by J A Mawter
‘Lips that are moist,’ Rachel went on, in her gushy mushy voice.
‘Lips that are juicy,’ said Mel, in her swoony voice.
‘Lips you could drown in!’ cried Thea.
The girls started to giggle, enjoying their moment of triumph. They had turned the tables yet again.
A lump formed in Sam’s throat. What a loser! This was not going the way he had planned. ‘Hey, stud,’ said Harry.
Kids took up the cry. ‘Stud, stud, stud.’ The words pulsed through the air.
‘What’s your secret?’ yelled Tyrone.
‘Yeah, lover boy?’ said Harry.
Others took up the cry. ‘Lover boy, lover boy, lover boy.’
This had to stop! And Sam knew just how to do it. ‘Wanna know?’ he yelled, holding up his hand for silence. ‘Well, I’ll tell you!’ Sam waited till the last peal of laughter, the last ‘stud’ and ‘lover boy’ had died away. In a clear, loud voice he addressed the class. ‘Wanna know how to kiss?’ One boy nodded. ‘The secret,’ he continued, ‘is moist lips. Lips that can slide — glide even. Like you’re skating on ice.’
The air was heavy with silence.
‘And how do you get them like that?’ Sam taunted the line of kids.
‘Tell us,’ said Rachel.
‘Tell us,’ said Mel.
‘Yes, tell us,’ cried Thea.
‘Tell us. Tell us. Tell us,’ went the class.
Sam searched the line for Natalie. He found her, watching him, her face questioning. He winked. Natalie hesitated, then winked back. Only then did he turn to the rest of the class.
‘The secret of great kissing,’ he announced, ‘is slug slime!’
There was a collective intake of breath.
‘Slimy, juicy slugs,’ Sam went on. ‘There’s heaps of them, up behind Gallows Tree.’
‘Eeeeeek,’ screamed Rachel, swiping at her mouth.
‘Aaaagh,’ howled Mel, scrubbing her tongue with a tissue.
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ said Thea, who promptly threw up.
The girls fled to find a tap.
Sam started to laugh. A deep grumbly laugh that started in his belly and erupted, to echo around the playground like a kookaburra calling.
Matt joined in, quickly followed by the others.
Soon the whole class was doubled up in fits of laughter. Even Natalie.
Sam went up to her. ‘Friends?’ he asked.
‘Friends,’ said Natalie, whose smile lasted long after their handshake had stopped.
‘Good,’ said Sam. But it wasn’t just good.
It was the best!
You Dirty Rat
Chapter One
‘If you spent as much time on your study as you do eating, you’d be at the top of the class.’
Above the desk Ian Ferris was careful to keep his face blank. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.
‘All that flubber. It strains the heart. No wonder the oxygen is not getting to your brain.’
Below the desk Ian’s middle finger stood straight and tall. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.
Mr Scruby, his teacher, stood at the front of the class, contracting his abs and puffing out his chest. He was like that. ‘A strong body means a strong mind.’ Even holding up a pile of test papers involved a biceps flex. ‘And you!’ he said, throwing a paper on Sean Harding’s desk. ‘Do you think you can try really hard in the future to make your two, and only two, brain cells meet across a synapse?’
As well as his body, Mr Scruby loved science. He brought science into the classroom every chance he got.
Sean said nothing, the lumps in his cheeks the only sign that he was gritting his teeth. As Mr Scruby leant closer, Sean was assailed by the smell of stale cigarettes.
Smoking was Mr Scruby’s vice. His only vice. He tapped Sean on the head, pretending to listen. ‘Empty,’ he said. ‘I knew it.’
Titters could be heard around the room.
Sean pondered on how you spelt ‘moron’, proof indeed that his brain was working.
Mr Scruby circled the room. ‘Know what Schuyler means?’ he asked his next unfortunate victim. Pieter Schuyler shook his head. ‘It’s a Dutch name. Means a scholar — a wise man.’ Mr Scruby was warming up in his afternoon of torment. He waved an exam paper under Pieter’s nose. ‘Sure you got the right name, boy?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Pieter.
‘Hmmph.’ Mr Scruby held up the test paper, which read 2 out of 10. ‘Must’ve been swapped at birth.’
‘Oh, yuk,’ interrupted Annabel Weekes, furiously fanning her face at the front of the room.
