by Davy Ocean
The others rush to untangle Sammy and Joe, but I hold back. Not because I don’t want to help, but because I’ve just been struck by the best idea ever!
I can feel my goggly hammerhead eyes growing wider and wider as I realize how brilliant it is. If I play this right:
1. Everyone will stop singing dopey songs about me.
2. I’ll be friends with them all again and
3. I’ll be a supreme sharklete just like Turbo Tex!
Drago has sent us all to bed with the order to “Dream the dreams of winners!”
Ralph and Joe are in my tent, going on about the midnight snack they’ve been planning for ages. They’re so excited about it I haven’t had a chance to mention my own plan.
“Do we have to stay up until midnight asks Joe. “That’s way past my bedtime.”
“A midnight snack doesn’t have to happen at midnight, fishbrains,” says Ralph, eyeing the pile of sweets Joe is pulling out of his backpack. “It can be held at any time!”
“Then why is it called a midnight snack?” Joe uses several tentacles to lay out the sweets in neat rows in front of him.
“Because . . . because . . .” Ralph scratches his chin with his fin and thinks. But the sight of all the sweets is obviously too distracting for him. “Oh, I dunno! Who cares?! What have we got?”
Joe finishes arranging the sweets. “Okay,” he says, floating back to admire his handiwork. “We’ve got Kit-Katfishes, Double Shipwreckers, Sealion Bars, Maltweedsers, and a huuuuuuge bag of Seasick ‘n’ Mix.”
“Got any Tangfishsticks?” Ralph says hopefully. “I love picking them out from between Harry’s teeth.”
“Listen,” I say, but Ralph’s way too busy gazing at the sweets to pay me any attention.
Joe reaches inside his backpack, and pulls out a brightly colored bag of Tangfishsticks. “Here you go.”
“I need to tell you something,” I try again.
Ralph grabs the bag, opens it, and shoves it in my face. “Start eating, Harry! I want to get to work!”
I push the bag away. “I haven’t got time for a midnight snack!”
“I thought it could be at any time?” says Joe, flashing yellow and purple, like he always does when he’s confused. “I don’t understand!”
“Just eat a few, Harry,” Ralph says. “It won’t take long!”
“No, there’s something I need to do,” I say, brushing past the sweets and heading for the tent flap. “Something way more important than a midnight snack.”
They look at me blankly.
“What could be more important than a midnight snack?” Ralph says, his eyes wide.
“Come with me, and you’ll see,” I reply.
“Can I bring the Tangfishsticks?” asks Ralph.
“No!” I hiss, as I open the flap. “Follow me. And keep your voices down.”
Outside, the camp is quiet and mostly dark. The lantern fish have gone out and the only light is coming from the moon reflecting on the ocean above.
“D-d-do we have to go?” Joe starts trembling and his jellyfish body flashes red for danger. “It’s too dark and scary!”
I shush him with my fin and swim on.
Suddenly I hear a loud rustling. I spin my goggle eyes wildly.
“Ralph!” I whisper crossly. “I told you not to bring the Tangfishsticks!”
Ralph looks embarrassed and puts the bag back in his pocket.
We swim on through the silent camp, and eventually reach the tent I want. I float up close to it.
“Sammy? Sammy?” I whisper. “It’s me, Harry. Are you awake?”
I hear the zip of a sleeping bag being undone inside the tent.
“Well, I am now!”
The flap opens and Sammy Squid sticks out a tentacle, followed by a pair of sleepy eyes. “What do you want?”
“Yes,” says Ralph, looking at me, “what do we want?”
“Sammy,” I say, ignoring Ralph, “I want you to spray some stripes down my side in ink. I want to look like Turbo Tex. Can you do it?”
“Yes and no,” says Sammy.
“I was less confused when we were talking about midnight snacks not being at midnight,” Joe mutters. “What do you mean, yes and no?”
“Yes, I can do it, but no, I can’t do it now,” says Sammy, rubbing his eyes.
I stare at him. “Why not?”
“I can’t spray ink unless I’m scared,” he replies. “It’s a defense mechanism. I need to feel threatened.”
