So Sick!

by J A Mawter

  Instant projectile.

  Salt and BO. The moron must’ve wiped himself with the hanky! I have never drunk water again, unless it’s out of a bottle.

  I think of Mr Epeler whose armpits remind me of a mouse. But what if it died like Tinkerbell? I have visions of this poor little mouse, dead under Mr Epeler’s armpit. Flattened body, flattened fur — rotting, rotting.

  That’s it, I decide. Mr Epeler has a rotten mouse under each armpit.

  ‘Jake Kimmorley!’

  I am back in the classroom. Mr Epeler is ten centimetres away, looking more agitated than a swarm of bees.

  ‘I asked you a question!’ barks Mr Epeler.

  I blink, trying to trawl for a memory of the question. I blink again and again. I blink a blank. ‘Sorry Mr Epeler,’ I say. ‘Could you repeat the question?’

  Classroom etiquette crumbles. Some kids giggle, some kids laugh and Angus roars so loud the hairs in my ears bristle.

  I look at Kieran and raise my eyebrows for help. Maybe he can whisper the answer? But Kieran’s guffawing so loudly his jaw is about to dislocate. He looks like a death adder eating a rabbit. I glance at Adam. Useless. That dislocated jaw must be catchy.

  Mr Epeler is still ten centimetres from my face. ‘I can repeat my question,’ he says. ‘I asked, Have you been paying attention?’

  Well, of course I haven’t, I think to myself.

  ‘Of course, he hasn’t,’ says Angus real loud.

  Everyone is looking at me like I’m an idiot. Everyone, except Ivy Tan. Ivy knows what it’s like to be a member of the brain amputee club. Ivy’s furiously copying her words. I hope it helps. Laughter swells in my ears. I want to curl up and die. I want to be that baby mouse …

  ‘We were discussing the spelling bee,’ explains Mr Epeler.

  ‘Ohhh!’ I say.

  ‘On Friday.’

  ‘Aahh.’ I nod, trying to look intelligent. Suddenly I spy those words he’s written on the blackboard. ‘The A-mor,’ I read. ‘A-mor-pho-pha-llus … ’

  ‘Amorphophallus titanum.’ The words rip out of Mr Epeler’s mouth and bite me on the bum. ‘I expect every one in this class to be able to spell that for Friday.’ He impales me with his stare. ‘Even you, Jake.’ He holds my gaze long enough to act like poison then lifts his eyes to the class. ‘Or beware …’ Mr Epeler smiles, like he’s having a joke. But this is no joke.

  Beware can mean a lot of things. Beware or you’ll be first out of the spelling bee. Beware or you’ll get ten more words to learn. Beware or I’ll write a note to your parents.

  ‘Beware or you’ll be spending every lunch time the following week helping me with Grade 5 netball training.’

  Netball training! Normally that wouldn’t be so bad. Lots of girls with short skirts yelling, ‘Me, me!’ as they leap and prance about giving you an eyeful with every sudden stop. No, netball training wouldn’t be that bad, except for one thing. Goal Defence. It’s where you have to stop the opposition shooting a goal. You stand there flapping your hand in the air, trying to block the path of the ball. It’s Mr Epeler’s favourite position. The thought of standing there every lunchtime with Mr Epeler’s arm high in the air is enough to give me anal cramp.

  ‘Understand?’ asks Mr Epeler, looking at me.

  I nod. Very quietly, I say, ‘Yes.’

  I dare to look around the room. Angus is wearing a cloak of smugness. I stare down at my spelling book. I am biting my lip and trying to look like I know what I am doing when a dead bee lands in my lap. I look up to see where it came from. Ivy winks. I wonder if dead bees are good or bad Feng Shui.

  ‘Thanks for the dead bee,’ I say to Ivy later in the playground. ‘It’s, um, just what I’ve always wanted.’

  She smiles. Only one side of her lips curls up. Funny, I’ve never noticed it before. ‘Don’t mention it,’ she says. ‘I thought it might distract you. You’re going to kill it in the spelling bee.’

  I stand there looking at her, trying to think of something else to say — something intelligent. Nothing pops into my head. A mute monkey has nothing on me.

  Ivy laughs. She nods her head, just a little nod, then walks away.

  Somehow, the spelling bee doesn’t seem that bad …

  Chapter Three

  The next morning in class I go about my usual routine. I pass a note to Kieran telling him to meet me for a game of touch at lunchtime. I colour in the empty letters on my book that say, Homework. I draw a mo on the photo of the author at the back of our class novel, then add fangs, horns and a tail. Anyone who writes crap like that deserves it.

