Max's Revenge: A wedding, a party and a plate of dog food stew (The Max Books Book 1)

by Sally Gould

  Charlie looked real smug. I just knew he’d tease me for the rest of my life, because I’d eaten dog food stew.

  Other books by Sally Gould:

  Book 2 of The Max Books

  Outback Hero: Max conquers outback Australia

  Nothing to Fear

  1. HOLIDAYS

  “Crocodiles!” I jumped off the couch and dropped the remote. “I hate crocodiles. They eat people and they’re ugly.”

  Mom held her forehead and sighed. She thought I was being a pain in the butt. She always did that when she thought I was being a pain in the butt. She did it a lot.

  Charlie, who was doing his math homework at the dining table, laughed out loud. I knew he was thinking, Max, go ahead, be a pain in the butt because that always makes me look good.

  Mom pulled dead flowers out of the vase as though she was angry with them. “Maaax, we’ve been planning this holiday for ages. We’re going and you’ll have a wonderful time.”

  “I’d rather go to Nanna’s,” I said. ‘She likes me helping her.”

  “Nanna is going to the Gold Coast.”

  “Great ... I’ll go to the Gold Coast.”

  Charlie looked up. I bet he’d rather go to the Gold Coast too.

  “You can’t,” replied Mom. “She’s going with her friends. You’d spoil her fun.”

  I flopped down on the couch. I hated that. I hated being a kid. Always being told what to do and never getting to decide where we’d go for holidays. When I have kids, I’ll let them choose where we go for holidays every year. If my kids wanted go to Disneyland ten years in a row, I’d take them.

  Mom put the dead flowers in the bin, then came over and sat next to me. She squeezed my hand and whispered, “We’ll only see the crocodiles from the safety of a boat. People only die from crocodile attacks because they swim where they shouldn’t. They ignore the No Swimming signs.”

  Could all moms read their kids’ minds? My mom just knows when I’m scared of something. I wondered what else she knew. Did she know that I listened to music at night when I was meant to be asleep?

  “So it’s safe?” I whispered to her.

  Charlie called out, “Max, you’ve got more chance of being killed by lightning than being killed by a crocodile. In Australia last year, ten people died because they were struck by lightning and only one died of a crocodile attack. And if you lived in Africa, you’re much more likely to be killed by a lion.”

  Typical. He was always trying to impress Mom with facts and figures. I told him, “I’d rather be killed by lightning.”

  “Yeah, being zapped would be electrifying.” He stood up and shook like a bolt of electricity had shot through his body.

  “Get lost,” I said.

  “I hope you don’t come,” he said as he went back to tapping numbers on a calculator and writing down figures. “I’ll have the whole back seat of the car to myself. I won’t have to share a room. I can watch whatever I want on TV.”

  I hated the way he could talk and do math as though it was as easy as walking and breathing at the same time.

  “That won’t happen,” said Mom. “Max is coming.”

  I folded my arms. “You can’t force me.”

  She shook her head as if I were a hopeless case. “You know there’s nothing to fear but fear itself.”

  That was one of her favorite sayings. She said it to me a thousand times a year. She used to say it when I was afraid of the dark, afraid of the invisible monster hiding in my wardrobe and afraid of strange noises at night.

  Without looking up, Charlie said, “We should see Kakadu before global warming wrecks it.”

  Typical. Charlie and Dad reckon we have to see everything before global warming wrecks it. I bet we’ll never again have a normal holiday at the beach. Now we have to see stuff. We would’ve had to gawk at icebergs in Antarctica last summer, but luckily that was too expensive. I said, “I wouldn’t want to see Kak-my-du even if it didn’t have crocs.”

  “It’s called Kakadu National Park,” said Mom. “Thousands of people visit it every year. And I bet most of those people are terrified of crocodiles. But they still want to see them in the wild. And there are lots of walks, swimming holes and waterfalls. The landscape is stunning and there are Aboriginal rock paintings too.” She gave me one of her pleading looks. “Max, when you were little, you were so brave.”

  “WERE BRAVE,” Charlie repeated, without looking up.

  I yelled, “I’m still brave!”

