Pizza Cake

by Morris Gleitzman

  The waiter came over nervously with Mum and Dad’s breakfasts.

  ‘Two fried eggs,’ he said as he put Dad’s plate down. ‘Free-range, no salt, yolks up, cooked for one minute forty seconds in grape seed oil not butter.’

  Dad peered suspiciously at his plate.

  The waiter put Mum’s plate down.

  ‘Herb omelette, one and a half eggs,’ he said. ‘Thirty-five grams of cheese, five grams of parsley, no chives, no dill. With linseed and buckwheat toast, medium rare.’

  ‘That’s not five grams of parsley,’ said Mum.

  The waiter looked like a man hearing exactly the bad news he was dreading.

  ‘It must have been a bit damp when the chef weighed it,’ he said. ‘Here, I brought extra just in case.’

  Petal wanted to crawl under the table and stuff French loaves in her ears. Instead she watched as the waiter held out a small plastic container of chopped parsley and Mum took a pinch.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Dad. ‘What’s that plastic container made of?’

  The waiter looked at Dad in alarm.

  ‘Plastic,’ he said.

  Dad took the container and turned it over. Chopped parsley fell onto the table. People at other tables were watching. Petal tried to look like she was only with Mum and Dad because she’d been kidnapped and taken out for a cooked breakfast against her will.

  ‘See that recycling number?’ said Dad to the waiter, pointing to the bottom of the container. ‘Number seven. That means the plastic’s made with polyethyldextrose hexachloride, which latest studies show gets into food and builds up in the human body.’

  Particularly in the human brain, thought Petal, looking at Dad wearily.

  ‘It’s just a plastic pot,’ stammered the waiter. ‘We use them all the time.’

  ‘Do the health inspectors know you use them?’ said Mum.

  ‘I’m sure they do,’ said the waiter miserably. ‘They’ve been here four times this year, remember? After you complained to them about the chipped plate, the squeaky chairs, the size of our salt grains and the taste of our tap water.’

  ‘Well if they know about this,’ said Dad, handing the container back to the waiter, ‘and if they haven’t done anything, it’s a disgrace. When we’ve finished our meal, I’m going over to the council offices to complain.’

  Petal sighed.

  Breakfast at home would have been so much simpler. Except Mum had a complaint in to Kelloggs. Something about their rice bubbles making too much noise.

  ‘How’s your meal?’ said the waiter to Petal.

  ‘Lovely, thanks,’ said Petal. ‘I really like the mushrooms.’

  After breakfast, Petal followed Mum and Dad over to the council offices.

  ‘Can I wait outside?’ she said.

  ‘No,’ said Mum. ‘This is part of your education. We want you to grow up to be an assertive consumer and a citizen who stands up for her rights.’

  What about my right to a quiet life, thought Petal as she followed them in. And everyone’s right to a peaceful world.

  ‘Is there anything else we need to complain about while we’re here?’ said Dad.

  Mum had a ponder.

  ‘Noisy leaf blowers in their parks,’ she said.

  ‘Good thinking,’ said Dad.

  Good grief, thought Petal. We’ll be here all day.

  Soon Mum and Dad were in an argument with the council officer at the service counter. Petal tried to find a spot behind Mum and Dad where they’d think she was hearing everything, but where she wouldn’t have to listen to them.

  ‘… chemically-impregnated parsley,’ she heard Dad say to the man.

  Petal took a step back. Two more steps and she’d be behind the ornamental fountain in the council foyer. Then she wouldn’t have to watch them either.

  ‘Petal,’ said Mum. ‘Pay attention.’

  Wearily, Petal took half a step closer.

  ‘ … United Nations declaration of human rights,’ she heard Dad say.

  Then Petal noticed two other people in the foyer, sitting on a bench. A woman in a big dark-coloured Arabic dress. It looked a bit like a dress Mum had bought online and then complained that the website had got the sizes wrong.

  The woman’s head was covered by a scarf, but her face was uncovered and Petal could see she was crying.

  A girl was with her. The girl looked about the same age as Petal, and her hair was covered too. She was trying to comfort the woman.

  Petal went over.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said to them. ‘Are you alright?’