I open my mouth and show Sammy my hunter’s teeth.
Nothing happens—apart from Ralph trying to dive in for a quick snack.
“Sorry, Harry, but you’re just not scary,” Sammy says with a grin. “Not even a little bit.”
Great—my plan is falling to pieces because I’m not scary enough to frighten a kid squid. I look around, trying to think. The camp is dark and silent, the currents cold and creepy. In the distance, the leaves of the Frondy Forest move lazily in the water like beckoning fingers. It’s very, very spooky.
Yes! Got it!
“Okay . . . I have another idea,” I say. “What if I told you a ghost story like Drago’s?”
“No thanks!” says Sammy, backing into the tent. “One was bad enough!”
“Please, Sammy!” I grab the bag of Tangfishsticks from Ralph’s pocket and hold them out to Sammy. “You can have these if you say yes.”
“No . . . mmmmmmph! He . . . mmmmmmph! Can’t . . . mmmmph!” Ralph splutters as I put my fin over his mouth to shut him up. I wave the bag in front of Sammy with my other fin at the same time.
“The whole bag?” Sammy says, coming forward again.
“Yes. And all the Double Shipwreckers and Maltweedsers we have back in our tent, too.”
I’m having to hold Ralph down now. He’s not happy at all.
Sammy nods. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Great!” I say. “Just make sure you get tiger stripes down both sides of me, right?”
Sammy nods, and curls his rear end under his head so it’s right in my face.
The things I have to do to save my reputation!
“Right . . . okay . . . ” I start. But my mind is completely blank. I don’t know any ghost stories! I look around wildly but I can’t think of anything. I’m just going to have to make a story up on the spot. It can’t be that difficult, can it?
I screw up my eyes and lower my voice to a whisper like Drago. “Here is a tale about a sea ghost, which will scare you so much, you won’t want to eat your lunch, or even . . . prawn toast!”
Bit of a shaky start, but not too bad. I glance at Sammy. He’s looking completely calm. Ralph has a face like a grumpy granddad walrus chewing a spine fish, and Joe is a peaceful shade of blue.
Okay, time to step it up a bit. “It’s a terrible story, about a squidboy called . . . er . . . Rory, who was from somewhere . . . near to . . . ummm . . . Tanglemory?”
I look at the others. Joe is still blue, but Sammy is starting to tremble. Yes, it’s working!
“He liked to go out, at night all—ummm—about. To the ship graveyard—even though it was hard . . . to get there, because his—er—navigation skills were full of hair.”
I frown. I never realized making stuff up could be so difficult!
But Sammy is starting to really shake now. He’s obviously terrified! I’d better carry on. “So, the night of the fright, he went there and—ummm—right, there was a figure in white. Was it a sheet? No—ummm—not quite. Rory did swim away as fast as a . . . umm . . . very fast thing. ” I growl my best sharky growl. “And he never went near there again!”
Sammy is shaking so much he’s vibrating the tent. He’s scared out of his tentacles!
Except . . .
1. Sammy isn’t terrified. (Not even a little bit.)
2. Sammy is trying not to laugh. (And he’s about to fail.)
3. As I finish he can’t hold it any longer. (Here he goes.)
4. He starts to laugh, and soon he can’t stop.
(“Hahahahahahahahaha!!!”)
5. Out comes the ink from his rear. (Pffffffffffffffftttttt!!!)
6. But instead of a stream, it’s a spray. (Oh no!!)
7. And as he laughs more, it covers me. (Stooooooooooop!!!)
8. Too late. I’m not striped like a tiger shark at all. I’m covered in spots!
When I wake up the next morning, the first thing I do is check my skin to see if the spots have faded. I can’t believe my goggly eyes. The spots look even worse in the daylight. Instead of looking like a really cool tiger shark, I look like a hammer teen with pimples!
“Come on, you lazy bunch!” I hear Drago shouting from outside. “Sleeping’s for losers and waking’s for winners! It’s time to do some warming up.”
I don’t need warming up, I need washing down. I rub at the spots with my hammer. But no matter how hard I rub, they just won’t fade. Squid ink is EVIL!
