by Sally Gould
Dad glared at me. "He's my brother and I'll call him what I want."
Another point to me. Charlie and me were having a competition to see how many times we could annoy Dad without getting into serious trouble. So far I was winning three to one.
"I don't want either of you ruining their special day because you have the attention span of two year olds." He stared at us as though that would make his message sink in. "Okay, Charlie?"
"Yes, Dad."
"And Max, absolutely no trouble today!"
"Yes, Dad." I tugged my collar. The tie was choking me and I felt stupid. I could see myself in the rear-vision mirror; I looked like a shrunken version of Dad going to work. "It would be easier to be quiet and still if I didn't have to wear this tie."
"The tie stays on," Mom said, without looking up from the murder mystery she was reading.
After she'd read to the end of the page, we were allowed to get out of the car and hang out at the front of the stone church with everyone else. There were heaps of people. People I'd never seen before. All the guys wore suits, which made me feel less stupid. And there were heaps of gorgeous girls with long shiny hair and suntans. Dan and Sophie had lived in London for years and years, so how did they know all these people?
The four of us stood in a circle looking at each other because we didn't seem to know anyone else. Mom smiled. "The sunshine is lovely," she said.
"Beautiful," replied Dad, returning her smile.
My parents were weird. Actually, weddings were weird. For months everyone had carried on like Dan was a prince and Sophie was a princess just because they were getting married. But they'd been living together in a little flat in London for ages, so it was like they were married anyway. How did dressing up and going to church change anything?
And Mom and Nanna couldn't wait until Sophie had a baby. Once Mom told me babies are hard work. She said, when I was a baby I never slept and I cried all the time. So why did Mom and Nanna want Sophie to have a baby so much? Maybe they didn't really like her.
I shrugged. Who knew? I just hoped this day and night would go real fast. Now that I wasn't the pageboy I might die of boredom.
A woman wearing a large hat with feathers on it came up to us. She said to Mom and Dad, "I'm Sophie's mother." Mom introduced Charlie and me. Sophie's mother patted me on the head and whispered, "You would've made a very handsome pageboy."
I smiled, but inside I was mad because I'd wanted to be the pageboy. I wanted to be standing near Dan when the minister said, Now you may kiss the bride. I wanted my face in a wedding photo on their mantelpiece. I wanted the guests to tell me how handsome I was.
And I wanted to do something that Charlie hadn't done. He'd never been a pageboy. And now he was too old, so he never would be. Charlie had always been the chosen one. He was captain of his soccer team again. When he was in grade six he was captain of Yarra house. And last week the girls in his class voted him as the boy they'd most like to kiss. It sucked.
Dan had called me from London to ask, Would you do me the honor of being my pageboy? I pretended to think about it for a minute, before I said, Yep. I even went to get my suit fitted. But three weeks before the wedding, Dan came over to our place and said, Sorry sport, Sophie has changed her mind. You'll find women do that.
I decided I didn't like Sophie and I didn't want Dan to marry her. Even though I'd seen her photo and she had beautiful green eyes and smooth skin. Then a week later I met her when we had a barbeque at Nanna's place. As soon as Sophie saw me, her hand went over her glossy pink lips and she said, Oh, you're so cute and just the right age. You would've looked perfect with Lucy. She seemed really upset that she'd made a mistake, so, being the kind, generous person I am, I forgave her.
I knew then that something fishy was going on. All I found out was that I'd lost my place in the team to a five year old named Hamish (tell me, what sort of pageboy is named Hamish?), who was Sophie's twenty-third cousin or something. But why? Someone must've told her I wasn't cute enough. Who would've said that?
As Sophie's mum told Mom all about Sophie's Italian handmade beaded silk shoes, Nanna arrived. She wanted to know the color of the bridesmaids' dresses. Mom thought they were lilac and Sophie's mom thought they were lavender.
Aunt Evil (as Charlie and me call her) turned up. She parked in the loading zone out the front of the church, probably so everyone could check out her red Mercedes sports car. She came over and Charlie and me stood back while everyone kissed everyone else like they hadn't seen each other since Christmas (and not two weeks ago at Nanna's place).
Charlie kicked a stone in my direction. Dad spun round to see if we were doing anything we shouldn't be. I stood on the stone and gave him a blank look. So far I'd made a good impression. I'd been quiet and still, just like Dad had told me to be. I wouldn't kick the stone back to Charlie. I'd let Charlie suffer.
Everyone turned to look at me.
"I didn't do anything," I said.
Then Sophie's mom stepped back and wrapped her arm round me, squeezing me like I was a plastic duck that spurted water out its mouth. Geez, I'd only just met her! "Avril," she said, "I think he's lovely and he seems perfectly behaved."
Aunt Evil laughed nervously. "Trust me," she replied, "he's programmed to make trouble."
"Oh, he's a good boy," said good old Nanna.
