strength not to follow. I’ve got to get this over with. I’ve got to complete my challenge.
I suck in lungfuls of air, psyching myself for the worst. I lean forward.
‘Watch out for the devil!’ I yell. Don’t ask me why. Stupidest thing I’ve done.
Miss Reynolds jumps back with fright. Her foot disappears down a wombat hole. She goes A over T.
As she’s falling I get a squiz up Miss Reynolds’s shorts. Reminds me of a carcass at the butchers.
It’s like a slow-motion movie. I watch as she tries to stay on her feet. I do what any sensible kid would not do. I hurry to help her up.
‘Oooohhh,’ she moans, lying still.
I have visions of being charged. Murder by Smart Alec remark.
‘You okay?’ I ask, desperate for some sign of life.
‘H-h-help!’ is the reply.
I’m not that desperate. Typhoon Tonsils flatten me.
Miss Reynolds grabs her foot, her face scrunched with pain.
‘Deep breaths,’ calls out Cordelia. ‘It helps.’
‘That’s for childbirth, stupid,’ I say.
Miss Reynolds starts huffing with gusto.
I am going to expire. Calling her Dog-breath would be too kind.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean to give you a fright. It was only a joke.’
‘Life can be one big challenge,’ says Laura, with a knowing look in her eye.
‘Miss Reynolds. You could sue Toby,’ Cordelia says with a sneer. ‘I know I would.’
Miss Reynolds does not answer. She just barks at me, ‘Give me a hand!’ She grabs hold of my arm, gripping so hard my triceps become biceps.
‘Silly boy. You’ll have to help me get the first-aid kit from my office.’
It is the longest 500 metres.
Sheer agony.
‘Cause no matter how hard you try to avoid it, you still have to breathe.
Chapter Five
‘The only piker we’ve got for the Pollen Tree Cup is Toby.’ Lowie makes the announcement after dinner. ‘It’s our last night,’ continues Lowie. ‘I vote he’s out of the challenge.’
I’m stunned. I look around, appealing to my friends. ‘We never set a time limit.’
There’s no support there.
Laura’s not doing it easy. She’s sitting like a trussed-up pig. Must be up to upside-down-back-to-front-and-inside-out.
And Andy is second cousin to the Michelin tyre man. He tries to look tough by giving me the hairy eyeball and crossing his arms, but he fails. His upper arms are now so fat that they refuse to anchor. They float up, reinforcing the fact that he is only good down wind.
Jonnie’s only good down wind, too, but for completely different reasons. His insides must be starting to fester. He’s all bloated and has stopped eating. He says he’s run out of room. I reckon if you pricked his tummy he’d soar on a jet-propelled fart.
And Lowie?
Lowie’s already scratching his name on the Pollen Tree Cup. ‘Ya wuss-bag,’ he says again, this time kerthumping me on the back.
‘I got the hardest challenge out of everyone,’
I say.
Loud guttural noises follow my remark. ‘It’s true.’
‘My undies have cut off all the circulation,’ growls Laura, with emphasis on each word. ‘My bum’s so numb I’m legless.’
‘That’s nothing,’ says Andy, pointing to his own bottom. ‘I’m so dirty I’ve got gravel rash of the crack. And between my toes. And under my arms.’
‘Well, you guys don’t live in a force-field like I do,’ accuses Jonnie. ‘It’s deadly. Face it, Toby. You’re a piker.’
‘My challenge is the worst,’ I repeat, but deep down I know it’s not.
‘What do you think?’ Lowie asks our group. ‘Should Toby be in, or out?’
‘None of us have choked,’ Laura points out.
‘We ‘re not wimps,’ agrees Andy, scratching under his arms like a hairy gorilla.
‘Yeah,’ says Jonnie, slamming his fist in his hand and triggering an explosion. He grabs his bum and gasps, ‘Fartleberry!’
I feel sorry for the guy. He really is doing it hard.
‘You can die from my challenge,’ I say. ‘Air poisoning.’
