Dangerous Creatures: Crazy Stories from Wattle Creek Primary School

GASSED

  It was during ‘Drop Everything And Read’ time that Shaun dropped a big one, and it wasn’t a book.

  The unfortunate kids sitting around him were the first to wilt as the smell began to spread through the classroom. They giggled and held their noses theatrically.

  The breeze from the rattling overhead fans wafted the stink further around the room, and soon everybody was clutching their noses and giggling, whether they smelled anything or not.

  “Pew, who fluffed?” Tiffany asked loudly.

  “That’s enough,” Miss Strickland warned from her desk. She looked up from her book, ‘101 Ideas for Worn out Teachers’.

  “Can you tell Nathanael to eat something else for breakfast, Miss?” Joshua called out from the giggling and gagging sounds. He glanced at Shaun and grinned.

  “Me?” Nathanael shouted indignantly.

  “Nathanael!” the rest of the class complained.

  Nathanael jumped to his feet, his round, freckled face flushed with sudden anger. “It wasn’t me!”

  “Sit down, Nathanael,” Miss Strickland said firmly.

  “But it wasn’t me!” Nathanael shouted. “Everyone blames me all the time, but it wasn’t me.”

  “Sit down, Nathanael,” Miss Strickland repeated, raising her eyebrows.

  Nathanael pouted and sat down. He folded his arms and stared angrily at the snickering children around him.

  Miss Strickland tried hard not to smile. “Well, whoever it was, if you are going to eat baked beans for breakfast, please step outside if you’re going to smell. Our room has been fumigated already this year and doesn’t need doing again.”

  The children laughed.

  “Did you hear that, Nathanael?”

  “It wasn’t me,” Nathanael grunted.

  “Did you hear that, Nathanael?” the teacher repeated more loudly.

  “Yes, Miss,” Nathanael said.

  “Good. Now everyone, back to your reading.”

  Still smiling, faces turned back to open books.

  Nathanael fumed. Although he was usually to blame for terrible smells, he wasn’t this time. And there was nothing he hated more than to be blamed for something he didn’t do.

  He noticed Joshua grinning at him and poked his tongue out at him.

  “I saw that, Nathanael,” Miss Strickland said.

  Nathanael buried his face in his book.

  “Turn around, Joshua,” Miss Strickland said.

  Joshua turned around and pretended to read.

  During morning tea Nathanael sat by himself in the playground eating his sardine sandwiches. Well, he wasn’t really by himself; his friend, Jason, was with him. But he may as well not have been there because he wasn’t offering any stimulating conversation, not that Nathanael felt like talking much anyway. He was thinking, thinking of the perfect way to get back at Joshua, Miss Strickland and everybody else. It had to be something the whole class would remember for a long time.

  Just then Isaac and his stupid friend, Tom, ambled past.

  “Hi Stinky,” Isaac said.

  “Good-bye, kiwifruit head,” Nathanael grunted.

  “Oo, who’s in a poopy mood then?” Isaac laughed.

  “Get lost,” Nathanael said.

  “Yeah,” Jason said, his braces glinting in the morning sunlight.

  “Come on Tom,” Isaac said. “We’ll go somewhere where we’ll be more welcome.”

  “Try the veggie patch,” Nathanael said.

  Jason laughed.

  “A kiwi fruit’s a fruit, not a vegetable,” Isaac said, and walked away, dragging Tom with him.

  “Derr!” Nathanael called after him. “As if I didn’t know that!”

  He took a large bite of sardine sandwich and chewed it slowly. Now, where was he? Yeah, that’s right - revenge.

  “What are you thinking about?” Jason asked.

  “Revenge,” Nathanael said.

  “Forget about Isaac, he’s an idiot,” Jason said.

  “No, I didn’t mean him,” Nathanael said. “I meant everyone.”

  “What did they do?” Jason asked.

  “Blamed me for farting when I didn’t.”

  “But it’s usually you.”

  “I know,” Nathanael said. “But that’s not the point. It wasn’t me this time. If I don’t do something they’ll start blaming me for everything.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Don’t do anything dumb,” Jason said.

  “Never,” Nathanael said. “Just wait and see. I’ll think of something.”

  By the time the bell went at three o’clock he still hadn’t thought of an idea. He didn’t think of one while he was walking home, having his afternoon tea, doing his homework or having a shower either.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” his mother said during dinner. “Is there anything wrong?”

  “No,” Nathanael said. “I’m just thinking.”

  “Thinking about what, dear?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Nathanael said. “Can you pass me the brussels sprouts please?”

  “Now, don’t eat too many of those,” his mother warned, watching as he piled them on his plate. “You know they give you gas.”

  Something suddenly clicked inside Nathanael’s brain and a brilliant idea exploded into full view. Gas! That was it! Oh, it was fabulous, stupendous, momentous! It was the most perfect idea he had ever had in his short life. He giggled to himself.

  His mother frowned. “Are you all right, Nathanael?”

  “Yes,” Nathanael said. He put another spoonful of brussels sprouts onto his plate.

  Later that night, about half an hour after his parents had gone to bed, Nathanael crept into the kitchen. The time had come to put his plan into action. If he was going to get blamed for bad smells, then he’d make a bad smell nobody would ever forget. It was the perfect revenge. He giggled softly as he opened the pantry door and peered inside. It was a bit bare because his mum hadn’t done the shopping yet, but a sneaky search earlier that evening had revealed a few delights that were sure to produce the desired effect. He grabbed a can of baked beans, a small tin of sardines, a jar of crushed garlic and some hot mustard. The fridge also produced some goodies; a bowl of leftover brussels sprouts, half a cabbage, half an onion wrapped in foil, and a carton of milk to make everything sloshy. He also raided the spice rack. He figured that if something tasted strong it would probably smell strong too. It couldn’t hurt anyway.

