by Adam France
Closer and closer. I held my breath.
I hit the water hard. But rather than sinking deep below the dark blue water, I bounced off like a pebble skipping across a lake. I was still moving at an incredible speed. It must be the Kevin’s Kwiklid on my shorts!
My bottom continued to bounce off the surface of the water. Each skip felt like touching down on a cactus. I passed two cruise ships and watched as hundreds of sunburnt, cocktail-drinking adults gawked in disbelief as I bounced like a kangaroo in full flight across the top of the ocean. After around a hundred skips, my bottom went numb.
Finally I began to slow down. I could move my arms and legs again. My cheeks moved free from my teeth. My eyes were able to blink.
I looked ahead and saw a beautiful tropical island near the horizon. My backside continued to skim across the top of the water until I reached the rolling waves of the island’s shoreline. Then my bottom hit a sand bar and I came to a dead stop.
The first thing I did was check my head. My suspicions were confirmed: it was as bald as my pop’s. Fortunately, most of my eyebrows remained.
Then to my bottom. It was no use; it was still completely numb. One thing was for sure though, I definitely had a giant hole in my pants.
I gingerly stood up and staggered to shore. I noticed a number of people approaching me. All were wearing floral board shorts. A few of the bigger men had large tattoos. A couple of girls also wandered over.
All of them looked confused. They stared at me as if I’d fallen out of the sky. Well, to be fair, I had.
‘Where am I?’ I asked.
One of the tattooed men moved closer.
‘Talofa. Welcome to Samoa.’
‘SAMOA!’ I shouted.
Everyone started laughing.
‘Yes,’ chuckled the man. ‘My name is Fetuao, but you can call me Fetu.’
The laughing continued. Some people were laughing so hard they were on their hands and knees.
‘And you are?’ Fetu asked, a chuckle still in his voice.
That’s when I saw it running towards me. A skinny, balding monster. Its tongue flapping from side to side. Saliva drooling from its lips. But as I looked closer, I realised it wasn’t a monster at all. It was a hairless Maltese dog.
‘Mandy!’ I called out.
Everyone on the beach, including Fetu, laughed even louder.
I won’t bore you with how Dad ended up paying for my flight back home. Let’s just say he was a little less energetic with his signature nudge when I got off the plane.
Troy, on the other hand, couldn’t stop patting my bald head. Bella just screamed when she saw me. Nina did the same when she saw a hairless Mandy.
All in all, I was the one smiling in the end. Even though I had a head like an egg, I got to escape the heat of Hellman’s Hill with an overseas holiday. What more could I ask for?
Mannequins
It was the morning of the school disco. Marty had been bugging me about it all week.
‘Come on, Paddy!’ he pleaded as we walked to school. ‘This is the biggest disco of the year!’
‘I dunno,’ I answered. ‘There’ll be another one.’
Marty stopped in his tracks, grabbed my shoulders and stared straight into my eyes.
‘But this is going to be the one that people remember me for. I’ve been working on my dance moves for weeks.’
I couldn’t take it anymore. I could see how desperately he wanted to go.
‘Whatever,’ I finally conceded. ‘I’ll come.’
The truth was, I wanted to go. I wanted to go to all the discos. The bright, flashing lights. The loud, thumping music. The crazy dancing. So why was I being so hesitant about going? That’s easy: my wardrobe.
If my wardrobe was a car it would have three wheels and leopard-spot paintwork, and would sound like a cat coughing up a fur ball. A total embarrassment. Marty’s wasn’t much better.
You see, our parents didn’t have a lot of money. So when it came to clothing, it was straight down to CrazyMart for the best discounts. Although it was cheap, the fabric itched and hung off us like parachutes.
And when everyone turned up in their three-star sneakers and saw Marty and me in our fake two-star sneakers, I could feel them all laughing on the inside. Snickering at us. Especially Trent Rowe, the school bully.
