Maxi and the Magical Money Tree

by Tiffiny Hall

  Dad thinks for a moment. The package deliveries are screaming in my mind. He can’t go down to the basement. He might discover the wardrobe, the cellar, and we all know what’s next.

  Finally he says, ‘Well, there is Howard. Keen kid, really into Thucydides, seems to have a future as a classical Greek historian. I guess —’

  ‘Yes! Howard will have questions. You must be there for him.’ I try to calm my pulse so he doesn’t feel it vibrating through the covers.

  Dad sighs. ‘You’re right. I have a responsibility to be there.’ He pauses, then gestures to Sybil. ‘No wonder you can’t sleep.’

  Sybil is still scratching the glass. She’s on edge and will be ready soon to lay her eggs. I’ll have to put her in the laying bin tomorrow. I’m thinking about the eggs, more lizards, expanding my lizard family, then a thought springs up from nowhere and I ask Dad why he didn’t take the job at that big corporate company a few years ago.

  ‘More money, but not more happiness,’ he says.

  ‘But isn’t more money the same as more happiness?’ I ask. ‘The richer you are, the easier your life gets. Don’t you hate going without? Not being able to buy what you’d like?’

  Dad’s eyebrows crush together. ‘I don’t understand,’ he says. ‘The poor man doesn’t have empty pockets, but empty dreams. Acquisitions can’t make us happier.’

  He’s got me there. Dad does deep and meaningful pretty deeply. An excruciating underwater silence passes.

  ‘Think of what Socrates — the philosopher, not the lizard — has taught you,’ he says. ‘Socrates advocated self-restraint to live the good life … he was opposed to his friend Callicles’s philosophical argument of pleasure derived from hedonism.’

  ‘English please,’ I say.

  ‘Okay, Socrates used the metaphor of a leaky jar. The more you feed your desires, the more you never feel satisfied or full — like a leaky jar. Whereas his friend Callicles argued that “living the good life” is giving into all desires, Socrates argued that if you exercise self-restraint, then your jar is not leaky but full and you never know what it feels like to want, to need, to wish and you can be at peace. Socrates was talking about temperance, Maxine. He was showing that exercising control, rather than giving in to one’s wants, brings a person closer to virtue. You see, for Socrates the leaky jar symbolised the soul.’

  I look at my Socrates so peaceful on his branch. It’s a lot to take in. ‘So you don’t chase money because it makes the soul have holes?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, yes,’ he says. ‘For me, living the good life is about self-control and temperance. It’s important to live in accordance with your moral compass and beliefs. If I had worked for that company, it would have felt like selling out. Working at that type of company means more money, more stuff, but more material things only make you feel empty if you’re not being true to yourself. Sharing my knowledge and teaching young people, that’s what centres the meaning in my life.’

  I gulp. The money tree grew into my room, into my fingertips, but somehow it has always felt wrong, sort of like stealing. I’m on that rollercoaster again and can’t get off.

  ‘So you mean when something feels wrong, it probably is wrong?’ I ask.

  ‘Intuition is important; it’s your soul talking to you. We all know our moral compass so when we act against it, that’s when bad feelings bubble up. For some people, stealing, lying, cheating, etcetera, are right and so it feels right to act this way. But not for the Edwards.’

  I swallow hard. Lying, stealing, cheating — this moral compass Dad’s talking about, well, I must have lost mine. It’s as lost as my old pair of sunglasses.

  ‘Anyway, kiddo, I better let you sleep. I’m making pancakes in the morning because your mother is off early with Nanna to the doctor,’ Dad says. ‘By the way, could you please talk to your sister about the way she is dressing? I think she’s borrowing clothes from a new friend. Let’s shoot for more elegance, less teenage angst?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, my eyes trained on the rug. I hope he doesn’t notice the crumpling sound of notes beneath his slippers when he steps out of the room. The anxiety is suffocating.

  ‘Hey,’ he says as I begin to roll over. ‘My great fortune in life is this family, don’t forget that.’ Then he kisses my forehead. ‘Who’s got it better than we do?’ he asks.

  ‘Nobody,’ I reply.

  Dad smiles, then walks across the rug and out of the room without mishap.

