by Tim Harris
‘Sorry, buddy,’ I say.
A piece of paper is lying on the floor by my bag. It must have fallen out. I pick it up and read it. It’s the note Mr Bambuckle was talking about.
I try to prepare dinner but I find it hard to concentrate. I keep thinking about the note and the possibility of winning a new car. I want to win the drone race for Pop. He needs a car more than anybody else in Blue Valley.
It’s almost six o’clock when the phone rings.
It’s Pop.
‘Carrot, the chain has fallen off my bike again,’ he says. ‘I’ll be home late.’
Pop never complains about his life, but I can sense frustration in his voice.
‘Okay, see you later,’ I say, more determined than ever to win.
Mr Bambuckle empties the contents of a plastic container on my desk. I look down at the table and scratch my head. There are a lot of wires, bits of metal and screws I know nothing about.
Mr Sternblast pokes his head through the door into the classroom. ‘What’s going on, Bambuckle?’
‘Carrot is about to discover his wonderful problem-solving skills,’ replies Mr Bambuckle.
‘Looks like another nonsense lesson to me,’ spits Mr Sternblast.
‘Perhaps, but I’m backing Carrot to discover a thing or two about himself over the next few days,’ says Mr Bambuckle. He smiles and gives me one of his winks. I always feel better when he does that.
Mr Sternblast frowns and disappears from the doorway.
‘As you know,’ says Mr Bambuckle, ‘the big race is next week. Today you will begin to make your drones.’
Vex Vron sneers. ‘Too easy,’ he says. ‘Even a baby could make a drone out of this stuff. It’s practically already made.’
Mr Bambuckle pats Vex on the shoulder. ‘You’re as generous with your words as your father is with motor vehicles.’
‘It’s easy to give away cars when you own three car yards,’ boasts Vex.
‘And it’s a good thing you don’t own three mouths,’ says Mr Bambuckle.
‘Whatever,’ huffs Vex.
Mr Bambuckle empties another plastic container on Evie’s desk. ‘I am happy to help should anyone need me. Otherwise, feel free to experiment with your equipment. Remember to consider flight shape and aerodynamics.’
‘Aero-dy-what-what?’ I say.
‘Aerodynamics,’ snorts Vex. ‘You should know all about that, pigeon boy – judging by the bird poo on your shoulder.’
Vex laughs and brings his equipment over to my table. He dumps his stuff next to mine. He always sits next to me when he wants to poke fun.
‘Go on, Carrot,’ he smirks, ‘paint everything orange before you put it together. It’ll match your stupid hair.’
I ignore him and take a pencil from under my desk.
‘That’s not going to help you build a drone,’ Vex teases.
He has been acting extra mean lately. I’m not sure what it’s all about, but the last few days have been bad. It’s almost like he’s trying too hard to be a bully.
I start writing on a piece of paper.
‘You’re supposed to be making your drone,’ he scoffs.
I continue writing.
‘Mr Bambuckle,’ complains Vex, ‘Carrot is wasting time. He’s supposed to be working on his drone.’
Mr Bambuckle walks over and smiles. ‘No, he’s writing his letter for the race.’
Vex frowns.
‘Who are you writing to, Carrot?’ asks Mr Bambuckle. I can tell he is interested. He’s good like that.
‘Pop,’ I say. ‘I want to write something special because he’s the only family I’ve got.’
‘He’s a stupid old dinosaur,’ huffs Vex.
‘Remember what we said about dinosaurs and pests?’ warns Mr Bambuckle.
Evie giggles.
I’m used to getting teased, so I block it out. I concentrate on what I’m writing. I want to tell Pop how much he means to me. I want to tell Pop how I wish life was easier for him. I let the words flow onto the page.
‘That’s one of the dumbest letters I’ve ever seen,’ sneers Vex. He has been reading over my shoulder.
I fold the letter and put it under my desk.
‘Writing that stupid letter was a waste of time anyway. I’m going to win this race.’
I look Vex in the eye. ‘You’ll be hard to beat,’ I say politely. ‘Mr Bambuckle is right – your father is a generous man for donating a car to the winner.’