Trent was always dressed in the most fashionable outfits from the posh shop, Kazaar Clothing. From shoes to shirts and jackets to jeans. He even dyed a blond streak through his dark hair just to prove to everyone how cool and rebellious he was. And he made it a goal of his to make anyone who dressed in no-name clothing feel like dirt. Especially Marty and me.
‘Really?’ Marty shook my shoulders, bringing me back to reality. ‘You’ll really come to the disco?’
I smiled and gave a nod. You see, I really did want to go to this disco. Jemma Arrows was going. She is the most beautiful girl in school. And last week in class when Marty began nagging for me to go, Jemma had looked over at me and smiled. The kind of smile that said she was hoping I would say yes. It was then that I decided I was going to work up the courage to go to the disco and ask Jemma to dance with me. And I’d become one of the popular kids and live happily ever after.
The problem was, if someone as beautiful as Jemma Arrows was to dance with someone like me, I needed to find something cool to wear.
It was black with two red stripes running down the sleeves. It was made of real leather and had four shiny steel studs on the front pocket. It was the best jacket Marty and I had ever seen. It sat perfectly on the plastic mannequin inside Kazaar Clothing. The mannequin had a V-shaped scratch on its cheek, which made the jacket look extra tough. Cool and rebellious.
It was the same jacket we had seen Trent trying on two days ago. And by the look on his face, he’d known it was the coolest jacket in town. It was perfect.
‘It’s two hundred dollars,’ Marty mumbled as he checked the price tag.
My heart sank. I didn’t have two hundred dollars. Neither did Marty. We barely had enough money to buy new no-brand zip-up hoodies. And we needed them to hide whatever hideous shirts we had in our wardrobes. It was only a few hours until the start of the disco and we still had nothing to wear.
I turned to walk away, but Marty kept his eyes on the leather jacket.
‘What if I just wore it for tonight?’ he said as he played with the shiny studs. ‘And brought it back first thing tomorrow?’
I looked at Marty, puzzled.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘Like, get a refund?’
‘Not exactly,’ he replied, his eyes still on the jacket. ‘Just, you know, put it back where I found it?’
‘You mean steal it?’ I corrected.
Marty quickly covered my mouth.
‘Are you crazy?’ he whispered. ‘You’ll get us both in trouble.’
Marty removed his hand from my mouth just as my mum walked past the shopfront. Bella was sitting in the pram with bags hanging off the handles. Troy stood beside the pram making faces at her.
‘All right.’ Mum pulled a plain oversized shirt out of a bag. ‘I got you this for the disco.’ She tried to keep the pram in one spot, as Troy kept pulling it towards him.
‘I better go.’ I turned towards Marty. ‘I’ll see you at the disco.’
Marty fist-bumped me.
‘It’s going to be awesome.’ He winked.
‘Don’t do anything STUPID,’ I warned, looking between Marty and the jacket. Marty gave me an unconvincing nod as I turned and headed out of the shop.
Flashes of coloured light made it difficult to see who was in front of me. This was both a good and a bad thing. Good, because that most likely meant people couldn’t see who was hiding inside the too-large hoodie that hung from my body. Bad, because I couldn’t find Marty anywhere.
At least I hadn’t run into Trent yet. I guessed he was waiting to make a fashionably late entrance.
Arms, legs and bodies moved rhythmically to the deafening music. I was a
bout to give up and go home. I wasn’t sure I had the courage to ask Jemma to dance with me. For all I knew, she wasn’t here anyway.
As I eyed the exit, something from across the dance floor caught my eye. The flashing lights reflecting off its four shiny steel studs. Two red stripes moving to the beat. I couldn’t believe it: it was the jacket from the shop. And inside that jacket was Marty, his face gleaming with confidence. A circle had gathered around him. Students were clapping and cheering as Marty threw his fist into the air when the song finished. People walked in and gave him high-fives. It had finally happened; Marty had become a popular kid.
As the next song began, the crowd of students began to dance away. I approached Marty, shock all over my face. Marty’s eyes lit up when he saw me.
‘You made it!’ he exclaimed, and began doing the robot.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I yelled against the music.
‘Dancing, what does it look like?’ Marty replied as he spun around.