  Nathanael took the blender carefully from the cupboard next to the pantry and assembled the pieces. He dropped the solid ingredients inside first, then covered everything with milk. Lastly he sprinkled a bit of all the spices on the top.

  “Yuck,” he groaned, peering inside. He hoped he’d be able to drink it without throwing up.

  He put the lid on, then carried the blender carefully to his room. He closed the door and turned on the light, squinting in the sudden brightness. Blenders made a lot of noise, so he had to deaden the sound somehow. On TV once he’d seen someone put a pillow over a gun to silence it. Maybe the same would work with a blender. He pulled the plug of his stereo out of the wall and plugged in the blender, then fetched his pillow and squashed it over as much of the machine as he could. He felt around for the on switch, then, holding his breath, pressed it.

  The noise of the blender thundered around the room. Nathanael hurriedly switched it off. Maybe it was the wrong sort of pillow. He lifted it up and studied the mixture inside the machine. It was thick and grey-green in colour and looked so foul he almost changed his mind. Hopefully the smell tomorrow would be just as revolting.

  Suddenly there were footsteps in the hall and his bedroom door opened. His father, wearing only a pair of Spiderman boxer shorts, squinted in the light.

  Nathanael tried to cover the blender with his pillow.

  “Nathanael, what are you doing?” his father asked tiredly.

  “Um,” Nathanael said, thinking quickly. “Um, I
’m making a midnight snack.”

  “What sort of midnight snack?”

  Nathanael lifted the pillow, revealing the blender. “A milkshake.”

  His father gazed at the putrid mixture inside. “A milkshake ‘eh? What sort of milkshake?”

  “Um, just the normal kind,” Nathanael said. “I was thirsty.”

  “Wouldn’t a plain glass of milk have been enough?”

  Nathanael shrugged.

  His father sighed. “I worry about you sometimes, son. Any normal kid would have a drink of water or milk. You have to go all gourmet and make a milkshake.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I had a craving.”

  “Pregnant women have cravings, Nathanael, not eleven year old boys.” He paused. “Well, drink it quickly and get back to bed.”

  “Yes dad,” Nathanael said, relieved.

  “Sons,” his father muttered as he closed the door.

  Nathanael waited until he heard his parents’ bedroom door close, then fetched a glass from the kitchen and filled it with the thick mixture from the blender. It looked bad and it smelled bad and it still had lumps of onion, cabbage and Brussels sprouts in it because it hadn’t been blended long enough. It had better work. Holding his nose, he gulped it down as quickly as he could, trying not to gag.

  When Nathanael woke up in the morning his belly was really tight and making all sorts of very promising gurgling noises.

  “Wow,” he said, grinning. “This is going to be good.” He had a vision of everyone in the classroom gagging, turning green and collapsing.

  He swung his legs out of the bed and stood up. His stomach rumbled even more loudly.

  “Wow,” he said again. He prodded his stomach gently with his fingertips. His midnight snack had turned out better than he had expected. There was so much gas in there he was sure his bellybutton would pop out at any moment.

  To the surprise of his parents, he was dressed early and keen to get going.

  “Anything special on today, son?” his father asked over a cup of coffee.

  “No, not really,” Nathanael said brightly, digging into his bowl of cereal with gusto.

  His father eyed him curiously. “Are you sure? I mean, you’re not usually this happy on a school morning.”

  “Can’t I be happy sometimes?” Nathanael said.

  “Sure,” his father said, suspicious. “What was in that milkshake last night?”

  “Just the usual stuff,” Nathanael said. He began shovelling his cereal more quickly.

  By the time he got to school he was feeling more than a little uncomfortable and he hoped he’d be able to hold on until they got into class. He walked carefully across the playground, afraid that any knock would make him detonate early. If this was what it felt like to be pregnant, he was glad he was a boy.

  “What’s wrong?” Jason asked as they were lining up.

  “Revenge,” Nathanael said. “I’m going to let one go this morning that’ll make everybody puke.” He grinned and patted his belly gently.

  “You’re sick,” Jason said.

  Nathanael giggled.

  Maths was first. Miss Strickland handed out a page of problems to solve, then sat at her desk marking homework.

  Nathanael pretended to work on the problems as he prepared himself for the ‘big one’. He had to sit up straight because his stomach hurt too much if he bent over his work like he usually did. His shirt hugged his body and the elastic in his school shorts was so tight it was starting to dig into his skin. If he didn’t do it soon, he’d explode.

  He glanced around the room. Good, nobody was looking. He took a breath and pushed gently. Nothing happened. He pushed a bit harder. His stomach gurgled, but still nothing came out. Something was wrong. Nathanael pressed his belly with his hands. It hurt, but still the fart wouldn’t come. He groaned.

  “Is something wrong, Nathanael?” Miss Strickland asked from her desk.

  Nathanael looked up and blushed. “Um, no Miss.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “Go on with the problems then.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  As he picked up his pencil he noticed Jason looking across the room at him, and he grinned as confidently as he could. Then he looked down at his sheet of problems.

  Maybe if he massaged his stomach gently it would work.

  Trying not to attract any attention, he rubbed a hand carefully over his belly while he pretended to work out the problems.