‘You bet he is,’ boasts Vex. ‘And when I win, I’ll take the money instead of the car. Dad said so.’
‘All the best to you,’ I say, turning to the bits and pieces of drone on my desk. I’m ready to try putting it together.
Jones is excited to see me. He lets out a happy coo and flutters over to my shoulder. I let him peck some food from the palm of my hand. Feeding time is always my favourite part of the day.
Pop likes to watch me feed Jones. He often joins me at the aviary.
‘He’s a fine pigeon,’ he says. ‘Did I ever tell you the story about when I bought him?’
I shake my head as Jones nibbles more food from my hand.
‘It was a glorious spring day,’ says Pop. ‘I wanted to get you a pet because I wanted you to know what it’s like to care for someone else. It’s important to care for others.’
I nod to show Pop that I’m listening.
‘I bought Jones from old Pete, down at the river. He and I used to work together, many years ago. Anyway, Pete said that Jones came from a fine line of pigeon. He was his very best young bird.’
Jones coos, as if he can understand Pop’s story.
‘I had to ride my bike to Pete’s, of course,’ continues Pop. ‘So I put Jones in the basket at the back of my bike and started riding home. But something strange happened.’
‘What happened, Pop?’
‘I got halfway home and stopped to check if Jones was okay.’
‘Was he okay?’ I ask.
‘He was gone,’ says Pop. ‘He had disappeared.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘Well,’ says Pop, ‘not knowing what to do, I rode back to Pete’s to explain that I’d lost the bird. I was very embarrassed. But to my surprise, Jones was there. He had flown back to Pete’s on his own.’
‘Why?’ I ask.
‘His parents were champion homing pigeons,’ explains Pop. ‘They could fly back to Pete’s house from anywhere in the state. Pete would drive for hundreds of miles, then let the pigeons out of their cages – just for fun. They would always find their way back home.’
‘So that’s why Jones flew back to Pete’s,’ I say. ‘He wanted to fly home and he knew the way.’
‘That’s right,’ says Pop. ‘But he has a new home now – with us.’
I open the aviary door and put Jones inside.
Pop grimaces and rubs his neck. ‘I’m going to have to ride back into town,’ he says. ‘I need some stronger medication.’
I watch as Pop hobbles to his bike and gets on. The pedals squeak and the handlebars wobble. I can see Pop’s knees struggle in pain. He shouldn’t have to go through this every time he needs new medication.
I think about the drone race and winning the car. I know it would change Pop’s life forever. I know I can win the race.
Tomorrow is testing day. I will be able to see how fast my drone can fly.
Vex is standing next to me on the school oval. ‘Your drone is pathetic,’ he says. ‘It won’t fly half as fast as mine. It won’t even fly as fast as your useless grandfather on his old bike.’
I ignore him, though I don’t like it when he teases Pop.
Mr Bambuckle paces along the row of nervous students. ‘Make sure you fly gently to begin with,’ he instructs. ‘Try hovering overhead to get used to the feel of your controls. You most certainly don’t want to rush.’
I can hear the clicks of students inserting fresh batteries into their remotes.
‘I drove to school in one of Dad’s new
cars today,’ boasts Vex. ‘Not that you’d know anything about cars, Carrot. How was the stupid bus trip this morning?’
I try to smile, though I’m getting tired of the comments.
‘Dear students, the race is tomorrow,’ explains Mr Bambuckle. ‘Today is about taking it easy. A crash at this stage of the project would be quite a setback.’
‘I’ll race you to the big tree on the other side of the oval,’ says Vex.
‘Didn’t you hear?’ I say. ‘We should go slow.’
‘Slow is for losers – just like you,’ says Vex, turning his remote on. His drone shoots into the air and zips to the other side of the oval.
Mr Bambuckle’s blue suit sparkles in the sunlight. He gives me a knowing smile, before walking to the other end of the line.
I turn my remote on and power up the drone. I let the blades work up to speed, before allowing the drone to hover a few centimetres above the grass.
‘What’s the matter?’ sneers Vex. ‘Has your orange hair scared the drone to death?’
