So Sick! (8 page)

Cal tickled Helix with his little finger. Still nothing.

He looked up at a sea of angry faces.

‘Refund. Refund. Refund,’ the kids started to chant.

‘I’m changing your name to Helix Asparagus,’ Cal said to his snail in disgust.

Helix remained unmoved.

‘Refund. Refund. Refund.’

There was a lump in Cal’s throat the size of Uluru. His chest felt tight. The Snail Paces were a failure! There would be no Sliders game, now. And no Hayley. Cal gritted his teeth. There was only one thing he could do. ‘Everyone gets to keep their snails,’ he called out.

The booing quietened but did not go away.

‘And you’ll all get a refund.’

‘Yay-y-y-!’

‘Come and get a box,’ said Cal. Turning to Emma he held out her dollar. ‘Here you go.’

‘Hard luck,’ said Daniel, giving Cal a gentle biff on the shoulder. Cal nodded, too disappointed to speak.

One by one the children lined up to get their money back till finally there were only a few coins to go.

‘Uh, uh,’ said Hayley, when her turn came. ‘You keep it. After all, I only paid a dollar.’ She looked at her snails in their boxes. ‘And besides, these little guys get to come home with me.’

Lucky buggers, thought Cal.

‘Keep mine, too,’ said another voice.

Cal looked up. It was the chemist shop assistant.

‘Cal,’ said Hayley. ‘I’d like you to meet Mrs Pitado, my mum.’

Cal did a Helix impersonation of his own. A double Helix impersonation. With arms and feet latched to his sides he swivelled into a heap on the ground like a DNA structure that’s lost its hydrogen bonds. Hayley and her mother laughed.

‘There, there, dear,’ said Mrs Pitado, peering at him. ‘It’s not that bad.’

It was at that exact moment that Cal’s feet asked to make Mrs Pitado’s acquaintance. They began to itch. Not just itch. They stung. They tingled. They prickled. They burned. They twitched! Inside Cal’s socks was like a brawl in a sweathouse.

Amputation is looking good, thought Cal, looking around. Where’s a chainsaw? Out loud he said, ‘Thanks, but I insist,’ and he pressed the remaining coins into Hayley and her mother’s hands. ‘Thanks
for being such good sports,’ he added. Then he turned away, walked over to his sign and began taking it down before he made an even bigger idiot of himself.

Hayley and her mother hesitated, just for a moment, then headed in the direction of the cake stall.

Cal moaned. He stomped and stamped. ‘These feet are driving me crazy!’ he muttered to himself.

‘Want me to help?’ asked Daniel.

‘Nah,’ said Cal in a small voice. ‘Go and have some fun.’

Grabbing the bucket Cal marched as far away from the fair as possible and sat under the shade of a tree. The fire in his feet continued.

‘I know!’ said Cal. He tipped up the bucket and out fell the snails. With grim determination Cal marched to a tap and filled the bucket with water. In ten strides he was back. Quickly he ripped off his shoes and socks. His feet were so red they looked purple. Cal sat with his feet in the bucket, away from the prying eyes of the other children. The cold water was soothing, easing away the burning itches. Cal leant against the tree. He closed his eyes. ‘What a mess!’ he said out loud.

‘They are, aren’t they?’

Cal jerked. In his fright he knocked over the bucket, flooding the remaining snails with a tidal wave of water. Frantically he looked for something to
throw over his feet.

‘Red, aren’t they?’ continued Hayley, who was looking down.

Cal nodded.

‘And scaly.’

Another nod.

‘Are they terribly, horribly itchy?’

In a very flat voice Cal said, ‘Terribly, horribly.’ Unable to look Hayley in the face he went on to explain, ‘I’ve got tinea — Scabies Crustosa.’

Hayley made little tsk, tsk noises. ‘I’m sure it can be fixed,’ she said.

‘It means I’m covered in scales. I’m gonna end up looking like a fish! I’ll never be able to do anything.’ Cal stopped. Now was his big chance. He looked Hayley straight in the eye. His voice dropped an octave as he said, ‘Not even go in a flipper race.’

Cal did not know what he was expecting but it wasn’t what he got. Hayley threw back her head and laughed.

Cal wished his whole body would frizzle up and evaporate.

Hayley’s laughter dimmed to a chuckle. ‘Why do fish wear flippers, you idiot?’

Cal frowned and asked, ‘Is this a joke?’

Hayley nodded, her face one big grin.

‘I don’t know,’ said Cal, reluctant to take part but trying to humour Hayley. ‘Why do fish wear flippers?’

‘To hide their feet!’ crowed Hayley.

Despite himself, Cal laughed. ‘Hey, look,’ said Hayley. She was pointing at Cal’s feet.

Cal peered down. Several snails had climbed up. One was balanced on his little toe and a few more were heading up his arches. Cal giggled. ‘Tickles,’ he explained as the snails left a trail along his angry skin.

‘The water must’ve woken them up,’ said Hayley, watching their progress.

‘Yeah,’ said Cal, enjoying the soothing feel on his skin.

‘Would … would you go in a flipper race, um, with me?’ asked Hayley.

Cal gulped. Was Hayley really asking him? Couldn’t she see how ridiculous he looked?

‘Pardon?’ croaked Cal, unable to believe the turn-around.

‘We’ve got a race to win,’ said Hayley, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him along.

‘Why?’ asked Cal, still unsure.

‘Because,’ said Hayley, ‘there’s a movie I’m dying to see.’

‘What movie?’ asked Cal, floating along beside her.

‘Bigfoot!’

‘Cop that!’

Luke swivels, but he’s too slow. The ripe plum nicks him on the forehead. Skin explodes. Flesh explodes. Juice splatters everywhere. Luke is seeing red.

From his hiding place behind the tree Hamish screeches with laughter. ‘Gotcha!’

‘Yuck!’ cries Luke, swiping at the fruit mashed across his face. ‘Whatcha do that for!’ He flicks the pulp at the tree.

Hamish leaps out bellowing, ‘Missed me!’ He punches the air. ‘Yes!’

Sticky slime smears through Luke’s hair, leaving a skid mark any BMX rider would be proud of. His face is rivulets of red.

Hamish begins to stomp, he hollers, he charges at shadows like some sort of Indian warrior.

Luke shakes his head. He’s seen this war cry before. He tries to wipe the scum off his face but only succeeds in spreading it further.

‘You look like you’ve got a strawberry birthmark!’ howls Hamish, doubling over.

Hope he cacks himself, thinks Luke, picking bits of plum skin out of one nostril. With his smeared and bloodied face it is Luke who looks like an Indian warrior, the one who has lost the battle. Luke glances around, scanning for something, anything, to retaliate with when he realises that he’s two houses from Mrs Sully’s! His lips plough into a smile as a plan takes form.

‘Good one, Hamish!’ says Luke, but his laugh is tinny as he starts to move towards Mrs Sully’s.

‘That’s for the sardine sanger!’ yells Hamish, following closely, but keeping a respectful distance.

Two days before as Hamish was passing under a pedestrian bridge at school a sardine sandwich had landed on his head. He didn’t have to look up to know who the owner was. He and Luke had been at this game for ages — not game, war! Their weapons
were legendary — cream pies, rotten bananas, squashed pears — all hurled with abandon.