Chapter 1
‘Mozzie! Nothing’s happening,” hisses Frog loudly in my ear.
“Wait. It’ll go off any minute,” I whisper back.
“You’d better get the bucket of sand ready.”
“Frog! Stop hassling me. It’ll be fine.
Frog and I shelter on the back veranda of my house in Bandaya waiting for our homemade rocket to take off. We’ve chosen the hottest day since the Big Bang to launch. Frog’s hair drips with sweat. I don’t look so cool myself and am grateful Veronica Lane, the school Goddess, is unlikely to spring up in the middle of the lettuce rows.
We stare at the testing range, more boringly known as the veggie garden, but there’s no sign of life from the rocket. The heat under the veranda’s unbearable. We wait so long Simon, the most curious cat in Australia, wanders off to eat dead bugs behind the party fridge.
“What’s that noise?” squeaks Frog.
“Dad’s home!” I gulp, wishing I could change places with the bugs.
Thinking quickly I grab the bucket of sand and race into the vegetable garden where we hid the launch pad. I plan to tip the sand over the rocket to smother the fuse and hide the evidence until we can get rid of it. For a brief, glorious minute I congratulate myself on my brilliance and hope Frog’s impressed.
I fling the sand as Dad opens the side gate and heads for the fridge. It’s too late. The rocket explodes like a bomb and half a beach of sand blows back into my face, knocking me over. The explosion makes a huge crater in the veggie patch, the size of the one that killed the dinosaurs. Carrots, beetroot, lettuce, cabbages, parsnips and pumpkins explode into the air like a huge veggie bomb. Simon shoots out from behind the fridge and takes off like a cat missile. Frog follows him, leaping over the back fence but stopping long enough to give me a happy “thumbs up” sign. At least someone is enjoying the afternoon.
“This should be good,” sighs Dad as hundreds of nuked snails rain on his head. ‘What’s it this time? Rocket launcher? Scud missile? Neutron bomb?
“Would you believe it’s another solar cooker?” I mumble from under a layer of sand.
“You could’ve blown the whole house up. And killed yourself!” roars Dad as he narrowly avoids a pumpkin but isn’t so lucky with the tomatoes. “Clean up this mess. I’ll sort you out later young man. And find that poor cat before your Gran gets home.”
As far as parental meltdowns go, this isn’t one of Dad’s best efforts, but I suppose it’s hard to yell at your kid and dodge veggie missiles. I know I’ll be in more trouble later, especially when Dad sees the hole where his tool shed used to be.
After a few minutes I dig myself out the crater. My underwear’s full of sand and it itches like crazy. I’ll need to strip off and get rid of the sand before finding Simon. I don’t like my chances of being allowed to clean up inside the house so I quickly whip off my shorts and am about to do the same with my underpants when I feel a pair of eyes staring at my sand blasted body. Slowly I turn around and see her sitting on our fence.
“Hi kid. This masterpiece your creation?” she asks, gesturing towards the crater.
“Yeah. A bit of a miscalculation,” I reply as I quickly pull up my trousers. The underpants are a Christmas present from Gran. They are decorated with dozens of tiny reindeers pulling equally tiny sleds. Great.
I don’t know who she is but she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She isn’t bronzed and blonde like the Goddess but sparkly and golden, like the foil wrapper on a chocolate bar. Her chestnut brown hair is tied back with an orange ribbon into which she has tucked a matching sunflower.
“Do you have a black and white cat?” she asks. “One streaked by a few minutes ago. He looked terrified. I don’t know if he’s hurt but he headed towards the cemetery.”
“Yeah. His name’s Simon. I’m supposed to be getting him now. He only got a fright. He wasn’t anywhere near the blast zone.”
She stares at the mess in the yard, the huge crater and my weedy, sand-encrusted body. “Please God, please make her forget about the undies,” I pray.
‘Looks like you’ve got a few problems to sort out,” she replies. ‘I have to get home now. I promised Mum I’d cook dinner but maybe I’ll see you at school on Monday? Good luck finding your cat.”
She disappears before I can introduce myself, which I’m relieved about. With a bit of luck, she won’t recognise me on Monday as the Christmas jock-wearing, cat tormenting idiot of Bandaya. I wonder if the pharmacy’s open and if l can disguise myself with some black hair dye and fake tan. Mozzie Graham, the world’s first suntanned Goth.
I do my best with the sand and grab my trail bike from what’s left of the shed. Simon likes nothing better than a spin on the bike, sitting on my shoulder, his whiskers blowing in the breeze. I hope he’ll forgive me for using up eight of his nine lives. I guess I won’t be getting presents of headless rats left under my pillow for a while.
