So Feral!

by J A Mawter

  ‘… and a giant oven!’ finished Evan.

  ‘Besides, every house in Australia has a spare tin of baked beans,’ said Ross. ‘We could get into the Amazing Book of Records without having to spend a cent!’

  At this, Mr Briar began to smile. ‘Anything that doesn’t cost the school money is a winner,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve checked it out,’ said Ross. ‘It’s never been done before. Oh, they’ve had baked-bean scoffing competitions, of course, but not the Biggest Meal of Baked Beans with lots of people. We’ll be pioneers!’ he added, keen to impress on Mr Briar that he hadn’t slept through the last history lesson.

  ‘We’ll be famous,’ said Evan.

  A whiff of air through the window almost bowled them over.

  We’ll get so much publicity that the smell will have to be fixed! thought Ross.

  But out loud he said, ‘It will build school pride!’ Ross spoke with such conviction that Mr Briar instantly agreed to start the ball rolling by speaking to the principal.

  That same afternoon the principal said, ‘Yes!’

  Two days later the Amazing Book of Records people turned down the school’s request to host the World’s Biggest Meal of Baked Beans.

  ‘It seems that it’s not a proper record,’ Mr Briar explained to a very dejected Ross and class. ‘Unless it is all on the same plate.’

  ‘Where would we get a plate that size?’ asked Rowena.

  Across the room heads and shoulders drooped.

  ‘Do they say what sort of plate it has to be?’ asked Ross, determined not to give up.

  ‘Any sort of plate will do,’ said Mr Briar. ‘Plastic, glass. Even paper. The only thing they stipulate is that it is one big plate.’

  The air grew heavy. They couldn’t possibly get their hands on a plate that size!

  ‘I know a dish that’d be big enough,’ announced Evan. ‘A satellite dish.’

  It didn’t even raise a smile.

  Suddenly, Ross leapt to his feet. ‘Did they say what shape the plate had to be?’ he asked.

  Mr Briar shook his head. ‘Er, no.’

  Ross grinned the World’s Biggest Grin. ‘What’s to stop us from getting rolls and rolls of plastic, joining them together and laying them out — up and down the hall? It’d be one — very long — kind of plate.’

  Mr Briar clapped his hands. ‘Brilliant!’ he said, then he headed for the classroom door. ‘I’ll phone the Amazing Book of Records people right now!’

  The class sat in hushed silence waiting for Mr Briar’s return. Now that the windows had to be kept permanently shut, the air was stifling. Students sniffed scented hankies, trying to avoid the smell.

  ‘You won’t believe this,’ announced Mr Briar before he’d even walked through the door. ‘The person going for the fastest lolly-eating record has phoned in with a toothache. We can have their time-slot next week!’

  ‘Yes!’ cried Ross, thumping Evan on the back then following it with a hug. ‘We’re in!’

  The following Monday, Mr Briar stood beaming as the students deposited tins of baked beans in his classroom.

  ‘What’s red and covered with lumps?’ asked Evan.

  ‘What?’ asked Ross.

  ‘A teacher covered in baked beans!’ said Evan, chuckling.

  ‘You’re slipping, mate,’ said Ross, with only a tinge of a smile.

  Mr Briar looked worried. ‘This is not going to be the World’s Biggest Food Fight, is it?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ soothed Ross, ‘that record’s already been taken.’

  ‘With tomatoes, in Spain,’ said Rowena, adding with a shrug, ‘I looked it up.’

  Ross smiled, then went on. ‘We need to organise some publicity. It’ll be good for the school.’

  ‘I’ll contact all the radio and TV stations and the Maryton Daily,’ said Mr Briar.

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ said Ross.

  Chapter Four

  ‘This idea of yours better work,’ said Evan as they huddled in the school hall for the ninth lunchtime in a row.

  ‘It will,’ said Ross, crossing his fingers behind his back. ‘It has to. I’ve almost forgotten how to play handball!’

  ‘What if it doesn’t?’ asked Con. ‘What if the media won’t come?’

  ‘They’ll come,’ said Ross.

  ‘What if it’s not worth their while?’ Salvatore persisted.

  ‘Then we’ll have to make it worth their while!’ snapped Ross, his brain already working on the problem.