I’m becoming angry now, but I control my temper and guide the drone further into the air, about head height.
‘You should put your head in the blades,’ says Vex. ‘You’d look better bald.’
He has flown his drone back and it is hovering inches above mine. ‘Come on,’ he dares. ‘I’ll race you to the big tree and back.’
‘I’m not interested,’ I say.
‘You’re pathetic,’ says Vex. ‘No wonder you don’t have a proper family.’
That’s it. He’s crossed the line this time. Without thinking, I lurch my thumb forward on the control and my drone whizzes across the oval.
Vex doesn’t miss a beat and does the same. Our drones are flying neck and neck above the grass. They hurtle towards the tree at lightning speed.
I make a sharp turn left and the drone curves around the tree. Vex turns right and flies the opposite way. The drones almost collide on the other side of the tree. Then they are heading back to us.
Everyone is watching. Kids start to cheer.
‘Go, Carrot!’
‘Look at his drone!’
‘It’s so fast!’
‘Yay for Carrot!’
The drones are over halfway back. There’s nothing in the race.
Vex’s drone tries to push mine out of the way. But I see it coming. I dodge it and take the lead.
Vex elbows me in the side. I stand firm.
I’ve won!
My drone shoots overhead to claim the victory. Jealousy is written all over Vex’s face. He’s taken his eyes off his own drone to stare at mine. Vex’s drone zooms across his scalp, the blades cutting away his black hair. He has a massive bald patch on the top of his head.
Everyone is laughing. Even Mr Bambuckle is trying to keep a straight face. I’m almost certain I hear him say, ‘What a dashing trim.’
Vex says something I don’t understand. I think it’s a rude word. He doesn’t look very happy at all.
I fly my drone back to where I’m standing and land it on the grass.
A shower of hair trimmings spurts from Vex’s drone as he steers it in to do the same.
‘Well, my dear boys,’ says Mr Bambuckle, ‘now that we’ve got that out of our system, it’s time for some gentler flying.’
Vex narrows his eyes and glares at me. ‘You may have won today, but you’re going down tomorrow.’
Mr Bambuckle is standing behind Vex. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ he says. ‘Carrot’s drone is one of the finest I’ve seen. He’ll be quite the racer to beat.’
I smile. I’m feeling good about the race. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
The morning drags on. I want it to be lunchtime. I want to start the drone race.
Pop has stayed home because he has to be there to collect the letter. I hope I get it to him quickly. I hope I win the car for him.
Everyone has an extra member of their family at school to cheer them on. Mr Bambuckle has let me bring in Jones because I don’t have anyone else. I guess technically you could call Jones family.
Most kids have one parent at home to collect the letter and one at school. A couple of kids have invited their uncles or aunties. They probably don’t have a large family – just like me.
Vex has brought his dad to school. He looks like a bigger, meaner version of his big, mean son.
Vex is wearing a hat to cover up his bald patch. Mr Vron is wearing an identical hat. The hats have Vron Motors written on them in big white letters.
I work hard on my drone, making the final preparations. Jones sits on my shoulder and coos softly as I fiddle away. He nibbles my ear, which means he’s happy.
I attach a camera to the drone so I can see where I am flying. I put Pop’s letter inside a plastic envelope and tie it firmly to the drone’s body.
Some of the parents are bossy and make big changes to the drones. I can hear a few kids complaining. The bossy parents must want to win the car.
Jones just coos and watches intently as I work. I’m glad he’s not bossy.
Vex has been eyeing me all morning. I’m not sure if I’m imaging it but Mr Vron has been eyeing me too. They’re up to something and I don’t know what it is. I can see Mr Vron hissing something in Vex’s ear. Vex doesn’t look happy but he nods his head anyway.
Mr Bambuckle gives us our final instruction for the session. ‘Great work, everyone,’ he says. ‘It’s now time for your music lesson in the music room. The drones are to be left here to charge. Make sure you double-check the power point and batteries. They must be fully charged for the race.’
I can hear a couple of panicked gasps. Our preparation time is over.