  The woman shook her head.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But is no good.’

  She sobbed some more.

  Petal looked at the girl, who was hugging the woman. She looked close to tears herself.

  ‘Can I get someone to help you?’ said Petal.

  The girl scowled.

  ‘They won’t help,’ she said.

  She held out a printed piece of paper. Petal saw the words Camera Parking Infringement Notice.

  ‘One hundred and seventeen dollars,’ said the girl. ‘For something we didn’t do.’

  Petal saw that next to Offence was written Stopped in a loading zone.

  ‘With council cameras you can ask for photos,’ said Petal. ‘They have to give you a photo to prove you did it.’

  Mum and Dad had asked the council for photos heaps of times. They’d done it last week to prove that parking near the bottle shop made your car extra dirty because everyone braked heavily when they saw the specials of the week and sprayed out extra brake-lining dust.

  ‘We’ve got photos,’ said the girl.

  She held out another sheet of paper.

  Printed on it were fuzzy black-and-white images of a battered old car in a loading zone parking space.

  ‘Is that your car?’ Petal asked the girl.

  The girl nodded.

  ‘Is not justice,’ sobbed the woman.

  Petal wasn’t sure what to say next. The photos showed their car was in a loading zone, which Petal knew was just for trucks and utes. They didn’t have a leg to stand on as Dad said recently in the chicken shop when he was complaining that the drumsticks were too fatty.

  ‘It was that day last month with very heavy rain,’ said the girl.

  Petal remembered the day. A massive storm had swept across the city. Lashing rain and huge hailstones that piled up in drifts. Nobody had seen anything like it in summer before. It just happened without any warning. Afterwards Mum complained to the TV weather people.

  ‘We drove through a flood,’ said the girl.

  Petal remembered the flood. She and Mum and Dad had driven through it near the supermarket. Dad complained to the Roads And Traffic Authority about their drains not being big enough. Or their phone complaints call centre.

  ‘We couldn’t see the road properly,’ said the girl. ‘So we pulled over. The rain was so heavy, at first we didn’t see we were in a loading zone. As soon as we realised, we drove away. We were there for one minute and a half, but the camera saw us.’

  Petal peered at the photos. One showed the car driving into the loading zone. It had a time on it. 15:42:16. The next photo showed the car driving off. The time on that was 15:43:45.

  Frowning with effort, Petal did the calculation. And kept frowning as she realised the girl was right.

  One minute twenty-nine seconds.

  A hundred and seventeen dollars.

  In blinding rain.

  ‘Have you told this to the council?’ said Petal.

  The woman and the girl both nodded.

  ‘They said if we don’t pay, we must go to court,’ said the girl. ‘We can’t afford to pay. My mother works cleaning offices at night and her wages are really low.’

  Petal stared at the photos again.

  A quiet life was one thing, but this wasn’t fair.

  ‘Petal,’ called Mum crossly.

  Petal glanced over. Dad was showing something on his phone to the man at the
counter. A list of chemicals found in plastic, probably. Or in parsley.

  ‘What are you doing, Petal?’ said Mum. ‘I want you over here listening to this.’

  Petal turned back to the girl and pointed to the pieces of paper.

  ‘Can I show my parents?’ she said. ‘I think they might be able to help. They’re very good at complaining.’

  The girl and her mother looked at each other. They both nodded to Petal. The girl handed over the sheets of paper.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the girl’s mother.

  Petal went back to the counter.

  ‘… if the council wants to use leaf blowers,’ Dad was saying to the man, ‘ratepayers should be issued with earplugs.’

  ‘Mum,’ whispered Petal. ‘Those people over there need help. They’re victims of a heartless council camera. Can you and Dad complain for them?’

  Mum looked at the papers Petal was holding.

  She sighed.

  ‘Petal,’ she said. ‘This is exactly what we’ve been trying to get through to you. If you don’t learn to stand up for yourself, you’ll be a victim all your life. Like those people.’

  ‘But will you help them?’ said Petal.

  Mum sighed again.

  ‘Helping them wouldn’t really be helping them,’ she said. ‘How are they going to learn to stand up for themselves if other people do all their complaining for them?’

