by Tim Harris
‘Thing!’ said Gabby. She licked her lips. ‘Wow … hamburgers. You must do your research.’
‘Indeed,’ said Mr Bambuckle. ‘Research is a most underrated tool.’
‘Knives are serrated tools?’ said Harold McHagil, mishearing again.
‘You really need to clean your ears out,’ said Vinnie White.
Mr Bambuckle served the hamburgers to the twins. They accepted them gratefully.
‘Thanks,’ said Gabby.
Grace just smiled.
‘This is delicious,’ said Gabby. ‘By the way, we met someone at our old school who said they knew you, Mr Bambuckle. I can taste the coriander in this burger.’
Slugger’s ears pricked up. While he was not proficient at reading body language, he was an expert in gourmet cooking.
Gabby took another bite from her burger. ‘Have you guys already had lunch? I hope we’re not being rude eating in front of you.’
‘Lunch is ten minutes away, though that reminds me …’ Mr Bambuckle spun around like a pop dancer – so quickly the students almost didn’t see him do it – and produced a large tray stacked with steaming hot burgers. ‘There’s enough for everyone!’
The students cheered and rushed towards the teacher, each selecting their favourite type of burger.
As the class enjoyed their meals, Mr Bambuckle instructed them to write a detailed description of the flavours swirling around inside their mouths. Their teacher had unlocked their creativity in a practical and delicious way.
Albert and Myra giggled as they multi-tasked. They ate their burgers, wrote their descriptions and passed a secret note until the lunch bell chimed.
The lunch bell sounds and I turn to Albert. ‘Can I borrow a dollar?’
‘Yes, of course,’ he says, handing me a shiny gold coin. ‘I keep my promises.’
‘Thanks.’
I take the coin and run straight to the canteen. It’s time to raise funds for a taxi or two. Or three. Or four. Or seventy-nine. Did I mention I’m good at making fast money?
Canteen Carol isn’t on duty because it’s her day off. We often wonder what she does when she’s not at school. Some kids think she turns into a troll and hunts children for sport. I think she enters wrestling competitions. In any case, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with her today.
A parent helper is manning the tuckshop. She’s wearing a white badge that says ‘volunteer’.
‘Could I please have two apples?’ I ask.
‘Apples are fifty cents each, so that’s one dollar,’ she says.
I hand her Albert’s coin and she lets me choose the fruit. I pick the two reddest, ripest apples in the basket and thank her, before heading to the playground.
I march straight up to a large group of year two kids, who are huddled under a tree. They’re trading footy cards. I pause and observe for a moment, going over the plan in my head. I’m about to do some serious bargaining, and I know Mr Bambuckle will be proud of me for helping raise money to find Vex.
‘I need number seven,’ says a boy with a cap on backwards.
‘I’ll trade you seven for eighteen,’ says a girl.
‘Deal.’
They swap cards and I make my move, stepping into the middle of the group. ‘Who’s hungry?’ I say.
Every kid puts their hand in the air. In their rush to get to the playground to trade cards, they’ve left their lunchboxes in their bags. It’s this sort of knowledge that makes earning profits a cinch.
‘Anyone have number twelve?’ I ask. ‘I’ll swap you this mouth-watering apple for it. Think about it … you can keep trading cards without going hungry … or without having to walk back to your bag to get food.’
A girl with a thick stack of cards nods. ‘I have number twelve. I’ll trade you.’
I swap her for the card. ‘Nice doing business with you. You’ll be the only one not hungry during lunch.’
The rest of the group look around at each other, stomachs rumbling. They realise she made a smart choice.
‘Anyone have number twenty-three?’ I say.
Now that an example has been set, the other kids are keen to get in on the action. Four of them hold up card number twenty-three.
‘The apple goes to the highest bidder. What else can you give me?’
‘I’ll give you number twenty-three plus ten cents,’ says a girl with a ponytail.
‘I’ll give you number twenty-three plus twenty cents,’ says the boy with the backwards cap.
I put the apple into one of my pockets, playing it tough. ‘Sorry, guys, it’s not enough. I suppose you’ll either have to go hungry or waste precious card-trading time on the walk to your lunchbox.’
