Smooch & Rose (5 page)

9. Growing Up

I hurried back across the log and ran all the way up to the house. I had to find Gran.

I found her in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup on the stove.

‘Smooch is gone!' I spluttered, trying not to cry.

Gran looked small and frail stirring the big pot. She was staring into it, like the swirling soup had hypnotised her.

I tried a little more loudly. ‘Gran!'

She looked up, startled. ‘Rosie! There you are. Sorry love, I was miles away. Ready for dinner?'

‘Gran, Smooch is missing! There are orange stakes down the creek, they've scared Smooch off, and—'

‘Slow down, Rosie,' sighed Gran, setting out the bowls.

‘Smooch is
missing
. They won't know that a koala lives at the creek! They'll chop down all the trees.'

Gran pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. ‘Rosie love,' she murmured. ‘Smooch is a big boy now, all grown up, just like you. I'm sure he's not missing. He's probably just gone for a little explore. Now, do me a favour and lay the table.'

I could hardly eat my soup. Gran wouldn't hear any more about Smooch. She said she had enough to worry about trying to sell the farm machinery and cleaning out the sheds without adding a missing koala to the list. She didn't want to hear about koala websites or letters or laws about koala trees. Apparently there was some hiccup with the sale contract that was making Uncle Malcolm extra cranky and Gran drifted off to bed as soon as the dishes were done.

I hoped the hiccup was a big one. A giant one. Perhaps it would mean we wouldn't have to sell the farm.

On the way to school the next day, I stopped in at Carol's. I had to tell her that Smooch was missing. I found her in the back garden, feeding the wild rosellas.

‘Don't worry,' she said as she dug into the bin of bird feed. ‘He'll be back.' Seeds flicked everywhere as about 20 noisy rosellas squawked and flapped over the dish. ‘Maybe he's just growing up?'

There were those two words again. Growing up. Why
did everybody keep talking about growing up? A black and white butterfly flittered past. I frowned. Butterflies. Grown-up caterpillars. I stuck my hands in my pockets. Why was everything growing up?

‘Will he come back?' I said, my voice growlier than I meant it to be.

‘Course he will,' said Carol, sealing the lid on the feed bin. ‘Male koalas wander all the time. Smooch isn't old enough to mate yet, but he's probably gone off to check out all the pretty girls in the neighbourhood. Don't worry about it. He won't be too far away.'

Part of me was cross that Smooch was growing up, but a bigger part of me was relieved that he wasn't hurt. Maybe, while he was wandering, he'd find a safer place to live.

‘But what about the orange stakes?' I asked. ‘They're everywhere at the creek. Does that mean the council's been? When Smooch wasn't around? Because then they won't have marked his trees.'

Carol looked sadly around the garden. ‘Yes. The orange stakes will be surveyor's pegs, marking out the land for development. Which means the council would definitely have already been through.' She slapped a mosquito trying to feast on her arm. ‘We could have a problem.'

‘What about my letters?' I insisted. ‘I mean, they'll help, won't they? I wrote to everybody the website suggested. Surely someone will . . .'

‘Maybe not, Rose. People often have bigger things to worry about than koalas. We'll have to think of something else. Something more convincing. Something impressive. Any ideas?'

I chewed the inside of my cheek. ‘What about a fundraiser?' I suggested. ‘We have silly socks days and pyjama days at my school. We could have one for Smooch and use the money to buy the creek back.'

Carol shook her head. ‘No, too late for that. And we'd need a lot of socks! We need something to raise awareness about the koalas and their trees.'

‘Like a protest march? We could start at the farm gate and march into town, with banners and loudspeakers and—'

‘Maybe not a protest march. Not yet. There has to be something else we can try first.'

We decided we'd have a better think over the weekend. After saying goodbye to Carol, I ran all the way to school. But it was no use. I was late. The rest of the class was already copying notes from the interactive whiteboard. Mrs Glover didn't turn around when I walked in.

I squeezed behind my desk and ruled up a new page in my book.

‘Miss Nunn?' said Mrs Glover in her sharp don't-mess-with-me voice. ‘You have a note, I presume?'

I sat still, hoping she'd get distracted.

‘Miss Nunn. A late note?'

I shook my head.

‘This is the second time you've been late this term. I hope it's not becoming a habit.'

I wanted to tell her that I was never late on purpose. Only if Mickey twisted his rug, or if Sally got out and I had to chase her back into her yard. It wasn't my fault if I was worried about Smooch. Surely she'd understand? This was an emergency.