I stood there in disbelief.
‘You stole the jacket.’
‘Borrowed,’ he corrected as he did the sprinkler in my direction. ‘I’m going to take it back tomorrow.’
I was about to give him a lecture when I saw her. Jemma Arrows, dressed in a beautiful blue dress, dancing by herself.
I looked at Marty and the stolen jacket. Then I looked back at Jemma. I shook my head at Marty and made my way across the dance floor.
I could feel the butterflies in my gut bouncing to the bass of the song. I could feel my knees shaking as I approached. Then Jemma noticed me and smiled. That’s when I knew there was no turning back.
I started to bop awkwardly closer to her. My giant hoodie felt like it was dragging along the ground.
‘Hi, Paddy,’ she called out, continuing to dance.
‘Hi!’ I called back, louder than I expected. I was incredibly nervous. After dreaming about this moment the entire school year, I had finally found the courage to make it to a disco and dance with Jemma. The problem was, I had no idea how to dance.
I started bobbing my knees and waving my hands towards the floor. I tried to incorporate a dance move that allowed me to pull my hoodie sleeves back up to my wrist. I looked like a broken marionette doll. But Jemma didn’t seem to mind.
‘I like your moves,’ she said, showing me her amazing smile.
I smiled back. The butterflies in my stomach disappeared. I began to feel more confident and move more freely.
That’s when I was bumped hard from behind. I spun around to meet Marty’s terrified expression. One of his arms was pointing out to the side. The other was bent with his hand planted against his head. He was frozen in mid-sprinkler.
‘Help me!’ he said, loud enough for only me to hear. ‘Something terrible is happening. I can’t move!’
I looked over at Jemma. She continued to smile and dance. I turned back to Marty. His arms locked in place. His face pleading.
I turned to Jemma.
‘Excuse me for a minute.’
Before Jemma could respond, I grabbed Marty by the bottom of the jacket and quickly pulled him into the boys’ toilets.
‘What is going on?’ I asked as I directed Marty into one of the cubicles and locked the door. Marty sat down. His arms were still frozen in mid-sprinkler. ‘Is this some sort of joke?’
‘I’m freaking out!’ Marty whispered above the low thud of the music outside. ‘I can’t move my arms.’
I grabbed Marty’s elbow and tried to pull it down, but it wouldn’t budge. I pulled back his jacket sleeve to see if he had some sort of stick under his arm. I wanted to see if he was playing a trick on me.
That’s when I saw it. Not a stick. Just Marty’s arm. It was shiny and smooth. I grabbed his wrist to find it cold and hard. Like plastic.
And that’s when it hit me.
‘Oh no,’ I whispered as I let go of his wrist and stumbled back.
‘What?’ Marty choked, his eyes desperate for an answer. ‘What is it?’
I looked him up and down before delivering the news.
‘You’re turning into a mannequin.’
Marty began to freak out. He tried to stand, but his legs had also frozen stiff.
‘HOW? WHY?’ He stared at his arms and legs. ‘What is happening?’
‘Have you eaten something strange?’ I asked, reaching for an explanation. ‘Or danced too much?’
‘Danced too much?’ Marty screamed back at me. ‘There’s no such thing!’
He leaned against the wall. The buttons on his jacket gleamed in the bathroom’s fluorescent lights.
And then it all clicked.
‘The jacket!’ I cried. ‘The jacket is cursed!’
Marty looked down. His mouth dropped open.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’ve been cursed for stealing the jacket from the mannequin. And now I’m turning into one!’ His eyes grew wide. ‘Get this off me!’ he exclaimed. ‘Hurry!’
I pulled down the jacket’s zipper and tried to force it off his body. But it was no use. Marty’s arms were stuck solid in sprinkler pose. There was no way of getting it off.
‘It’s no use,’ Marty conceded as I stopped tugging at the jacket.
There was a moment of silence as I looked around. There had to be a way to fix this. I clicked my fingers when I found the answer.
‘It’s Friday,’ I announced, ‘which means late-night shopping. We have time to get it back before it’s too late.’