This sparks a bidding frenzy.
‘Twenty-three and thirty cents.’
‘Twenty-three and fifty cents.’
‘Twenty-three and a hundred cents!’ says the boy with the hat.
‘Deal,’ I say. ‘Though you could have just said “a dollar”.’
‘A dollar and a hundred cents!’ he says.
I laugh. ‘Let’s stick with card number twenty-three and a hundred cents.’
I make the swap and head off to find some older students.
The thing about year two kids is they trade cards to complete a set. It’s all about having the full collection. Because their attention is only on the card number, they don’t think about the actual value of each – the dollar signs. Number twelve is the rarest of all, and number twenty-three is one of the most popular players. Two apples just won me the jackpot.
I find some year sixes playing footy on the oval. This is the perfect target market. Footy players equal footy fans, and older kids equal richer kids. This means big bucks for me.
I stand in the centre of their game.
‘What are you doing? Move!’ says a boy with blond hair. ‘There’s a match going on here.’
‘Yeah, beat it, kid,’ says another player.
I hold the cards in the air and wave them around. ‘I’m selling these – number twelve and twenty-three – a package deal.’
The entire match stops. Everyone stares at the treasures in my hand.
‘I’ll give you a dollar for them,’ says a girl with grass stains on her dress.
‘Don’t listen to her,’ says the blond-haired boy. ‘I’ll give you two bucks.’
I shake my head. ‘I’ve done my research, guys. These little fellas are worth double figures.’
‘That’s what I just said,’ says the boy with blond hair. ‘Two bucks – double figures.’
‘She means ten, stupid,’ says the girl. She hasn’t stopped staring at the cards. ‘Yeah … okay … I’ll give you ten dollars for them.’
‘Deal.’
She unzips a pocket in her dress and takes out a crumpled up ten-dollar note.
The half-time bell sounds and I give her the cards. She hands me the money and I walk away with a spring in my step. Mr Bambuckle will be pleased with my clever card trading, but will he approve of my next money-making move?
Turning ten dollars into a hundred dollars isn’t as hard as it sounds. You just need the right business model.
I’m back at the canteen and the parent helper smiles at me. ‘Would you like another apple?’ she says.
‘No, thanks,’ I say. ‘Could you please give me ten dollars’ worth of twenty-cent coins?’ I place the blue note on the counter. ‘I need some change for a class project.’
She opens the till and counts out the money – fifty twenty-cent pieces altogether. I scoop the coins from the counter and shove them into my pockets. ‘Thank you!’
When I walk, the silver pieces create metallic music. They clink and chink like the high notes on a percussive piano.
My sneaky business model relies heavily on the next trade. This is where I’ll make some serious cash. To do this, I need to find where the kindergarten kids are gathering.
My ears tell me they’re playing near the oval. I follow a trail of shrill cries and eventually find
the kindergarteners digging in the dirt under a gum tree. What is it with little kids and mess?
I step over a boy who is using a fork to poke at an exposed root in the soil. I skirt between two girls who are pulling each other by the hair. I’m caught in kindy chaos, but I’m ready to make money.
‘Okay, listen up, little people,’ I say. ‘I have the deal of a lifetime for you.’
They stop what they’re doing and look at me.
‘I’ve got a whole bunch of these,’ I say, holding up one of the twenty-cent pieces. ‘Look at the huge number on it … twooo zerooo.’
The kids let out ooohs and ahhhs like it’s a fireworks display. ‘Wooooow.’
‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ I continue. ‘Twenty is such a big number. This must be worth a lot.’
‘Woooaaaahhhh … yeeeeeeaaaaahhhhh,’ they chorus.
‘Would you like to touch it?’ I say to the girl standing closest.
She nods and holds out her hand.
‘Be careful,’ I say. ‘It’s a … twenty … remember?’ I place it on her palm and the other kids crowd around her to see.
‘Wooooow.’
A sudden sense of guilt surges through my stomach. I take the silver coin back, doubting myself. I’m not sure I can go through with my plan. I’ve never been one to cheat like this before.