  Petal tried to point out that the girl and her mother had already complained, but Mum wasn’t listening.

  ‘It’s the same with you, Petal,’ said Mum. ‘You have to stop hiding behind other people. You have to start standing up for what you believe in.’

  Alright, thought Petal grimly. I will.

  She stepped over to the counter.

  Dad was in the middle of telling the council officer some statistics about leaf-blower-related hearing loss.

  ‘Excuse me, Dad,’ said Petal.

  Dad stopped, surprised.

  Petal looked sternly at the council officer.

  ‘I want to complain,’ she said. ‘People shouldn’t be fined for taking refuge in a storm.’

  The council officer looked at Petal.

  He glanced at the papers she was holding.

  ‘Roads And Traffic Act, paragraph one seven nine, subsection three,’ he said. ‘Passenger vehicle stopped in loading zone. Their appeal has been rejected.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ said Petal. ‘There was hail up to people’s knees. It was on the news.’

  ‘Roads And Traffic Act, paragraph one seven nine, subsection three,’ said the man again.

  Petal showed the man the times on the photos, and how smoke was coming out of the car’s exhaust pipe in all of them.

  ‘They were only there for one minute twenty-nine seconds,’ she said. ‘Look, they didn’t even turn their engine off.’

  ‘Roads And Traffic Act, paragraph one seven nine,’ said the man. ‘Subsection three.’

  Petal was about to thump her fist down on the counter, but before she could, Dad stepped in.

  ‘Hey,’ he said to the man. ‘Give her a break. It’s her first time.’

  The man didn’t look impressed.

  Before Petal could say anything else, she was steered away from the counter. Mum was holding one arm, Dad the other.

  They were both gazing at her in delight.

  ‘That was wonderful,’ said Mum.

  ‘Well done, love,’ said Dad.

  ‘But he wouldn’t listen,’ said Petal.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Mum. ‘It happens a lot. You’ll get used to it. But it was a very good start. We’re proud of you.’

  Petal didn’t feel proud of herself.

  ‘Pop over and give the lady her documents back,’ said Dad. ‘We’re almost finished here. I just need to have another word to this bloke about airborne particles near bottle shops.’

  Petal went back over to the girl and her mother. They were both looking hopeful.

  ‘How’d you go?’ said the girl.

  Petal started to say not very well. But something in their faces stopped her.

  ‘I haven’t finished yet,’ she said to the girl. ‘But you’d better get your mum home. Things could turn a bit ugly here.’

  When Petal came out of the toilet, Mum and Dad were still arguing with the man at the counter.

  ‘… and what’s more,’ Dad was saying, ‘brake dust gets spread even further by leaf blowers.’

  Petal walked carefully to the centre of the foyer and climbed up onto the ornamental fountain. She climbed carefully because she didn’t want the toilet rolls under her t-shirt to fall out.

  Once she was up there and had found her balance, she faced the counter.

  ‘Attention council officers,’ she said in her loudest voice. ‘I have toilet rolls taped to my body.’

  This wasn’t completely true because she didn’t have any sticky tape, but she carried on, hoping her bluff would work.

  ‘If you don’t give in to my demands,’ she said, ‘my mum and dad will take photos of me on their phones and email them to the media. Everyone will see them and wonder why a person would stick six toilet rolls up their t-shirt in public. They’ll think, if people have to do that to get this council to listen to them, this council must be really slack.’

  Petal paused for breath.

  She glanced at Mum and Dad. They were looking a bit slack themselves. Around the mouth. Petal hoped the council gave in to her demands, because Mum and Dad didn’t look like they’d be taking many photos. Not if they stayed in shock like that.

  ‘Here are my demands,’ said Petal loudly. ‘One, nobody gets fined for spending less than two minutes in a loading zone in bad weather. Two, all the council’s cameras get painted a bright colour so we can see where they are. Three, people who pay office cleaners really low wages are not allowed to use the library. Four –’

  But Petal didn’t get to deliver her fourth demand because Mum and Dad grabbed her and yanked her off the fountain and hurried her towards the door.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ muttered Mum, pulling a toilet roll from under Petal’s t-shirt. ‘What if people thought this was a bomb?’