‘But I’m stuck,’ Marty moaned, looking down at his legs. ‘I can’t walk.’
I was already one step ahead.
The squeak of the wheels was terrible. Thankfully, it was masked by the deafening beat of the school disco. Although we were in a hurry, I had to move cautiously as I balanced Marty on top of the bucket. The handle of the mop rattled against the inside of the arm locked against the side of his head. I’m sure it was far from comfortable for Marty, but it was our only hope.
So we didn’t draw too much attention to ourselves, I hid Marty and his shiny plastic body behind my oversized hoodie and put on the pair of overalls and the legionnaire’s hat that hung behind the mop and bucket back in the school bathroom. Hopefully, it was enough to hide the two terrified twelve-year-olds who were about to attempt to return a stolen jacket.
Fortunately, the shopping mall was only a couple of blocks from the school. The echo of the squeaking wheels provided a not-so-grand entrance as we walked through the doors. Shoppers from all around looked in our direction, the noise obviously disturbing their retail experience.
‘We’re dead meat,’ Marty croaked from behind the hoodie. ‘There’s no way we can pull this off.’
I stopped out the front of Kazaar Clothing. Without the squeak of the bucket, the world seemed silent.
I took a deep breath.
‘Here goes nothing.’
The squeak of the bucket returned as we made our way into the shop. I wanted to get there as quickly as I could, but the faster I pushed the mop and bucket, the louder the squeak echoed through the shop.
My hands were sweaty. I realised I was tiptoeing through the aisles. I felt like I was holding my breath. I needed to get to the mannequin as quickly as possible.
I turned the corner and entered the boys’ clothing section. Then I stopped dead. The mannequin that once wore the jacket was gone. It no longer stood on the display platform. I didn’t know what to do.
‘HEY!’
A stern voice from behind me made my heart stop. I slowly turned around to see a lady standing with her hands on her hips. Her ‘Store Manager’ badge swung from the lanyard around her neck.
‘What exactly do you think you are doing?’
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. We were goners.
The store manager walked closer. She looked down at the giant lump that was hidden behind the oversized hoodie.
‘What do we have under there?’ Her voice was both curious and cautious.
‘It’s – it
’s …’ I stammered.
But before I could say anything else, she bent down and unzipped the hoodie. I closed my eyes and waited for her to call out to security. Waited to be accused as a shoplifter.
‘Ah,’ she began, her voice now warmer. ‘I was wondering when this was going to arrive.’
I opened my eyes and looked down. Sitting on top of the bucket, its arm wrapped around the mop, was a mannequin. A mannequin wearing the two-striped leather jacket. Nothing about the mannequin resembled Marty. We were too late; Marty was gone.
‘This is perfect,’ the manager continued. ‘It looks very street, as they say. This is going straight to the storefront. Thank you.’
In stunned disbelief, I didn’t even notice her take the mop handle away from me. I watched as she pushed the mannequin towards the front of the shop. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. Marty had transformed into a mannequin. Gone. Forever. All for stealing a stupid leather jacket.
With my head hanging low, I finally walked out of the shop. I stood staring at the front display window and watched as the store manager sat Marty down on a podium. His arms and legs were now able to be moved but only as awkwardly as those of a mannequin.
When she walked away, I stepped forward and put my hands on the glass.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered.
And then the mannequin blinked. I almost jumped out of my overalls.
‘Marty!’ I cried. ‘YOU’RE STILL ALIVE!’
A shadow approached from the inside. I quickly jumped back and hid behind a rubbish bin in the middle of the mall. Just in time to see another person enter the front display. His blond streak gleaming against the shop lights. His eyes locked on the leather jacket. I watched, wide-eyed, as Trent Rowe neared the mannequin. He looked left and right before forcing the jacket from Marty’s body. I gasped in shock as he bundled it under his shirt and casually walked out of the shop. Trent Rowe had stolen the jacket.
As Trent strolled away down the mall, I looked back at Marty. His eyes were wide, pleading for me to help. It was now or never.