It was the surprising.
Yes, that was the best thing ever. Everyone seeing him one way at the beginning of the day and then everyone suddenly seeing him differently at the end, his dad and Patch and all their friends and, now he was thinking about it, maybe even himself.
On his way back from the bathroom, Henry spotted the crimson dragster girl’s bike parked outside the laundry. He peeked over the windowsill and watched the girl shoving clothes into a washing machine, even though it was so late.
‘I can see you,’ she said, without turning her head.
‘No way,’ said Henry.
‘Yes way.’ She tapped the glass on the front loader. ‘You’re in here.’
‘Aaah!’ said Henry and he felt a swell of gratitude that he was still wearing his shorts and a T-shirt and not his pyjamas. ‘That’s clever.’
‘I bet you can’t guess my full name,’ said the girl, turning round. ‘What do you think Cassie might be short for?’
Henry shook his head. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said, hesitating. ‘Cassata?’
‘Ha! Too funny.’
‘Cassava?’
‘Nope!’
‘I don’t know,’ said Henry. ‘Cassandra?’
‘Close. Good try.’
Henry laughed. ‘Cassowary?’
‘Do I look like a giant bird to you?’
‘Casserole?’
‘Tasty! But not even warm.’
Henry held up his hands in surrender. ‘I give up.’
‘Cassiopeia.’
‘Gee.’ Henry took a few steps forward, so he hovered in the doorway. ‘Wow! That’s a long name.’
Cassie turned and tocked some coins into the slot and spun some knobs on the washing machine. The clothes inside began to toss and swirl. ‘Do you know where it comes from?’ she asked. ‘Cassiopeia?’
Henry fiddled with the seam of his T-shirt. ‘Nope.’
‘My mum named me after a bunch of stars, a big constellation,’ said Cassie, popping her detergent into a laundry bag and zipping it up. ‘Because at one time she wanted to be a big, big star.’
‘And is she one?’ Henry stepped right inside.
‘Nah,’ said Cassie. ‘She sings on cruise ships now, which my Pop says are just floating RSLs. My mum reckons she left her run too late. And it’s hard to be a big, big star when you’ve got a kid.’
‘Oh,’ said Henry.
‘People call me Cassie because it’s easier to say.’
‘Which do you like better?’ asked Henry.
‘Cassie, I think. Because it’s plain and everyday.’
‘Okay, then,’ said Henry. ‘So I have a question too.’ He cleared his throat.
Cassie tapped her foot. ‘Sure!’ she said. ‘Ask away.’
‘Well . . .’ Henry tugged his ear. He rubbed his chin. ‘How long . . . are you really staying down here?’
‘Forever,’ said Cassie.
Henry lifted his eyebrows. ‘Forever?’
‘I live here,’ said Cassie. ‘With my Pop.’
‘In a tent?’
‘No way!’ Cassie rolled her eyes, as if she was beginning to suspect Henry was slower than she first thought. ‘In a caravan!’
‘In a caravan?’ Henry blushed. ‘Oh, yeah . . . right . . . I know . . . I mean . . . I just . . .’
‘The one with the three meerkats staring out from the front window, just over the road from the amenities block and the dumpster.’
‘Meerkats?’ said Henry. ‘Holy Flamoley.’
‘Not real ones.’
‘Oh.’
‘Stuffed toys,’ said Cassie, grinning. ‘How’s your bike? Haven’t seen you ride it yet.’
‘Well,’ said Henry. ‘It’s okay – sort of. It’s kind of . . . the tyres . . . well, hard to – it’s got a bit of a problem . . . the brakes, you know . . .’ The moths in his chest buzzed.
‘You’re funny,’ said Cassie.
‘I’m staying in the green tent,’ said Henry, nodding his head, keen to change the topic. ‘That one up there in the middle. Not far from the bikies.’
‘I know,’ said Cassie. ‘You’re with the big crowd.’
‘Well,’ said Henry. ‘We’re not that big!’
‘Yeah, probably not. It’s just my Pop goes to bed early every night, in a grump, because he reckons he can’t sleep when there are so many little kids screeching about on their bikes in the park and so many loosey-goosey tarps flapping like sails in the wind. He sometimes has to get up before dawn, my Pop, because in the summer he works as a deckhand on a fishing charter boat and they need to get over the bar before the swell picks up. He’s not too fond of tourists.’ Cassie swung her laundry bag over her shoulder. ‘But I like them,’ she added. ‘So there, Henry.’
