Perijee and Me

by Ross Montgomery

  ‘So where’s the report?’ said Mum excitedly. ‘Can I see it?’

  I thought lying would make my life easier – but I was wrong. At first it was just a little fib here and there, to stop Mum from worrying about me. But then one lie had led to another, and they’d grown and grown, until soon I was telling lies so big I had no idea how to stop them. Now I was dropping letters from school over the side of the boat every day, and burying all my homework in the back garden so Mum couldn’t see my bad marks …

  But my report was different.

  ‘It’s being posted,’ I said emptily.

  Mum sighed. ‘Oh, I can’t wait! We should send your father a copy when it arrives, too.’

  I felt the ground cave in under me.

  ‘You know how much he cares about your schoolwork,’ Mum added.

  I swallowed. ‘Yeah. Great idea.’

  I must have looked as miserable as I felt, because suddenly Mum stopped smiling. She squeezed my shoulder.

  ‘I know he’s tough on you,’ she said. ‘Your father isn’t the easiest person to live with. But he just wants you to do well. And now you’re finally getting good marks … well, it makes moving up here and giving up my job worth it. I’m so proud of you, Caitlin.’

  My heart sank. I couldn’t stand lying to Mum. Right then, I would have given anything for a distraction.

  The phone rang.

  ‘Going out!’ I screamed. ‘Love you!’

  I was out the house and across the fields before Mum could say another word. I breathed a sigh of relief – I’d done it again. I’d bought some time before she and Dad found out the truth. But not much. The report was coming and there was no way I could stop it.

  I shook my head – it didn’t matter. I’d think of some way to hide it when it arrived. I’d say it got lost. Or maybe I could even forge a copy with good marks written on it … but of course I couldn’t do that. My writing was almost as bad as my reading!

  I groaned. How was I going to look Mum and Dad in the eye and tell them that I was the worst in the year at science …?

  Squelch.

  I was standing knee-deep in thick black mud.

  ‘Ugh!’

  Middle Island isn’t all shingle beaches and no houses. Oh no. I forgot to mention the disgusting, smelly bogs that cover the rest of it. You can usually walk over them if you’re careful, but all the rain from the storm had made them like walking on jam. Only not delicious.

  I heaved myself out the mud. The whole island ahead was waterlogged. But I couldn’t go back home now – not when Mum wanted to talk about my report. I had to stay out until she was busy again. And the only other place I could get to from here was … Stinky Bay.

  ‘UGH!’ I groaned.

  I call it Stinky Bay because it stinks. I named everything on the island when we first moved here. There’s also Boring Field, Lonesome Hill, Friendless Cliff, Miserable Pond and The Soli-Tree. I’d tell you the others – but I can’t, because that is literally all there is on Middle Island.

  Stinky Bay smelled even worse than usual, because of all the dead prawns heaped along the shore and buzzing with flies. I slumped down on the shingle and threw stones at them.

  ‘Stupid island,’ I said.

  I remember when we used to live in the city. Our flat was at the top of a massive old building. The woman next door had seven dogs and the couple below us had triplets that screamed all night. It was noisy, but it was nice. I was happy.

  Then Dad came home and said that he’d bought a big house on the other side of the country and we were all moving there. I was so excited – my very own island! But Mum wasn’t happy at all. Why hadn’t Dad checked with her first? What was she going to do about her job?

  Dad shook his head – we had no choice. Now he was famous, he needed somewhere quiet to relax after his tours. And besides, he said, we had to get Caitlin into a decent school – one that could sort out her ‘academic issues’.

  ‘Stupid academic issues,’ I said, throwing stones.

  Dad wasn’t always like that. When I was younger, me and him used to do stuff together. Go to museums, or the aquarium – but I hardly ever saw him now. Whenever we spoke on the phone, he was always too busy to talk for more than a few minutes. And then when he did come home, all he and Mum did was argue. She’d go up to bed on her own, and he’d sit me down and ask me questions about school, and why I was still doing badly in science, and why was I so lazy, and didn’t I want to be a famous scientist like him when I grew up?