I glared at my evil aunt. She looked guilty and turned away. So it was Aunt Evil who told Sophie that I was too naughty! My heart thumped like I'd just run a hundred-metre race. I wanted revenge, but I wouldn't do anything yet. I'd wait. I'd wait until the right moment. Then I'd get revenge on my evil aunt.
Book 2 of The Max Books
Outback Hero: Max conquers outback Australia
Nothing to Fear
1. HOLIDAYS
"Crocodiles!" I jumped off the couch and dropped the remote. "I hate crocodiles. They eat people and they're ugly."
Mom held her forehead and sighed. She thought I was being a pain in the butt. She always did that when she thought I was being a pain in the butt. She did it a lot.
Charlie, who was doing his math homework at the dining table, laughed out loud. I knew he was thinking, Max, go ahead, be a pain in the butt because that always makes me look good.
Mom pulled dead flowers out of the vase as though she was angry with them. "Maaax, we've been planning this holiday for ages. We're going and you'll have a wonderful time."
"I'd rather go to Nanna's," I said. 'She likes me helping her."
"Nanna is going to the Gold Coast—"
"Great ... I'll go to the Gold Coast."
Charlie looked up. I bet he'd rather go to the Gold Coast too.
"You can't," replied Mom. "She's going with her friends. You'd spoil her fun."
I flopped down on the couch. I hated that. I hated being a kid. Always being told what to do and never getting to decide where we'd go for holidays. When I have kids, I'll let them choose where we go for holidays every year. If my kids wanted go to Disneyland ten years in a row, I'd take them.
Mom put the dead flowers in the bin, then came over and sat next to me. She squeezed my hand and whispered, "We'll only see the crocodiles from the safety of a boat. People only die from crocodile attacks because they swim where they shouldn't. They ignore the No Swimming signs."
Could all moms read their kids' minds? My mom just knows when I'm scared of something. I wondered what else she knew. Did she know that I listened to music at night when I was meant to be asleep?
"So it's safe?" I whispered to her.
Charlie called out, "Max, you've got more chance of being killed by lightning than being killed by a crocodile. In Australia last year, ten people died because they were struck by lightning and only one died of a crocodile attack. And if you lived in Africa, you're much more likely to be killed by a lion."
Typical. He was always trying to impress Mom with facts and figures. I told him, "I'd rather be killed by lightning."
"Yeah, being zapped would be electrify
ing." He stood up and shook like a bolt of electricity had shot through his body.
"Get lost," I said.
"I hope you don't come," he said as he went back to tapping numbers on a calculator and writing down figures. "I'll have the whole back seat of the car to myself. I won't have to share a room. I can watch whatever I want on TV."
I hated the way he could talk and do math as though it was as easy as walking and breathing at the same time.
"That won't happen," said Mom. "Max is coming."
I folded my arms. "You can't force me."
She shook her head as if I were a hopeless case. "You know there's nothing to fear but fear itself."
That was one of her favorite sayings. She said it to me a thousand times a year. She used to say it when I was afraid of the dark, afraid of the invisible monster hiding in my wardrobe and afraid of strange noises at night.
Without looking up, Charlie said, "We should see Kakadu before global warming wrecks it."
Typical. Charlie and Dad reckon we have to see everything before global warming wrecks it. I bet we'll never again have a normal holiday at the beach. Now we have to see stuff. We would've had to gawk at icebergs in Antarctica last summer, but luckily that was too expensive. I said, "I wouldn't want to see Kak-my-du even if it didn't have crocs."
"It's called Kakadu National Park," said Mom. "Thousands of people visit it every year. And I bet most of those people are terrified of crocodiles. But they still want to see them in the wild. And there are lots of walks, swimming holes and waterfalls. The landscape is stunning and there are Aboriginal rock paintings too." She gave me one of her pleading looks. "Max, when you were little, you were so brave."
"WERE BRAVE," Charlie repeated, without looking up.
I yelled, "I'm still brave!"
Mom smiled at me and messed up my hair as if I were five years old.
"Okay, I'll go," I said. I'd show her how brave I was. I decided right then that I wouldn't be afraid of crocs. I'd be brave like Charlie. I was only two and a half years younger than him, so I should be brave like him. And from now on I would be. And even if I wasn't, I'd pretend I was.
Book 3 of The Max Books
The Venetian Job: Bad guys and action - Max's Italian holiday
Mafia Encounter
1. SICILY
My friends would be doing math at this time of the day, but I wasn't because I was in Italy. Sicily, to be exact. We were driving along a four-lane highway where almost every car was speeding. Dad was biting his bottom lip, because he was concentrating hard.
Charlie had stuck his head outside the car window to record crazy drivers, so he could show his friends when he got home. Cars whizzed past us so fast it felt like we weren't moving. And the crazy drivers seemed to think no matter what they did, everyone else would get out of their way.
