Pyro Watson and the Hidden Treasure by Nette Hilton

ears and let out a very low growl.
    â€˜Quick!’ Min lay down flat on his stomach. ‘Get down.’
    Pyro was as flat as one of Dad’s handkerchiefs.
    â€˜Guess who?’
    Pyro craned forward. They were a little above the level of the track and he could see, as he peered around the lowest branches, the rising heads of the Two Worries.
    â€˜It’s the Worries,’ he said.
    Min giggled. ‘The Whats?’
    â€˜Not the Whats.’ Pyro was trying so hard not to giggle that he snorted. ‘The Worries! It’s what I called them when they were chucking stuff at us today.’
    Beyond their hiding place the Worries had slowed. ‘Did you hear something?’ Plonker was glancing behind him.
    â€˜Like what?’ Sausage Lips was listening really hard. ‘Can’t hear nothing at all.’
    Plonker sneered. ‘Thought I heard Min Stobey. He’s looking to cop it, that kid! Did you see the way he took off after school today. I reckon he’s got something on.’
    â€˜Yeah.’ Sausage Lips started off up the path again. ‘I reckon he has too.’
    â€˜What do you think it is, then? What’s he up to?’ Plonker glanced around again before setting off up the path.
    Pyro turned around just in time to see Min pull faces at their backs.
    â€˜I’d like to get that Plonker, just once,’ he said. ‘He’s always after us.’
    They waited until the coast looked clear and then set off down the cliff face. They were pretty certain the Worries would be sitting at the table at the top of the cliff walk, hoping for trouble.
    The way Min put it was that, as they weren’t that keen to be the trouble, they’d go the long way round.
    â€˜See you tomorrow,’ Min said when they reached the edge of Mor’s camper site. ‘My gran’ll be worried if we don’t get home before dark. Are you all right to get over there by yourself?’
    The Two Worries weren’t anywhere to be seen. ‘Right as rain,’ Pyro said. ‘See you tomorrow.’

Pyro Watson woke early. He didn’t mind the kookaburras hacking and coughing their way into the day. Or the sounds of campers packing up. The old couple who were travelling around Australia weren’t leaving though. It looked like Australia would have to wait a little longer to greet them on their next stopover. Auntie Mor said she was hoping they’d choof off soon because she’d seen their photos four times already.
    Pyro rolled over to check out the ocean and the day. It was shiny and blue and gold again which meant they’d probably go down to the rock pool. The tide was wrong though, Auntie Mor said, to go down early, so it looked like the octopus would have to wait to squirt its ink at passing swimmers.
    It was going to be a good day and thoughts of an ink-squirting octopus were easily shoved out of the way to make room for the new, the wonderful, the incredible hide-out and its construction.
    And Min.
    And Becks.
    A smile crept across Pyro’s mouth when he thought back over the way Min could make things sound funny. Min just said things out loud like it didn’t matter what anybody else thought. It was different to Geezer. Geeze liked things to be a bit more organised and he didn’t say anything fast.
    He was all right though, Geeze. Graham Achmed Radhi Smith. Ms Cllump, not Miss or Mrs but Mzzzzzz Cllump, had told everyone that Geezer was from India and had raved on about how brilliant that was. Geezer said he wasn’t from India, he was from Australia. It didn’t stop Mzzz Cllump though. On International Day, when everyone was supposed to come in a national costume of some sort, she wanted Geezer to wear a turban.
    â€˜I want to come as a surfer,’ he’d said.
    Ms-not-Miss-or-Mrs Cllump said not to be ridiculous because a surfer wasn’t a nationality like Australian or Pakistani or Vietnamese or Indian. A surfer was just