First published in 2015
Copyright © Text, Samantha Turnbull 2015
Copyright © Illustrations, Sarah Davis 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Email: [email protected]
Web: www.allenandunwin.com
A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia
www.trove.nla.gov.au
ISBN 978 174331 986 4
eISBN 978 174343 985 2
Cover and text design by Vida & Luke Kelly
For Katie, Norman, Marie and Don
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
A fluorescent green string of snot is dangling from Chloe’s nose like a pendulum. She has never looked prouder.
‘That is seriously disgusting, sis’ says her brother, Alex. ‘Get a tissue.’
He’s right. I have a strong stomach when it comes to gross stuff, but even I’m feeling a little queasy looking at Chloe’s nasal mucus.
Chloe pokes out her tongue and shakes her head so the stretchy tendril wobbles a little more.
‘Kala myxa, Chloe,’ her grandmother chuckles. ‘The best this week.’
‘Myxa?’ I ask.
Chloe translates Yiayia’s Greek. ‘Nice slime.’
Alex is almost choking on his toast. ‘Yiayia! How could you encourage something so sick?’
‘Relax,’ Yiayia says. ‘Would I be laughing if it was real?’
Chloe pinches the string between her thumb and forefinger and pulls it from her nose. ‘Behold, my latest creation,’ she says, swinging it above her head like a lasso. ‘Snot made from water, gelatine, golden syrup and a touch of green food colouring.’
Alex snatches the specimen from his sister and throws it at the wall. It sticks and slowly slides down to the floor. ‘You had me going there,’ he says. ‘Good one, Chloe.’
Trust Chloe Karalis to cook up a batch of fake snot for fun. She’s a science whiz – who also happens to be one of my three best friends.
I’m Grace Bennett. I’ve stopped in at Chloe’s on my way to athletics practice.
Alex is home from boarding school for the holidays. Next week he’ll be starting his final year of school ever. I can’t imagine being so old. Chloe and I will be going into fifth grade. We’re ten.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Grace?’ Yiayia asks.
I check my watch. Half past four. ‘I better not, Yiayia. My mum is going to pick me up any minute.’
Yiayia places cups of chamomile tea in front of Chloe and Alex and kisses the tops of their heads. ‘I miss you when you’re at school, Alex,’ she says. ‘Your sister does too.’
Chloe has re-attached the snot to her nostril.
Alex sips his tea, peering over the top of the cup. ‘Ah, my precious sister,’ he says. ‘What a delicate little flower you are.’
He’s being sarcastic. Chloe and I, and our two best friends Emily Martin and Bella Singh, are more like tough cacti than delicate flowers.
The four of us are anti-princesses. Officially.
Last year we formed the Anti-Princess Club. It’s for girls who are sick of being treated like princesses…or delicate flowers. None of us understand why anyone would want to be Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella instead of Aladdin or Peter Pan. That’s the problem with fairytales – the girls are always so boring and helpless. We anti-princesses call them unfairytales.
Beep, beep, beep. Beep. Beep.
‘That’s Mum,’ I say. ‘Thanks for having me.’
Thwack. As I stand up to leave, Chloe’s snot hits me in the forehead. She grabs her ribs and bends over, heaving with giggles.
‘Chloe, why did you do that?’ Alex asks. ‘Apologise to Grace.’
I roll my eyes. Alex still hasn’t learnt the anti-princess motto: We Don’t Need Rescuing.
I pry the slime from my face and roll it into a ball between my palms. ‘Good shot, Chloe,’ I say. ‘Or should I say good snot?’
As I hug my friend goodbye I slyly slip the green ball into her cup of tea and wink at Alex.
Emily and I are sitting in her bedroom chatting to some of the other Anti-Princess Club members.
When we first started the club, it was just us four best friends: Emily, Chloe, Bella and me. But as word got out, hundreds of other girls from around the country wanted to join. And the numbers just keep climbing.
We weren’t sure how to wrangle such a big group at first. Our headquarters is an amazing treehouse in Bella’s backyard, but even that wouldn’t fit four hundred potential anti-princesses.
So Emily, being the club president as well as a mathematician and computer genius, built a website where everyone can meet in the virtual world. She moderates a chatroom set up specifically to help anti-princesses with their maths homework.
‘Looks like there are a couple of girls freaking out about third-grade maths,’ I say. ‘Shouldn’t they be enjoying their last few days of holiday time?’
Emily flips the laptop screen closed. ‘They’re just worrywarts,’ she says. ‘They’ll be fine. Especially if they get a good teacher.’
I wonder who our new teacher will be.
Chloe, Emily, Bella and I had Ms Bayliss as our fourth-grade teacher. I think she secretly loved us anti-princesses, but teachers can’t appear to have favourites.
‘I hope we get someone as nice as Ms Bayliss,’ I say. ‘But not Miss Shapiro. I hear she’s not into sport.’