Mom stopped reading her murder mystery and stared out the front window at Mount Etna. Even though it was March, the top of it was covered in snow. Mom loved mountains. That was why we were in Sicily, because she'd always wanted to see Mount Etna.
Charlie sat back, put his phone down and leaned across the back seat of the car. Nudging me, he whispered, "I bet you we're related to Mr. Mafia."
"Who?" I hated when Charlie did that. When he says something as though I should know what he's talking about, but I don't know, so I've got to ask him what he means and then I sound dumb and he sounds smart.
"A mafia boss; an old guy who wears a black suit and black sunglasses and who has bodyguards. He'd live in an enormous house and be driven around in a big black car, and if anyone does the wrong thing to his family, they'd better watch out." Charlie gave me that smug look he gives when he's showing off how much he knows.
I nodded as though I knew exactly what he meant. And I sort of did. There were mafia guys at home. They were bad; I knew that. A bit bad was okay, but I wouldn't want to be related to anyone real bad.
Not that I believed Charlie. Mom wouldn't have brought us to Sicily if we were related to a mafia boss. I didn't think she would, anyway.
"It makes sense," whispered Charlie. "That's why we've started this holiday in Sicily. To meet Mr. Mafia and the rest of the family."
I swallowed. Real casual, I asked, "Mom, are you related to a mafia boss?"
She took her eyes off Mount Etna to turn round and glare at me. Then she glared at Charlie as if to say, Don't scare your younger brother!
He fiddled with his phone. "It seemed a reasonable deduction since we've come to Italy to meet your relatives and Sicily is the first place we've come to."
"We've come to Italy for a holiday, not just to meet my relatives. And most Sicilians aren't in the mafia."
I nodded as though she'd convinced me. When she turned round to the front, Charlie and me looked at each other. We each knew what the other was thinking. She was lying. We could tell because she didn't look into our eyes. That meant one thing. Her relatives lived in Sicily. Did that mean her grandfather or uncle or someone was Mr. Mafia? Maybe; maybe not.
Suddenly Tom Tom, our satellite navigator, got real excited. In his robotic-newsreader voice, he said, "Bear right, then go through the roundabout, second exit, then go straight ahead for two hundred metres, stay in the right lane, then turn right."
"WHAT?" yelled Dad. "That can't be right!"
Charlie sniggered and Mom quickly opened her book and began to read. I stated the obvious: "Tom Tom is always right." We'd been using him for less than a week and it was already like he was part of the family. He loved disagreeing with Dad.
Dad shook his head.
"Wow," yelled Charlie, "check out the Ferrari!"
I turned round to see a bright yellow Ferrari flash past us. A second later a car horn let out a long, loud, scary sound. Then brakes screeched. Dad, who had been following Tom Tom's instructions, yelled out something I'm not allowed to say before he did a massive swerve. Charlie and me got flung sideways. A moment later we realized we'd nearly been hit by a car coming toward us.
For a minute nobody said anything. I reckon it was still sinking in that some crazy Italian driver had nearly killed us.
Charlie patted his phone. "Got the whole thing on video. Absolute proof all Italians are crazy."
Mom turned round and gave Charlie one of her looks. "That was one bad driver. Don't generalize."
Charlie nodded to her and then nudged me. "Yeah, and all Italians are saints too. Lucky we're half-Italian."
"Do you really think we're related to a mafia boss?"
"It'd be cool." He lowered his voice and added, "Except I read on the internet there's two mafia families in Sicily who are killing each other. One family reckons the other family is invading its territory."
"What?"
"Shh," whispered Charlie, but it was too late because Mom had already turned round.
"That's enough," she said, looking from me to Charlie and back to me. "I don't want to hear another word about the mafia or my relatives. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Mom," we answered like a pair of robots.
When she turned her back to us again, we glanced at each other. We must be related to Mr. Mafia!
Suddenly I felt sick. It all made sense. Why Mom never mentioned exactly where her relatives lived or what they did. She was ashamed of them. She probably hadn't wanted to bring us here. I bet they ordered her to because the big mafia boss wanted to meet Charlie and me.
Maybe our whole lives were about to change. Maybe we'd be expected to leave school and learn the business. Far out, I didn't even know what they did. A cold shiver went up my spine. All of a sudden I didn't want to be in Italy; I wanted to be home.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sally Gould loved books from a young age, but never considered writing them. While she was busy getting up to the mischief that teenagers get up to, she forgot about books all together. Then total insanity took hold and she became a corporate lawyer. Fortunately, she had two sons and they inspired her to write stories for children. Of course, her oldest son
is responsible, logical, studious, considerate, grateful and even makes his bed. The youngest one is only interested in having fun - lots of it. And, except for his teachers, he makes everyone laugh. Their antics have inspired many of Sally's stories. Sally lives in Melbourne, Australia with her family and two dogs - Pebbles, who is sensible, and Jade, who just wants to have fun.
Connect with Sally:
Website: www.sallygould.com.au
Email: [email protected]
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