‘That’s fine by me,’ Jake said. ‘I’ll just buy a loaf of gluten free bread and lure a whole herd of dinosaurs over to my place. They can feast on your ghost police.’
‘I’ll bring the ghost army then,’ Boonana said, staggering back.
‘The more, the tastier,’ I said.
‘Fine, fine,’ Boonana said. ‘You’ve got a deal.’
Jake brought out the ghost contract and ripped it up in front of Boonana. Well, he tore off a few sheets from the huge roll of contract.
‘I’ll get you back, Jake,’ Boonana said. ‘And you too, Melissa. I’ll find a way . . .’
‘Sorry, the reception’s pretty sketchy,’ Jake said, pressing the button of the glophone, sucking Boonana back into the cube.
So there you have it. If you have a ghost problem, who ya gonna call?
Not me, because I don’t know much about them. But I hope this guide helps you with getting out of a ghost contract.
Just take my advice, don’t ever make a deal with a ghost.
The MO (Melissa’s Opinion)
I was wrong about Jake Kola
Friday, 1 August
By Melissa Phu
Reporters have to own up to their mistakes when they make them, so here it is, I was wrong about Jake. I mean, I was right about him not writing his Boonana books. But I thought Jake was a horrible writer.
After we dealt with the real Boonana ghost, Jake didn’t want to take any more risks. We rode our skateboard and scooter to Eden River near the skate park and Jake chucked the glophone into the middle of the deepest water.
Jake turned to me. ‘I guess my writing days are over.’
I pat his back. ‘You should publish your JakerSkater stories here,’ I said. ‘They’re pretty good, you know.’
Jake ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Thanks, that means a lot,’ he said. ‘Especially after I made you feel so jelly about my success.’
‘Okay, maybe I was a little,’ I said.
‘But I have given you the story of a lifetime,’ Jake said. ‘Here’s your title: “Jake and his Ghoulish Ghost Writer”.’
I smile. ‘Nah, your ghost story is safe with me. You’re lucky that all my writing on this so far is still in draft mode,’ I said. ‘But I do want to interview you for my article in the school newsletter – and that will be published.’
Wide Bay Chronicles (story courtesy of the Wide Bay Primary School newsletter)
Jake Kola gives up the ghost! New book series revealed!
Saturday, 8 August
By Melissa Phu
Jake Kola, bestselling author of the Boonana series, has announced that he won’t be writing any more Boonana books.
‘I was getting bored with writing them,’ Jake said. ‘I have so many other ideas in my head to get out onto the shelves.’
I can exclusively reveal, as Jake’s friend and reporter, that one of these fresh ideas is JakerSkater. He’s a skateboarding teen who gets recruited to become a secret agent. JakerSkater is joined by MelPen, his companion who rides a scooter by his side.
‘My publisher was disappointed that I was done with Boonana,’ Jake said. ‘But they were very interested in JakerSkater and signed me up for the first book. I’m sure my fans are in for an action-packed read, plus I get to use some of my drawings in the story.’
Jake Kola fans will have to wait a little longer than usual for JakerSkater. Jake has made a deal to write only one book a year. ‘I want to still have time to do fun things like skateboarding or playing basketball.’
Jake was happy to give his fans a sneak peek into the plot of the first JakerSkater book.
‘Someone discovers a glowing green cube in a river and accidently unleashes SplatterInk, a monster who covers the city with endless ink,’ Jake said. ‘JakerSkater and MelPen have to stop him before he blots out the entire world.’
One thing I guarantee is true: Jake Kola really does have a wild imagination.
If you’ve never been to an international school, let me paint a picture for you. It’s like your normal school. I’m guessing it’s called international because there are students from all around the world there. But then, my old school back in Melbourne was full of kids from all different countries. So far, the big difference between this and my old school is the humidity.
Oh, the humidity.
I’ve only lived in Singapore for a month and I’ve been sweating in places that I never thought I could sweat in. It’s like walking around with a wet towel wrapped around you.
It’s the pits.
Dad says they’re called international schools because they have branches all over the world, just like his company, Serios Bank. I wish Serios Bank could have sent him to Tokyo or London instead, those places are cool. But Dad tried to cheer me up by saying that Singapore is the best Asian city in the world to move to because most people here speak English.