Emily scratches her chin. She does that when she’s thinking. ‘Hmmm, well, that leaves Mr Ashton and Mrs Hughes for fifth-grade teachers,’ she says. ‘And I’d prefer Mrs Hughes, because she runs the computer club.’
There’s a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ Emily says.
Her dad’s head pops through the doorway.
‘Hi, Mr Martin,’ I say. ‘Welcome home.’
Emily’s dad is a soldier in the Army. He’s just arrived back from somewhere in the Middle East.
‘Hi, Grace,’ he says. ‘I just wanted to check if you girls would like mattresses set up downstairs in front of the TV or if you’ll be staying up here.’
I’m sleeping over at Emily’s. It’s always fun hanging with her family. Her mum is a little strange – she’s a beautician with an at-home s
alon, AKA torture chamber – but her dad is easygoing, and her little sister, Ava, is super smart just like Emily.
‘Maybe we’ll sleep downstairs so we can watch some movies with Ava,’ Emily says. ‘Thanks, Dad, we’ll be down soon.’
Emily’s dad shuts the door and she flips her laptop open again.
She shoos me away with one hand while typing with the other.
‘Head downstairs and start watching the movie,’ she says. ‘It’s Cinderella…just kidding! It’s Bend It Like Beckham – an oldie but a goodie.’
I let out a little cheer and take one last look at Emily’s screen. The frantic soon-to-be third-graders are typing pleas for help thick and fast.
‘The teacher who gets those girls should be paying you,’ I say. ‘This is more than an online chatroom. It’s an online classroom.’
Bella is bobbing in a sea of plastic drinking straws, oblivious to Chloe, Emily and me standing right behind her.
‘Bats,’ she mumbles.
I don’t see any bats – the blood-sucking vampire kind or the cricket variety.
‘Er, hello, Bella,’ I say. ‘We’re all here.’
Bella jumps, and a pile of at least three hundred carefully arranged straws collapses on the grass around the ladder to the treehouse.
‘Did you mean to say drats?’ Emily asks. ‘Because it looks like you’re having a bit of trouble with whatever you’re making here.’
Bella wipes her brow with her forearm as we kneel down to help her clean up the mess. ‘No, I meant to say BATS,’ she says. ‘It stands for beams, arches, trusses and suspensions.’
An acronym. I should’ve known it was something to do with construction. Bella is a designer and builder. She loves anything artistic, but is especially good at creating complicated structures like the Anti-Princess Club headquarters.
‘I’m working on a prototype for a bridge from the deck to the treehouse,’ she says. ‘But I just can’t figure out what sort to build.’
Chloe, Emily and I all turn our heads at once to look at the back deck of Bella’s house. We then look at the treehouse, then back at the deck. Treehouse, deck, treehouse, deck.
‘You guys look like you’re watching a tennis match,’ Bella laughs. ‘What’s up?’
The treehouse is a long way from Bella’s back deck. A bridge between the two would have to be enormous.
I don’t doubt Bella’s ability to build it, and her parents are so cool I bet they’d allow it. But, still, a bridge like that could take forever.
‘How will you find the time?’ I ask. ‘And why? It’s not as if you’ve got a huge river flowing through your backyard. We can easily walk across the grass to the treehouse.’
Bella sighs and dumps the last lot of straws in a bucket. ‘You’re right. I guess I’ve just been a little bored these holidays.’
She climbs the ladder to the treehouse and we all follow.
‘I can’t wait for fifth grade,’ Bella continues. ‘I need some cool projects to sink my teeth into. Speaking of sinking teeth into things, who wants a choccie?’
I grab a fistful of mini bars from the jar Bella offers around. I’m always ravenous. I think it must have something to do with the fact I’m always exercising.
‘What teacher do you want, Bella?’ I ask through my mouthful of chocolate. ‘And what about you, Chloe?’
They both shrug their shoulders.
‘I’m not too bothered,’ Bella says. ‘But I’m worried about being put in a class alone.’
A glum feeling washes over us. The fifth grade is divided into four classes, and it doesn’t take Emily’s maths skills to figure out the odds of all four of us staying in the same class aren’t great. We’ve been lucky to go through every year in the same room so far.
‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘We’ve been best friends since kindergarten, remember? Different classrooms won’t change that.’
Bella gulps down a piece of chocolate and nods. ‘You’re right. I need to build a bridge and get over it.’
I laugh so hard that I spit out a chunk of brown chocolate mush. I point at it. ‘It looks like poo!’ I squeal.
The anti-princesses collapse with laughter.
‘That’s another reason we’re such good buddies,’ Bella says. ‘We don’t mind being a bit disgusting every now and then.’
The trouble with having three brothers is that I’m always falling into the toilet.
For such a big family, it would really help to have a second bathroom, but our home is kind of cosy.
I pull myself out of the toilet bowl and flip down the seat. ‘Can you pleeeeeeease remember to put the seat down?’ I yell at no one in particular.