  That’s the problem with you, Caitlin. You don’t understand. You need good marks to be a scientist. You can’t mix up your letters and flip your numbers. You can’t be …

  ‘Stupid,’ I whispered.

  I looked up. Night had fallen already. It gets dark here so quickly – you turn around one moment and the sun’s gone. I threw a stone into the sea and it disappeared without a trace.

  I groaned. This was hopeless. I couldn’t spend the next six weeks stuck here by myself, counting down the days until Mum and Dad finally found out the truth. There had to be something around here that could fix it, something that could help me, anything …

  … And just like that, there was Perijee.

  He was lying on the stones right in front of me.

  He wasn’t Perijee yet. Not properly, anyway. This was before he grew up and took over the world. Back then, he was just a prawn.

  He wasn’t even a proper prawn. He had a shell and two long feelers and he was the same size as a prawn – but he was completely white.

  And still, too. Dead still.

  I crept over to him, a carpet of shingle crunching under my feet.

  ‘Oh wow,’ I said.

  His shell wasn’t like a normal shell at all. It was soft and warm, like candlewax. And there were these things all over him, like …

  ‘Oh wow.’

  He was covered from head to tail in letters. Letters I’d never seen before – symbols.

  They were carved into him.

  He wriggled. I fell over with a scream.

  ‘You’re alive!’

  He was – barely. He must have been out the water for hours. I quickly wrenched a welly off my foot and dipped it in the sea, then dropped him inside. He lay still in the water for a second – then his feelers twitched.

  ‘Phew!’ I said. ‘You’re OK.’

  I looked at him in amazement. I couldn’t believe it – I had a pet! My very own prawn! And a special one, too. His shell was white as paper. It might have been the moonlight, but for a second I could have sworn he was glowing.

  I ran all the way home in my socks, clutching the welly to my chest. By the time I reached the front door most of the water had slopped out and the prawn was kicking feebly at the bottom. I needed somewhere else to put him, quick.

  ‘The woodshed!’

  No one used the woodshed – it was almost falling down. But there was an old metal bucket at the back, full of rainwater and frogspawn. There were already a dozen frogs bobbing around the bottom.

  I emptied the welly into the murky water and peered inside. The prawn shone like a star at nighttime.

  ‘Wait here!’ I said. ‘I’ll get you some food!’

  I charged into the kitchen and climbed up onto the counters, rummaging through the cupboards. I had no idea what to feed a prawn. Did you have to buy them special food? Or could I just dump a Pot Noodle in the bucket and wait for the water to …

  ‘Caitlin!’

  I swung round. Mum was standing in the doorway, mouth open. She pointed at the floor.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  I looked down. I forgot my feet were covered in mud. So was the kitchen floor. And the counter. And the breadbin. And the bread.

  ‘Oops,’ I said.

  Mum put her head in her hands.

  ‘Caitlin,’ she groaned, ‘tell me you haven’t brought another animal home.’

  I tried to look like I didn’t know what she was talking about.

  ‘I do
n’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said.

  Mum folded her arms.

  ‘The otter, Caitlin. The one with rabies.’

  I blushed. ‘Er … I don’t recall …’

  ‘It was last week,’ said Mum. ‘Like the seagulls. And the lobster. And the jar of wasps you left floating in the bath.’

  I groaned. ‘For the last time, they were BEES! Mum, this is completely different, it’s …’

  ‘I don’t care if it’s the missing link,’ said Mum. ‘You can’t bring back everything you find on this island.’ She pointed to the door. ‘Take it back now.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘TAKE – IT – BACK.’

  She was doing Mum-face. There’s no getting past Mum-face. I thought about a million different things I could say to try and convince her, but I knew it was no good. I stormed out the house and slammed the door behind me.