While that’s helped me settle into Langfield International School, I still feel kind of left out.
Kids here look at me as if they’ve been ripped off. Take Channy for example. I sat next to her on my first day in 6CB.
‘Remy Pai,’ she repeated, when I told her my name. ‘Are you sure you’re Australian?’
‘That’s what it says on my passport,’ I said.
‘But you look Chinese, like me.’
‘I’m Chinese-Australian,’ I said. ‘I was born in Melbourne.’
‘You’re more Chinese than Australian,’ Channy decided, before going back to her own work.
It’s been like that ever since I got here. They’re disappointed because I don’t look like a typical Australian, like our Year Six teacher, Mr Morphew, or movie stars like Chris Hemsworth. Even the other Australian kid in my class, Brodie, doesn’t like me. Okay, maybe it’s because I go for the Richmond Tigers and he goes for Collingwood. But after a few conversations about Aussie Rules and Melbourne, we drifted apart.
Well, he drifted away from me, playing hockey and football. I never mixed with the sporty kids anyway, even back in Melbourne.
So, I tried hanging out with the Chinese kids, but then they spoke Mandarin at lunchtimes. When I asked them to translate, I found out they were talking about karaoke, some random anime mobile game and coaching classes. Even in English, I still don’t know what they’re on about.
I tried my best to be friends with the Indian kids, the Malay kids and even the European kids. I mean, Australia and Austria sound similar. I didn’t gel with any of those groups. Yeah, they still let me play with them, but it felt like they were just being nice to me, or earning brownie points with Mr Morphew.
Now I just read books in the library. I might be by myself, but at least I can be myself.
When Dad asked me if I’m popular at school, I just told him that I’m surrounded by kids. Which is half true. The library’s always busy. The librarians have to use a counter to make sure they don’t go over two hundred kids.
On Monday morning, I make my way to school at 6.45, walking with a slant because my left eye is still asleep. I’ll never get used to the 5.30am wake-up calls.
The main corridor is plastered with posters for International Day.
‘Isn’t every day International Day here?’ I mumble to myself.
‘You can say that again,’ Channy says, walking beside me. ‘Did you have International Day back in Australia?’
‘My old school calls it Harmony Day,’ I say.
Channy nods. ‘Do you dress up in your own cultural costume too?’
‘Well, we could, but most of us just dressed up in orange.’
‘Orange?’ Channy chuckles, holding her arms out wide. ‘I would love to dress up as a fruit too.’
I crack up. ‘You only have to wear the colour orange – it’s the colour they chose to represent Harmony Day. Is International Day a big deal here?’
Channy pretends to yawn, and it turns into a real one. ‘Nah, because it’s like you said, every day is International Day.’
She skips ahead of
me and I turn to the library. Channy may be an annoying chatterbox, but at least she talks to me every day.
In class, Mr Morphew shows the International Day poster on the smartboard. ‘If you’re interested in helping organise International Day, there’s a volunteer committee that meets up in the library at lunchtimes,’ he says.
Channy looks at me. ‘You should join us. We don’t have an Australian yet – even a Chinese one.’
‘Okay, I will,’ I say, just to shut her up.
At lunchtime, I head to the library with Channy. ‘I thought you said International Day was boring,’ I say.
‘It is,’ Channy says. ‘But that makes it easy to organise. Besides, I need the community points for my goals chart.’
Every kid here goes on about their goals chart. It’s a reward system that carries on from year to year. I guess this might help me make a start with mine.
I meet the rest of the committee, made up of kids across all grades. It’s led by a girl named Lucinda, who looks and sounds a lot like Channy except she’s older and bossier.
‘I’ve been here since I was my little sister’s age,’ Lucinda points at Channy. ‘And International Day has always been the same.’
The guy next to her is rolling up scrap paper into balls. ‘So what?’
Lucinda grabs her ruler and smacks one of the balls off the table. ‘Well, Tameer, we want some fresh ideas,’ she says.
I raise my hand. ‘My old school had kids bring in food from their own cultural background.’