Just then Cordelia Foxheart walks
I suck in lungfuls of air, psyching myself for the worst. I lean forward.
‘Watch out for the devil!’ I yell. Don’t ask me why. Stupidest thing I’ve done.
Miss Reynolds jumps back with fright. Her foot disappears down a wombat hole. She goes A over T.
As she’s falling I get a squiz up Miss Reynolds’s shorts. Reminds me of a carcass at the butchers.
It’s like a slow-motion movie. I watch as she tries to stay on her feet. I do what any sensible kid would not do. I hurry to help her up.
‘Oooohhh,’ she moans, lying still.
I have visions of being charged. Murder by Smart Alec remark.
‘You okay?’ I ask, desperate for some sign of life.
‘H-h-help!’ is the reply.
I’m not that desperate. Typhoon Tonsils flatten me.
Miss Reynolds grabs her foot, her face scrunched with pain.
‘Deep breaths,’ calls out Cordelia. ‘It helps.’
‘That’s for childbirth, stupid,’ I say.
Miss Reynolds starts huffing with gusto.
I am going to expire. Calling her Dog-breath would be too kind.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean to give you a fright. It was only a joke.’
‘Life can be one big challenge,’ says Laura, with a knowing look in her eye.
‘Miss Reynolds. You could sue Toby,’ Cordelia says with a sneer. ‘I know I would.’
Miss Reynolds does not answer. She just barks at me, ‘Give me a hand!’ She grabs hold of my arm, gripping so hard my triceps become biceps.
‘Silly boy. You’ll have to help me get the first-aid kit from my office.’
It is the longest 500 metres.
Sheer agony.
‘Cause no matter how hard you try to avoid it, you still have to breathe.
Chapter Five
‘The only piker we’ve got for the Pollen Tree Cup is Toby.’ Lowie makes the announcement after dinner. ‘It’s our last night,’ continues Lowie. ‘I vote he’s out of the challenge.’
I’m stunned. I look around, appealing to my friends. ‘We never set a time limit.’
There’s no support there.
Laura’s not doing it easy. She’s sitting like a trussed-up pig. Must be up to upside-down-back-to-front-and-inside-out.
And Andy is second cousin to the Michelin tyre man. He tries to look tough by giving me the hairy eyeball and crossing his arms, but he fails. His upper arms are now so fat that they refuse to anchor. They float up, reinforcing the fact that he is only good down wind.
Jonnie’s only good down wind, too, but for completely different reasons. His insides must be starting to fester. He’s all bloated and has stopped eating. He says he’s run out of room. I reckon if you pricked his tummy he’d soar on a jet-propelled fart.
And Lowie?
Lowie’s already scratching his name on the Pollen Tree Cup. ‘Ya wuss-bag,’ he says again, this time kerthumping me on the back.
‘I got the hardest challenge out of everyone,’
I say.
Loud guttural noises follow my remark. ‘It’s true.’
‘My undies have cut off all the circulation,’ growls Laura, with emphasis on each word. ‘My bum’s so numb I’m legless.’
‘That’s nothing,’ says Andy, pointing to his own bottom. ‘I’m so dirty I’ve got gravel rash of the crack. And between my toes. And under my arms.’
‘Well, you guys don’t live in a force-field like I do,’ accuses Jonnie. ‘It’s deadly. Face it, Toby. You’re a piker.’
‘My challenge is the worst,’ I repeat, but deep down I know it’s not.
‘What do you think?’ Lowie asks our group. ‘Should Toby be in, or out?’
‘None of us have choked,’ Laura points out.
‘We ‘re not wimps,’ agrees Andy, scratching under his arms like a hairy gorilla.
‘Yeah,’ says Jonnie, slamming his fist in his hand and triggering an explosion. He grabs his bum and gasps, ‘Fartleberry!’
I feel sorry for the guy. He really is doing it hard.
‘You can die from my challenge,’ I say. ‘Air poisoning.’
Just then Cordelia Foxheart walks
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