But then I remember Vex.
‘Who would like to have one of these … twenties?’
‘Me, me, me, me, me!’
‘I tell you what,’ I say slowly, ‘I’m feeling generous today. I’ll swap these twenties for any twos you have. You know, those small gold coins … How nice am I? Swapping a giant twenty for a tiny two! It’s your lucky day.’
I did my homework. The kindergarten teachers haven’t taught currency yet. My offer has the kindy kids in the palm of my hand. Almost literally. They believe twenty cents is worth more than two dollars. I try to ignore a little voice in my head that’s telling me what I’m doing is wrong. The voice sounds a lot like Mr Bambuckle. I shake my head and focus on the task.
‘Twenty for two!’ I cry.
Thinking they’ve scored a bargain, the kindergarteners race back to their bags in search of a gold coin. Most of the kids at our school have emergency money – it’s a protocol thing, so I expect a big haul.
Minutes later, just before the full-time bell sounds, my pockets are bulging with two-dollar coins – fifty of them! I’ve swapped ten dollars’ worth of silver for a hundred dollars’ worth of gold.
I didn’t think I would feel so guilty, but I remind myself it’s for a good cause. Finding Vex is more important than being honest, isn’t it?
I think so.
Well, I hope so.
Actually, I’m not so sure …
Whatever the case, what’s done is done. I just hope Mr Bambuckle doesn’t find out.
When I walk into class I can tell by the way Mr Bambuckle looks at me that he knows something about my actions.
‘Dear Myra,’ he says, ‘I trust you had a … productive lunch.’
‘Er … you could put it that way,’ I say.
‘As long as you’re being honest with yourself.’
I’m not sure what this means, and I find myself staring at my shoes. Something about the word ‘honest’ stabs at my gut. Maybe I shouldn’t have ripped off the kindy kids.
Thankfully, Ren cuts in with an announcement.
‘I’ve been doing some thinking,’ she says.
‘A most excellent thing to do,’ says Mr Bambuckle. ‘Thinking is a wonderful pastime.’
There is excitement in Ren’s body language. It distracts me from feeling guilty. ‘I know where Vex is!’ she says.
‘This is terrific,’ says Gabby, one of the new girls. ‘We never did anything like this at our old school. Did we, Grace?’
Her sister shakes her head. She hasn’t said a word since she arrived.
Before Ren is able to elaborate, Miss Frost steps into the room. My heart freezes. Has she found out about my scheme?
‘I could hear you talking about Vex from outside,’ whispers Miss Frost.
Phew.
‘You’ll do well to keep your voices down,’ she continues. ‘What if I were Mr Sternblast?’
‘You’d be bald,’ says Damon.
‘No – I don’t mean that. What if I were Mr Sternblast just now?’
‘Umm … you’d be bald temporarily?’ tries Damon.
‘Do you even have a brain?’ says Miss Frost. ‘What I mean is, you’re lucky I am not Mr Sternblast because I would have heard your conversation about Vex.’
‘And you’d be bald,’ says Damon.
‘Silence!’ Miss Frost means business. ‘I will not be made a fool of. Never before has my career been in jeopardy … I demand an update – what is our plan to find the runaway?’
I don’t like it when she gets angry like this, but at least she hasn’t said anything about the two-dollar coins.
Mr Bambuckle’s brown hair ruffles, even though there is no breeze in the classroom. He smiles and takes a deep breath, as though something extremely special has just happened.
‘What is it?’ says Miss Frost, sensing the teacher’s bright mood.
‘I do believe,’ says Mr Bambuckle, ‘you just said “our plan”. It seems you’ve discovered the first step in true teamwork – acknowledging there is a team to begin with.’
Miss Frost ignores the comment. ‘Ren said something about knowing where Vex is.’
Ren’s jaw drops. ‘Miss Frost … my name … you got it … correct.’
Miss Frost straightens her immaculate white jacket. ‘It’s come to my attention that I should get to know you better if we are to solve this mystery.’
