So Feral! (8 page)

I tell them how Cordelia set me up and how Miss Reynolds will be coming for me any moment. Maybe even call the police.

‘But why?’ asks Lowie.

I shrug, saying, ‘She says it’s because I came on to her. I’ll bet it’s because she wants to prove she’s tough.’

‘It’s gotta be more than that,’ says Andy, flinging an arm round my shoulders. His armpit is brewing something awful but I don’t want to pull away and offend him. ‘I know! She wants the cup!’

Always the practical one, Laura interrupts. ‘We have to prove that Toby’s innocent.’

‘But how?’ asks Lowie. ‘We don’t have proof that Cordelia stole the underwear.’

We stand around in silence, thinking of what to do.

I go over the scene in the storeroom. ‘I need to retrace my steps,’ I mumble out loud. ‘Sift through everything in my mind.’

I go over day one when I first crossed paths with Cordelia. I go over Miss Reynolds making the stolen underwear announcement. I think of the walk — and cringe. Then there was the conversation in the dining room. The dining room!

‘I’ve got it,’ I shout. ‘I’ve got the proof.’ I turn to my friends. ‘I’m going to get Cordelia and you guys are going to help me. Here’s what we’re going to do …’

I look around the crowded dining room, surprised that we managed to get everyone together so soon.

The only ones missing are Miss Reynolds and Cordelia. I’ve sent Laura to get them. The door flings open and they pour in.

Miss Reynolds has a wad of photos in her hand and a look of thunder on her face. ‘Toby!’ she roars. ‘I want a word with you.’

I tweak my right ear, my secret signal to let everyone know to get ready.

‘Yes, Miss Reynolds,’ I say.

She storms up to the front of the room. ‘You’re the thief! Cordelia’s shown me the evidence.’

If Cordelia smiled any wider her jaw would drop off.

I should be upset but I’m not. ‘Cordelia set me up.’

There is a sharp
intake
of breath from Miss Reynolds.

It’s so nice not to have to duck.

Cordelia’s lips slam like a clam. ‘The camera never lies,’ she says, forcing the words out.

‘No,’ I say, ‘but you do.’

The clam springs open. ‘I do not. You had the knickers. I saw them with my own eyes.’

‘But you stole them. You had them first!’ I say. ‘Long before you tricked me.’

‘Now, Toby,’ interrupts Miss Reynolds, waving the photos at me. ‘It looks like an open and shut case.’

‘We’ll see about that!’ I say. I walk up to Cordelia, trying to act like a detective. ‘If you’re so innocent, would you agree to answering a few questions? Sort of like taking a lie-detector test?’

Miss Reynolds is frowning. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Toby,’ she says.

‘I don’t mind,’ interrupts Cordelia. She turns to Miss Reynolds and titters, ‘I can do anything I set my mind to!’

I look at Miss Reynolds and wait. ‘All right,’ she finally says.

I try not to look too confident now everything’s going to plan. I turn to my friends, gesturing for them to come forward. They line up in front of the room, Laura first.

‘Go ahead, Laura,’ I say. ‘Ask your question.’

Laura clears her throat then starts. ‘Cordelia. Would you, um, ever wear the same pair of undies, um, two days in a row?’

Cordelia cackles. ‘Definitely not! I’m not as revolting as some.’ She pointedly looks at Laura.

Laura starts to squirm.

‘I only wear clean undergarments!’ hisses Cordelia. ‘And I only wear the best!’

I smile. That last line was a beauty. ‘Thank you, Laura,’ I say. ‘Next!’ We move down to Andy.

‘Whew!’
says Andy, and starts taking off his T-shirts. ‘Isn’t it hot in here?’

One, two, three, four. It’s been a long time since his last bath. With each T-shirt the air in the room shrivels a little.

‘Your question,’ I call.

Andy’s down to his last T-shirt. It is, was, a white one. There’s cereal caked on the front and brown patches creeping under each arm. Slowly, he puts his hands behind his head. Quickly, we all take a step back.

‘I’d like to give you or Toby a hug,’ Andy says to Cordelia. ‘The one who’s telling the truth. Is that you?’ He leans towards Cordelia, arms outstretched.

‘No!’ shrieks Cordelia, pushing him away.

This lie-detector test is going better than I thought. ‘Aha!’ I say. ‘A confession!’

‘Foul play!’ yells Cordelia. ‘I
am
telling the truth. But I won’t hug stinky Andy to prove it.’