After a final, depressing look around I speed to the cemetery. Most of Bandaya’s on top of an incredibly steep hill and the cemetery’s at the bottom, which is quite convenient when you think about how some people drive. Normally I don’t mind riding through the cemetery on my way to school. It’s quiet and much cooler than the rest of town, probably because of all the paranormal activity. The thought of Simon being in the cemetery on his own worries the life out of me. No pun intended.
Apart from dead people in those graves, there’s also racehorse goannas the size of tractors. They didn’t get enormous eating bugs, if you know what I mean. Sharing that theory with my younger sister, Angela, cost me a week’s pocket money and a month of washing up but it’s best to be honest about these things. Kids are going to find stuff out, anyway. Simon’s a tough cat, but he’ll be fresh meat for a hungry giant lizard not too worried about fur balls.
It’s getting dark and I’m not looking forward to searching the cemetery. I know it will be full of deep, creepy shadows and weird sounds, like zombie death lizards on the march. Besides the lizards, the cemetery at night’s also the hangout place for every brain-dead loser in the town. You’d be surprised how many brain-dead losers a tiny town like Bandaya can produce.
With a final burst of speed I jump my trail bike over the low limestone wall surrounding the cemetery and hit the main path running through the centre. There’s no way I’m getting off the bike. I hope Simon will hear it and leap on the back, as he usually does.
Slowing down I round a corner and begin looking for him. Suddenly I hear drunken shouting and bottles smashing on a tombstone. If I had my mobile I would have texted Frog’s Dad at the police station but it’s still buried in the back yard. Within seconds they see me. An empty beer bottle whizzes towards my head.
“Get lost kid!” one of them slurs.
“Hey, nice bike. Give us a ride.”
I know if they get hold of my trail bike I’ll never see it again. The biggest and drunkest of the gang staggers up from his resting place on one of the historical graves and lurches towards me. Time to leave! I gun the bike and attempt a U-turn but I’m not quick enough.
He grabs me from the bike with a huge paw and throws me to the ground. I curl up in a foetal position and luckily miss his boot connecting with my head. Feeling sick and dizzy I manage to stand but am immediately punched in my left eye. It’s not a great punch so I’m able to keep standing. Memories of boxing practise with Dad and Frog floods back and I duck my head behind my fists, ready to defend myself.
“C’mon, you think you’re so tough. Hit me!” I shout.
This takes my attacker by surprise and he stumbles backwards for a few seconds. I’m worried his friends will join in and it’ll be all over for me. From my one good eye I see them getting ready to pile-drive me into the ground. Then I hear the loser scream with pain.
“What the flipping hell is that?” he shrieks, although, to be perfectly honest, he doesn’t say “flipping”.
In my dazed state I half expect to see him being torn apart by a zombie death lizard but the truth’s more incredible. Simon the super-cat has leapt on the loser’s head and is now sinking his teeth into my attacker’s ear. Hobbling with pain I make it to the bike and call Simon. With a loud growl he jumps on the back and we’re off.
Now, when I say Simon’s a tough cat, I might have understated. Good old Simon was given to Gran five years ago by a student. Gran’s old cat, Dolly died and Amy asked her, all innocent, if she wanted a kitten. Gran imagined going to Amy’s house, seeing all the cute balls of fluff in the basket, lovingly picking one out. I suppose she should’ve got a bit suspicious when Amy said she’d have to catch one of the kittens before Gran could have it.
Anyway, when Gran fetches Simon he’s an ugly, angry little head sticking out of a rolled up blanket. He was completely feral and spent the next few months trashing the spare bedroom and terrorising the whole family, including Dad. Today I thank the entire Walker family for my fungus-featured feral cat.
As I clear the cemetery wall and hit the main road I realise one of the losers is Kurt Haddock, older brother of Sam (Stinky) Haddock, the worst bully and troublemaker in Bandaya District High. The first day back at school for my first year in High School is going to be an interesting one if Stinky decides to volunteer himself for round two.
By the time we arrive home it’s completely dark but not so dark I can’t see the cop car parked in the drive. I guess Senior Sergeant Nyuen, Frog’s father, isn’t here to see mine about his crimes against fashion. Switching my lights and the motor off, I roll into the front yard as quietly as possible. Simon hops off and strolls casually onto the porch, happy he’s not in trouble.
“Don’t look too smug,” I warn him. “I still haven’t told Gran about the fur-ball you threw up in her new shoes. Or the rabbit head under the lounge.”