But I kept my mouth shut. I knew there was no point arguing with Mrs Glover.

The morning lesson was about petitions made to the Queensland Parliament. Mrs Glover handed out a pile of examples and asked us to work in groups. She stopped beside me and pointed to Kellee and Tahlia. ‘You can work with the girls at the back today, Rose,' she said. ‘There are some tricky words to watch out for in this worksheet. Girls, give Rose a hand, please.'

Kellee said, ‘Oh, great!' And Tahlia groaned.

I stared grimly at my desk.
Anybody but them.

Mrs Glover gave a petition to Tahlia, and clicked her fingers impatiently at me. ‘Snap, snap, Rose. We haven't got all day,' she said curtly.

I stood and dragged my feet to the back of the room.

‘Snap, snap, bumpkin,' giggled Kellee. She and Tahlia shuffled their chairs together as I fumbled into my seat. I gripped my pencil and rubber for moral support.

‘What's the matter, scarecrow? Too much straw for breakfast?' sniggered Tahlia.

I pretended to study the petition. It didn't look that different to the letters I'd written to the newspapers and politicians. Only with a heap more signatures.

Tahlia reached over and snatched the petition away. ‘As if you'd know, hay brain,' she hissed, flicking my pencil to the floor. She and Kellee turned their backs to me and bent over the worksheet. I bit my lip. Like I really cared about some old petition. Especially when koalas were being bulldozed in Redland Bay.

That got me thinking.

‘Mrs Glover,' I asked when she came over. ‘Could
anyone
write a petition? I mean, even if they're not someone important?'

She straightened up and peered at me over her glasses. ‘Yes, of course. Isn't that what today's lesson has been all about?'

Kellee and Tahlia curled their lips.

Mrs Glover didn't notice. ‘These are ordinary people putting forward petitions, trying to make a difference about things that really matter to them.'

‘So, if
I
sent a petition about something really important, even
I
could make a difference? The people in Canberra would listen to my petition?'

Mrs Glover tapped her finger thoughtfully against her cheek. ‘Mmm,' she said. ‘Now that all depends on what the petition is requesting. If it's asking for a change in things like taxes or employment, then, yes, you'd send it to Canberra. But if it's to do with the environment or school, then you'd send it to your local State Member of Parliament. They would listen and lodge it, but they wouldn't necessarily have to
agree
to
do
whatever it is you want.' She folded her arms. ‘Why? What do you want to change, Rose?'

Kellee nudged Tahlia's leg with her pencil. She did it just under the desk where Mrs Glover couldn't see. But I saw. I decided not to tell Mrs Glover about my idea.

I would write a petition for Smooch. A petition to save koala trees. I would ask everyone to sign it and I'd send it straight to my local state member. If I made sure it was good enough, they might even show it to the premier.

I ducked into the library at lunchtime and nabbed one of the computers before anyone else. Instead of working on my PowerPoint, I typed up a petition asking for the protection of koala trees and made a whole heap of lines for people to sign their names. I checked the spelling four times and printed it off. For the first time in weeks, I felt a little sparkle of hope. I couldn't wait to fill the petition with signatures. Surely now Smooch would be saved.

10. Late Again

I filled up five pages of my petition with signatures, including one from Craig the vet, one from the school librarian, one from the lollipop lady, and even one from my principal. I didn't ask Mrs Glover. She didn't seem the animal type. When everyone I knew had signed it, I sent it off to the Member for Cleveland and asked him to please show the premier.

The petition kept me pretty busy, which was good because it stopped me worrying about Smooch. Every day I searched all the trees on the way to school and on the way home, but he wasn't in any of them.

The orange stakes were still down the creek. There were even some up near the yards now
.
People in fluoro jackets tromped all over our paddocks just about every day, but mostly they stayed away from the house.

‘How much longer till we have to . . . you know . . . ?' I asked Gran late one afternoon. We were sitting on the verandah, eating homemade scones, and I didn't want to ruin the moment by saying the word ‘move'.

‘Not quite yet,' said Gran. ‘There's still that hiccup with the contract. They're letting us stay on until they sort it out.'

My brain fizzled with joy. There was still a hiccup? Was it because of my letters after all? Or the petition? Maybe they'd already passed a law preventing the developers from chopping down Smooch's trees. Or maybe the developers had just changed their minds. Perhaps, because I'd been brave and spoken up, they'd decided to leave us alone.

‘So we won't have to live with Uncle Malcolm?' I said, sitting a little straighter.

‘No love. Well, yes, but not for the time being. We can wait until they sort things out.'