  “Another five minutes and we’ll mark them,” Miss Strickland announced suddenly from her desk.

  The class groaned.

  Suddenly Nathanael felt something shift inside, and a tiny bit of gas escaped into the outside air. He almost cheered. It probably wouldn’t be enough to produce the desired effect, but it was a start at least. He waited for the putrid stink to rise and find its way around the room. He giggled softly to himself and sniffed deeply. But then he frowned and sniffed again. Instead of the sickening pong he’d imagined, a beautiful perfumy smell wafted into his nose. It was the most beautiful smell he’d ever smelled. It was like walking through the perfume section of a department store.

  “Miss Strickland!” Tiffany called out.

  “Hand up, Tiffany,” Miss Strickland said.

  Tiffany waved her arm around in the air.

  Miss Strickland looked up from her desk. “Yes, Tiffany?”

  “Somebody’s got perfume”.

  The fans wafted the heavenly smell further around the room.

  The class giggled.

  Miss Strickland sniffed. “Okay, who’s got the perfume?” she asked, standing. She glanced around the room.

  Nathanael didn’t know what to do. If he put up his hand, Miss Strickland would ask for the bottle, and he’d get into trouble for trying to be funny if he said it was a fart. If he didn’t put up his hand and own up Miss Strickland would yell at the whole class for about twenty hours about how bad it was not to own up if you’ve done something.

  Tiffany rescued him.

  “Miss Strickland,” Tiffany called out.

  The teacher glared at her.

  Tiffany put up her hand.

  “Yes, Tiffany?” Miss Strickland said.

  “Maybe it’s coming in from outside.”

  Miss Strickland frowned and went over to a window. She sniffed. “Maybe,” she said, turning back to the class. “At least it was a nice smell this time.” She glanced at Nathanael. The class laughed.

  Nathanael sunk into his seat. What a flop of a morning.

  “Okay everyone, you should be finished now,” Miss Strickland said, and walked to the front.

  Nathanael couldn’t concentrate. He had his eyes on the board, but wasn’t really watching or marking his work, not that there was anything to mark anyway. He was worried. His belly was really hurting and puffed out so much he couldn’t even get a finger between the elastic in his shorts and his skin. He tried to force the gas out without being really obvious, but it wouldn’t budge. He wasn’t interested in grossing the class out anymore. He just wanted to get rid of it. But what if it wouldn’t come out? What if he kept making more and more gas that had nowhere to go? He could explode! Nice smelling bits of him would splatter all around the classroom!

  He put up his hand.

  “Yes, Nathanael?” Miss Strickland asked.

  “Can I go to the toilet, Miss?”

  Usually she said no so early in the morning, but he must have looked so desperate that she nodded. “Quickly,” she said.

  Relieved, Nathanael pushed his chair back and stood up. But it didn’t go like it usually did. He rose about half a metre into the air, then floated gently back to the ground.

  “No need to jump out of your chair like that, Nathanael,” Miss Strickland said.

  “Sorry, Miss,” he said, too shocked to say anything witty.

  As he walked to the classroom door, he felt strange, light, as if suddenly someone had turned down the gravity knob. He couldn’t ke
ep his heels on the floor and walked on the front parts of his feet like a ballet dancer. He couldn’t help himself.

  The children in the front row laughed as he tiptoed across the front of the room towards the door.

  “Nathanael, walk properly,” Miss Strickland said.

  “Yes, Miss,” Nathanael said, and skipped lightly on his toes out of the door.

  “Nathanael!” he heard Miss Strickland’s voice behind him, but he didn’t stop.

  He was more than a little worried now. If he couldn’t get rid of the gas soon something really bad was going to happen.

  His stomach rumbled again.

  He tiptoed along the veranda and down the two flights of stairs to the playground, holding onto the railing all the way. At no other time in his life had he been so desperate to fart. His very life depended on it.

  The toilet block was on the other side of the playground. Nathanael tried to run, but each step was a giant leap. If the sports carnival was on today he’d win the high jump easily.

  When he was almost half way his stomach rumbled again, more loudly than before, and when he took his next step he didn’t come down again.

  “Ahhh!” Nathanael screamed.

  Like a helium balloon, he rose slowly into the air.

  He couldn’t believe this was happening to him. It couldn’t be true.

  His stomach rumbled again and he began to rise more quickly.

  Nathanael screamed again, but here was nothing he could do. Turning around slowly, he sailed into the air.

  Back in the classroom Tiffany looked up from her maths book to see Nathanael float past the window. Her eyes opened wide with surprise.

  “Miss Strickland!” she called out.

  “Tiffany!” Miss Strickland shouted. “Don’t call out!”

  “But, Miss...”

  “Put your hand up!” Miss Strickland shouted. “Everybody else in the classroom does when they want to ask something. Why don’t you? I’ve had enough this morning.”

  “But Miss, this is important!” She looked out the window again.

  “I don’t care, Tiffany. Put your hand up first.”

  Tiffany put her hand up.

  “Yes, Tiffany?” Miss Strickland asked.

  “Nathanael just floated past the window.”

  The class laughed.

  “Don’t be silly, Tiffany,” Miss Strickland said.

  “But he did!”

  Miss Strickland frowned and looked out of the window. “I don’t see anything, Tiffany. Go back to your sums.”

  “But I saw him, Miss.”

  “Be quiet, Tiffany,” Miss Strickland said. “The joke’s over. I don’t know what’s wrong with you today.”

  Tiffany looked out of the window again, then returned to her maths.

  Sally put up her hand.

  “Yes, Sally?” Miss Strickland asked.

