interrupted.
‘How about those fluorescent stars? You know, the ones that light up in the dark. She could stick them on the lid of her coffin so it would look like night-time during the day.’
We all looked at Phredde with respect. I mean, like I said, I’m usually the one that comes up with the ideas.
‘I thought an electric toothbrush,’ I said. ‘But that idea’s great.’
‘How about both?’ suggested someone else. ‘Neither of them cost much…’
So that’s what we did.
It was a great party.
Just as the volcano went off at lunchtime, Phredde changed the classroom into a tropical beach—as soon as you walked through the door there were the waves and sand and palm trees. And Mrs Olsen cried, ‘What?’, and we all yelled, ‘Happy birthday!’, and someone started to sing:
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you…
The whole school filed in, and most of the parents as well. The parents got a real shock when they walked through the classroom door onto the beach, especially those who hadn’t heard about Phredde. Even Dad took the day off.
Everyone brought a plate and put it on the trestles under the palm trees, and there were chips and party pies, and lamingtons and corn chips and sliced watermelon, and ninety-six different kinds of sandwiches, and cakes…more food than even Uncle Mordred could eat when he’s in his dragon shape (he couldn’t come, he was off on an expedition somewhere).
And Mum and Phredde’s mum had brought these little blood puddings from the butcher. I thought blood puddings were something only vampires would like,but it turns out they used to be really popular (YUK) and some people still like them. I mean some people are really weird.
You should have seen Mrs Olsen’s face.
She cried when Mum gave her the blood puddings and she loved the electric toothbrush and the fluorescent stars (we got a few moons as well) and said we could all try her coffin whenever we wanted so we could look at them in the dark.
She had lots of other presents, too.
Mrs Allen, the headmistress, gave her this great bunch of plastic roses, which I thought was really thoughtful. Even a vampire can’t wilt plastic flowers.
And all the teachers had signed this great big card that said: ‘Life begins at 40’, except they’d added an extra O, and they gave her a crystal decanter as well, and Mrs Olsen sobbed a bit and said NOTHING makes blood look so delicious as crystal…she’d keep it for rare vintages.
And you know what? Dad gave her his jaguar.
I was really proud of him, giving away something he loves so much just because he thought someone else might love it too.
‘It’ll remind you of your youth back in the old country,’ said Dad, handing her the lead. He’d put a red bow around its neck and everything.
Mrs Olsen just blinked. She leant down carefully—well, it IS a jaguar—to pat it. And you know what? The jaguar looked up at her and purred. (It’s funny. It never purred like that for Dad, even though they say animals can sense if someone really likes them.)
I didn’t feel like pointing out to Dad that Mrs Olsen came from Ruritania, not South America. I didn’t want to embarrass him, not when he’d been so kind.
I made up my mind to give Dad something else South American for his birthday to make up for it. Something really great. A three-toed sloth…or some piranhas for his bath…
When Mrs Olsen got over the shock—it was a really fantastic present, even better than the electric toothbrush and the fluorescent stars—she said she was THRILLED with the jaguar and she’d always wanted a kitten—especially a black one. It reminded her of her Uncle Vlad, and she began to sniff again.
She was just a bit worried that her backyard might be too small for a jaguar, but Phredde’s mum fixed that by shrinking the jaguar to the size of a guinea pig. It was even cuter like that than before. It kept on pouncing around after crabs in the sand and shaking them and biting
‘How about those fluorescent stars? You know, the ones that light up in the dark. She could stick them on the lid of her coffin so it would look like night-time during the day.’
We all looked at Phredde with respect. I mean, like I said, I’m usually the one that comes up with the ideas.
‘I thought an electric toothbrush,’ I said. ‘But that idea’s great.’
‘How about both?’ suggested someone else. ‘Neither of them cost much…’
So that’s what we did.
It was a great party.
Just as the volcano went off at lunchtime, Phredde changed the classroom into a tropical beach—as soon as you walked through the door there were the waves and sand and palm trees. And Mrs Olsen cried, ‘What?’, and we all yelled, ‘Happy birthday!’, and someone started to sing:
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you…
The whole school filed in, and most of the parents as well. The parents got a real shock when they walked through the classroom door onto the beach, especially those who hadn’t heard about Phredde. Even Dad took the day off.
Everyone brought a plate and put it on the trestles under the palm trees, and there were chips and party pies, and lamingtons and corn chips and sliced watermelon, and ninety-six different kinds of sandwiches, and cakes…more food than even Uncle Mordred could eat when he’s in his dragon shape (he couldn’t come, he was off on an expedition somewhere).
And Mum and Phredde’s mum had brought these little blood puddings from the butcher. I thought blood puddings were something only vampires would like,but it turns out they used to be really popular (YUK) and some people still like them. I mean some people are really weird.
You should have seen Mrs Olsen’s face.
She cried when Mum gave her the blood puddings and she loved the electric toothbrush and the fluorescent stars (we got a few moons as well) and said we could all try her coffin whenever we wanted so we could look at them in the dark.
She had lots of other presents, too.
Mrs Allen, the headmistress, gave her this great bunch of plastic roses, which I thought was really thoughtful. Even a vampire can’t wilt plastic flowers.
And all the teachers had signed this great big card that said: ‘Life begins at 40’, except they’d added an extra O, and they gave her a crystal decanter as well, and Mrs Olsen sobbed a bit and said NOTHING makes blood look so delicious as crystal…she’d keep it for rare vintages.
And you know what? Dad gave her his jaguar.
I was really proud of him, giving away something he loves so much just because he thought someone else might love it too.
‘It’ll remind you of your youth back in the old country,’ said Dad, handing her the lead. He’d put a red bow around its neck and everything.
Mrs Olsen just blinked. She leant down carefully—well, it IS a jaguar—to pat it. And you know what? The jaguar looked up at her and purred. (It’s funny. It never purred like that for Dad, even though they say animals can sense if someone really likes them.)
I didn’t feel like pointing out to Dad that Mrs Olsen came from Ruritania, not South America. I didn’t want to embarrass him, not when he’d been so kind.
I made up my mind to give Dad something else South American for his birthday to make up for it. Something really great. A three-toed sloth…or some piranhas for his bath…
When Mrs Olsen got over the shock—it was a really fantastic present, even better than the electric toothbrush and the fluorescent stars—she said she was THRILLED with the jaguar and she’d always wanted a kitten—especially a black one. It reminded her of her Uncle Vlad, and she began to sniff again.
She was just a bit worried that her backyard might be too small for a jaguar, but Phredde’s mum fixed that by shrinking the jaguar to the size of a guinea pig. It was even cuter like that than before. It kept on pouncing around after crabs in the sand and shaking them and biting
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