Tameer rolls his eyes. ‘Nobody brings their own food anyway,’ he says. ‘Our cafeteria already has international food.’
My tummy purrs in agreement. The buffet lunch at the cafeteria is one of the best things about international school.
Lucinda taps her chin. ‘There must be some other exotic food we could bring in.’
Channy nudges me in the ribs. ‘Remy is Australian. Maybe he can bring some Aussie foods.’
‘Ugh, I’ve had a spoonful of vegemite, that was enough for me,’ Tameer says.
‘I bet there are other Australian foods,’ Channy says. ‘Isn’t that right, Remy?’
Everyone turns towards me. I slide down my chair a little. ‘Um, do you know where we can get some kangaroo?’
‘Singapore Zoo,’ Channy says. ‘Seriously, you guys eat kangaroo?’
‘Plus we eat emus, and their eggs, which are huge,’ I add.
‘Eeeew,’ says Tameer.
I try to rack my brain for what else is unique about Australian cuisine that everyone might enjoy trying. My favourite food is nachos, which is not Australian or Chinese. I picture a supermarket back in Melbourne, trying to think which foods had the Aussie flag on them. Then I have it.
‘How about lamingtons?’
Lucinda googles it on her phone. ‘Squares of vanilla sponge covered in chocolate icing and rolled in coconut sprinkles,’ she reads aloud. ‘Is that, like, an Australian cake?’
I shrug. ‘I guess. Give me a durian cake any day.’
Cheap durian is another cool thing about Singapore. Dad and I go out to eat some together every Saturday morning.
Lucinda smiles. ‘I want everyone to write an idea down and bring it in tomorrow. We need to finalise the program with the head of school, Mr Chambers, by the end of this week.’
‘Just submit the old program, lah,’ another girl says. ‘Everybody knows that International Day is really for the teachers.’
‘Come on Angelica, not this again,’ Lucinda says.
‘Well, a lot of our teachers come from overseas,’ Angelica says. ‘Isn’t that why it’s called an international school?’
She could be right. There are teachers here from all over Europe, Australia and America.
After lunch, we have our Science electives and I’m thrown in with a group of boys, including Brodie.
‘Hope the Magpies win on the weekend,’ he says.
‘As long as the Tigers are ahead of you in the premiership table,’ I say. ‘Hey, I’m on the International Day Committee and they’re looking for fresh ideas.’
‘It’s just another dress-up day,’ Brodie says. ‘I just turn up in my Collingwood jersey. I was one of the lucky kids who got away with it.’
‘What do you mean?’ I say.
Brodie looks around before he speaks. ‘Last year, Mr Chambers told off a bunch of kids who rocked up in their European soccer jerseys because they didn’t come from Barcelona or Manchester.’
I cross my arms. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘Those are the rules for International Day,’ Brodie says. ‘At least you can wear your Richmond Tigers jersey.’ He leans in. ‘Just keep your passport in your pocket, in case Mr Chambers asks to see if you’re really from Australia.’
Seng, one of the Chinese kids in our group, is mucking around with the Bunsen burner, his eyeballs like moths to the flame.
‘Be careful, Seng,’ Brodie says. ‘You’ll blow up the whole room.’
‘This flame is reminding me of dinner,’ Seng says. ‘My parents are taking me to my favourite restaurant.’
‘Tim Ho Wan?’ I guess.
Seng laughs. ‘Noooooo, Decker Barbecue!’
I lean in towards him. ‘You serious?’
‘Yep, I love Texas Smokey Spare Ribs,’ Seng says. ‘All I watch online is barbecue videos from America.’ He tries to read my face. ‘You must think I’m weird?’
I crack up. ‘My favourite food is nachos.’
Seng grins. ‘That’s my third favourite.’
‘I love Chicken Rice,’ Brodie chips in. ‘Just sayin’.’
After school, I catch the Metro train back home, craving some beef ribs. I still can’t believe what Brodie said about Mr Chambers. Do you have to really look like you belong somewhere to be legit? It sounds wrong. Maybe it’s time to shake things up with our International Day.
At the next committee meeting in the library, I bring forward my idea for International Day. ‘You wear something from another country, other than yours,’ I say.