‘I’m not sure about this, Toby,’ interjects Miss Reynolds. ‘Maybe you should stop.’

‘Please let me go on?’ I plead.

‘I don’t mind,’ Cordelia says to Miss Reynolds. ‘So far, Toby’s proved nothing.’

‘One more question,’ cautions Miss Reynolds. ‘And then we do it my way and call the police.’

I nod, looking at Lowie and Jonnie. Which one should I choose? Lowie’s wearing a pick-me sort of face and Jonnie’s standing as tall as his gut-ache will let him.

‘Lowie,’ I say.

Lowie goes to fling his arm around Cordelia’s shoulders but his fingers slip under the neckline of her top. He yanks and it slides off her shoulder …

‘One fox-print bra strap!’ I announce.

Cordelia pulls away, but not before we all cop an eyeful. She screams.

Lowie has that effect on girls.

Cordelia goes to take off but Jonnie grabs her. They wrestle. Jonnie’s trying his hardest to hold her. It’s not easy when he’s so weak. Cordelia swings away, but Laura’s close enough to trip her. Cordelia falls, with Jonnie landing beside her.

Jonnie’s eyes spring open. ‘I think I’m going to blow!’ he cries.

Seven days of build-up can’t be stopped.

First there’s an explosion, a wet and sloppy explosion like a bomb going off underwater.

Then it starts … With a trickle, a drizzle, then a gusher of a fart.

Cordelia screams, again. She scrambles out of the way.

But Andy can’t stop. He’s like a balloon bursting. The air turns vicious.

‘Aaagh!’
yells Cordelia, horror etched all over her face.

I’m gobsmacked — speechless. How can one body hold so much wind? People are putting their hands over their faces. There’s a stampede to get out.

Miss Reynolds is screaming at Jonnie to stop.

‘Can’t,’ Jonnie gasps. Big veins are bulging on his forehead. His eyes look permanently startled. Every time he moves he squishes.

‘Okay!’ yells Cordelia. ‘I confess! I took the stuff!’

Silence fills the room.

Even Jonnie stops.

Cordelia shoves Jonnie as far away from her as possible. She clambers to her feet. ‘I did it!’ she screams to Miss Reynolds. ‘I stole your underwear.’

‘You did?’ asks Miss Reynolds, her face white.

‘She did,’ I say with a grin. ‘Lie-detectors never

lie.’

‘But why?’ demands Miss Reynolds.

‘Because I have leopard-print lingerie and tiger-print lingerie,’ says Cordelia, ‘but I don’t have fox!’ Miss Reynolds looks at me. ‘And because it was my dare for the Pollen Tree Cup.’

I take a step towards Miss Reynolds. ‘It’s a challenge we’re having,’ I explain, ‘to win a cup.’

Lowie pulls it out of his pocket and sheepishly holds it up.

‘The Pollen Tree Cup,’ we all say.

Cordelia looks at me and says, ‘Which I win!’

Slowly Miss Reynolds smiles. What happens next is the best. ‘I misjudged you, Toby. I’m sorry.’ And with that she leans over and gives me a hug.

I give her a kiss in return.

Not a full throttle tonguey job. Just a little peck on the cheek.

Compared to Jonnie her breath doesn’t smell at all.

I feel great. I have won my challenge!

‘Today ve draw still life!’ announced Miss Alperstein, Arthur’s teacher, handing white sheets of paper around the class. ‘To start vis, ve vill not use a model. Ve vill use our … imaginations!’

Great! thought Arthur, who was eager to begin.

‘I vant you to shut your eyes. I vill describe ze object. See if you can vork out vot ve vill draw.’

Arthur closed his eyes, wondering what it might

be.

‘Ze sing you vill draw is round.’

Arthur’s favourite things leapt to mind. Pizza, pancakes, biscuits.

‘It is round and firm.’

Must be a biscuit, thought Arthur.

‘It is round and firm,’ repeated Miss Alperstein, ‘and it starts off v-e-e-ry small. It zen grows and grows.’

Biscuits don’t grow!

Arthur searched his mind for something that grew, something round and firm. Nothing came up. Just then, Arthur was distracted by Alison Grant’s sneezing. It wasn’t hard for Alison Grant to distract Arthur. With her long red hair and dimples, she was eminently distracting. Arthur particularly liked her skin. Unlike his, it was perfect. There was not a blemish on her.