‘Hey! You remembered my name!’
‘I’ve got a good memory,’ she said, nodding.
‘I was named after my great-grandfather who was an admiral in the navy.’
‘So I’m a girl from the sky and you’re a boy from the sea!’
‘Ha!’ said Henry. ‘Yes. I like that.’
‘You know, if you want,’ said Cassie, ‘maybe I can introduce you to my stingray?’
‘Is that stuffed too?’ asked Henry.
Cassie laughed, squinting. ‘No, he’s the real deal.’
Henry thought about the poisonous barb in a stingray’s tail. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Aren’t they kind of . . . dangerous?’
‘Nahh,’ said Cassie, sliding past him, her thongs flopping. She grabbed her bike and climbed on. ‘Not this one. He’s lost most of his tail, so he’s completely harmless and super friendly. If you like, I can take you on a bike ride tomorrow and show you all sorts of interesting stuff.’
‘Maybe we could go for a walk instead,’ said Henry. ‘Until my bike gets – fixed?’
‘Well,’ said Cassie, wrinkling her nose. ‘We won’t see as much.’
Just then Reed turned the corner, a towel wrapped around his neck. He popped his toothbrush out of his mouth.
‘I’ve got to choof,’ said Cassie, pushing off with one foot. ‘But maybe I’ll catch you later?’ She glanced at Henry over her shoulder.
‘Maybe,’ said Henry, shrugging, suddenly awkward.
‘See ya!’ she called, riding off down the path, swerving around Reed.
‘Whoah-ho!’ Reed swaggered towards him. ‘Whooo-hoo, Hennie! Girlfriend!’
‘Shut up,’ said Henry, glaring at him. ‘You don’t know anything.’
‘She sure is a whizz on that bike!’ said Reed, sauntering past. ‘Maybe some kind of genius. Maybe you should ask your dad to put your training wheels back on, baby cheeks, so you can keep up with her?’
‘And how many big fish have you caught so far?’ called Henry. ‘How many kingfish, hey?’
Reed saluted Henry with his toothbrush. ‘None yet,’ he cried, without looking back. ‘But I will!’
Henry clomped off down the path. It was true! Reed Barone was the most irritating boy in the world, maybe even in the universe. The minute Henry was near him, he got itchy all over and started sprouting mean thoughts.
‘Hey there, Heno.’ Dad came zooming up the road on Patch’s skateboard. ‘I’ve been sent out on patrol. You admiring the view?’
Henry shook his head.
‘You okay?’
Henry gazed at his dad for a moment, weighing up whether he should say something about Reed. But then he would also have to talk about the crimson dragster girl. And, oh blimey, that tiny little story he had just told about his new bike being broken.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Check out this fog,’ said Dad, gazing up. It was starting to slide across the sky like a long slow misty sigh. ‘Isn’t it astonishing, hey?’ He flipped his board around. ‘Race you home, genius boy!’
Henry charged after Dad down the road, running fast past the cabins with their flickering blue windows and the tinny sound of laughter, past the big bikie with the steel-wool b
eard, playing a noisy game of Celebrity Head with his bikie mates in the barbecue gazebo. He clambered over the lumpy roots of the pine trees and raced up to their tent, glowing like a Chinese lantern.
‘Beat you, Dad!’ he cried, as he zipped open the fly and crawled inside. He flopped down onto his Therm-a-Rest, panting. He peered up at the snug dome roof, the thin skin walls breathing in and out.
It struck Henry that the world was a little bit like a bag of mixed lollies: always full of some kind of surprise, some of them good, like clinkers and strawberry creams, and some of them horrible, like blue gummy cats and any orange lolly. Every day a jumbly rumbly bag of best moments and bad moments, joggled up tight together.
MAKING PLANS
‘I did it!’ crowed Lulu. She ran from the midday sunshine into the shade of the tarp. ‘I DID IT! I swam in the deep this morning, in the pool, with my head under water, nearly the WHOLE way!’
Mum came puffing up to the tarp, juggling beach bags, hats, wet towels, floaties and an empty coffee cup.
‘Tell them!’ said Lulu, tugging at her red ruffled swimsuit.
‘She did.’ Mum dumped her load onto the table. ‘She swam across the deep, with her head underwater the whole time. With no help at all.’
‘Where’s Reed?’ asked Lulu. ‘Because I need to tell him, RIGHT NOW!’