  Mom smiled at me and messed up my hair as if I were five years old.

  “Okay, I’ll go,” I said. I’d show her how brave I was. I decided right then that I wouldn’t be afraid of crocs. I’d be brave like Charlie. I was only two and a half years younger than him, so I should be brave like him. And from now on I would be. And even if I wasn’t, I’d pretend I was.

  To buy Outback Hero, please go to the Amazon webpage: http://amzn.to/1DD2dr4

  Book 3 of The Max Books

  The Venetian Job:

  Bad guys and action - Max’s Italian holiday

  Mafia Encounter

  1. SICILY

  My friends would be doing math at this time of the day, but I wasn’t because I was in Italy. Sicily, to be exact. We were driving along a four-lane highway where almost every car was speeding. Dad was biting his bottom lip, because he was concentrating hard.

  Charlie had stuck his head outside the car window to record crazy drivers, so he could show his friends when he got home. Cars whizzed past us so fast it felt like we weren’t moving. And the crazy drivers seemed to think no matter what they did, everyone else would get out of their way.

  Mom stopped reading her murder mystery and stared out the front window at Mount Etna. Even though it was March, the top of it was covered in snow. Mom loved mountains. That was why we were in Sicily, because she’d always wanted to see Mount Etna.

  Charlie sat back, put his phone down and leaned across the back seat of the car. Nudging me, he whispered, “I bet you we’re related to Mr. Mafia.”

  “Who?” I hated when Charlie did that. When he says something as though I should know what he’s talking about, but I don’t know, so I’ve got to ask him what he means and then I sound dumb and he sounds smart.

  “A mafia boss; an old guy who wears a black suit and black sunglasses and who has bodyguards. He’d live in an enormous house and be driven around in a big black car, and if anyone does the wrong thing to his family, they’d better watch out.” Charlie gave me that smug look he gives when he’s showing off how much he knows.

  I nodded as though I knew exactly what he meant. And I sort of did. There were mafia guys at home. They were bad; I knew that. A bit bad was okay, but I wouldn’t want to be related to anyone real bad.

  Not that I believed Charlie. Mom wouldn’t have brought us to Sicily if we were related to a mafia boss. I didn’t think she would, anyway.

  “It makes sense,” whispered Charlie. “That’s why we’ve started this holiday in Sicily. To meet Mr. Mafia and the rest of the family.”

  I swallowed. Real casual, I asked, “Mom, are you related to a mafia boss?”

  She took her eyes off Mount Etna to turn round and glare at me. Then she glared at Charlie as if to say, Don’t scare your younger brother!

  He fiddled with his phone. “It seemed a reasonable deduction since we’ve come to Italy to meet your relatives and Sicily is the first place we’ve come to.”

  “We’ve come to Italy for a holiday, not just to meet my relatives. And most Sicilians aren’t in the mafia.”

  I nodded as though she’d convinced me. When she turned round to the front, Charlie and me looked at each other. We each knew what the other was thinking. She was lying. We could tell because she didn’t look into our eyes. That meant one thing. Her relatives lived in Sicily. Did that mean her grandfather or uncle or someone was Mr. Mafia? Maybe; maybe not.

  Suddenly Tom Tom, our satellite navigator, got real excited. In his robotic-newsreader voice, he said,
“Bear right, then go through the roundabout, second exit, then go straight ahead for two hundred metres, stay in the right lane, then turn right.”

  “WHAT?” yelled Dad. “That can’t be right!”

  Charlie sniggered and Mom quickly opened her book and began to read. I stated the obvious: “Tom Tom is always right.” We’d been using him for less than a week and it was already like he was part of the family. He loved disagreeing with Dad.

  Dad shook his head.

  “Wow,” yelled Charlie, “check out the Ferrari!”

  I turned round to see a bright yellow Ferrari flash past us. A second later a car horn let out a long, loud, scary sound. Then brakes screeched. Dad, who had been following Tom Tom’s instructions, yelled out something I’m not allowed to say before he did a massive swerve. Charlie and me got flung sideways. A moment later we realized we’d nearly been hit by a car coming toward us.