  “Can I go to the toilet please?”

  “What’s wrong with you lot this morning?” Miss Strickland said. “We’ve only just come in.”

  She looked at Sally’s pained expression and sighed, remembering what had happened on photo day. “Okay Sally, when Nathanael comes back.”

  “Thank you, Miss,” Sally said.

  But Nathanael didn’t come back. After half an hour Miss Strickland sent Tom and Isaac to look for him and Shayna and Kimberly to get a new uniform for Sally.

  Within five minutes the boys came thundering back along the hallway.

  “Miss Strickland!” Tom cried, running into the classroom. “Nathanael’s on the roof!

  “What?!” Miss Strickland gasped.

  “I told you!” Tiffany cried.

  Within ten minutes both the fire brigade and ambulance had screeched into the playground, sirens blaring. The whole school stood on the assembly area, gazing up at Nathanael in disbelief. He was clinging desperately to the television aerial, waving about gently in the morning breeze like a balloon and yelling his head off.

  The firemen spoke briefly to Miss Strickland and Mr Barker, then began winding up their ladder. When it had touched down on the gutter below Nathanael, two firemen climbed up.

  With Nathanael screaming, “Don’t let me go! Don’t let me go!” they grabbed an arm each and began pulling him back down to the ground. At times on their perilous journey it looked as though they would be pulled away from their ladder and carried away into the atmosphere with Nathanael. Fortunately that didn’t happen, although it would have looked pretty spectacular.

  The whole school cheered when they touched down. More firemen and ambulance officers came forward and floated the bloated boy over to the waiting ambulance. With siren blaring, it screeched out of the school grounds. The excitement was over.

  Nathanael was away for almost two weeks, and during that time he became more famous in the school grounds than he dreamed he would ever be. No longer was he the boy who made bad smells in class and put everyone off their lunch. The old Nathanael had passed away. He had done something amazing, stupendous, something no boy had ever done before or would ever do again. From the day he returned and celebrated with food guaranteed not to cause gas, in the rough and tumble of the playground he was no longer known as Nathanael. He had become Helium Boy, the first human blimp in history. And he was proud of it.

  And as for the strange gas that had caused all of the trouble? Well, nothing was ever said about that, except that a few months after the incident some surgeons from the local hospital resigned and opened a new and very successful perfumery business.

  PAPER MACHE

  Paper mache wasn’t one of Miss Strickland’s most favourite art activities, but it was the best way to make volcanoes, and the children always enjoyed it, messy though it was.

  The secret to a good paper mache lesson was preparation. Everything needed to be ready; glue poured into ice-cream containers, newspaper already ripped into long strips, chicken wire shaped into volcano shapes and plenty of cloths for the clean up afterwards.

  Lunch was over and Miss Strickland was almost ready. As the class lined up noisily outside, Miss Strickland poured the last of the glue into ice-cream containers, or tried to anyway. It wasn’t quite like the paper mache glue she was used to. It was really thick and sticky and the left over bits hung like melted cheese from the edge of the bucket. Maybe it was better quality glue. If anything, she hoped it would stick the paper to the chicken wire instead of just making the paper soggy like the other glue usually did.

  She shook out the last bit of glue, then quickly washed her hands and walked outside to yell at the class to line up quietly.

  When everyone was inside and settled Miss Strickland explained the rules for paper mache again. “Like I said before lunch,” she said,” the only places glue should appear are on your hands, on the paper and on your volcano. I will not find any on your uniforms or on the floor. Silly people will pack up straight away. Now, let’s see who I’ll let get organised first.”

  The children sat up straight in their seats.

  “Phoebe’s group looks ready. You can go first.”

  The children at her desk got up and collected their chicken wire volcanoes, paper strips and glue.

  As more groups got organised, the noise level in the classroom increased.

  “And whisper!” Miss Strickland shouted.

  The noise level dropped.

  As Miss Strickland roamed around the classroom, she couldn’t help feeling pleased with herself. The lesson was progressing very smoothly. The children were working well in their groups, the paper was sticking to the volcanoes and as yet no glue had appeared on the floor.

  “Bethany, you don’t need to put quite so much glue on your paper,” Miss Strickland said as she walked past.

  “Okay, Miss.”

  “Glue the paper in different directions, Shaun,” Miss Strickland said.

  She walked over to the sink and filled the empty glue bucket with water and arranged the cloths ready for the big clean up at the end of the lesson.

&
nbsp; “Miss Strickland!” Tiffany suddenly shouted across the room. “Joshua’s flicking glue at me!”

  Miss Strickland sighed. She knew it had been too good to last. “Joshua,” she said calmly, “what did I say before?”

  “It was an accident,” Joshua said.

  “Well, we’ll have no more ‘accidents’,” Miss Strickland said. “Be careful with the glue.”

  “Yes, Miss.” He poked his tongue out at Tiffany and plunged both of his hands back into the glue.

  Miss Strickland glared at him, then wandered to the front of the room to see how the groups there were going. Most were fine, although Phoebe’s volcano had so much glue on it that it oozed down the side like lava and pooled on the desk around it.

  “Put some dry pieces of paper on it to soak up some of the glue,” Miss Strickland said.

  “Miss Strickland!” Tiffany suddenly shouted again. “Paul dropped his glue on the rug in Book Corner!”

  Miss Strickland tried hard to remain calm. “Well, get a spoon off the sink, Paul, and scoop up as much as you can, then get the rest off with a cloth.”

  “It’s flicked up on my legs,” Tiffany said.