I sigh and swim outside. Drago takes one look at me and throws his fins up in panic.
“Okay, everyone—back away from Harry!” He rushes towards me. “I’ve never seen such a bad case of seasles in my life! Get yourself back to bed while I call an ambuwhale.”
“I don’t need an ambuwhale, sir,” I say. “I don’t have seasles.”
“Don’t have seasles?” Drago bellows. “Then what in ocean’s name do you have?” He eyes me suspiciously. I can’t tell him the truth—that would be way too embarrassing. But I have to tell him something. So I tell him a bit of the truth.
“It’s a squid fart, sir.”
Drago looks as if his eyes are going to burst out of his head. “A what?”
“A squid fart. I made Sammy laugh and he tooted all over me. With ink.”
All of the cubs start roaring with laughter. I’ll never live this down.
Ever.
Everyone’s still laughing at breakfast. Keeping my eyes down, I carry my bowl of prawn-flakes to the very end of the canteen tent and begin to eat. I’m halfway through the bowl before I realize that, completely by accident, I’ve sat down next to Tony. He’s looking straight ahead, ignoring me.
“Okay, Tony?”
As usual, he says nothing. But at least he isn’t laughing. That’s something, I suppose.
The first activity after breakfast is volcanic vent surfing. We’ve each been given a rubber safety suit to protect us from the heat. The others are moaning about having to wear them, but as far as I’m concerned it’s a total win. At least with my suit on no one can see my spots!
Drago takes us to a clearing in the middle of the Frondy Forest. A cliff face stretches up before us. About halfway down, a huge stream of bubbling water gushes out of a volcanic vent. It travels along straight for a little, then it’s joined by the stream from another vent and goes into a huge downhill, twisting and turning and even pulling up into a loop the loop. I’ve been volcanic vent surfing with my dad before and it’s totally awesome.
“All right,” Drago says as soon as we’re ready. “It’s time to surf the fear! It’s time to feel the heat! It’s time to—it’s time to . . . I want you to ride the jets of hot water from the vents.”
Rick and Donny go first, and are pretty quick. Tony goes second, but he obviously has a bit of bad luck and skims off course (the trick is keeping your whole body inside the current).
I decide to have another try. Tucking my fins close to my body, I barrel roll down the stream, picking up speed, then use my hammer to hook Tony’s tail, swing him round and put him back on course!
I finish just behind him. I grin and go for a high fin.
But my fin is left dangling in empty water. Tony has completely ignored me again!
Ralph swims over. “I dunno why you’re bothering. He obviously doesn’t want anything to do with you.”
Ralph might have a point. My plan to impress Tony hasn’t exactly worked as I hoped it would.
Soon it’s time for lunch. Drago leads us into the Frondy Forest. “So cubs, you’ve all had fun vent surfing, yes?”
We all nod.
“And I bet you’ve worked up an appetite for lunch, right?”
Everyone nods even harder. Ralph looks at my mouth, fins his tummy, and nods thirty-seven times.
“Well, there’s no such thing as a free lunch out here in the wild,” Drago says. “No more clamburgers and hotfrogs for you. You’re going to have to find your own food. Are you with me?”
We all stop nodding and start groaning. But Drago isn’t listening. “You have one hour to come back with the best meal ever! Go!!!”
We went.
We came back.
I have:
1. Three bent sea carrots. (Ick.)
2. Half a dog-eared sea cucumber. (Double ick.)
3. Two crab apples. (Quadruple ick, times ten.)
4. Some lobster milk I’ve collected in my hat. (Ewwww.)
Ralph has three brown, knobbly things that could be tide-ginger or could be sea-cow patties. He isn’t sure. Joe was too scared to go into the Frondy Forest alone, so he’s been relying on us to bring him back his lunch.
“Actually, I don’t think I’m hungry anymore,” he says as soon as he sees our offerings.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be hungry again,” I say, sniffing the could-be-tide-ginger-could-be-cow-patty.