  ‘How?’ asked Salvatore.

  Ross turned to his friends, grinning at his simple solution. ‘How about we don’t just go for one record? How about we go for a whole heap of records?’

  ‘There’s not enough time to organise any more!’ said Evan, dismissing the idea with a sweep of his hand.

  Ross did not reply, but the grin on his face was spreading.

  ‘What?’ said Evan. ‘I hate it when you’re thinking of something and I don’t know what it is.’

  ‘I can think of a couple of records …’ bated Ross, his lips so wide he could barely talk. ‘The World’s Biggest Communal Burp for starters.’

  Evan, Con and Salvatore started to laugh. Evan laughed so hard he had to sit down.

  ‘Good one,’ said Con. ‘Any others?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ross with a giggle. ‘Here’s what we’ll get everyone to do …’

  The big day rolled round. Maryton School was abuzz with students and reporters keen to take part in the big event. Luckily for them, the wind was gusting from the east, shooing the stench away.

  The hall had been emptied of furniture. A long strip of plastic snaked up and down. Every thirty centimetres or so stood an open can of baked beans and a spoon.

  ‘How’s it look?’ asked Ross as Evan stood on a bench outside, peering through the window at the crowd.

  ‘Awesome!’ said Evan.

  ‘Not long to go,’ said Ross, stepping up and taking a peek himself.

  Evan checked his watch. ‘We’d better go in.’

  The boys walked round the corner to the hall entrance. Two media cars were parked nearby. Ross could see the television and radio reporters speaking into their mikes, testing their equipment. Every so often — when the wind died — one of them would blanch and flinch.

  Good, thought Ross. Welcome to our smellfest!

  Once inside, Ross could see that the hall was packed with students. Mr Briar had set up a special table for the dignitaries. Most were school staff. One was unfamiliar.

  That must be the person from the Amazing Book of Records Ross thought.

  ‘C’mon,’ hissed Evan, tugging at his sleeve, ‘let’s get a good spot.’

  A buzz from the loudspeaker signalled a start to the proceedings.

  ‘As principal of Maryton Public School I’d like to welcome Mrs Trofee, from the Amazing Book of Records. I would also like to say on this momentous occasion how proud I am to see that the pupils of Maryton have shown so much initiative and drive. I am pleased to report that 137 of them are participating today.’

  The hall erupted with applause.

  ‘As head of this fine school …’ The principal droned on and on till someone, Salvatore perhaps, called out, ‘It’s not the World’s Biggest Sleep-In,’ which scored ripples of laughter, even a smile from Mrs Trofee. Thankfully, the principal took the hint. ‘I’d like to conclude by asking Mrs Trofee to come forward.’

  ‘In my capacity as a representative of the Amazing Book of Records … ‘ began Mrs Trofee. Heads bent.

  ‘I now declare that the World’s Biggest Meal of Baked Beans …’

  Spoons were gripped.

  ‘… begin!’

  Loads of baked beans disappeared into the willing mouths. Cameras whirred and reporters babbled:

  ‘How exciting to be part of this news-making moment…’

  ‘This is a first for Maryton …’

  ‘There’s baked beans in mouths, baked beans on chins and baked beans on the floor … !<
br />
  Ten minutes later a hooter went off.

  Pandemonium broke out! Students were laughing and crying, crying and screaming, leaping about.

  Again, they were called to order.

  ‘In my capacity as a representative of the Amazing Book of Record’s’ began Mrs Trofee, ‘I take great pleasure in announcing … huh?’

  Ross had barged over to the woman and was reaching for the microphone. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘I’d like to say a few words.’

  The Amazing Records representative stood with her mouth open, too shocked to argue.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked the principal, bounding over and muscling her way between them. ‘Ross Moon! What is all this about?’

  Cameras were rolling. Reporters couldn’t talk fast enough.

  Ross cleared his throat. Turning to the cameras and in a big voice he said, ‘This is not only about breaking records. It’s about our bad smell!’

  Chapter Five

  ‘We stink!’ announced Ross.

  ‘Majorly!’ called out Rowena.

  ‘To the max!’ cried Evan.