  It was so unfair! Mum and Dad wanted me to be good at science, but they never let me do the fun stuff like collecting rat skeletons or building a flamethrower. It was all books, books, books. And anyway – what did Mum care what I did with my free time? It wasn’t like I’d be spending any of it with her while she sat on the computer all day! I mean for god’s sake, I could look after a flipping prawn …

  The woodshed floor was covered in water. The bucket had fallen over.

  ‘Oops,’ I said.

  The frogs were in a pile in the middle of the shed, scrambling over each other. They were trying to get away from the bucket as fast as they could. Away from …

  Away from the thing crawling out from inside it.

  It was the prawn. Sort of. He was still white and covered in symbols.

  But he had frog legs.

  My mouth hit the floor. ‘How did … how did you …’

  He hopped over to one of the frogs and looked it up and down. Like he was studying it.

  Then his stomach swelled out, and his eyes bulged, and his feelers disappeared. Soon he was exactly the same as the frog in front of him. Still bright white, still covered in carvings … but that was it. In every other way, he was a perfect copy.

  Then he ate it in one gulp.

  I had to steady myself on the door. This was more than a pet. This was the greatest pet in the history of the world. This was a miracle.

  But whatever he was, he wasn’t going to last five minutes in the woodshed. The second Mum found him, he’d get thrown away faster than my Bee Maracas. I needed somewhere to hide him – somewhere safe.

  Somewhere no one would look in a million years….

  ‘Caitlin?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What did you do to the guest room?’

  I sat bolt upright. Mum was standing at my bedroom door with a face like thunder.

  ‘It looks like you ran a sodding car through it,’ she said.

  I panicked. I’d shut the frog in the guest room the night before. I figured he was safe in there – I mean, we never had any guests.

  ‘Did you see anything … unusual when you went in?’ I asked.

  ‘I saw the hole you left in the door,’ said Mum.

  I gawped.

  ‘A hole?!’

  ‘A hole.’

  I thought about it.

  ‘… How big is the hole?’

  ‘Big enough,’ said Mum.

  I leapt out of bed and charged past her. She spun round in surprise.

  ‘Hey …!’

  I skidded to a stop at the guest room. There was a hole in the middle of the door as big as a football. The frog was gone.

  ‘Get back here, young lady!’

  I was in trouble – big trouble. But this was too important. With every second, the frog was getting further away. I had to think, fast. I shoved on my woolly bobble hat and yellow wellies, and flew outside just as Mum appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Caitlin!’

  I slammed the door shut behind me. No going back now. There was a path trampled through the fields ahead – it had to be him. I ran along it as fast as I could, praying that I wasn’t too late, praying that he hadn’t managed to get back to the sea already …

  I stopped just before I fell headfirst into the bogs.

  There he was, right in front of me. He was stuck in the mud, trying to wrench himself out. He’d grown even bigger overnight – he still looked like a frog, but now he was the size of a fat dog. He was absolutely terrified.

  ‘Hey!’ I shouted.

  He swung round, his eyes wide and scared. I waded into the mud after him.

  ‘Stay there!’ I said. ‘I’m coming to get you!’

  The second I did, he panicked. He started squealing and thrashing his arms around. It looked like he was getting bigger too, right in front of me. I waved my hands.

  ‘No!’ I said. ‘Stay still! If you keep moving you’ll sink!’

  But he didn’t stop. He thrashed and thrashed – and that wasn’t all he was doing. His whole body was changing colour, from bright white to purple. He was growing new arms too, springing them out his head and flailing them around while he sank deeper and deeper into the mud …

  I grabbed an arm and pulled him as hard as I could. His head popped out again, spitting and spluttering. But the rest of him stayed stuck in place. It was amazing. I pulled and pulled, and his whole body just stretched out like a bit of gum.

  ‘Wow!’ I gasped. ‘What are you made of?’

  He finally came unstuck with a great shlump and we both sprawled back onto the grass. I sat up, panting for breath. He lay on the ground in front of me, plastered with mud, his arms all stretched out and floppy like a big deflated octopus.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I said.