Drago starts swimming up and down in front of us. “Okay, now you’ve had your lunch,” he says as I pour the sour lobster milk away, “it’s time for the grand finale of this camp. But first, I need to put you into teams. I want Team Fearless to be scared of nothing, Team Awesome to be the best, Team Amazing to stop at nothing to win, Team Invincible to be unbeatable, Team Incredible to blow our minds and Team Supreme to come out on top whatever happens!”
I’m not sure how all six teams can be the winner, but Drago is on such a roll I decide not to interrupt him. Drago puts me in Team Supreme along with:
1. Ralph (not bad, I suppose)
2. Joe (could be worse)
3. Donny (and so it is worse)
4. Rick (yup, worse as worse can be)
5. Tony (shall I give it one last try with him?)
Drago puffs his dogfish chest out, and swims between the teams. “This is the ultimate challenge. The one that will stretch you all to the limit.”
My mind is racing. What’s it going to be this time?
“I’ve put you in teams because this isn’t something you can do alone.”
Oh, I hope it’s not rock swimming. I hate rock swimming, and Joe has no jelly for heights.
“This will push you,” Drago continues. “This will make you work together, and this will make or break you as a team!!!”
Pop pop pop pop!
(That’s not Joe, that’s me!)
Drago waits for a second. We all stare at him, open-mouthed. What is it going to be?
“You’re going to swim a relay race!”
Oh.
Silence. From. Everyone.
Is that all? A relay race? The way Drago was going on, you’d think we were going to be scaling the north trench of Deep Everest!
Ah well, at least Rick won’t be able to make me look like a goofball in a relay race.
Drago fires a bullet mackerel, just like the starter in the Olimpet Stadium. The first fish speed away and the race is on!
We’ve each got to do one lap of the camp swimming track. Joe is first for Team Supreme. His tentacles twirl behind him like streamers and he’s carrying the baton in his teeth. Ralph and I cheer him on. Rick and Donny don’t seem to be that impressed at being on a team with us. Tony is floating on his own. I can’t wait to see him race. I bet he’ll be super fast.
“Look at him,” Rick sneers as Joe falls behind teams Invincible and Amazing. “He’s so slow he couldn’t overtake a sea snail.”
“Zip it, Rick,” I say. “He’s doing his best.”
“Yeah, but the problem is, his best is awful,” Rick says, squaring up to me. “Or have you spotted some skills in your friend that I haven’t spotted?”
&n
bsp; Donny points at my ink spots and giggles.
“At least he’s trying,” I say.
Rick just fins his nose at me and turns away. I look at Tony, but he’s not even watching the race.
Drago is looking at his stopwatch as the teams come round the final bend. Ralph gets into position, and holds out his fin for the baton from Joe. By the time Joe passes it to him he’s in fourth place.
Ralph swims off and Joe hangs, deflated, on the fence.
I try to concentrate on the race and not on Donny, who has now got a pencil and is trying to join the dots on my dorsal. Ralph zooms round the track. Pilot fish are used to keeping up with much faster species like sharks, so he’s really speedy. Ralph pushes as fast as his little tail will allow. As he swims into the home stretch, we’ve moved up a place to third!
Donny takes the baton from Ralph and the third lap begins.
“Make sure you don’t drop that baton when you give it to me!” Rick shouts. “Or I’ll give you a biting you won’t forget!”
“Wow, great way to support your teammate,” I hiss at Rick.
Rick glares at me. “I don’t care about this dopey team. All I care about is getting the fastest individual lap and the medal that comes with it.”
Before I can say anything, Rick moves out onto the track to wait for Donny. As Rick stretches out his fin for the baton, Donny comes around in second!
Lap four begins.
Rick zooms off with all the sleek skill of a reef shark. He’s soon gaining on the bull shark from Team Invincible who’s in first place.
Even I’m impressed—but it doesn’t stop me wishing that Rick was a nicer shark to everyone around him.
Rick pulls alongside the bull shark on the back stretch. He flicks his tail effortlessly, nose down. Kick, kick, kick.
As they take the last bend, I get into place. Rick comes around in the lead. My heart starts to pound. We might actually have a chance of winning this!
I wait, my fin out, watching as Rick gets closer and closer. I kick away, knowing I’m going to have to match his speed as he reaches for me . . .