Authors: Mo Johnson
Tags: #ebook, #book
My Life and Other Catastrophes
The Indigo Girls
She's with the Band
The (not quite) Perfect Boyfriend
Step Up and Dance
The Sweet Life
Winter of Grace
First published in 2009
Copyright Â© Mo Johnson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The
Australian Copyright Act 1968
(the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Johnson, Mo, 1966-
Something more/Mo Johnson.
ISBN: 978 1 74175 528 2 (pbk.)
Series: Girlfriend fiction; 11
For secondary school age.
Cover design by Tabitha King and Bruno Herfst
Text design by Bruno Herfst
Set in 12/15 pt Fournier by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Printed in Australia by McPherson's Printing Group
10Â 9Â 8Â 7Â 6Â 5Â 4Â 3Â 2Â 1
For my sister,
Dr Agnes Rennick
âWhere is she, Isla?'
Terry barged her way into my room, slamming the door so violently that Mr Jingles the string puppet fell to the floor in a tangled heap.
âWhat have you done with Mitsy, you cow?'
Ignoring her, I began to do a mental count. By three she was fuming. By eight, her skull was about to blow off. I leant back in my chair, ready to say the last digit out loud.
âTenahhhh!' Unfortunately, I overbalanced and crashed to the ground. That's the trouble with wheelie chairs: they're great for spinning, but the minute you get the loading wrong you're road kill.
âSo you want to count, do you?' My sister dropped down heavily. âOneâ¦twoâ¦'
âGet off! You're hurting me!'
âThreeâ¦serves you right for hiding Mitsy!'
âI did not hide Mitsy.'
âFourâ¦' She crushed my lungs. âTell me where she is then.'
âHow would I know?' I wheezed.
âFIVE!' she yelled, and then she slapped me.
My jaw dropped as a large hot welt painted itself on my thigh.
âWhere. Is. Mitsy!' She was pinching my arm.
I got my knee up to her chest. âStop it! I haven't got your dumb mouse.' I thrust hard and she went crashing into my chair.
Parents tend to think that an eleven-month age gap between siblings is a good thing. Ha! I'll be seventeen next month, but it won't make much difference. Terry and I will still hate each other.
I expected her to come at me again, but her breathing was laboured. Thinking I was safe, I heaved myself to my feet. She saw her chance and took it.
I went down with a thump.
âI'm calling Dad,' I panted.
âI don't care. Just tell me what you did with my mouse.' She bounced on top of me a couple of times as she spoke, and it really hurt.
âIn the name of the wee man, what's going on up there?' Dad was at the bottom of the stairs.
âNothing!' we said in unison. Terry jumped up and tiptoed towards my bed, while I tried to replace the fallen chair without making any more noise.
âIt doesn't sound like nothing!'
âWhat does nothing sound like?' Terry whispered.
âIf you two are fighting againâ¦' He left the threat hanging. âWe're fine, Dad. Terry was just mucking around in my new chair and she fell off.'
She groaned. âYou idiot.'
âIs she okay?' Dad yelled, pounding up the stairs.
She was right. I was an idiot. Our father gets nervous about his family's health. No doubt he was imagining my sister rolling on the floor with her intestines hanging out, not that he would recognise these if they floated in his beer: he's far too squeamish to learn about the human body. He couldn't even watch us having our needles as kids, according to Mum. She's the complete opposite. She would have jabbed the suckers right into our arms herself, given half a chance.
âEr, she did give her stomach a bit of a bump, but it was sore anyway because she's got her PERIOD!' I shouted the last bit.
Silence. Then the sweet sound of a speedy fatherly retreat, and a much more distant and awkward, âRight, wellâ¦stop clowning around, you two.' Then nothing.
He's a bit outnumbered in this household. It's not just talk of periods that is included on his âto be avoided at all costs' list. Other things sure to make him scurry off are bras, waxing kits and any reference to sex.
âNice save,' Terry said when we were certain that he'd gone. âNow give me Mitsy before I kill you.'
âI swear I didn't take her.' I didn't get her sudden obsession with the mouse. âAnd anyway, what does it matter? It's just a dumb cuddly toy. You didn't even like it when Robbie Caruthers won it for you.'
âPoor Robbie Caruthers. Think how hard it must have been to aim for that clown's mouth, with a glass eye.'
âHe did not have a glass eye.'
I pretended to think. âYes, you're right. It was the other geek who loved you that year who had the glass eye. Wasn't Robbie the only kid in our primary school to have a full moustache?'
I love reminding her about Robbie Caruthers. Pathetic, but I have so little else to work with when it comes to getting under her skin.
Back in Scotland, Terry's Year 5 class visited a carnival. I guess in Australia you'd call it a theme park â a bit like Dream World, but not nearly as big. At that time, Robbie Caruthers, the nerdiest kid in her class, loved her madly.
Personally, I think she should have been grateful some fool wanted to kiss that smart mouth of hers when the rest of us just wanted to slap it. Anyway, the big dope won her an enormous green-and-white mouse. She was horrified.
Her class teacher, Miss McKenna, tactfully rescued it from a duck pond and gave it to our mum. Over the years, Mitsy wormed her way into Terry's affections, though the same cannot be said for Robbie Caruthers. I think she even kicked him in the nuts when they were in Year 6.
Before I could conjure up another Caruthersesque insult, she said, âIf Mitsy's not in here, where is she? She was under my bed yesterday morning before I went to soccer.'
âTerry, I have absolutely no idea what happened to her, and I don't care. I just want to get back to my English assignment because, unlike you, I don't have the time to run after soccer balls.'
âThat's because, unlike me, you count bending down to clip your toenails as your exercise, mate.'
We've only been on the continent twelve months and already my sister is using Aussie slang like a native.