‘Who was that?’ Mr Scruby wheeled around, sniffing.
Colin Briggs didn’t try to hide it. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s those egg sandwiches.’
The class erupted into giggles.
‘Silence!’ bellowed Mr Scruby. He glared around the room before eyeballing Colin again.
Colin rolled sideways on to one bum cheek. ‘Pfffffft,’ he went. Not quite an SBD, but close. ‘That curried egg, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s a killer.’
Mr Scruby did not flinch but his eyes narrowed and he audibly drew in a breath. ‘So it would seem,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you can join Ian, Sean and Pieter at lunch today. You would all benefit from a little extra work.’
Ian slumped on his desk. This was the third time this week he’d been kept in at lunchtime. He could hear a long sigh from Pieter and see Sean’s fingers curl into a fist.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Colin, with a resigned look on his face.
‘The body,’ announced Mr Scruby, ‘is what we are going to study next.’
‘Hope it’s hands on,’ said Ian.
‘You would,’ said Annabel.
‘Filthy mind, Ian,’ said Mr Scruby before continuing. ‘You lot are going to do a project on the body. How it functions.’ Loud groans filled the air. ‘Each project will be shown to the class in a five-minute presentation.’
Annabel raised her hand. ‘Will it be marked?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Scruby. He held up the pile of test papers on his desk. ‘And I’m warning you. If it’s as bad as this lot, I’ll make sure you regret it.’
Cries of ‘But, sir,’ and ‘That’s not fair,’ filled the air.
Mr Scruby ignored them. ‘I’m leaving it up to you. The topic is “The Body”.’ He wrote those two words up on the board. ‘You can write fact sheets, make observations — anything — as long as it is about the body and how it functions. Any questions?’
‘Do you want it in a special project book?’ asked Annabel.
Ian could already picture Annabel’s project book. It would be covered in pink paper with a matching pink ribbon running down the spine.
‘I don’t mind,’ said Mr Scruby. ‘A project book, a poster, fact cards. It’s your presentation. You can do it how you like. All I ask is that you put some thought and effort into it and show it to the class.’
Ian put up his hand. ‘Can we do an experiment?’ he asked.
‘Even one that involves food,’ said Mr Scruby. ‘You’d be good at that.’ He laughed, looking around to see if someone would join in. Annabel tee-heed in return. Ian worked on his blank stare. ‘You can choose one part of the body and talk about that if you like,’ said Mr Scruby, warming up. ‘Sean, you might like to look at something you’re missing — the brain.’
The bumps in Sean’s cheeks grew to the size of golfballs.
‘Maybe Sean and Pieter should work with Ian and Colin?’ quipped Annabel.
Mr Scruby laughed again. The boys exchanged looks. They said, She’s dead meat and You betcha.
‘Which reminds me,’ said Mr Scruby. ‘I don’t want you working in pairs. I want you to work alone. This should be all your own effort. Don’t even talk about it with each other. I want to see what you, alone, can come up with.’
The bell rang.
‘You’ve got one week,’ said Mr Scruby. ‘It’s due next Friday.’
Ian sighed. Another long, hard
week loomed ahead.
‘Mr Screwball’s so mean,’ said Ian as the boys sat in the classroom writing an essay for their detention.
‘And the rest,’ said Sean. ‘He’s always so sar — sar — how d’you say it?’
‘Sarcastic,’ said Colin. ‘Mum says people who are sarcastic all the time have a big chip on their shoulder and you should feel sorry for them.’
‘Sorry for them?’ said Pieter. ‘You mean we should feel sorry for us.’ He kicked at the desk leg. ‘We’ve had a whole year of him.’
‘That stupid project,’ said Ian. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t do it?’
‘If we don’t we’ll be on detention for the rest of term,’ said Colin.
‘Shish-kebab,’ said Ian.
‘Shivers,’ said Sean.
‘Shoot me,’ said Pieter, pointing two fingers at his head. ‘Might as well be dead.’
‘According to Mr Scruby you’re already brain-dead,’ said Colin.
They laughed then grew serious again. Suddenly Ian began to smile. ‘Come to think of it, this project won’t be too bad,’ he said. He noticed the puzzled faces around him. The smile deepened. ‘The trick,’ he added, putting an arm around Pieter and Sean’s shoulders and lowering his voice, ‘is choosing exactly the right project to do.’