  For a minute nobody said anything. I reckon it was still sinking in that some crazy Italian driver had nearly killed us.

  Charlie patted his phone. “Got the whole thing on video. Absolute proof all Italians are crazy.”

  Mom turned round and gave Charlie one of her looks. “That was one bad driver. Don’t generalize.”

  Charlie nodded to her and then nudged me. “Yeah, and all Italians are saints too. Lucky we’re half-Italian.”

  “Do you really think we’re related to a mafia boss?”

  “It’d be cool.” He lowered his voice and added, “Except I read on the internet there’s two mafia families in Sicily who are killing each other. One family reckons the other family is invading its territory.”

  “What?”

  “Shh,” whispered Charlie, but it was too late because Mom had already turned round.

  “That’s enough,” she said, looking from me to Charlie and back to me. “I don’t want to hear another word about the mafia or my relatives. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mom,” we answered like a pair of robots.

  When she turned her back to us again, we glanced at each other. We must be related to Mr. Mafia!

  Suddenly I felt sick. It all made sense. Why Mom never mentioned exactly where her relatives lived or what they did. She was ashamed of them. She probably hadn’t wanted to bring us here. I bet they ordered her to because the big mafia boss wanted to meet Charlie and me.

  Maybe our whole lives were about to change. Maybe we’d be expected to leave school and learn the business. Far out, I didn’t even know what they did. A cold shiver went up my spine. All of a sudden I didn’t want to be in Italy; I wanted to be home.

  To buy The Venetian Job please go to the Amazon webpage: http://amzn.to/1biveMM

  First chapter of another book by Sally Gould:

  Dead Scary

  The Ghost who refused to leave

  1

  ‘Woodlands’ was vintage red brick with big windows and lots of stained glass. The comfy chairs on the front veranda and the garden full of flowers made the house seem more friendly than grand. None of us spoke; we just stared out the car windows as Dad parked out the front. I reckon we still couldn’t believe how our lives had changed. Mom’s childless-super-rich-computer-software-whiz uncle had died in a plane crash and Mom inherited his whole fortune. For the first time I was happy we didn’t have many relatives.

  We’d only ever lived in a shoebox stuck in between two other shoeboxes, surrounded by asphalt, with barely a tree in sight. Now we were moving into the home from heaven. Lucky I knew who my friends were; I wouldn’t want kids being my friend just so they could swim in my twenty-metre pool, soak in the spa, play tennis and hang out in the games room. I couldn’t wait to invite my friends over. They’d probably want to move into one of the spare bedrooms.

  Caesar barked when the removals truck beeped as it reversed into our driveway. I opened the car door and turned to Emily. Her pale blue eyes were wide open and she bounced on her seat. Usually she only got this excited the night before Christmas. ‘Ready?’

  She clung on to her favorite doll and followed me and Caesar to the front door. Emily liked our old shoebox and hadn’t wanted to move at first. When she announced at dinner one night that she wasn’t moving, Mom looked horrified. So I saved the day by telling her that living in a house with a big backyard would be better when she had her own dog. After that she couldn’t wait to move. Problem solved, except Mom didn’t want another dog. Mom wasn’t impressed.

  Dad unlocked the front door and Emily squealed. We raced down the wide hallway to our bedrooms. We’d chosen our rooms, the first time we got to see inside. When I saw it was a choice between unreal and unreal, I let Emily choose. All my clothes would fit into a quarter of the closet space and all my books would take up about ten per cent of the bookcase. I’d have to spread everything out. The desk went the whole way along one wall - who needed a desk that long?

  Caesar began to bark like crazy in a room at the front of the house.

  Mom called out from the kitchen, ‘Adam, find out what’s bothering Caesar.’

  As soon as I’d sprinted back up the hallway to the study, I could see what was bothering Caesar. I patted him and whispered, ‘It’s okay.’ He stopped barking and began to sniff around the room.

  ‘Hello,’ I said to the boy sitting on the bay window seat. He looked about the same age as me.

  The boy looked round as if I were talking to someone else. Then, he said, ‘Are you talking to me?’