  “Just get a cloth and wipe it off, Tiffany.”

  Tiffany walked across the classroom, glue dripping from her fingers as she went.

  “Be careful, Tiffany!” Miss Strickland shouted, her battle with remaining calm now lost. “You’re dropping glue everywhere!”

  “I can’t help it,” Tiffany said.

  “Just hurry up!”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “Come on, Paul,” Miss Strickland said. “Hurry up before the glue soaks in.”

  Paul made his way across the busy classroom to the sink.

  Miss Strickland looked at the clock and wished the hands would move faster. There was still almost an hour to go.

  Paul found a spoon in the sink and returned to his desk. He turned the glue container the right way around and began scraping the glue off the rug. It was really difficult to even get it onto the spoon. And when the spoon was full, the glue wouldn’t come off into the container. Maybe a different spoon would work better.

  He returned to the sink. But when he tried to put the spoon down, it wouldn’t come away from his hand. It was stuck fast.

  “Miss Strickland,” he called out.

  Miss Strickland looked up from Bethany’s volcano, her hands full of dripping newspaper. “What’s wrong, Paul?”

  “The spoon is stuck to my hand.”

  The class laughed.

  “What do you mean, Paul?” Miss Strickland asked, walking over.

  “The spoon is stuck to my hand,” Paul repeated. He held his hand up for all to see.

  Miss Strickland frowned. “Maybe it’ll come off under the tap,” she suggested.

  Paul turned the tap on and held his hand underneath.

  “Miss Strickland!” Tiffany cried from the back of the room. “My cleaning cloth is stuck to my leg.” She lifted it up.

  “Can you tug if off?” Miss Strickland asked.

  Tiffany pulled it. “Ow!”

  “The spoon still won’t come off my hand,” Paul whimpered from the sink.

  “Here, let me have a go,” Miss Strickland said. She grabbed hold of Paul’s arm and the spoon and tugged.

  “Ow!” Paul squealed. Tears glistened in his eyes.

  “Sorry, Paul,” Miss Strickland said.

  “The cloth is really stuck!” Tiffany cried.

  “Miss Strickland!” Phoebe yelled from the front row. “I’m stuck to my volcano!”

  “So am I!” somebody else shouted.

  “Me too!”

  “My arm’s stuck to my desk!”

  “My shoe is stuck to the floor!”

  “I’m stuck to Bethany!”

  “Stop!” Miss Strickland shouted. “Silence!”

  She walked to the front and waited for the talking to stop. “It seems that we have a slight problem with our glue,” she said.

  She rested her hands on the desk in front of her and surveyed the anxious faces around the room. “Now,” she said as calmly as she could, “put your hand up if you are stuck to something.”

  Paul, Tiffany and Nicole put their hands up.

  “Nobody else stuck to anything?” she asked.

  “No, everyone else’s hands are stuck to their desks and volcanoes,” Tiffany said.

  Bethany suddenly burst into tears.

  “It’s not that bad,” Miss Strickland said, vowing to herself that she would never do paper mache again. “I just made the glue a little too strong today. I’ll just pop down to the teacher aide room and ask if they’ve got anything that will dissolve it. Make sure I don’t hear a lot of noise coming from this room while I’m gone.”

  As she stood up straight to leave, the desk she had been resting her hands on came with her.

  The class laughed.

  “It’s not funny,” Miss Strickland said, bending over again.

  “I can go down,” Tiffany offered. “I’ve only got a cloth stuck to my leg.”

  “So can I,” Paul said from the sink.

  “Me too,” Joshua said, both of his hands stuck in an ice-cream container.

  “Okay Tiffany, you can go,” Miss Strickland said.

  As Tiffany made her way across the classroom, there was the sudden wailing of a siren.

  “What’s that?” Miss Strickland asked.

  “It’s the fire alarm!” Joshua shouted.

  There was a nervous murmur around the room.

  Miss Strickland groaned. “Calm down everyone. It’s probably a surprise drill. We were due for one soon. We’ll just have to miss out.”

  “I can see smoke!” Tiffany yelled from the door. “It’s coming up the stairs here!”

  The class screamed.

  “Silence!” Miss Strickland shouted. “There’ s no need to panic.”

  Smoke drifted through the doorway and there was the excited chatter of children outside as other classes quickly made their way down to the oval. Since Miss Strickland’s classroom was in the middle of the verandah, no classes went past her room so nobody could see there was a problem.

  Miss Strickland thought quickly. “Right everyone, we’re going to have to get out of here somehow. Now, is anybody stuck to the floor?”

  “One foot is,” Nicole said.

  “You can take your shoe off, Nicole,” Miss Strickland said. “Anybody else?”

  Silence.

  “Now,” Miss Strickland continued, “we’re going to see just how co-operative we can be this afternoon. Those of you who are stuck to your desk will have to take your desk with you. Those of you who are not stuck to a desk can help those people who are. We won’t line up like we usually do. We’ll go out one group at a time and make our way carefully to the oval using the stairs at the far end of the verandah. Okay? Phoebe’s group first.”

  The children stood up carefully and shuffled to the door, dragging their desks with them.

  “Sally’s group, Isaac’s group and Bethany’s group can go now,” Miss Strickland said.

  They followed Phoebe’s slowly, out the door and along the veranda.

  “Now everybody at the back,” Miss Strickland said.

  The children stood up and began moving their desks out.

  Tiffany stuck her head around the door. “Miss Strickland! Ben’s bottom is stuck to the port racks.”

  “Now, how did he do that?” Miss Strickland snapped.