  Mr Epeler is handing out crosswords to help our spelling. Being told how many letters we have to aim for is meant to miraculously turn us into spellers. But, hey? Knowing there’s twenty-one letters in that flower word only tells me that I’ll have to know nearly the whole alphabet — all jumbled up! Not much comfort in that.

  Mr Epeler has done one group and is moving to another. By the protest from my nostrils I can tell he’s getting close. I hold my breath, waiting for him to pass. Holding my breath is something I’m quite good at. It started with holding my breath when I go past a cemetery, to holding my breath going over bridges and through tunnels. You name it, and I can hold my breath for it. My best breath-holding stunt ever was when I pretended to drown at the school camp while we were canoeing. Everyone’s clutching their canoes and peering into the water, looking for signs of life, when up I swim beside Mrs Weston. It was the Boo! that did her in. The Boo, and the fact that she jerked and ended up in the drink.

  I see Mr Epeler’s shoes stopped at my desk, and wonder what’s going on.

  ‘Bit of a problem, Jake,’ he says as a statement, not a question.

  He means well, I know he does. He leans over and puts an arm around my shoulder. How could he? Today he’s worse than a nest of dead mice. I hold my breath and try to concentrate on what he’s saying. Maybe it will help him move on.

  ‘Can I help?’ asks Mr Epeler. He points to one of the clues. ‘What about starting with this one? Three down.’

  I stare at the clue but I can’t read it. My eyes have started to water. I develop double vision.

  Mr Epeler thinks I’m stalling. How can I explain? It’s lack of oxygen. ‘Go on Jake,’ he says. ‘Have a go.’

  Once more he reaches out to point at the clue. Once more I’m smothered in After-Shave à la Pong! I look up.

  Kieran’s frowning.

  Adam’s clowning.

  And I’m drowning.

  Angus is doing his work.

  ‘Come come,’ says Mr Epeler. He looks at me with this half-smile on his dial.

  The classroom has gone very quiet.

  Ivy looks concerned. She grimaces, then shrugs as if to say, sorry I can’t help you.

  Mr Epeler ploughs on. ‘It’s quite simple, really. Five letters. A small black and white animal …’ he reads.

  My head’s spinning. What’s the answer? A cat? Dog? Ferret, perhaps?

  ‘… from North America … ’

  Now, that changes things. Despite being blind, I try to pull up an internal picture of this animal.

  ‘… which gives off an unpleasant smell when it is frightened!’ finishes Mr Epeler triumphantly.

  Of course! I look Mr Epeler in the eye. ‘Skunk!’ I yell.

  Mr Epeler doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve called him a skunk. He actually seems pleased that I’ve finally got

  it. ‘Quite right,’ he says and with a parting spray of deadly armshade he pats me on the head.

  I slump on my desk, faint with lack of oxygen. I tell you, spelling is going to be the death of me.

  Just as Mr Epeler sits down, Angus puts up his hand. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says. ‘Perhaps the people in Red shouldn’t have to spell Amorphophallus titanum … ’

  I glare at him. Angus doesn’t do ‘nice’.

  ‘It’s far too hard for them.’ Angus is looking from face to face as though he’s angling for class captain votes.
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  Ivy and Osheen and Jung Sian are sitting with their heads bowed and their hands clasped in their laps. I think of how hard Ivy tries. I think of Jung Sian and his reading books of squiggles (don’t know if they’re Mandarin or Cantonese). And Osheen, who taught me how to swear in Armenian. For them, this is the ultimate burner.

  ‘After all,’ goes on Angus to Mr Epeler, ‘You and I know they won’t be able to do it.’

  I can’t take it any more. I get to my feet. ‘Everyone in Red group will be able to do it,’ I say. ‘Won’t we?’ Ivy, Osheen and Jung Sian are watching Mr Epeler closely. Adam and Kieran are looking at me like I’ve turned traitor.

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ says Kieran.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Adam. ‘Since when were you elected spokesperson for the Reds?’

  ‘Since Angus decided to call us idiots,’ I answer.

  Mr Epeler finally comes in. ‘Now Jake,’ he says, ‘Angus wasn’t saying any such thing. He was trying to be kind.’

  Kind? Angus trying to be kind is like a tapeworm helping you to digest your food.