  ‘Who else would I be talking to?’ I said telepathically. I communicate with ghosts by thinking the words, instead of saying them aloud. When I was little, I assumed everyone saw and talked to ghosts. Luckily, I worked out before I started school that ‘normal’ people couldn’t see them.

  The boy raised his eyebrows and I wondered whether he’d had a conversation with a living person since he died. He whispered, ‘Can you see me?’

  I nodded. ‘My family won’t be able to see you. Only me and my Grandpa George see ghosts.’ His aura turned orange, which meant I’d irritated him. I see the auras of ghosts too. That’s the energy surrounding the ghost, which changes color depending on the ghost’s mood. Even my Grandpa George can’t see auras; it’s pretty unusual. He reckons for every one hundred people who can see and talk to ghosts, only one of them can see their auras. Grandpa George helped me to work out what the colors meant. What I couldn’t work out with this ghost was what I’d said to irritate him.

  He let out a big sigh. ‘Only my Grandpa George and I can see ghosts. And, actually, Earthbound Spirits is the correct term.’ His voice was as posh as.

  ‘Yeah, Earthbound Spirits, ghosts - same thing. You weren’t here the first time I came to the house.’

  The boy shrugged. ‘I must’ve been out.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Edward Lawrence. And you are Adam?’

  ‘Castle.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Adam. Your gift of sight is extraordinarily good. It’s a privilege to meet a member of the Living who can tune in to our frequency.’

  I don’t like being called a ‘member of the Living’ - as though we’re the weird ones.

  ‘Who knows you have the gift of sight?’

  ‘Only my Grandpa George. He reckons if we told my parents they’d send us to the nut house,’ I said as Caesar sniffed Edward’s shoe. He shrank back - he obviously didn’t like dogs. I asked, ‘Why are you wearing a blazer and tie?’ I didn’t mention his ridiculous-looking shorts.

  ‘Why are you wearing jeans and a dirty T-shirt?’ he replied.

  When I didn’t answer, he said, ‘I died in my school uniform. I always remove my cap before teleporting inside.’

  Ghosts move from place to place by thinking where they want to be. ‘Lucky,’ I said. ‘My parents wouldn’t be happy if the ghost of the house wore a cap inside.’

  He rolled his eyes, but I could tell he liked my joke by the pinkish tinge of his aura.

  ‘What’s that on the inside of your hands?’ I asked.

 
‘Ink. Newspaper ink stained my hands. I used to help out at my father’s newspaper office after school.’

  ‘Was this your home when you died?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When did you die?’

  ‘1945.’

  ‘How old were you then?’ I asked.

  ‘Fourteen.’

  The look of pain on his face told me he was still upset about dying when he did. Ghosts were all the same. Most people go into the Light as soon as they die. Well, their bodies don’t, just their spirits. That’s what Grandpa George said spirits should do. Some spirits go to their own funerals, which is okay because they still have some time after the funeral before the Light disappears. Grandpa George reckons when a spirit goes into the Light it meets up with the spirits of the people they loved who have already crossed over. ‘Why didn’t you go into the Light?’ I said.

  He frowned. ‘It was my choice. When you die, you have the choice to stay or to go into the Light.’

  I took a step toward him. ‘Okay, but don’t suck out any of our energy. You have to get your energy from people outside.’ Ghosts are pure energy and can only exist by taking energy from people. If they take too much energy, the person gets sick. But most ghosts don’t do that (so they reckon) and, usually, it’s just a bit draining for people who live with a ghost, like being around someone who whines all the time. Ghosts can’t give a person their energy, like a happy fun person does when you hang round them.

  ‘Adam, I always obey the rules that Earthbound Spirits are supposed to obey. Every morning, I go out and I extract small amounts of energy from many people.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘You keep doing that. If anyone in our house gets sick, I’ll have to tell my Grandpa George.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’ He folded his arms. ‘Now, there are two urgent matters concerning the house that must be fixed. The chime of the new doorbell gets on my nerves—’

  ‘You don’t have nerves!’

  ‘And there is a water pipe that knocks when the tap over the laundry sink is turned on too hard.’