  Taking teeny breaths, Mrs Trofee tested the air. Her face puckered. She sniffed under each armpit — not once, but twice. The principal was trying to pull Ross away from the microphone, but Ross clung on and continued, ‘We’ve been told the problem would be fixed. But when?’

  Silence fell over the crowd.

  ‘Someone’s got beans for brains!’ boomed a voice from the back. Probably Con’s.

  Ross couldn’t help smiling, even though the principal was trying to shove him away.

  Cameras were clicking as reporters vied to be the first to broadcast this special news.

  ‘I’ve got something important to say,’ Ross begged the principal. ‘Please?’

  ‘Let the boy speak,’ said Mrs Trofee.

  ‘You’ve got one minute,’ said the principal, her smile more a grimace.

  Ross held up his hand using a signal that only the students knew about. It meant, Get Ready.

  The children sat poised over their tins of baked beans.

  ‘Our school pongs,’ announced Ross. ‘It has to stop!’

  The reporters moved in closer.

  ‘The Amazing Book of Records is our way of bringing attention to Maryton’s problem.’

  Reporters were scribbling and cameras were whirring.

  Ross paused, letting his words sink in.

  At that exact moment Con and Salvatore both let out some air.

  ‘You’re not trying for the World’s Biggest Burp, are you?’ asked Mrs Trofee in mock horror.

  ‘No,’ said Ross, giving another hand signal.

  Every child in the hall doubled over their tins, pretending to eat.

  ‘The World’s Biggest Vomit?’ asked Mrs Trofee, pulling on her raincoat.

  Ross answered by jumping down to scoop up some baked beans.

  It was the signal they’d all been waiting for …

  One hundred and thirty-seven children leapt up, scrambling for a position in front of the cameras. Each child looked as if they were bleeding. Red sauce oozed from mouths and nostrils.

  Ross returned to the microphone. ‘This is what we’d look like if we were poisoned,’ he yelled. ‘We’d bleed — from the inside out.’

  Cameras went into overdrive.

  ‘Not pretty, is it?’ said Ross, directing the cameras to aim at the students.

  A red squishy baked bean hung out of each child’s nostril. It looked like their guts were spilling out. Semi-chewed baked beans in open mouths added to the desired effect.

  ‘Maryton School is being poisoned!’ repeated Ross.

  The teachers stood stony-faced. For the first time Ross could remember, the principal was speechless.

  ‘We need help. Now! Not when someone gets around to it.’

  The room was in chaos. Bloodied noses and grins danced before the cameras.

  Ross stayed at the microphone. ‘We’re sorry to have used the Amazing Book of Records to help us with our problem …’ he began.

  ‘I’m glad that we could be of help,’ interrupted Mrs Trofee, taking off her raincoat. ‘This problem must be fixed.’

  ‘You can count on us,’ said a reporter from the Maryton Daily. ‘A front-page spread should get things moving.’

  ‘We’ll lead with this on tonight’s news,’ said the TV reporter.

  Loud cheers greeted their statements.

  The principal came forward. With a shaking hand she grabbed the microphone and said to the children, ‘While I disagree with your methods I applaud your results.’ The students hollered and hooted. Turning, the principal continued, ‘Congratulations, Ross. The sooner we rid ourselves of that foul odour the sooner we can get back to doing what we do best.’

  ‘Handball,’ said Ross, beaming in reply.

  ‘No, teaching.’

  ‘Before I go I believe there’s something I must announce,’ said Mrs Trofee.

  The children huddled together, waiting to hear what would happen next.

  Ross wondered if they should go for the World’s Biggest Hug after all.

  ‘In my capacity as representative for the Amazing Book of Records I am delighted to inform you that 137 students have set a world record for the World’s Biggest Meal of Baked Beans!’

  The students clapped and whistled.

  ‘That’s not the only record set today!’ Ross called out.

  Mrs Trofee looked at him, puzzled.

  ‘There’s one more,’ Ross continued.

  ‘Yes?’ asked Mrs Trofee, stopping in her tracks.

  With a signal from Ross every child turned their backs to the cameras. Every child bent over.

  It started with a pffff, and ended with a bu-bu-bu-bummm, and somewhere in between, if you listened very closely, was the Maryton School Song!

  How Do You Spell It?