Chapter Two
When Ian got home from school he did what he always did. Went straight to the loo. When you ate as much as Ian did, three visits a day was considered average. He sat, deep in thought, trying to think of a project that would rattle Mr Scruby. A few seconds later he made a startling discovery.
‘Muuum!’ Ian let out a shriek.
‘Ian?’ There was a knock on the bathroom door. ‘Ian? Are you all right?’
‘Muuum,’ he called, again. ‘I’m turding black!’ And his poo was black. Thick and black like a sausage made of tar. He’d seen brown poo, of course, and red poo once, when his mum had made him swallow some red worming liquid. But black poo? This was new.
‘Ian!’ said Mrs Ferris. ‘Enough of that.’
He opened the door. ‘It’s true,’ he cried, waving a smeared piece of toilet paper in her face. ‘Look at that.’
Mrs Ferris stepped back then frowned. ‘Have you been in my sweet jar again?’ she asked.
Ian nodded sheepishly.
‘Had a bit of licorice lately?’
Another nod.
‘I thought so.’ Mrs Ferris let out a chuckle. ‘Black licorice. Black poo.’
‘You mean, depending what I eat, I can get different coloured poo?’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Ferris.
‘Cool,’ said Ian.
Sean’s big brother David was busy studying when Sean found him. ‘We’ve got a science project on the body,’ Sean told him. ‘I need your help.’
David was smart. He’d help with the project. David put down his pen and pushed up his glasses. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘What about the body?’
‘Anything we like. Mr Screwball, er, I mean Scruby, he’s real mean, says maybe I should do my project on the brain ‘cause mine’s missing.’ The lumps returned to Sean’s cheeks.
‘Why don’t you?’ said David. ‘There’s heaps you can do on the brain. You could show one to the class. You can buy them at the shops.’
Sean sniffed. ‘Are you making fun of me, too?’
‘No.’ David laughed. ‘We’ll go to the butcher’s. Brains. Hearts. Tongues. Livers. You can buy them all. People eat them.’
‘Uughh!’ said Sean, pulling a face.
‘We dissected a sheep’s brain once in class,’ said David. ‘It was fun. Looked like grey scrambled eggs.’
‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘Some people were,’ said David. ‘Others just turned green.’
Sean looked at his brother. His eyes lit up. ‘Green is good. Thanks.’
The following Monday at recess, Ian asked Pieter how his project was going. ‘Come up with any disgustingly brilliant ideas?’
Pieter’s face scrunched with worry lines. ‘Nuh,’ he said. ‘I haven’t a clue what to do.’
‘I’m not sure about Colin,’ said Ian, ‘but Sean’s doing the brain. Why don’t you do something similar?’
‘The brain?’ asked Pieter. ‘What could I do to make it different to Sean’s presentation?’
‘What about seeing the effect of a lack of oxygen on the brain? See how long we can hold our breath before one of us blacks out?’ Ian grinned. ‘Remember when Jeremy Stimms smashed his head on the bench? What a gusher. The blood hit the wall.’
Pieter considered the idea. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Mr Scruby will say it’s dumb. Besides, it’s not festy enough.’
They stood in silence, trying to think of something for Pieter to do. A girl from the infants’ school walked past. She wore a paint-streaked smock over her uniform. She carried a jar of dirty water and a filthy-looking sponge in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.
‘What have you been doing?’ asked Ian.
‘Sponge paintings,’ said the girl. She held up the paper. ‘It’s a butterfly,’ she added proudly.
To Ian it looked familiar, like two dark blobs he’d seen on a film slide when the Healthy Horace people came to school. ‘Lungs,’ he cried out to Pieter and pointed at the girl.
‘Huh?’ said Pieter.
‘Lungs,’ Ian repeated. He snatched the sponge and twisted it tightly, spraying Pieter with filthy water.
‘Hey,’ said Pieter. ‘What…’
‘Lungs,’ said Ian for the third time. ‘Smoker’s lungs.’ He held up his grubby hands. ‘Doesn’t Mr Scruby smoke?’
For the first time since he’d been told about the project, Pieter started to smile.
‘I’ve already finished my science project for Friday,’ said Annabel that lunchtime.
‘What’s it on?’ asked Ian.