Miss Alperstein droned on. ‘Sometimes zey grow in pairs.’

Arthur thought of Alison Grant. She had something that grew in pairs! He bolted upright in his chair. His breath grew shallow.

‘Zere is a bumpy bit on ze end.’

Arthur gulped. Beads of sweat appeared on top of his nose. Surely this wasn’t the still life that Miss Alperstein had in mind? Arthur knew that all great artists did
those
sorts of drawings. He’d studied them. Dreamt about them.

‘Hold ze image.’

Clap! Clap!

‘Vakey, vakey vile I show you vot it is.’

Arthur’s eyes — and mouth — flew open in eager anticipation.

He looked at Miss Alperstein. She was holding up a lemon!

Arthur slumped in his seat, deflated. So much for him being the next Rubens!

‘You vill draw zis lemon …’ here Miss Alperstein’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper, ‘in all its splendour. I vant to see every curve.’ Her hand swathed through the air. ‘Every bump. So zat ven I touch your paper …’ an index finger stroked the paper on her desk, ‘it vill
shock
me to find it flat!’

Arthur looked at Miss Alperstein. He looked at the smooth white paper spread before him thinking, Is she nuts?

‘I should be able to
smell
your lemon,’ Miss Alperstein went on, raising her head to the air and sniffing. ‘It should make my nostrils zing!’

You mean sting, thought Arthur. In the seat next to him Carlo Gianetti began to draw.

Arthur, too, picked up his pencil. It arced across the page, dipped, then arced again.

Carlo glanced at Arthur’s drawing. Pulling a face he hissed, ‘Yours looks demented.’

Arthur grinned. Through ventriloquist lips he muttered, ‘Patience, Carlo, patience.’

Miss Alperstein interrupted again, her voice almost reverent. ‘Notice ze tiny little stalk, ze cruel jacket etches!’

Jagged edges, Arthur automatically interpreted.

Interpreting was easy for Arthur. And so it should be. He’d been with Miss Alperstein for nearly one whole year now. He knew that her accent grew heavier when she was excited.

Miss Alperstein pretended to yank the lemon off a tree. ‘It has been r-r-r-ipped from its muzzer and cast …’ the entire front row ducked, ‘into ze cruel vorld.’

Arthur groaned, thinking, This is supposed to be Art, not Drama.

‘Fruit for a fruitcake!’ he whispered to Carlo. ‘Arssur!’ called Miss Alperstein, ‘I heard zat!’

Arthur’s face fused with colour — commonly referred to in the art world as
shading
. With eyes down, he mumbled, ‘Sorry, Miss Alperstein.’

‘Back to vork!’

Arthur nodded, saying, ‘Yes, Miss Alperstein,’ and picking up his pencil.

With a mind of its own, his sketch began to multiply.

Arthur gently poked Carlo in the ribs. He nodded at his own drawing, directing Carlo to watch. The pencil hovered, before swooping in to draw two smaller circles inside the larger outlines. Arthur looked to see Carlo’s reaction.

Carlo frowned, shrugging.

‘Ven I look at your lemon I should be able to feel its veight, heavy, in ze palm of my hand.’ There was a cupping movement from Miss Alperstein.

Arthur squashed a grin. He made a cupping movement of his own. With a wink at Carlo, he picked up his pencil and began drawing two even smaller circles inside the others. Carlo watched, then began to giggle.

Using firm quick strokes, Arthur coloured the circles in.

Carlo went into convulsions, his shoulders going like jackhammers from behind.

Using two hands, Arthur exaggerated his cupping movements.

The jackhammers went into overdrive.

‘I vant to be able to
taste
your lemon!’

At that, Arthur erupted with suppressed laughter. He couldn’t help it. He watched in horror as spit flew from his mouth, straight into Alison Grant’s hair. Luckily, she didn’t notice.

‘Arssur!’
Miss Alperstein’s voice boomed from the front of the room. ‘Bringk me your drawingk.’

Arthur’s shading turned a deep vermillion. He didn’t know which was worse — slagging into Alison’s hair or having to show his drawing to his teacher. Making sure to avoid Alison’s eyes, and with a heavy heart, Arthur made his way to the front of the room.

Miss Alperstein plucked the paper from Arthur’s reluctant hands. She inspected it, turning his drawing this way and that. Her eyes pinged open.
‘Arssur!’
she gasped. ‘Zese are breasts!’