‘Sorry, Grace,’ Tom’s voice calls back. ‘Hope your bum’s not too wet!’
I hear the other boys laughing in the distance. Tom is the oldest, he’s thirteen. Then there’s me, ten going on eleven. Oliver is eight and Harry is six.
Mum knocks on the door as I’m washing my hands. ‘Grace, can I come in? I’ve got something to show you.’
I honestly can’t hide anywhere around here. No wonder I have so many sleepovers at the other anti-princesses’ houses.
‘Geez, Mum,’ I say. ‘Can you wait till I get out of the bathroom?’
‘I’m sorry, Grace, but it’s just too exciting to wait,’ she says, opening the door. ‘You’re going to love this.’
Mum’s holding an envelope. She pulls out a folded piece of paper. ‘We got it in the mail today from the national soccer federation,’ she says. ‘I wanted to show you first.’
I scan over the first few lines.
We wish to give you advance notice of an upcoming match to be played at Newcastle City Stadium. The Newcastle Jets will play Manchester United on March 6 at 3pm.
A first round of ticket sales for selected VIPs will take place before remaining tickets are made available to the wider public.
I stop reading and jump up and down, almost slipping on the bathroom tiles. ‘This is sooooo exciting! Dad can get the whole family tickets in that first round!’
Manchester United is the most famous soccer team in the world. I can hardly believe they’re coming to my town. Tickets will sell out for sure.
Dad is a Very Important Person because he’s one of the best junior coaches in Newcastle. Right now he’s at a tournament on the other side of the state with some of his elite players.
Mum puts the letter back in the envelope. ‘It can be a surprise for when he gets home,’ she says. ‘Unless he hears about it on the grapevine before then.’
I give Mum a hug. She’s come a long way.
Mum and Dad were both raised in the country by old-fashioned parents. Dad actually grew up in the outback surrounded by boys. He’d barely met any girls before Mum.
So, until recently, Mum and Dad weren’t too keen on me doing anything physical apart from ballet. They thought sweating wasn’t ladylike, or something ridiculous. But once they found out that sport was my greatest love, they caved in and let me give up ballet so I could concentrate on athletics and soccer.
I guess it also helped when they saw me win every sprint in the Junior District Athletics Carnival. I was the fastest kid there – boy or girl. I don’t mean to sound like a bragger when I say that. It’s just a fact.
Tom appears in the bathroom doorway and Mum quickly hides the letter behind her back.
‘What’s going on in here, then?’ he asks. ‘Do you two like hanging around toilets?’
I roll my eyes.
‘It’s just…just girls’ stuff,’ Mum says. ‘Move along.’
Tom looks scared by the prospect of ‘girls’ stuff ’ and jogs down the hallway. The front door slams and the sound of his footsteps trails off outside.
‘I want to keep it a secret from the boys until your dad gets home,’ Mum says. ‘It’ll be a nice surprise for everyone.’
I link pinky fingers with her to promise I won’t blab.
Well, I won’t blab to my brothers, but I may just have t
o send an email to the anti-princesses. It’s too sensational to keep all to myself.
Chloe twists her long black hair into a bun and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
She passes her hairbrush to me and I give my blonde fringe the once-over. I don’t look in the mirror. That’s the good thing about having short hair, it doesn’t take much boring maintenance.
‘Did you know that scientists can test hair to see what has been through someone’s bloodstream?’ Chloe asks. ‘I might keep a few strands from that brush and run some tests myself.’
Bella has already braided her brown curls, so I offer the brush to Emily.
She doesn’t take it. Instead, she flips her red mop upside down and piles it under a baseball cap. ‘Don’t tell Mum I did that. She’d expect ribbons and bows on the first day back, but I just can’t be bothered.’
We’re getting ready at Chloe’s because it’s walking distance from school. Her parents left early this morning to take Alex back to his dorm, so it’s just us and Yiayia.
I hear the kettle whistle from the kitchen. ‘Breakfast is ready,’ Yiayia calls. ‘An extra-special meal for the first day of school.’
A tray of honey-drenched pastries is waiting on the table. We dig in, and for a minute or two there’s no sound but the occasional satisfied groan.
There are always plenty of delicious treats at Chloe’s place. Her apartment is above her family’s Greek restaurant. Chloe actually invents some of the recipes they use. She says mixing ingredients can be similar to scientific experiments.
Chloe licks her fingers and collects our plates. ‘We better head off,’ she says. ‘Don’t want to be late on our first day.’
We all grab our backpacks and kiss Yiayia goodbye.
‘Kali tychi,’ Yiayia says. ‘That means good luck. Not that you need it.’
As we hit the street, Chloe links arms with me. ‘Are you nervous?’ she asks. ‘You know, now that it’s actually happening.’
‘I’m okay,’ I say. ‘It’s like we were saying before. We’ll all be okay, even if we are split up.’
Emily’s eyeballs are moving from side to side as she counts the heads in the assembly hall.
Grace's Dance Disaster Page 1