‘Not telling,’ said Annabel, ‘in case you copy me. Besides, Mr Scruby said not to talk about it and I want mine to be an original.’ She couldn’t have pushed her nose higher up in the air if she’d tried.
‘Mine’s gonna be an original, too,’ said Ian. ‘I’ve been working on it since Friday. Mr Scruby’s sure going to get a surprise.’
Annabel looked at him suspiciously. ‘What sort of a surprise?’ she asked.
‘If I told you,’ said Ian, ‘it wouldn’t be a surprise now, would it?’ He could almost see the steam rise from Annabel’s ears.
Michelle Georgiakis came over to see why her best friend was looking upset. ‘What are you two talking about?’ she asked.
‘The science project,’ said Annabel. ‘I’ve finished it.’
‘Where are you going to get the rat?’ asked Michelle. ‘You’re not going to use Petie, are you?’
Petie was the class pet. Mr Scruby had lovingly set up his cage in a corner of the classroom, explaining how he had personally bred Petie at home. He would feed him, pat him, talk to him. Mr Scruby was like a father to that rat.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Annabel. ‘I wouldn’t kill Petie. Now, sssshh.’ She held her finger to her lips and pulled Michelle aside. ‘No one’s supposed to know.’
‘A rat, eh?’ said Ian.
‘She didn’t say rat,’ said Annabel. ‘She said, um …fat.’ Annabel patted Ian’s stomach. ‘Some bodies have more of it than others.’
‘Especially yours,’ added Michelle.
How Ian hated it when people called him fat. Large boned or stocky? Maybe. He didn’t even mind solid or chunky. But fat!
The girls snickered.
Bile rose in Ian’s throat. One day he’d teach them a lesson.
‘Gotta problem?’ asked Annabel, baiting him further. The blank look took up residence on Ian’s face. Annabel sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Fat people can be so dumb,’ she said. She turned her attention to Michelle. ‘What’s your project on? Is it finished yet?’
‘Almost,’ said Michelle. ‘I’ve borrowed this big poster from the library and Dr Parson’s going to lend me the skele
ton he keeps in his office.’
‘That sounds really great,’ said Annabel.
‘Yeah,’ said Ian. ‘Dead boring great.’
Annabel swung around. ‘Hummph,’ she said, taking Michelle’s arm and leading her away. ‘Ignore him.’
‘Yeah,’ said Michelle. ‘He’s just a lazy slob. Not worth the bother.’
Ian’s middle finger flashed at the retreating girls.
They’d keep!
Chapter Three
‘Ian. Have you started your science project, yet?’ asked Mr Scruby, tickling Petie behind the ears on Wednesday morning. ‘Yes, sir,’ said Ian.
‘What’s it on?’ asked Mr Scruby, smiling like a doting dad as Petie stretched his head back, almost purring with contentment.
‘Isn’t it supposed to be a secret?’
‘Come, come, boy.’ Mr Scruby removed his hand from Petie’s cage. ‘Stop playing games.’
Ian knew when he was trapped. ‘It’s about the alimentary canal, seeing as I had to write an essay on it,’ he added.
Mr Scruby frowned. He gave Ian the eye. ‘Hmmmm,’ was all he said. ‘What about you, Harding?’
‘Matter, sir,’ said Sean, who’d had help from his brother.
‘What?’ said Mr Scruby, getting to his feet. ‘Did you say it doesn’t matter?’
‘No, sir,’ said Sean. ‘I said matter — as in grey matter. It’s your brain,’ he added helpfully.
Mr Scruby snorted. ‘I know that,’ he said. The snort turned into a cough. His body rattled and shook as he fought to expel the phlegm. When he’d recovered he turned to Pieter. ‘What about you, Schuyler? Oh, wise one.’
‘Lungs,’ said Pieter, noticing with satisfaction the flare of Mr Scruby’s nostrils.
‘I’m doing mine on the upper and lower intestinal tracts of the digestive system,’ proclaimed Annabel, who hadn’t even been asked.
Mr Scruby turned to her and beamed. ‘Ah, Annabel,’ he said. ‘I’m looking forward to that. You always put so much into your projects.’
‘Thank you,’ said Annabel.
Ian stuck two fingers down his throat, pretending he was going to be sick.
‘Ian Ferris, you can stay in at lunchtime.’