  ‘Why don’t we have a vote, then?’ I ask. Mr Epeler nods.

  ‘Hands up those in Red who want to have a go at, you know, the word … ’

  I put up my hand. No one else does. Come on, I mouth to Adam and Kieran. They both shake their heads. I glance at Osheen and Jung Sian. Their heads are still bowed. I look to Ivy. She shrugs. Her face goes blank.

  I’m on my own. I gulp and take a deep breath. Doing my best to ignore Angus, I look at Mr Epeler.

  ‘Guess you’re the only one,’ says Angus.

  ‘Guess you’re right.’

  Chapter Four

  ‘We’ve got “deficient” on the Aquamarine list.’ Angus is talking to Levon after school. I’m standing with Kieran and Adam trying to recover from the shock of being the only Red person having to spell the flower word.

  ‘Spelling bee on the brain,’ Kieran whispers to me, rolling his eyes at the same time.

  Angus goes on. ‘Deficient. And lugubrious. And rancid.’

  ‘Pity he’s describing himself,’ whispers Madeline to Francesca, loud enough for me to hear. They both explode with giggles.

  I’m not too sure what they’re on about but I join in and laugh with them anyway.

  Angus gives us the evil eye, but keeps on talking to Levon. ‘The Aquamarine list is much harder than your Yellow list,’ he says. ‘I compared. Your first word is nosology, isn’t it?’

  I can see Levon has as much interest as a crim at confession. He yawns and shrugs before he agrees. ‘Yeah-h-h.’

  ‘Nosology is a cinch. Nose without the ‘e’, with ology tacked on the end. Grade One’s could get that.’

  Levon pulls a face. ‘Grade One’s wouldn’t know what it means.’ He puts his face up close to Angus’s. ‘Bet you don’t, either.’

  As well as learning to spell our words we had to look up their meanings. There’s something about the look in Levon’s face that grabs my attention. He looks like a butcher about to skewer a carcass.

  ‘Course I would,’ says Angus. ‘Nosology …’ He clears his throat, ‘… is the study of noses!’

  ‘Ah, hah, ha-a-a!’ Levon doubles over. ‘Wrong!’

  ‘Ah, hah, ha-a-a’ we all go.

  Angus scowls. The last time he answered a question wrong was when he was in nappies. Come to think of it, that probably wasn’t too long ago — seeing as he’s such a s*#t.

  Levon manages to compose himself. ‘Nosology!’ he announces in this professor type voice. ‘Nosology is the branch of medical science dealing with the classification of disease.’ He whacks Angus on the back. ‘Nothing to do with noses.’

  ‘Unless it’s Hooter’s Disease,’ I rub it in.

  Angus gives me a shove. ‘You’ll be the one with Hooter’s Disease, tomorrow,’ he says. ‘After you try to spell Amorphophallus titanum, boy, will I rub your nose in it!’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, but he’s got me worried!

  ‘He’s picked this stupid flower for our spelling bee.’

  Grandad and I are sitting in the kitchen when I get home, chewing the fat. After school Grandad is always good for toast, tea and a chat. Mum and Dad are at work and Grandad feels responsible for my after-school welfare. Well, that’s what he told Mum. Truth is we both love these afternoon sessions.

  ‘A flower, eh?’ says Grandad. ‘Which one? Always was interested in botany, myself.’

  I wrench my spelling book out of my bag and throw it on the table. It’s amazing the paper doesn’t rip as I turn to the dreaded page.

  ‘There,’ I say, pointing to the word that takes up one whole line.

  Grandad pulls the book up close. He’s a bit blind, see. He starts to read. I watch his lips move as he reads. I love that about Grandad. I love the way he doesn’t care that when he has to read his lips move. At school we’d get noshed for that.

  ‘Amorphophallus titanum,’ reads Grandad. His dentures click on the ‘ph’ sounds. He looks at me, slaps his hand on his thigh and grins. ‘One of the most famous flowers in the world,’ he says. ‘It’s a beauty.’

  ‘I’m glad someone’s getting some pleasure from Amor — amorphothingummy whatchamacallit,’ I say in disgust.

  Grandad throws back his head and roars with laughter. His teeth migrate forward and almost escape, except Grandad’s prepared for this and holds them in with his left hand.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ I try not to look like a girl and pout but my voice comes out all gravelly. There’s a lump in my throat. I swallow.