  That night I lie awake with the stars, writing about the money tree in my diary. I feel like I’m leaking from my soul for sure. There must be a way to leak in a moral way. Socrates fulfils his desires all day without a second thought (the lizard, not the philosopher). Animals seem so happy. Wish it were that simple for humans. Maybe Socrates (the philosopher, not the lizard) was onto something with all that stuff about self-control and temperance.

  Chapter 15

  When I first discovered the money tree, my pupils may as well have been dollar signs as all I could think about was money, that lacy canopy of money leaves! But Dad’s talk last night made me wake up feeling raw and all wrong. Is what we’re doing bad? Should I have involved Fleur and Tyler and the Captain? Will I get them into trouble? At first all this was super exciting, but now I don’t know how I feel.

  I arrive home just as the delivery guy is pulling up. Mum’s car isn’t there and Dad stayed back at work. I run across the grass, then stop dead. A yellow note sits in the middle of the lawn. I pick it up quickly and squish it into my pocket. On the front steps I pluck an orange note, then a green one is flickering like a tiny flag at the front door. I pinch all of them and push them into my pocket.

  ‘These for you?’ the man asks through the packages piled up in front of his face.

  I accept each parcel with a stitched breath. In panic, I forget my default face and wear a look of terror that makes the delivery guy suspicious for sure.

  I dump the parcels in the front hall, then take the money out of my pocket and race outside and down the verandah steps. More money flies at me in the wind. I try to collect it all, but it’s impossible. There’s money caught up in the trees, in the gutters, fluttering against windscreens and letterboxes. I round the corner and gasp. A hundred-dollar note hits me smack in the face. I swipe it away. The door to the basement has been left open and money is flying out all over the lawn. I close the hatch and call Tyler. He arrives ten minutes later on a scooter.

  ‘We need to collect all the money before my parents come home,’ I say.

  We run around catching money and stuffing it into our pockets. Kids are walking home from school, parents are filling the road in their luxurious Hatbridge cars, the street is coming alive. Tyler swats the money out of a nearby tree with his racket. I hear whistling. My blood slows to a crawl. There’s only one person I know who can whistle jazz like that.

  ‘What’s wrong with you? You’ve gone all zombie,’ Tyler calls from the other side of the lawn.

  I race over to him. ‘Dad’s coming! I’ll distract him, you take the parcels in the hall down to the tree,’ I say.

  Tyler’s eyes widen with fear when he sees my father. He doesn’t move but stands there, listening.

  ‘He’s good at whistling, I know!’ I hiss at Tyler. ‘He can whistle under water, but we have to move!’

  I run up to Dad. My hug stops him in his tracks. ‘How was work?’ I ask.

  He shrugs. ‘Good,’ he says slowly. His eyes narrow and scan me.

  ‘A one-word answer. That all I get?’

  He smiles. ‘Mrs Figtree stole my mug in the staffroom and returned it covered in red lipstick,’ he says and sighs. ‘Let’s go inside and decompress.’ He motions to walk off. My brain switches to overdrive.

  ‘Wait!’ I yell.

  Dad turns around, hearing the alarm in my voice.

  ‘I have to confess something,’ I say, stalling. I see Tyler behind my father carrying an armload of packages out the front door and around to the side of the house. I s
cuff my feet on the ground and notice a twenty-dollar note. I step on it with my shoe. Dad’s studying me. ‘I-I-I …’ I stutter, searching for something to say.

  ‘What is it, sweetheart? Are you okay?’ Dad lowers himself to one knee and looks up at me.

  I glance at Tyler, struggling with the last of the packages.

  ‘Let’s go inside and talk,’ Dad says, motioning to get up.

  ‘I have a boyfriend,’ I blurt.

  Dad collapses onto two knees.

  Tyler nearly drops a package.

  Dad’s eyes widen. ‘Oh-kay,’ he says. ‘Wasn’t expecting that. Let me ruminate on this for a minute.’ He looks to be chewing on his thoughts, moving his mouth around like a cow chewing grass.

  ‘Yes. His name is Tyler. He’s in my class,’ I say. ‘I thought I should tell you before Fleur did.’

  Dad sniffs loudly. ‘Well, thank you for telling me. I mean, you are very young to have a boyfriend. Is he the one who carries a tennis racket?’

  Tyler appears between us. ‘I’m Tyler Beverage,’ he says, holding out his electric racket, then realising it’s in the wrong hand, switches and shakes my father’s hand. Dad stands up and towers over him. ‘I’m the boyfriend,’ Tyler adds.