‘Oh,' I said, sinking back into my chair. Then I jolted upright again. ‘But that means there's still time to save Smooch's trees. There's got to be something else we can do.'

‘No, I don't think there's anything else, Rosie,' said Gran. ‘Mrs Henry up the road tried to save a few scribbly gums when her land was sold, and although the developers nodded their heads, they bulldozed them anyway.'

I took a bite of scone but even though it was smothered in delicious strawberry jam, thinking about bulldozers made the dough all sticky in my mouth.

‘I understand you're upset about us selling the farm, Rosie, but your Uncle Malcolm's right. It really is for the best. We're not getting anywhere near the money we used to for strawberries and I'm not getting any younger.'

‘It's not that,' I huffed. ‘I know we have to sell the farm and everything. I just don't want them to bulldoze
all
the trees.'

I'd explained all the stuff I'd read on the koala websites to her before but she never seemed to listen. It was like she'd already given up on the farm and didn't want to fight.

I was never going to give up.

‘Maybe it's time for a protest march,' I suggested. ‘They'd have to listen then, wouldn't they?'

‘Maybe,' said Gran, taking another sip of tea. And then, not sounding very convinced, ‘You could try.'

I woke the next morning with Gran shaking my arm. ‘Rosie!' she puffed breathlessly. ‘You've slept in. I've fed the animals, but you'd better skedaddle. You'll be late for school.'

My alarm hadn't gone off! I dived out of bed and raced to school without breakfast. I would have made it too, if only I hadn't seen a white and grey lump on the side of the road. I stopped dead. Smooch?

A car roared past, blaring its horn. The lump didn't move. I wanted to shout, ‘Get away, quick!' as I started running towards it. When I was about a metre away, I froze. What if it
was
Smooch? All bloodied and ripped? I stepped backwards. A sudden gust of wind flicked a strand of hair across my face. I pushed it away. The same gust caught the white and grey thing from where it lay. It flapped and rose and fluttered away. It wasn't Smooch. It was just a plastic bag!

I exhaled and tried to settle my pounding heart. Maybe this time it hadn't been him but what about next time? I sank to the curb and held my head in my hands. That bag was a sign. A sign that if I didn't do something, Smooch would end up dead on the side of the road. He needed me to help save him. If I didn't, who would?

I strode off to school, determined to talk to Mrs Glover about a protest march. I stepped into the classroom, my head held high. All eyes turned to me. I was late – again – but today would be okay. I had a good excuse. I steeled myself for a lecture and made my way to my desk.

But then I stopped. Tahlia was standing up the front holding a set of sharp teeth. Behind her, pictures of fierce Tasmanian devils flashed across the interactive whiteboard. I glanced around the room. One girl had a model of a large crab-looking thing sitting on her desk and another held a jar with something green and slimy cowering inside it.

Of course – presentation day! The PowerPoints! Mrs Glover waved an impatient hand at me and I slunk into my chair. I had only three measly slides on my USB and not a single prop. If only I hadn't spent so much time researching ways to save Smooch, I might have been more prepared.

I did a quick calculation. Mrs Glover liked doing things alphabetically and Tahlia's surname was Baker. There were 20 students on the roll between Baker and Nunn. Allowing one minute of talking per student and two minutes of questions plus the usual feet-dragging turn-around time. It would take five minutes for each person. Twenty people at five minutes apiece meant at least one hour and 40 minutes before Mrs Glover would call on me. It was now 9.15. We started sport at 12 and there was morning tea in between. If I was lucky, I might just slip through without doing my presentation.

I let out a deep breath and forced myself to concentrate on the whiteboard. Tahlia had included background music in her presentation and had all sorts of facts and figures. I shrank into my chair. My PowerPoint needed lots of work.

Tahlia finished her talk by asking for questions. I was pleased to see three hands shoot up. The more time we wasted the better. She answered each question perfectly and Mrs Glover smiled. She told us that Tahlia had delivered
exactly
the type of PowerPoint she'd been looking for and that she hoped she could expect the same quality from every­one in the class. There was some uncomfortable shuffling around the room.

Mrs Glover jotted down some notes in her mark book and then her eyes panned the room. I waited for her to call up Kellee. Her surname was Caper, and she was next on the roll after Tahlia. She even started gathering her notes and pushing back her chair.

I flinched when I heard my name.

‘Miss Nunn!' repeated Mrs Glover. ‘Let's hope your presentation was of higher priority than getting to school on time today . . . mmm?'

I gulped. Me? Now? I heard a snort from the back of the room. Tahlia and Kellee were waiting like red-bellied black snakes to strike. I had to think of an excuse. Quickly.