Mr Bambuckle’s eyes become all dreamy when he looks at Miss Frost. ‘And solve it we will. Dear Ren, what do you know?’
Ren leaps to her feet. ‘At the end of Vex’s note he mentioned something about having money saved at the car yard.’
‘Your point?’ says Miss Frost.
‘That’s where he is!’ exclaims Ren. ‘He must have returned to the car yard to collect his money.’
‘A most wonderful piece of detecting,’ says Mr Bambuckle.
Vinnie puts her hand up. ‘But doesn’t Vex’s dad own three car yards? He could be at any one of them.’
‘Vex works at Vron Motors on Hailey Street,’ says Carrot. ‘He used to brag about how it’s the best one. It’s where his workshop is.’
‘Then that’s where we’ll begin our search,’ says Mr Bambuckle. ‘Well done, everybody.’
Miss Frost blows away some of the hair that has fallen over her eyes. I’ve never seen her frazzled like this. ‘What are we waiting for?’ she says. ‘To Vron Motors on Hailey Street!’
‘Dearest Miss Frost,’ says Mr Bambuckle, his voice as calming as ever, ‘time will not allow us to do so today. We would be best to send out a small search party first thing tomorrow.’
‘Who do you suggest?’ says Ren.
‘Why, you, of course,’ says Mr Bambuckle, ‘and your detecting buddy, Vinnie.’
The best friends hug each other.
Vinnie twists one of her curls of hair. ‘How are Ren and I supposed to get to the car yard tomorrow?’
‘You may recall we discussed taxis. One of your brilliant classmates already has a plan in motion to raise money for the rides.’ He looks at me. ‘Don’t you, Myra?’
My mouth goes dry. ‘Umm … yes. Yes, I do.’
Mr Bambuckle gives me another one of his knowing looks. I’m suddenly certain he knows about my wheeling and dealing.
‘Be honest with yourself,’ he reminds me.
Apart from a few customers at the bakery, there aren’t many people around this early in the morning. I stand outside Dazza’s 24-Hour Dollar Discounts – a shop that sells everything for one dollar – with two enormous bags bursting at the seams. I’ll be able to flog what I just purchased at Dazza’s for triple when I get to the playground.
T
he bags are heavy, but I carry them all the way to school. Wanting to help find Vex has given me strength I didn’t know I had.
The walk has also got me thinking about what Mr Bambuckle said. I wonder if I should give the money back to the kindergarteners. There are plenty of other ways to make fast cash. My backup idea – Plan B – springs to mind. It’s something I’ve been working on for quite some time. Maybe I should use it to fund the taxis instead. But now that I’ve come so far with Plan A, I should probably stick with it.
I’m the first student to arrive at school. I take the bags behind the toilet block and begin to unpack them. It’s a little smelly, but none of the teachers ever check behind this building so it’s the safest place to set up. There is a lot of work to be done, but the money will be worth it. Helping to find Vex is one of the most important things I’ve ever had to do.
I unbox, unwrap, blow up and lay out my novelty store as fast as I can. I have a hundred crazy items waiting to be sold and half an hour before the bell for morning assembly. Now all I need is customers.
I poke my head around the corner of the wall. ‘Pssst.’
A boy in Miss Klemmer’s year five class hears me. ‘What’s up?’ he says.
I motion for him to come over.
‘Goodie gumdrops,’ he says, gaping at my pop-up shop. ‘This is amazing.’
‘Everything is three bucks,’ I tell him. ‘Take your pick – you’re the lucky first customer.’
‘I want that!’ he says, pointing to one of the comedy items.
‘Good choice,’ I tell him.
He gives me three dollars and grabs his bargain. ‘Thanks!’
‘Just one thing,’ I tell him, peering around the corner into the crowded playground. ‘Go and tell your friends.’
The boy runs off, laughing at his purchase and pointing in my direction.
I notice a small group of kindergarten students leaning against a tree. They’re wearing long black coats and have fedora hats pulled down low on their foreheads, casting shadows over their eyes. They look like gangsters. I get the impression they’re talking about me, and they don’t look happy. One of them points at me and runs a finger past his throat.