  “I don’t know,” Tiffany said.

  Miss Strickland manoeuvred herself and her desk to the door.

  Ben stood against the port racks, crying.

  “How did you do that, Ben?” Miss Strickland asked.

  “I must have had a bit of glue on my shorts,” Ben blubbered. “I’m going to burn to death!”

  “No you’re not,” Miss Strickland said.

  “Yes I am. I can’t carry the port racks down as well as my desk.”

  Miss Strickland thought
quickly. “You’ll just have to take your shorts off.”

  Ben looked horrified.

  “You’ll still have your underwear on,” Miss Strickland said.

  Ben didn’t look any happier.

  “We’ll wrap a towel around your waist,” Miss Strickland said.

  “I can’t take them off anyway,” Ben said.

  “Why not?”

  “The shorts are stuck to the port racks and both of my hands are stuck to my volcano.”

  Miss Strickland groaned and leaned back against the door. “Tiffany,” she said, “can you get the scissors from my drawer please?”

  Ben looked horrified again.

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Can we get out, Miss?” Joshua asked. “Your desk is blocking the doorway.”

  As Miss Strickland bent over to move her desk away, something tugged on her head, holding her back. Shocked, she realised her hair was stuck to the doorframe.

  On the oval all the classes were sitting in neat rows on the grass, in order of grades from year one to year seven. There was an obvious gap where Miss Strickland’s grade five class should have been.

  Mr Barker stood at the front with the office staff. He looked at his watch and frowned.

  “Maybe they didn’t hear the siren,” Mrs Peters, the secretary, suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Mr Barker said.

  Suddenly there was a scraping sound from around the side of the building, and then the first students came into view, tugging their desks over the parade ground towards the oval.

  “What on earth?” Mr Barker mumbled.

  As the rest of the school watched and laughed, Miss Strickland’s class slowly made their way onto the oval and collapsed over their desks and volcanoes, gasping for breath.

  Miss Strickland appeared last with Ben, who had an art shirt tied around his middle.

  Mr Barker strode over to meet her.

  “What on earth is this about?” he asked. “And what happened to your hair? It looks as though it’s been cut off.”

  Miss Strickland gasped for breath. “Oh, we were having a bit of a problem with our art activity when the alarm went and ... well....” She looked at the exhausted children.

  “Well, you needn’t have brought all your furniture with you,” Mr Barker said. “You wouldn’t have time for that in a real fire.”

  Miss Strickland stared at him. “What do you mean, real fire? Wasn’t this a real fire?”

  “No, only a surprise drill,” Mr Barker said. “We were due for one of those.”

  Miss Strickland gaped at him. “But what about the smoke?”

  Mr Barker chuckled. “I borrowed a smoke machine from the local theatre group, for effect.”

  Miss Strickland groaned and flopped face first onto the desk.

  “I admire your determination,” Mr Barker said. “You can take your class back now.”

  “I can’t,” Miss Strickland mumbled.

  “Why not?”

  “My face is stuck to the desk.”

  PAUL’S TALK

  Paul poked his head around the study door. “Mum, can you help me with something?”

  His mother looked up from her laptop and squinted at him over the top of her glasses.

  “Maybe later, Paul. I’ve got to finish this report tonight.”

  “But it’s important,” Paul pleaded.

  “So is this,” his mother said. She sighed. “What is it?”

  “Well, I’ve got this talk tomorrow and I don’t know what to do it on.”

  “Tomorrow?” his mother exclaimed.

  Paul nodded.

  “And you’re only starting to think about it now?”

  Paul bit his bottom lip.

  His mother looked angry. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me? I’m sorry, Paul, I can’t now. You’ll just have to come up with something yourself.”

  “Dad would help me,” Paul said.

  “Well, he’s not here to rescue you now is he? It’s about time you took some responsibility for what you do, or don’t do. How long have you known about this talk?”

  “A few weeks.”

  “Well, you’ve got no excuse then.”

  “But...”

  “No buts,” his mother interrupted. “Now, off you go and get your talk ready.” She pushed her glasses up her nose and returned to her computer screen.

  Paul wandered downstairs. What was he going to do? If he didn’t produce a talk in the morning he’d lose four marks. Besides, after enduring a million boring talks about stamp collecting and pets, the class was looking forward to another one of his dad’s interesting inventions. Why did his dad have to go to that stupid inventor’s conference this week? He could always be relied upon to come up with something good at the last minute.

  Paul opened the door to the rumpus room. Well, it wasn’t really a rumpus room anymore, not since his dad had outgrown the shed. It was stuffed full of all sorts of bits and pieces that he’d collected and constructed over the years. Most of it was junk, stacked up against the walls, but here and there was a contraption that actually worked. All of them had already been to school at some time or another, but maybe there was something new lying around somewhere that his dad had forgotten to take to the conference. If it was something good that worked, his problem would be solved.

  Paul poked around in the clutter, but didn’t spot anything that was even close to an interesting invention, just lots of wires, tubes and broken appliances.

  Just when he began to resign himself to losing four marks and disappointing the class, he suddenly noticed a promising looking box under the worktable. It was about as large as a fruit box and taped securely with masking tape.

  Paul dragged it out and studied the label on the top.

  “Popcorn machine,” he mumbled. He frowned. Why would his dad invent something that had already been invented? Maybe that’s why he’d left it behind. He carefully pulled off the masking tape, scrunched it into a sticky ball and tossed it under the table, then lifted the flaps and peered inside.

  “Wow,” he breathed.