  ‘I’m the father,’ Dad replies. He points to Tyler’s invention behind his back. ‘That’s not a tennis racket.’

  ‘It’s an insect destroyer.’ Tyler brings it forward and flicks his wrist at a passing fly. Zap, sizzle, the smell of barbecued wings.

  Dad nods. ‘An inventor. Impressive. So you bonded over insects then? Maxi loves crickets and I’m assuming she’s shown you the cockroach colony?’

  Tyler beams widely.

  ‘But you can’t swat any of those. They are food for Socrates and Sibyl,’ Dad says.

  ‘He understands,’ I say. ‘No won-ton attacks. Insects are friends in our house.’

  Dad laughs. ‘You mean “wanton”, honey, not the Chinese dumpling.’

  ‘Yep,’ I say nervously.

  Tyler shrugs.

  Dad clears his throat. ‘Would you like to come in? I’m thinking chocolate milk and toasted cheese sandwiches?’

  Tyler is up the front steps before Dad finishes saying ‘sandwiches’. The hatch is closed, the evidence is stashed. Any random money in the wind can be just that — totally random. My stomach ties a reef knot.

  After Tyler goes home, I have a debrief with Socrates. The lizard poses on his branch with his black beard throbbing, observing me with a sleepy gaze. His belly is bloated, full of crickets.

  ‘Thing is, I swore it wouldn’t happen again, the lies,’ I tell him.

  The lizard athletically licks the glass, but I can tell he is hanging on my every word.

  ‘Maybe Dad, Mum and me will laugh about this later. Next year. When I figure all this out and we know how to live with the tree, live with money, live with ourselves. Once I stop the lies, that is,’ I say, opening the lizard’s enclosure and taking Socrates into my hands, holding him up to my face to kiss him on the nose.

  ‘I lied again, Mr Socrates.’ I swallow hard and hug him to my chest. I don’t know what’s worse: Dad almost discovering the money tree or my serial lying. ‘I said I have a boyfriend. That’s what happened. Exactly what happened. I lied again.’

  Socrates knows all the answers but says nothing. I guess he likes me to figure out my own problems.

  ‘So?’ I lift up the lizard so we are eye to eye. ‘How do I keep this all to myself forever and they never know?’

  I listen to the silence fogging between us. Socrates pokes out his blue tongue.

  ‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘I could wait until my parents are really old and then I’d have to lie again and say I’ve won the lottery or had a ginormous pay rise at work or accessed money from my future rich husband.’

  The lizard looks unimpressed.

  ‘I know, I know, Mr Socrates. The lies are wrong,’ I say, feeling the lies sink my stomach down into my shoes.

  ‘It’s impossible, as impossible as one of Alice’s impossible things: a potion that can make you shrink? Animals that can talk? Money that grows on trees? And trying to keep it a secret? Impossible.’ I hug Socrates again and feel his little heartbeat against my palm.

  ‘Did you say something else?’ I lift the lizard up to my ear and pretend to listen intently. He pokes out his tongue and it wets my earlobe, making me giggle. ‘It’s free money, you reckon? It’s possible to keep the secret. Cut loose! Live a little! Money can buy cool and it will definitely buy popular. You think this is my one shot?’

  There’s the goodie-me that worries about consequences and then there’s the daredevil-me desperate for adventure. The goodie-me would lock the wardrobe door. The daredevil-me remembers friendless lunchtimes spent lapping the school oval during the Year Five era.

  I put Socrates back into his enclosure. The lizard has a point.

  Chapter 16

  Fleur, Tyler and I rummage around the tree, playing with all our new stuff. Fleur has four layers of clothes on as she wants to wear as many of her new things as possible. She’s all puffed up in swathes of leather and wool — she’s mad on embellished cardigans and designer leather jackets. Tyler is building a spaceship out of Lego and I’m reading the instructions for my new drone.

  ‘How much was that thingy?’ Fleur asks.

  ‘Cost a whole branch,’ I say.

  Fleur gasps. ‘It better fly to the moon for that,’ she says, plonking down beside me. Soon bored of watching me read instructions, Fleur begins to give me the low-down on Stacey. Apparently things are not what they seem — rumour is her parents lease their expensive cars and are allegedly going broke. They have just put their mansion up for sale and Stacey might have to change schools if they move. Fleur is enjoying spreading the gossip way too much.