Mr Bambuckle talks to the family members of the students. ‘I would be most delighted if you would join me for an early lunch. We’ll meet the students at the oval after their music lesson.’
Mr Vron gives Vex a threatening look.
I plug my drone in and double-check everything. It’s all ready to go.
I follow the class to music, though Vex lingers behind.
Everyone is lined up on the oval. My hands are shaking now. I think I’m nervous because I know I can win the race. I can’t stop thinking about winning the car.
Vex is standing at the far end of the line. It’s not like him to be standing so far away from the action. He glances at me every now and then, which makes me even more nervous. I can understand why Jones poos unexpectedly from time to time. I feel like I want to do that now too.
Mr Bambuckle has put a rope up to separate the students from their cheering family members. Though he has made an exception for Jones, who is allowed to stay on my shoulder.
‘Most excellent students,’ says Mr Bambuckle, ‘power up your drones!’
A wonderful whizzing sound fills the air. It’s as though a million bumblebees have started beating their wings.
Every blade of every drone is working up to speed. Except mine. My drone sits there doing nothing.
‘Let the race begin!’ announces Mr Bambuckle.
Drones take off left, right and centre. They zip in every direction like a frenzied flock of birds. One crashes into a tree. Another slams into one of the school windows. Mine sits on the grass. I don’t know what has gone wrong.
I quickly check the batteries in the remote. They’re charged.
I lean down and look at the drone. The blades are all plugged in.
I open up the engine hood. Disaster! The wires have been cut!
I glance over at Vex. He catches my eye and then quickly looks back up at his drone. His cheeks turn red.
I don’t know what to do.
The drones are now almost out of sight and the students click their remotes over to tracking mode. They watch the screens on their remotes to see what the cameras are seeing. All I can see is a motionless drone.
Mr Bambuckle walks calmly over. ‘Is everything all right, Carrot?’
I point to my drone on the ground. Mr Bambuckle looks at the cut wires.
He pats me on the shoulder. ‘For every great problem, there’s an equally great solution. And don’t worry about the drone – I’ll get to the bottom of it.’
I’m trying not to cry. I think about Pop. I think about how badly I wanted to win the race for him. I should have been more careful. I should have made sure everything was okay. But I didn’t. Pop deserves better than this.
I’m crying now. I can’t help it. Tears roll down my cheeks like little, shiny streams.
‘I’ve let Pop down,’ I sob. ‘It’s all my fault.’
Jones senses my sadness and rubs his chest on my neck.
Mr Bambuckle maintains his warm smile and winks at me. ‘Remember, Carrot, there is always a great solution.’
A solution. A thought flashes through my mind like electricity through a wire.
Jones!
I point to the drone. ‘Jones, do you think you can deliver the drone? Can you take it to Pop?’
Jones flutters off my shoulder and lands on the drone. His feet grip the top and he expands his wings. He looks much bigger with his wings like that. He starts to flap them.
‘The drone is light, Jones,’ I encourage. ‘You can do it. I’ll turn on the camera when you’re in the air.’
Mr Bambuckle is impressed. ‘Indeed, a great solution.’
Jones keeps flapping his wings and the drone lifts off the ground.
‘Go, Jones!’ I cheer. ‘Take it to Pop.’
Jones is fast. He’s already on the other side of the oval. He’s getting higher and flapping harder. He’s flying out of sight.
I flick the remote on and watch the screen. Jones has carried the drone high into the air. I can see the roofs of houses and cars that look like crawling insects. I see the tops of trees and blue dots that must be swimming pools. I see a familiar park. I see familiar streets. I see my neighbour’s roof. Jones is flying home. He’s actually flying home. He’s delivering the drone to Pop.
I hear Vex’s voice yell out at the other end of the line. ‘I’ve won!’
I don’t pay him any attention. I keep watching my screen.
Jones glides the drone down to our house. I can see Pop waiting at the mailbox. He’s waving up at Jones and the drone. His face is calm, as though he’s not at all surprised. The camera glides in smoothly and hovers just above him. He reaches out and takes the letter out of the envelope.