  “Okay everyone, settle down,” Miss Strickland said loudly after morning tea the next day. “Talking time is over.”

  The noise quietened.

  “That’s better,” she said.

  “What are we doing now, Miss Strickland?” Tiffany called out.

  The teacher glared at her. “Well, if you’d just be quiet for two seconds I’ll tell you.”

  Tiffany grinned. “Sorry.”

  “Well,” Miss Strickland said, walking across the room to the class roster charts, “let’s see who’s first up this morning for their talk.”

  The class groaned.

  “Joshua,” Miss Strickland said. “We’ll have you first. Do you have it ready?”

  “I forgot my book, Miss,” Joshua said.

  Miss Strickland sighed. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother putting up these charts. I seem to be the only one who reads them. Don’t forget it tomorrow, Joshua, or you’ll lose another four marks.”

  “I can still do my book review,” Joshua said.

  “No you can’t, Joshua,” Miss Strickland said. “You can’t do a proper book review without the book. We’ll have it tomorrow.”

  “But I want to do it now,” Joshua complained.

  “That’s enough, Joshua”, Miss Strickland said. “I’m not going to argue with you.” She looked at the chart again. “Paul,” she read out. “I hope you’ve got your talk here.”

  “Yep,” Paul said.

  “Good,” Miss Strickland said. She grabbed the mark book off her desk and parked herself on the sink at the side of the room.

  “Can I get it from outside, Miss?” Paul asked.

  Miss Strickland nodded.

  There was a mumble around the room as Paul walked outside. Maybe the talks wouldn’t be so boring today after all.

  “Shhh,” Miss Strickland said.

  The whispering stopped.


  A moment later Paul staggered through the door with a large cardboard box and placed it on the floor next to Andrew’s desk. As he bent down to open it, the children at the front of the room leaned over their desks to be the first to have a look at another of his interesting contraptions.

  “Sit down everyone,” Miss Strickland said.

  They sat down reluctantly.

  Paul stood up slowly, a cube shaped silver box that looked like an overgrown toaster in his arms. It had a large yellow bowl-shaped opening at the top, and an electrical cord dangled from the back.

  “What’s that?” Tiffany called out.

  “Tiffany,” Miss Strickland warned.

  Tiffany clamped a hand theatrically over her mouth.

  “Good morning class,” Paul began, putting the machine on Andrew’s desk. “This morning I am going to show you how to make popcorn.”

  There were a few groans of disappointment from those who’d expected something out of the ordinary.

  “Shh,” Miss Strickland said.

  Paul reached into the box again and pulled out a bag of popcorn.

  “All you need is a large bag of popping corn and my dad’s popcorn making machine,” he said. “First of all you pour the popping corn into the top of the machine.”

  He poked the corner of the bag into his mouth and pulled hard, ripping it open. Then he poured the whole bag into the yellow bowl-shaped opening at the top of the machine. The kernels clattered around inside.

  “Are you sure you should put the whole lot in?” Miss Strickland asked.

  “Yes,” Paul said. “I want to make enough for everyone.”

  “Hmm, okay then,” Miss Strickland said slowly, hoping it would all fit into the machine and not end up all over the floor.

  “When you’ve done that, you plug it in and turn it on,” Paul said.

  He bent down again and pulled a long extension cord from the box. He plugged the machine into one end and crawled under Miss Strickland’s desk to plug in the other end.

  “Has this machine been tested?” Miss Strickland asked.

  “Yes,” Paul lied from under the desk. He crawled out again and stood up. “The on switch is here,” he explained, and flicked it. The machine began to hum.

  “Does it have a lid?” Miss Strickland asked.

  “Um, I don’t think so,” Paul said.

  “Well, won’t popcorn go flying everywhere when it starts to pop?” Miss Strickland asked.

  “Cool,” Joshua said from the back of the room.

  Andrew pushed his chair back a bit.

  Paul glanced into the empty box at his feet. “I don’t think so,” he said, “otherwise there would have been a lid with it.”

  Miss Strickland didn’t look convinced. “I thought you said you tested it, Paul.”

  “I did.”

  “And did you have a lid then?”

  “No.”

  “And did any popcorn come out then?”

  “No.”

  Miss Strickland frowned. “Okay then,” she said slowly. “Keep going.”

  Paul swallowed hard. “Does anybody have any questions?” he asked.

  Tiffany stuck up her hand.

  “Yes, Tiffany?” Paul asked.

  “Do we all get some?”

  “Yes,” Paul said.

  “Any sensible questions?” Miss Strickland asked.

  Tiffany frowned.

  Joshua stuck up his hand.

  “Yes, Joshua?” Paul asked.

  “I’m just stretching,” Joshua said.

  The class laughed.

  “Joshua,” Miss Strickland warned.

  Joshua grinned.

  Suddenly there was a loud rattling from the machine.

  “Is it meant to do that?” Miss Strickland asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Paul said.

  “You didn’t test it, did you?” Miss Strickland asked, slightly annoyed.

  “Well,” Paul said, thinking quickly. “Well, not with popcorn in it.”

  “Maybe we should turn it off,” Miss Strickland suggested.

  “I think it’s okay, Miss.”

  The machine began to vibrate rather alarmingly.

  “Turn it off,” Miss Strickland repeated.

  “Yes, Miss,” Paul said. But as he reached down to the switch, there was an ear-splitting popping sound and a piece of popcorn the size of a basketball exploded from the top of the machine, flew across the room and landed on the pillows in Reading Corner.