‘I . . . um . . . we had a computer glitch at home,' I stuttered. ‘Our hard drive . . . um . . . froze . . .'

‘You don't even have a computer,' sneered Tahlia. A chorus of teehees trilled from the back. My face burnt.

‘Sorry, Mrs Glover,' I mumbled. ‘Can I do mine tomorrow? I . . . I only need a few more pictures and then I'll be ready.'

Mrs Glover tapped her pen on her hand. Twenty-six faces stared up at her in anticipation. I was hopeless at public speaking. And everyone knew it. I hung my head low.
Please don't make me go
.
Please.

Mrs Glover cleared her throat. ‘If you remember, Miss Nunn, I said no extensions. Do you remember me saying that? Class?'

Everyone murmured a nervous yes. I was sure I wasn't the only person who hadn't finished their slides.

‘Up you get, young lady. Let's see what you've got.'

My hands shook as I rummaged through my pencil case. I hoped I couldn't find my USB, but there it was, right on the top. I handed it to Mrs Glover. She plugged it into her laptop as I positioned myself in front of the whiteboard. My knees wobbled like crazy.

I twisted my hands together. ‘Good morning, class. Good morning, Mrs Glover.' My eyes stayed glued to my shoes. I'd wound black tape over the toe to cover a large scruffy hole at the beginning of the year so Gran wouldn't have to buy me a new pair. The tape had been peeling off all term. I'd need to . . .
This isn't about shoes
.
Focus, focus, breathe.

It felt like an hour passed. Every time I opened my mouth a nervous giggle escaped instead of my proper voice.

‘There's nothing funny about it, Rose. We're waiting.'

‘My presentation today is about the . . . um . . . the . . . um . . . the endangered Australian animal, the . . . um . . . the koala.' I reached for the remote to click on my first slide. My palm was hot and sweaty. The remote slipped and rattled noisily to the floor. I dived under the nearest desk to retrieve it.

‘But the koala isn't endangered,' said someone at the back of the room. It sounded like Kellee. I stayed under the desk longer than I needed to. Maybe Mrs Glover would feel sorry for me and let me go sit down.

‘Yeah. There are thousands of koalas, aren't there?' said someone else. ‘You can't do a presentation on them.'

My fingers curled around the remote. Koalas
were
endangered. They were dying all around the place. Hadn't the websites said that? I couldn't make myself stand back up. What if I'd got it all wrong?

‘That's enough, class. Let Rose continue. Rose, out of there. Keep going, please.'

I crawled out from under the desk and pushed my hair from my eyes.
Breathe, breathe.
Click. My first slide was a photo of Smooch, high up in his tallowwood tree. ‘This is a typical . . . um . . . a typical koala,' I muttered, staring at my shoes. ‘They eat gumleaves.'

‘Duh!' said Kellee. I waited for her to say something about
me
eating gumleaves, but I looked up to see Mrs Glover giving her a glare.

I started again. ‘They eat gumleaves. They have to chew them very slowly because um . . . because . . .' I puffed out my cheeks. Stupid idea. When I let the air out, it made a ridiculous popping sound. Mrs Glover shook her head.
Think, think
. Why
did
they chew slowly? It had something to do with digestion. But I couldn't remember. My brain had frozen. ‘Um . . . they chew slowly because . . .'

I gave up. I clicked on the next slide. It was the picture I'd found of the koala clinging to the only tree in a totally cleared development site. The room went silent. No fiddling or wriggling. Just silence. All eyes facing me. I was supposed to say that koala numbers were dropping fast, but that picture made my chest heave and I had to choke down a sob. I couldn't trust my voice to utter another word. I was terrified I would cry.

‘Rose?' said Mrs Glover, coming over to me. Her voice was surprisingly kind. ‘Rose, have you any more slides?'

I nodded but didn't trust myself to speak. My eyes stung with tears.

‘Okay, well, I think that's probably enough for today. How about you practise when you get home tonight and be ready to try again first thing tomorrow?'

I nodded again.

‘Right, let's have Kellee up next. Kellee, are you ready?'

The rest of the day was a blur. All I remembered was someone talking about weird short-nosed sea snakes, which made everyone squeal, and Kellee giving an amazing presentation on the hairy-nosed wombat. I vowed to practise my talk a million times before tomorrow. I'd practise in front of Gran and maybe even Carol and I'd make sure I was super-prepared to present the next morning.

But the next morning, my PowerPoint presentation was the last thing on my mind.