  He didn’t say anything, obviously. He just stared at me with those tiny black eyes – like two full stops on a blank page.

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I shut you in the guest room. I was just trying to keep you safe. I didn’t mean to scare you.’

  He lay there, his chest sinking like a balloon until he was his old size again. He started slowly turning back to white. I gulped.

  ‘How … how can you change colour like that?’ I murmured.

  He said nothing. He looked so helpless.

  ‘Here,’ I said. ‘Let me clean you up.’

  He let me wipe the mud off him. This time he didn’t scream or try to run away.

  ‘See?’ I said gently. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. Just one more bit here and I’m done …’

  I wiped the mud off his chin, and as I did something appeared – like I’d drawn it on with my thumb. A thin black line.

  A mouth.

  ‘Hey!’ I cried. ‘How did you …’

  Suddenly he was opening and closing it right in front of me. Then he was on his feet, sucking his extra arms and legs back inside him like spaghetti and stumbling towards me. I fell back, terrified.

  ‘No!’ I screamed. ‘Don’t eat me!’

  His tiny dot eyes flickered across my face. A pair of ears popped out either side of his head. Then his skull started stretching up, warping and squidging into a point. A little ball popped out the end.

  A bobble.

  I grabbed my hat in disbelief.

  ‘… Are you copying me?!’

  He didn’t stop. His feet swelled into the shape of wellies. He held up his flippers and started growing fingers on them – two on one, and four on the other. He looked up at me, confused.

  ‘T-ten,’ I said quietly, holding up my hands.

  He copied slowly, finger by finger, looking up each time to check. Then when he was done he stood in front of me. He was like a tiny, bright white mini-Caitlin.

  I was gobsmacked. This wasn’t a prawn, or a frog. This was … something else.

  ‘The meteor shower,’ I whispered. ‘That was you, wasn’t it?’

  The alien didn’t say anything.

  ‘Er … OK then,’ I said. ‘Welcome to Earth, I guess. I’m Caitlin.’

  I stuck out my hand for him to shake. He looked at it for a b
it. Then he reached out and held it, like I was his mum.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Not like that. Like this.’

  I tried shaking it, but he didn’t get it. He just held on really tight and wouldn’t let go. It was quite cute, to be honest. With his drawn-on smile and his hat and his wellies, he really did look like a little person.

  Or a brother.

  I stopped shaking.

  My very own baby brother.

  And suddenly, my summer holidays didn’t look so boring any more.

  I found an old bathtub in a field and covered it with a picnic blanket.

  ‘There!’ I told him. ‘One comfy, alien-sized bed. You can sleep outside now, seeing as the storm used up all the rain. Now, make sure you don’t go anywhere near the house – Mum’ll flip if she sees you. She doesn’t understand pets. What about food – are you hungry?’

  He was. He ate everything I could find – and I mean everything. He ate the bark off the trees. He hoovered up the dead jellyfish off the beach like gumdrops. Stones, mud, clothes … whatever it was, he swallowed it down and cried for more. I had to stay up all night, sneaking food out the kitchen and carrying it to the bathtub to keep him happy.

  I was emptying all the cereal into a pillowcase the next morning when Mum walked in.

  ‘It’s not what it looks like,’ I said.

  ‘I’m sure it isn’t,’ said Mum.

  I stood frozen to the kitchen counter, waiting for the moment she’d start screaming at me. I hadn’t even seen her since running out the day before. She walked over to the oven and hit it with a poker until it worked – everything in the house is broken.

  ‘Caitlin?’ she said.

  My heart pounded. ‘… Yes, Mum?’

  ‘Are you happy here?’

  It wasn’t what I’d expected her to say at all.

  ‘What makes you think I’m not happy?’ I said.

  ‘Well, you smashed up the guest room yesterday,’ she said. ‘And now you’re filling a pillowcase with cereal.’

  I tried to think of a good reason to be doing either of those things. I gave up.