I hide behind the garden bin near the side window so I can hear what the adults have planned for me. If it’s really bad I’ll go with plan A, a plane ticket to Sydney. I’ll probably be stuck with Plan B, public humiliation, being grounded until I’m 30, the usual.
“He’s a good kid, Alan,” insists Dad to Senior Sergeant Nuyen. “It’s this business with his mother. He hasn’t been the same since she went to be with her sister in Queensland. He’ll get over it.”
“Yes Pete, I understand what you’re saying. You don’t have to tell me how hard it’s been for you over the past few years. It’s a difficult age for boys, especially if they don’t have their mother around, but half the town thinks we’ve had a terrorist attack and the rest think a meteorite’s hit us. Phone’s been going mad all afternoon. I suspect Frog’s involved in some way. She’s been keeping a pretty low profile around the house, even did her chores without arguing.”
“Well, Mozzie won’t dob her in. You know what those two are like, always up to something together.”
Ah well. I’ll tell Frog she has to stay away from Mozzie for a few days so you can deal with him. I suppose it’s the usual punishment?”
“They’re called ‘consequences’ these days Alan,” calls Gran from where she’s listening in her office.
“Yeah. Leave it with me. I think he got a real fright this time,” laughs Dad. “Nearly blew his pecker off.” They all think this is hilarious.
“I’d better go. There’s been a report about some disturbance at the cemetery. I’ll give you both a call about the card night. Thanks for the tea Pete. See ya Nance”.
I duck behind the bin as Snr Sgt Nyuen heads to his cop car. He waves at Gran who’s gone to the porch to see him out and then drives off. I wonder if he came to the house with his siren and lights on.
“You can come out now, Mozzie,” sighs Gran.
“I’m sorry about the garden and shed,” I say as I crawl out from behind the rubbish bin. “Simon’s okay. He was at the cemetery.”
“Well, you’re mostly in one piece, which is the main thing, although your eye looks awful. I’ll ring the district nurse tomorrow and see if she can come and put a patch over it. Have a bath and put some antiseptic in the water. Your Dad’s listening to Angela read but he’ll see you before dinner. And thanks for getting Simon. He really needs to be kept in at night. Can you believe I found a rabbit head under the lounge today?”
I was so worried about Senior Sergeant Nyuen arresting me I’d forgotten my fight in the cemetery. My knees are skinned and bleeding while I feel my left eye closing. I’m relieved I don’t have to tell Gran about the rest of my night. She looks exhausted and I know it’s my fault, as usual.
Dad knocks on my door after I’ve had a bath and cleaned myself up a bit.
“Is this rocket business about getting to Queensland to see your Mum?” he asks. My Dad likes to get straight to the point.
“Yeah. If I win the Oztech Science Competition the first prize is enough for us visit Mum in Queensland. You promised Angela and me you’d take us to see her, remember?”
“I haven’t forgotten my promise. When your Gran and I finish getting the bed and breakfast set up and I can get someone to mind the shop for a few weeks, the whole family will visit her. This long drought doesn’t help. Nancy and I thought we’d have enough to visit your mother despite taking out a loan for the new business but the farmers can’t pay their bills so we don’t have any extra cash. Now don’t worry, we’ve got enough to manage and your Gran is keeping us afloat with her teacher’s salary. Hang in there for a few months and try not to get yourself killed in the meantime.”
“I don’t understand why she has to be so far away when she should be here. Angela and I could visit her whenever we want.”
“Life is unfair, Mozzie. We don’t always get what we want. But we have to respect your mother’s choice. Don’t worry your Mum is fine. Aunt Lily sees her every day.” Suddenly my computer beeps. “See Mozz? You’ve got an email. I bet it’s from your Mum.”
“I’ll read it before dinner, if that’s okay.”
“Yeah. No rush. Your Gran’s making tofu stir fry, or something.” Dad sighs. “She’s on one of her health kicks again.”
We talk for a few minutes about unimportant things like school before heading downstairs to dinner. I don’t like to think of Mum all alone in Queensland, thinking no one cares about her. Dad doesn’t want to hear my worries. He’s determined to do a good job with us kids and not let Mum down. I imagine being a good parent doesn’t include having a son who blows things up, even by accident.
I’m in the bathroom cleaning my teeth later that night when Angela skips out her room carrying “Chuckie”, an armless Bratz doll.
“You can have Chuckie tonight,” she announces. “She’ll cheer you up.”
“Thanks Angela. Do you want me to read you another story?”
“Fish out of Water?”
“OK. Fish out of Water.”
Angela may only be four, but she’s smart and always reminds me for every rotten thing that happens, there’s something great waiting around the corner; even if it’s only a book we’ve read a hundred times before.