  Chapter One

  Princess Pruneface stared in the mirror and made a moue with her lips.

  Geoff tried not to laugh.

  Princess Pruneface applied her lipstick — left then right then left — making oooooh oooooh faces.

  Looks like a laughing clown, thought Geoff as he lay in bed in the room they shared and pretended to be asleep. With one hand over his mouth he tried to block an escaping giggle.

  Princess Pruneface blew a kiss at her reflection.

  The escaping giggle now needed two hands over the mouth …

  Three more kisses followed.

  … and a pinch on the nose to stop it.

  ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the most beautiful one of all?’

  A snort erupted from under the covers, followed by a voice, ‘For all the paint and black-eye tar, Princess Pruneface is the ugliest by far.’

  ‘M-u-u-um!’ screamed the princess, stamping her foot and shaking her delicate fist.

  Geoff roared with laughter and sat up, adding, ‘Red face. Pink eye-shadow. Don’t you know they clash.’

  ‘M-u-u-um!’ screeched Princess Pruneface. ‘M-u-u-m!’

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Mrs Polo, hurrying into the room, her hands covered in paint. ‘Caterina. Geoffrey. Can’t you see I’m busy?’

  ‘Geoff’s at it again. He’s being a pain.’

  ‘I am not! I am only having a bit of fun.’

  ‘Moron!’

  Geoff decided to stay quiet. That way Caterina would not have the satisfaction of seeing how much she was annoying him.

  ‘Loser!’

  Look who’s talking, thought Geoff, still silent. I’m not the one coming on to a mirror! ‘Pervert.’

  Now, this was too much for Geoff. ‘I am not!’ he hollered.

  ‘Yes, you are! You’re always staring at me.’

  ‘Not!’

  ‘Watching me when I get dressed!’

  ‘Geoffrey!’ cried Mrs Polo. A shocked hand went to her face, leaving a white palm print on her chin.

  ‘Rubbish! Don’t forget it’s my room, too.’ Geoff’s voice rose ten oc
taves as he pretended to be his sister. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall …’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘Who’s the foulest of them all? Why, Princess Pruneface I do recall!’

  ‘Geoffrey!’ scolded Mrs Polo, again. ‘Enough! Apologise to Caterina.’

  ‘She started it. And she’s the one telling lies.’

  Princess Pruneface smiled a secret smile, then leant towards her mother. In a stage whisper she said, ‘He sneaks into the room and doesn’t knock. Last time I was naked!’

  Mrs Polo’s complexion turned even whiter under the paint. ‘Geoffrey! How could you! What about the rules?’

  Geoff tried to keep calm, but it wasn’t easy when right now he hated his sister. Hated her with a passion. ‘I follow the rules, Mum. I do knock. Only sometimes I forget … It’s my room, too!’

  Mrs Polo chose not to argue. With a final glare at Geoff she left the room.

  ‘Your room, too. We’ll soon see about that!’ Princess Pruneface stormed out of the bedroom, giving Geoff the royal one-finger salute.

  What’s she up to? Geoff wondered.

  It was not long before he found out.

  Chapter Two

  Geoff flung himself in the beanbag, thinking of ways to get back at Princess Pruneface, when ‘Ouch!’ something jabbed him in the back. It was a book. ‘Must be Pruneface’s,’ he said, rubbing his back as he picked it up and read, Book of Spells. Geoff inspected the jagged graze on his back then threw the book onto Caterina’s bed, thinking, Maybe I should put a curse on her.

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

  ‘Come in.’ Geoff was surprised to see both his parents standing there. ‘I don’t spy,’ he began, but his father cut him off.

  ‘Geoffrey, a woman needs her privacy.’

  ‘Woman! Caterina’s only twelve.’

  ‘Nevertheless, young man.’

  Mrs Polo joined in. ‘Caterina is … er … how

  shall I put it?’

  ‘Maturing!’ said Mr Polo, helpfully.

  ‘And needs her own space,’ Mrs Polo went on.

  ‘Don’t we all,’ said Geoff, scowling at the book he’d just sat on.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Mrs Polo. ‘Which is what we’ve come to talk to you about, son.’

  Son? Alarm bells went off in Geoff’s head.