  ‘I’d have blown my nose on it to show them it wasn’t,’ said Petal. ‘But they noticed me, which is the most important thing when you’re complaining, right?’

  Mum and Dad didn’t say anything.

  They grabbed the rest of the toilet rolls, left them in a pile just inside the door, and hurried Petal out into the street.

  Dad kept glancing nervously over his shoulder to see if they were being followed.

  ‘That was a good start,’ said Petal. ‘But we need to do more. I promised the lady and her daughter I would.’

  She felt in her pocket to make sure she still had their phone number.

  ‘I think it’d be safer if you just write a letter to the local paper,’ said Dad.

  ‘I’m planning to,’ said Petal. ‘But first let’s go to the hardware store and get some chains and padlocks, and chain ourselves to a loading zone sign.’

  Mum and Dad glanced at each other with worried faces as they hurried Petal towards the car.

  Petal wondered if they were going off the idea of complaining. That would be a shame, because she was just getting a taste for it.

  After all, thought Petal. They did show me how to do it, so they really can’t complain.

  Draclia

  Corey woke up suddenly.

  It was dark. At first he wasn’t sure where he was. In his ear a squeaky voice was hissing something about blood.

  Corey tensed. He could just make out a shadowy figure looming over him, pressing him into the pillow. A figure with big staring eyes and white teeth.

  Corey didn’t panic.

  He waited till he could see better.

  Yes, it was just as he’d feared. He was being pinned to the bed by a five-year-old boy in dinosaur pyjamas clutching a plastic truck.

  ‘Will,’ groaned Corey. ‘You’re kneeling on
my neck.’

  ‘It’s got her,’ squeaked Will. ‘In the front yard. A vampire’s got Shelley and it’s eating her blood.’

  Corey closed his eyes. Maybe he was still asleep. Maybe if he tried really hard, he could go back to his dream about the ice-cream cake Mum and Dad got him last week for his birthday. Three delicious flavours in the shape of a footy stadium.

  ‘If you don’t wake up,’ said Will, ‘I’ll tell Mum how you stayed in bed and let a vampire get Shelley while she was supposed to be babysitting us.’

  Corey groaned again.

  He got up. He didn’t have any choice. Will was dragging him by his bottom lip.

  They stumbled to the window.

  Will wrestled open the curtain. Corey helped him. Will pointed down into the front yard.

  ‘See?’

  Corey squinted. Mostly he could just see shadows. Then the moonlight went brighter and he saw Shelley leaning against the side of the carport.

  Somebody was with her. Another teenager.

  Corey shuddered. It was a fairly yukky sight. Shelley had her arms wrapped around the teenager, and the teenager’s mouth was on her neck.

  ‘I think it’s Draclia,’ whispered Will, his breath hot in Corey’s ear.

  Corey sighed.

  ‘The word is Dracula,’ he said. ‘And that’s not Dracula down there, it’s Jarrod Bennet.’

  Will didn’t look convinced.

  ‘Jarrod Bennet’s in high school with Shelley,’ said Corey. ‘His younger sister Brianna goes to our school.’

  Will thought about this.

  ‘Does Brianna know her brother’s a vampire who bites people on the neck?’ asked Will.

  Corey sat down wearily on his bed.

  ‘Jarrod is Shelley’s boyfriend,’ he said. ‘They’ve been going out for nearly a week.’

  Corey tried to explain to Will that Shelley and Jarrod were just kissing. And that because Shelley was very tall for her age, Jarrod couldn’t reach her lips, not even on tiptoe, and so he had to make do with her neck.

  Will still didn’t look convinced.

  Corey realised it was all probably a bit technical for a five-year-old.

  ‘I saw it on telly,’ said Will. ‘Vampires don’t care if they’ve short cause they’ve got big teeth.’

  Corey sighed again.

  You couldn’t really blame a little kid. Not in a world gone vampire mad. There had hardly been a day in Will’s young life without a new vampire movie being released or a new vampire romance book being published or a new vampire TV show being launched or a new vampire burger being advertised on the car radio.