Dylan slid out a meat pie from a paper bag. ‘He’s over on the inlet side with my dad and Kale, trying his luck under the bridge.’
‘Ha!’ said Lulu. ‘I bet he won’t catch a single fish.’
‘Now, Lulu, that’s not nice talking,’ said Mum. She slung the wet towels on a rack in the sun.
Lulu crossed her arms. ‘Well, he said I’d have to swim in the hot wee-wee baby pool with Kale FOREVER but he was WRONG!’
‘Guess what?’ Dylan took a bite out of his pie.
‘What?’ asked Lulu, leaning on the table and kicking up her legs.
‘I did three new skateboard tricks on the ramp today,’ said Dylan, running his tongue along his teeth. ‘A Casper Slide, a McTwist and a Nuclear Grab.’
‘Whoooooooo,’ said Lulu.
‘I know,’ said Dylan. ‘Amazing, hey.’ And he hoed into the rest of his pie with gusto.
‘Yeah, so!’ said Carey, spreading Nutella like thick icing on a slice of white bread. ‘I just finished The Calvin and Hobbes Tenth Anniversary Book. And it was soooo good. You know my favourite bit? It’s when Calvin becomes Spaceman Spiff, interplanetary explorer extraordinaire, because the aliens are always his mum or dad or his teacher Miss Wormwood! Don’t you think that’s so funny? It kills me, it really does.’
‘Soon I’ll be reading books all on my ownsome,’ said Lulu. ‘When I go to big school. And I will know all the words.’
Carey cut his slice of bread into four neat squares. ‘You will,’ he said. ‘And you’ll also learn how to count, tell news and tie your shoelaces—’
‘I already can count to one hundred and tie my shoelaces. So there!’
‘Oh, okay,’ said Carey, with surprise. ‘Well, that’s good. I couldn’t really tie my shoelaces properly till last year but I always had shoes with velcro to make it easier.’
‘But I can’t count to one hundred by twos yet,’ said Lulu. ‘So maybe they won’t let me in? My friend Leonard Finkler can count to one hundred by twos and write his whole name, even the last one. The surname.’
Dylan wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘That’s why you go to school, Lulu, so they can teach you that stuff.’
‘Leonard Finkler is very smart,’ said Lulu. ‘He can play the violin and speak in French and make real custard and climb a rope all the way to the roof on his ownsome.’ Lulu swooshed her hair away from her face.
‘All at the same time?’ asked Dylan.
‘No, you big silly!’ Lulu blew a raspberry.
‘Yeah, well,’ said Carey, ‘my favourite thing about kindergarten was Friday Friendship because then you got free time and you could do what you wanted and take off your shoes, and even play computer—’
‘It’s your turn now, Heno,’ interrupted Lulu.
‘My turn?’ asked Henry, pouring himself a bowl of Froot Loops. He sploshed the milk into the bowl, spilling just a little bit. ‘What do you mean?’
Lulu’s eyes glistened. ‘Your bike! You know. And then Reed—’
‘Oh, Lulu,’ said Henry.
‘What?’ asked Lulu, lifting her hands.
Just then Dad pulled up in the car, with a jerk. He leapt out. ‘Can someone grab the first-aid kit?’ he called, slamming his door. He ran round to the passenger side.
‘What’s wrong?’ cried Mum. She snatched the first aid kit from the top of the camp fridge.
‘It’s Patch,’ said Dad. ‘He got dumped.’
Patch got out of the car gingerly, a bloodied towel held up to his nose. He trudged over to a seat at the table. Mum poured some water from the kettle into a plastic bowl and grabbed a wad of serviettes.
‘Okay,’ said Dad. ‘Now take the towel away.’
‘Oh, gewwsh! Whoah!’ said Dylan, gripping his stomach. ‘That just put me off my pie.’
‘Sorry, dude,’ said Patch, with a laugh. ‘I’ll eat the rest for you in a sec.’
Dad dabbed at Patch’s nose. ‘Oh, phew,’ he said. ‘It’s just a flesh wound. A tiny nick, really. My word, the way it bled, I was kind of expecting a hole where your nose used to be.’
‘Ah, thanks, Dad,’ said Patch.
‘Were you bleeding in the water?’ asked Henry, suddenly anxious.
‘Well, yeah, at first,’ said Patch. ‘But don’t worry, I kept an eye out for Jaws.’