  ‘Since when did you become all judgy?’ I ask. I can’t help but feel sorry for Stacey, if that’s true.

  ‘No judgment, just telling it how it is,’ Fleur says.

  ‘Hmmm …’ I finish reading the instructions, then hold up the drone in the light of the shimmering technicoloured tree. ‘Check it out,’ I say.

  ‘Cool.’ Tyler abandons his Lego. ‘What’s it do?’

  ‘This is a UAV: an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle, flying robot or drone,’ I say.

  ‘Or toy,’ Fleur interrupts.

  ‘This one is military state of the art,’ I continue, ‘and can fly and land automatically with crash safety programming. It has GPS and can be controlled from my iPad. It can carry ten times its weight and it’s as small as a handbag. Ahhhmazing, huh?’

  I admire the orange drone that is shaped like a disc with clawed legs dangling beneath. It has cameras lodged in the centre and six helicopter propellers. The coolest toy I’ve ever owned.

  ‘The six rotors and engines have massive thrust,’ I add. ‘The copter climbs eight metres per second. Nearly as fast as Mum’s old beat-up car!’

  ‘So?’ Fleur says, disappointed she has no one to gossip with. ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘Hand me the sweets,’ I say.

  Fleur wades through the fallen leaves of money that swish up to her ankles. She rummages for a moment, then finds a large basket full of tiny lolly bags and brings them over to me.

  I choose a few bags and hook them onto the drone’s legs. Wearing my concentration face, I arm myself with the iPad remote control and watch the camera vision on the screen to launch the drone. Without a noise, the drone takes off and hovers, a breath below the tree’s canopy. I release the legs and the bags fly to the ground, the sweets exploding like a piñata in a cloud of sugar and fizz.

  Tyler and Fleur clap.

  ‘Wait, I don’t get it,’ Fleur says.

  ‘I do, I do, I do!’ Tyler sings. ‘We’re going to be sooo popular, baby!’

  I beam at Fleur.

  Behind the bushes in the playground at lunch, Tyler and I sit either side of the drone and watch the kids play. The sky cradles no clouds: the perfect flying co
nditions.

  ‘Want to take a dronie?’ Tyler asks. He holds up the drone and we smile into its camera, snap ourselves, then laugh.

  ‘So who do you want as friends?’ Tyler asks.

  I shrug, then let out a belch that even the Year Nine boys couldn’t match, not on their very best gassy day. It makes the birds shoot out of the nearby blossom tree. Tyler gives me a high five, then tries to burp himself, but comes up with nothing. It’s a new thing we’re doing.

  Tyler sighs. ‘Well, there’re the cool kids who wear a new pair of kicks every week.’ He pauses.

  ‘We could buy a new pair of shoes each week,’ I assure him.

  ‘I know,’ he groans. ‘It’s not the money I’m worried about, it’s more the discipline. I’m too lazy to be cool. Anyway, there’re the Perfs, the Perfects, including Stacey and her clique — they’re all starched, ironed and bleached. Then there’re the Beefcakes — all hulky, sporty but no game.’ He’s on a roll now. ‘Goths, Quidditch Players, Artists, Nerds, Loners, Footy Players, Scholars and finally the Villagers — the kids on scholarship who can’t afford to live in Hatbridge.’

  I scrunch my nose. ‘Where do I fit on the social ladder?’

  ‘Somewhere between the Loners and the Villagers. Not very high up, I’m afraid,’ Tyler says.

  I gasp. ‘Well, that is all about to change. And I won’t even have to join the debate team or swimming club.’

  I watch the kids talk to each other in their own secret in-crowd code and a pang hits me in the chest. I feel like I’m the last to be chosen for a sports team again.

  ‘Let’s land it in the middle of the Villagers,’ I decide. ‘They can’t afford the canteen. They’d love some sweets.’

  I engage the drone. Tyler conducts last-minute safety checks on the lolly bags. We have fifty of them attached to the drone’s legs. They’re full of bananas, milk bottles and teeth — our classic favourites. I program the drone through my iPad, then check no one is looking in our direction. We stand slowly and poke our heads out from the bushes. Very CIA, undercover, spyish, I think. Silently the drone takes off and rises like a small orange UFO above the hedge. In eight seconds the drone is so high in the air it is a mere orange badge in the blue sky. I navigate the drone to our right so it hovers directly over the Villagers congregated in a circle.