  ‘This is the most amazing flower in the whole wide world,’ says Grandad. ‘It is extremely rare. It’s only found in the rainforests of central Sumatra. That’s in Indonesia,’ he adds for my benefit. ‘North of Australia.’

  I lean back in my chair and make like I’m yawning.

  ‘Hell, I remember when I was a lad about your age, my Grandad telling me about the time he was seconded to London. He queued in a line for hours and hours in the Royal Botanic Gardens just to see one in bloom.’

  I put on my most disinterested look. ‘So … ?’

  ‘So!’ says Grandad, his voice crackling in excitement as he leans towards me. ‘What he told me — it’s fascinating.’

  ‘But how’s that going to help me at the spelling bee tomorrow?’ I almost wail.

  Grandad gets a glint in his eye. I lean forward to inspect. Good, it’s not a blocked tear duct.

  ‘Here’s how,’ begins Grandad. ‘Here’s what he told me … ’

  Chapter Five

  Friday morning.

  When I arrive at school and Kieran starts going on about the spelling bee I don’t get my usual guts-to-the-bum problem, thanks to Grandad. I calmly stand there and listen. Ivy listens, too.

  ‘Netball training for a week!’ says Kieran, slamming me on the back and grinning. He leans forward and says in a stage whisper, ‘Goal Defence!’

  I’m surprised when Ivy starts to laugh. I thought it was a boy joke. ‘How do you do it?’ I ask her. ‘How come you don’t keel over?’

  ‘Simple,’ explains Ivy. ‘Before training we all go into the loos and drench ourselves.’ She grins and makes a victory salute. ‘Perfume power!’

  ‘Easy for you,’ I reply. ‘If I tried that I’d be laughed out of school.’

  Just as Ivy’s about to reply Angus goes past with Madeline and Francesca. ‘I bet you both I’ll beat you,’ he’s saying. ‘I bet I win the spelling bee.’

  ‘Sure,’ says Madeline.

  ‘We’ll see,’ says Francesca.

  ‘I will. I’ll be the winner. And I bet Jake’s the first one to get out,’ Angus goes on, finally spotting us.

  ‘We’ll see,’ I echo Francesca.

  The buzzer goes and we head for our line. ‘Pretty cocky, aren’t you?’ whispers Kieran. ‘How come?’

  I smile a secret smile. ‘You’ll see … ’

  ‘Time for the spelling bee,’ announces Mr Epeler. ‘Everyone be seated and take out yo
ur spelling books. Turn to a blank page.’

  I do as he asks and look around. The flower word has been rubbed off the board. In its place are three columns labelled Red, Yellow and Aquamarine.

  Mr Epeler clears his throat and holds up his hand for silence. Gosh, I wish he wouldn’t. ‘We will go through the roll,’ he says. ‘As I announce your name I will give you a word from your list. If you spell it correctly you will write it in the appropriate column. Words spelt incorrectly will be written out ten times in your spelling books and that person has the pleasure of helping me with Grade 5 netball training.’ Hear, collective groan.

  ‘We will continue to rotate through the list till we get to the optional words. Those who want to have a go at these may do so, those who do not wish to may sit this out.’

  Hear, mass moan.

  Mr Epeler tries to look sympathetic. ‘Come come,’ he says. ‘It’s not that bad.’ He picks up the roll. ‘Shall we begin?’

  ‘What about Amorphophallus titanum?’ interrupts Angus. ‘I thought we were all starting with that.’ He holds up a hand, ‘Correction. I thought the Aquamarines and Yellows, oh, and Jake Kimmorley from Red, were starting with that.’

  I can feel the whole class look at me. Red doesn’t only describe my spelling group. I bite on my tongue and say nothing. Grandad would be proud.

  Mr Epeler walks over to Angus and lifts his arms to fold them. Serve Angus right! ‘Angus Allen,’ he says. ‘I am the teacher and I have decided to leave the big one for the end. Right?’

  Angus doesn’t even look flustered. ‘Yes,’ he says, in a voice that’s loud and cocky.

  Mr Epeler points to his roll. ‘Angus. You’re first. Spell “estuary”. The estuary was filled with mud at low tide.’

  Angus leaps to his feet. ‘Estuary. ‘e’, ‘s’, ‘t’’ goes Angus. ‘Blah, blah, blah.’ ‘Correct,’ says Mr Epeler.

  The look on Angus’s face says, Don’t you just lurve eating horseradish? Angus writes his word on the board and returns to his seat.