‘Ah, Heno,’ said Dad, gazing at Henry. ‘What will we do with you, son of my heart?’
‘He’s just troubleshooting.’ Mum bent to stare at Patch’s nose. ‘Somebody in the family has to.’
‘What are you saying?’ asked Dad, with a grin.
‘I send the kids out with you intact,’ said Mum. ‘And you always bring them back maimed!’
‘Aw, now, come on! Maimed? Always?’
‘Nearly always!’
Dad laughed. ‘Noooooo-oooo,’ he said, shaking his head in mock disbelief.
‘What about the time when Patch was seven and rode his bike down that hill of death, with no brakes, through the turnstiles at the bottom, skidding right off near the bridge? I was picking gravel out of his rash for weeks.’
‘Well, there was that,’ said Dad.
‘And the time Henry hammered his toenail off because you forgot to keep an eye on your tools while you were building the cubby?’
‘Sometimes an adventurous life gets messy,’ said Dad, hands on hips.
‘Exactly! But it’s always when they’re with you. Now hold still!’ Mum stooped to place a puff of cotton wool over the graze on Patch’s nose and stuck it down with a band-aid.
‘Aw, not a band-aid,’ groaned Patch. ‘I’ll look like a numpty.’
‘No, you look like a cute little unicorn pony.’ Lulu stared at the large bulge on Patch’s nose.
‘Aw, dog-goggles! Save me from all ponies,’ said Patch. ‘Deliver me from evil, please!’ He glanced over at Dylan’s pie. ‘You finished with that?’
‘Sure,’ said Dylan, holding a hand against his stomach. He slid the paper bag down the table.
Patch snatched it up and wolfed the last bit down in two quick bites. ‘Aaaah, that was great. I’m so famished. Any more where that came from?’
‘Yep,’ said Dylan, sliding a white paper bag over. ‘You can have my sausage roll as well. I don’t want it now.’
‘You know what?’ said Carey, wiping Nutella from the corners of his mouth with a serviette. ‘I think surfing is dangerous. I think you’d be better off spending time in the tent, where it’s nice and safe, reading all about Spaceman Spiff.’
‘Ah, but you know what?’ said Patch. ‘I stood up on my board. On only my tenth go! Can you believe it? And the wave was as high as a cliff and quicksilver beneath
my feet and just for a second, the dip down, I’m telling ya, it was like flying.’
‘That’s what it’s like on the skate ramp too,’ said Dylan.
‘I know,’ said Patch. ‘But I haven’t felt that way since I rode my bike down the hill of death!’ He nodded at Henry and grinned.
The hill of death. Henry swallowed. His stomach panged. Lulu’s words echoed in his ears. It’s your turn now.
It was his turn now, his turn to be a daredevil. Everyone was waiting for him to ride his silver bike, to make a plan and to do it, snippety-snack, just like that! But the hill of death. Gosh, he would never do something that dumb, not even for a zillion billion dollars!
Henry rested on his parents’ side of the tent, on their airbed, playing quietly with his Star Wars Lego figurines. Mum popped her head inside. ‘Heno,’ she whispered, ‘a girl called Cassie is here to see you.’
‘A girl,’ said Patch, looking up from his phone. He rolled over onto his back. ‘Whoaah-ho! Fast mover.’ He gave Henry a nudge.
‘Shhh, you!’ Mum waved a finger.
Henry leapt up from the airbed. He slipped the Lego figurines into the tent pocket, then smoothed down his hair. When he came outside, he found Lulu talking to Cassie.
‘Look . . . look . . . these are my favourites, these three,’ she said, lining up the ponies on the table. ‘This is Peony that you saved from terrible doom! And this is Marigold and Violet. But I have lots of others. See, this one is Bluebell but she is quite greedy and ate too many apples and got sick and spent a lot of time in hospital and now, here, she has lost half the hair from her tail. This green one is Clover. One time, she was galloping and fell out the car window accidentally and got run over by a truck. That’s why she’s a bit flat and not so fast anymore. This one is Poppy and this one is Tulip and this one is Primrose. Primrose is bossy and always telling the others what to do. She thinks she is the most beautiful pony in the world, just because her tail is rainbow glitter. She is always telling the other ponies that they are not as beautiful as her and they don’t like to hear it.’
‘I guess they wouldn’t,’ said Cassie.
‘Do you think this one is pretty?’ asked Lulu.
The Grand, Genius Summer of Henry Hoobler Page 6