frowned. ‘Could get you into a spot of trouble,’ he said.
Ross shook his head and said, ‘There’ll be no trouble. It’s going to be peaceful. Whaddya think of this? We’ll draw attention to our smell problem by going in the Amazing Book of Records!’
‘How’s that going to work?’
‘Well,’ said Ross. ‘Reporters will come, they’ll be hit with the smell and they’ll write about it. Then something will have to be done about the pong.’
‘What record are you going for?’ asked Mr Moon, his brow furrowing into a crevice.
Ross ploughed on, intent on selling his idea. ‘The whole school will be involved!’
‘That is important,’ agreed Mr Moon.
‘Everyone will bring a tin from home so it won’t cost anything.’
‘A tin of what? What exactly is this record?’
‘The World’s Biggest Meal of Baked Beans!’ declared Ross.
Mr Moon sank into his chair. He threw back his head and guffawed. It was some time before he could speak. ‘I get it!’ he said, slapping his thigh. ‘Fight gas with gas!’
‘Something like that,’ said Ross with a sheepish grin. ‘Only, it’s not really a gas sort of smell. It’s a something-has-died sort of smell.’
‘Maybe something has died, Ross.’ Mr Moon chuckled. ‘And if it’s
not dead by now it soon will be!’ As Ross stood to go, Mr Moon cautioned, ‘I can’t see the principal agreeing to your guerrilla tactics, to be honest.’
‘Why not?’ asked Ross.
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Mr Moon went on. ‘I think your idea of a baked bean-a-thon is great, but you’ll have to think of another way to sell it.’
‘Like what?’ asked Ross.
Mr Moon picked up his knife and fork and speared a potato. ‘You’ll think of something,’ he said.
As Ross lay in bed he decided his dad was right. They must not mention that they were using the record to get rid of the smell.
Ross worried long into the night, wondering how they could convince the principal to go for the record without letting on about the smell.
Chapter Three
‘What do you make from baked beans and onions?’ Evan asked in the classroom the next morning.
‘What?’ asked Con.
‘Tear gas!’ said Evan, laughing at his own joke.
‘Hope Maryton School doesn’t get the same side-effects,’ said Con.
‘Hey,’ said Ross with a grin. ‘Maybe we can get an air-freshener company to sponsor us!’
‘Let’s worry about getting the idea accepted first,’ cautioned Evan.
‘Speaking of which,’ said Ross, ‘there’s something I think you should know …’ And he proceeded to explain why their ulterior motive must be kept a secret.
Mr Briar sat listening as the boys put their idea to him, his lips pursed. Every so often they’d flatten to let out a sigh. ‘I like the idea of building school morale,’ he said at last. ‘Morale is pretty low from all this smell nonsense.’
‘Morale is a huge problem!’ agreed Ross.
Evan stood nodding in agreement. ‘Morale sucks,’ he said.
Mr Briar frowned his disapproval. ‘Morale has lapsed,’ he rebuked.
‘Whatever!’ said Evan. ‘We need something to cheer us up. Like baked beans.’
‘What about something more salubrious?’ asked Mr Briar.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Ross.
‘You know. Like making the World’s Biggest Pavlova.’
‘Too fiddly,’ said Ross.
‘And too expensive,’ chimed in Evan.
‘You’d need giant mixing bowls …’