  There were screams of amazement. Even Miss Strickland looked impressed. Nobody had ever seen a piece of popcorn quite that large before.

  The machine began to bounce around on the top of Andrew’s desk. Andrew pushed his chair back as far as it would go.

  Before Miss Strickland could say anything, there were several more popping sounds and five more pieces of popcorn just as large as the first were catapulted across the room in different directions. The class laughed with delight and jumped up to catch them.

  Miss Strickland, remembering how much popping corn Paul had put into the machine, suddenly looked very concerned.

  She closed her mark book and stood up. “Turn it off, Paul. Now!”

  Paul stared down at the bouncing machine. It was like a wild animal.

  “Paul!” Miss Strickland shouted.

  Slowly, Paul reached down to the switch. But before his hand got there, there was a sound like a machine gun from the machine and a fountain of basketball-sized popcorn erupted into the classroom. Paul fell backwards onto the floor as the blast hit him.

  The class screamed.

  Miss Strickland jumped up and tried to make her way to the front of the room. The popcorn hit her from every direction as it bounced from the ceiling, floor and walls, and she’d only taken a couple of steps when she tripped and collapsed behind the second row of desks. She covered her head as the popcorn rained down on top of her.

  Around her she could hear frightened screams as children tried to escape from the battering. But it wasn’t possible, even for those closest to the door. Everything just happened so quickly. Just as none of the citizens of Pompeii managed to escape from the falling ash of Mt Vesuvius almost two thousand years before, so none of the citizens of Miss Strickland’s class escaped from Mt Popcorn. Before anybody could really think about what they should do, everyone had been buried.

  After a minute or two the continuous thunder of popping corn dwindled to only the occasional pop as the supply of kernels ran out.

  “Well, that’s something they didn’t cover at teachers’ college,” Miss Strickland mumbled to herself, and smiled despite her predicament. She lay on her stomach, pinned down by the mountain of popcorn above her.

  She could hear a few children crying. “Is everybody okay?” she shouted

  “I’m buried in popcorn!” Tiffany yelled.

  “Yes, I know,” Miss Strickland said. “Can anybody move?”

  “No!” everyone chorused at once.

  “How are we going to get out?” Bethany’s voice asked nearby.

  “We’ll be stuck here forever,” Shayna’s voice said.

  “We’ll all turn into fossils!” Joshua shouted.

  Several kids laughed.

  “I’ll be a Joshuasaurus Rex!” Joshua continued, on a roll.

  “That’s enough, Joshua!” Miss Strickland shouted.

  “Miss Strickland!” Andrew’s voice called from the front of the room. “I can smell something burning.”

  “Burning?” Miss Strickland asked, suddenly alarmed. She sniffed.

  “Yes,” Andrew said.

  “Paul?” Miss Strickland said.

  “Yes, Miss?” a trembling voice replied.

  “Did you turn the machine off?”

  “No, Miss.”

  “Well, you’ll need to. It may be burning the popcorn. Can you reach it?”

  “No.”

  “Well, try. You’re the closest.”

  There were a few worried mumbles from around
the room as the smell of burning popcorn fingered its way through the spaces.

  “It’s okay, everyone,” Miss Strickland said. “Paul will turn off the machine.”

  Paul lay on his back near the blackboard. Miss Strickland was right. He was the closest, and he had to turn off the machine, somehow. Besides, it was his talk. He pushed a hand through the popcorn in front of him and touched the leg of Andrew’s desk. But how was he going to get to the machine at the top? He could hardly move. “Miss Strickland, how am I going to get through the popcorn?” he called out.

  “I don’t know, Paul. You’ll have to think of something, and quickly.”

  “But I don’t know,” Paul said.

  “Eat your way there,” Miss Strickland said, exasperated.

  Paul looked at the popcorn in front of his face. Eat his way there? Why not? There were only a few kernels between him and the machine. They couldn’t be too filling. He leaned forward and bit hard into the closest one.

  There was a very loud, very long, very rude noise as air rushed out of the hole. The piece of popcorn deflated slowly until it was as flat as a pancake.

  The class giggled.

  “Nathanael!” Joshua shouted.

  “It wasn’t me!” Nathanael cried, indignant.

  “It was me,” Paul said.

  “Paul!” the class shouted.

  “Must you, Paul?” Miss Strickland said.

  “It wasn’t really me,” Paul said. “It was the popcorn. When I bit into one it went down like a balloon.”

  The class laughed.

  Suddenly there were several loud, rude noises and giggles around the room.

  Miss Strickland smiled.

  Paul bit into more kernels around him and, as they deflated noisily, he managed to wriggle closer to the desk.

  “It’s working, Miss Strickland!” he shouted.

  “Good. Now, hurry up,” Miss Strickland said loudly over the noise of deflating popcorn.

  “What on earth is going on in here?!” the loud voice of Mr Barker suddenly boomed.

  The farting noises petered out.

  “Good morning, Mr Barker,” Miss Strickland called pleasantly.

  “What happened?” Mr Barker asked. “Is everyone all right?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Miss Strickland said. “Paul was just doing his talk for us.”

  “Talk?” Mr Barker asked.

  “Yes,” Miss Strickland said.

  “But your room is full of giant popcorn,” Mr Barker said, amazed.

  “Yes, I know,” Miss Strickland said. “Paul seems to have popped rather a lot for us to sample.”

  There were a few giggles.

  “I see,” Mr Barker said.

  “We’re just eating it now,” Miss Strickland said. “Okay everyone, munch away. I don’t want to be buried all day.”

  “I do,” