Just Crazy (22 page)

‘Yeah,' says Danny. ‘Andy was a big help. He practically wrote it.'

Lisa shakes her head.

‘I'm sure you're just being modest,' she says. ‘You were the runner-up in the school short-story competition after all.'

‘I helped him with that story too,' I say.

‘You did not,' says Danny, puffing his chest out. ‘That was all
my
work.'

‘No, it wasn't,' I say.

Lisa rolls her eyes.

‘Quit messing around, Andy,' she says.

Danny looks at me and shrugs.

‘Danny,' says Lisa. ‘You know that project we have to do for English where we have to write about our favourite author?'

‘Yeah,' says Danny. ‘What about it?'

‘Well,' she says, ‘I was wondering if I could do mine on you?'

Danny blushes a deep red.

‘I guess so,' he stammers.

I cough. I splutter. I gag. But they ignore me.

‘Great!' says Lisa, opening her notebook. ‘Can I interview you? I'd love to know where you get your ideas from.'

‘Well,' says Danny, sitting up in his chair and folding his arms. ‘It's not that hard. You just need some sort of monster. It's not that important what it is. It can be an alien . . . or a robot . . . or even a chicken. It doesn't matter. It just has to be evil and want to destroy everything.'

‘Like this you mean?' I say. I raise my arms, roar like a monster and stomp towards Danny. I'm going to rip him to pieces.

Lisa touches my arm.

‘Andy,' she sighs, ‘you are so immature. If you're not interested in learning from someone as talented as Danny, then perhaps you could go away and leave us in peace.'

‘Yes,' says Danny. ‘Why don't you run along and play?'

I don't know what to say.

I put my arms down, turn and shuffle slowly towards the door.

This has got to be the lowest point of my entire life. And that's saying something.

But hold on.

I may have lost the competition.

I may have lost my dignity.

And I may have lost the best chance I've ever had to impress Lisa.

But I'm not a loser.

I'm a winner.

Because now I know exactly what sort of stories Lisa likes.

All I have to do is write another one.

I can't wait to get started on it.

I don't exactly know what's going to happen yet, but I do know it will involve bunnies, lambs, fluffy ducklings, a couple of baby seals and a maniac driving a steam-roller.

She's going to love it.

Learn to Read with Andy

See me jump.

See me run.

See me hop.

It is fun.

See me hop.

See me run.

See me jump.

Fun, fun, fun.

See me jump.

On my bed.

I jump so high

I bump my head.

On the ceiling.

On the roof.

I hit it hard.

Ouch! Ugh! Oof!

I say a word.

It is bad.

It is rude.

I am glad.

I like to swear.

It is fun.

Bad words, rude words.

Fun, fun, fun.

Hop, hop, hop.

Bump, bump, bump.

Swear, swear, swear.

Jump, jump, jump.

On my tummy.

On my bum.

See me jump.

Fun, fun, fun.

Hear my bed-springs.

Hear them groan.

Hear them squeak.

Hear them moan.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.

Groan, groan, groan.

Creak, creak, creak.

Moan, moan, moan.

This is not good.

This is bad.

Mum will hear.

She'll get mad.

I'll be in trouble.

I'll be sad.

Big trouble, bad trouble.

Bad, bad, bad.

Oh no! Oh no!

Here she comes.

Oh no! Oh no!

Here comes my mum.

Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!

Down the hall!

I do not like this.

Not at all!

The door flies open.

She's mad as hell.

See her point.

Hear her yell:

‘Are you jumping

on your bed?

You stupid boy!

You'll crack your head!

‘I've told you once.

I've told you twice.

It is not good.

It is not right.

You must not jump

upon your bed!

Do you understand?'

she says.

I can fib.

It is fun.

I can fib

to anyone.

I fib to Dad.

I fib to Mum.

Fib, fib, fib.

Fun, fun, fun.

See me shrug.

Hear me fib.

‘But, Mum,' I say,

‘I never did.

It was not me.

It was my legs.

My naughty, wicked,

jumping legs.'

See my mummy

shake her head.

See her drag me

off the bed.

Hear her say:

‘That is not true.

I will have to

punish you.'

See me struggle.

See me fight.

See my mummy

hold me tight.

Being punished

is not fun.

See me bite her.

See me run.

See me run.

Run, run, run.

See Mum run.

Run, run, run.

See us run.

Run, run, run.

Run, run, run.

Fun, fun, fun.

Around the bedroom.

Out the door.

See the staircase!

See me fall!

Down the stairs

on my rump.

Hear me bounce.

Bump, bump, bump.

See me land.

On the floor.

See me run.

To the door.

I must get out.

I must go fast.

Mum is looking

danger-arse.

See the door.

It opens wide.

See two big legs.

They step inside.

This is not good.

This is bad.

Those big legs

belong to Dad.

I must get out.

I must get past.

I must think quick.

I must think fast.

I know what!

I'll play a game.

Dad's a tunnel.

And I'm a train!

‘Look out!' I say.

‘Let me through!

I'm a train.

Choo, choo, choo.'

I push my head

against his knees.

‘Toot-toot,' I say.

‘Open, please.'

See Daddy smile.

He bends down low.

‘Go, little train.

Go, go, go.'

He opens his legs.

I'm almost out.

But then I hear

my mummy shout:

‘Stop that boy!

Stop him now!

He must be stopped!

I don't care how!

He's jumped and fibbed

and fought and bit.

He must not get

away with it!'

Feel Daddy's legs

squeeze me tight.

‘What's this?' he says.

‘This is not right!

You should not jump.

You should not fight.

You should not fib.

You should not bite.'

See Daddy grab me

by the ear.

Hear Mummy whoop

and clap and cheer.

Hear Daddy rant, roar,

rave and boom.

See them shut me

in my room.

I'm in trouble.

I've been bad.

I sit on my bed.

I feel SAD.

But I know how

to make SAD stop.

I can jump.

I can hop.

Hop, hop, hop.

Jump, jump, jump.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

Bump, bump, bump.

On my tummy.

On my bum.

See me jump.

Fun, fun, fun.

'm naked.

I'm shivering.

I'm bashing on the back door as hard as I can.

‘Dad!' I yell. ‘Dad! Let me in!'

I grab the door handle and push down with all my strength, but it's no use.

I must have forgotten to put the safety catch on the deadlock. What now? There's no other way into the house. All the windows are barred and the front door has an even more foolproof deadlock than the back door.

It's not my fault I'm out here with no clothes on.

It's Sooty's fault. He's gone crazy.

I came out to get my school uniform off
the clothesline, but it wasn't on the clothesline. It was all over the backyard. In shreds. The shreds were covered in mud — and so was Sooty. And while I was yelling at him, he stole the towel I had around my waist, ran under the porch and started ripping it to shreds as well. I'd rip him to shreds if I was small enough to get under there.

‘Dad!' I yell. ‘Please open the door! I'm freezing!'

Stupid Dad and his stupid deadlocks.

Ever since our house got broken into a few months ago he's gone home-security crazy. You name it, we've got it — deadlocks, bars across the windows, a closed-circuit TV surveillance system, infra-red motion detectors and a fully monitored alarm system. Not to mention a Neighbourhood Watch sticker on the letterbox.

It's a brilliant system. Dad lost the keys yesterday morning and we were trapped inside for two hours. Mum and Jen are in Mildura for the week visiting my grandparents so they couldn't help us. We had to wait until the police arrived, alerted by the alarm system.

‘DAD!'

I yell even louder and bang on the door at the same time. But it's no use. He must still be in the shower. I'm going to have to go around to the bathroom window.

I go back down the steps and around the side of the house to the bathroom.

That's weird. I can't hear the shower running.

‘Dad?' I call. ‘Are you in there?'

He doesn't answer.

‘Dad?' I call again.

‘Andy?' he calls. But not from the bathroom. He's calling from around the back of the house. He must have heard me the first time. I run down the side of the house and around to the backyard. Dad's standing outside the back door, a towel around his waist.

‘What are you doing?' he says. ‘You're supposed to be getting ready for school — not wandering naked around the backyard!'

‘It's not my fault,' I say. ‘I
was
getting ready. I came outside to get my clothes off the line but Sooty has ripped them up and then he stole my towel. And then I couldn't get back inside because your deadlocks kept me out.'

Dad sucks in his breath and begins to shake his head.

‘It's always somebody else's fault, isn't it?' he says. ‘When are you going to start taking some responsibility for your own behaviour?'

‘But it's true!' I say. ‘Sooty's gone crazy!'

‘Now listen here,' says Dad. ‘Let's get some things straight. Sooty is not crazy . . .'

But while he is talking, Sooty emerges from underneath the porch.

‘Dad!' I say.

‘Don't interrupt me!' he says. ‘Secondly, it is not my fault if you get locked out of the house, I've explained how to use the deadlocks . . .'

‘Dad!' I say. ‘Look behind you!'

‘I said don't interrupt me and I meant it!' says Dad, frowning.

‘But,' I say, watching Sooty get closer and closer to him. He's taking slow deliberate steps like he's stalking prey.

‘Not another word!' says Dad.

Sooty strikes.

He leaps through the air and in one deft movement rips Dad's towel from around his waist.

‘What the . . .?' says Dad.

He turns around, only to see Sooty disappearing underneath the porch with his towel.

Dad is standing there, nude, his mouth gaping.

‘I hate to say I told you so,' I say, ‘I mean, I really really really hate to say I told you so, but I . . .'

‘Shut up, Andy!' says Dad. ‘This is all your fault!'

‘My fault?' I say. ‘But what about accepting responsibility for your own behaviour?'

But Dad seems to have lost interest in that subject.

‘Just come back inside, get dressed and get ready for school,' he says.

‘But what am I going to wear?' I say.

‘One of your sister's dresses for all I care!' he says. ‘I just don't want to be late for work again. Mr Bainbridge was ropable yesterday.'

Dad stomps back up the steps.

‘What about the door?' I say. ‘Did you leave the deadlock catch off?'

‘Of course I did,' says Dad. ‘Think I don‘t know how to work a simple deadlock?'

He pushes down on the handle.

Nothing happens.

He tries it again. Still nothing.

He bangs his head against the door.

‘Why me?' he says.

Bang.

‘Why me?'

Bang.

‘What did I do to deserve this?'

Bang.

I put my hand on his shoulder.

‘Dad?' I say.

‘What?' he says.

‘Do you think you should be doing that to your head?' I say.

‘What else is there to do?' he says.

‘Um,' I say. ‘Try to find another way in?'

‘There is no other way in,' he says. ‘The doors are double-deadlocked. The windows are barred. And even if we could prise the bars apart, the motion detectors would alert the police long before we could get in.'

‘Well, why don't we do that?' I say.

Dad snorts.

‘Use your head, Andy!' he says. ‘We're naked. We have no way of proving who we are. They'd arrest us.'

‘We could get the neighbours to vouch for us,' I say. ‘They'd tell the police who we are.'

Dad stops and thinks for a moment. Then he shakes his head.

‘No,' he says. ‘It's bad enough to be locked
out of your own home, let alone having to parade around nude in front of the neighbours. I'd be a laughing stock.'

Hmmm. He's right. I don't exactly like the idea of being nude in front of the neighbours — not to mention the police — anymore than Dad does. It's bad enough being nude in front of my dad, and even worse, to have him nude in front of me.