‘Boooooorrrrriiiinnnnnngggg,’ Tameer says.
Lucinda stares him into the ground like he’s a tent peg. ‘Go on, Remy,’ she says.
‘A country that inspires you,’ I say. ‘I love Mexican food, so I can turn up to school wearing a poncho and a big sombrero hat.’
A kid next to me squirms in his seat. ‘That’s weird,’ he says.
‘It’s not just food you like either,’ I say. ‘If you like a particular country’s sporting team, singer or whatever, you can dress up as them or in their colours.’
A few kids murmur to themselves. Lucinda holds up her hand and the committee falls silent. ‘That’s not the worst idea in the world,’ she says. ‘Any others?’
Tameer writes a list of ideas and we all vote for the top three to send to Mr Chambers.
‘Hands up if you like Remy’s idea,’ she says.
I close my eyes, just in case I see nobody put their hands up. I take a deep breath and wait for Lucinda to stop counting.
‘Okay, that’s nine hands,’ she says. ‘You’re in the top three, kid, congrats. Mr Chambers will hear your idea.’
I sit up straight and smile. For the first time since I came here, it feels like I’ve actually been heard. At an international school like Langfield, with over 1500 kids, that’s saying something.
On the way to class, Channy’s doing figure-eight spins around me. ‘I’m a huge fan of French ballerinas,’ she says. ‘Maybe I can dress in a ballerina outfit with a beret on my head.’
‘My idea still needs to get past Mr Chambers,’ I say.
‘My big sis loves your idea,’ Channy says. ‘Trust me, I’ve seen her boss teachers around. She can persuade Mr Chambers.’
When we turn up to the next committee meeting, Lucinda has a grim look. She lowers her head. ‘Mr Chambers turned down all our ideas,’ she says.
Tameer thumps the table. ‘I told you that dinosaur teacher wouldn’t listen to us. He never tries anything new.
’
‘Actually, he did add one fresh idea of his own. He wants all of us to go down to the sports field where we’ll hold hands and sing a song called “When we talk about love”.’
It sounds like Mr Chambers copied an idea from my old school’s Harmony Day celebrations. Last time I was there, the whole school sang “We are the World” at assembly.
Channy nearly falls out of her chair. ‘He wants us to stand in the sun, out in the open?’ she asks. ‘Why are we being punished?’
Everybody starts yakking to each other.
‘Maybe I can convince him,’ I blurt out.
Everybody falls silent. All eyes are on me. I can feel my knees shaking under the table.
‘Good luck, we had to book our meeting with him months in advance,’ Tameer says. ‘Mr Chambers is so busy, by the time you get to see him it’ll be for next year’s International Day.’
Lucinda smiles at me. ‘Hmmm, if you think you can do it, go for it.’
‘Do you want me to show you where his office is?’ Channy asks.
I bite my tongue. If she comes with me, then I can’t back out. ‘Sure,’ I say.
‘Cool, I know how to get there without leaving the shade,’ she says. ‘Let’s go.’
I follow her, weaving our way to the admin building, and I knock on Mr Chambers’ door. No answer.
‘He’s probably not in,’ Channy whispers. ‘Tameer wasn’t kidding.’
‘Let’s go try to find him,’ I say.
We check the cafeteria, sports field, gym and the front office again. ‘Want an iced tea?’ I say. ‘My shout.’
Channy nods. ‘The coffee shop does the best drinks.’
We line up at the coffee shop and I spot Mr Chambers’ epic beard, which is on a Santa Claus level. He sips his iced coffee as he heads in our direction.
I step in front of him and clear my throat. ‘Hi, sir. I’m Remy Pai from Australia.’
Mr Chambers strokes his beard. ‘Ah yes, you had that idea for International Day.’
I feel my heart doing a few backflips inside my chest. ‘I wanted to know why you knocked it back,’ I say.
Mr Chambers motions me to follow him outside. When it’s quieter, he turns to face me. ‘International Day has been a tradition at Langfield for over thirty years,’ Mr Chambers says, touching the school logo on his shirt. ‘Why would we want to mess with tradition?’
Brain Freeze Page 7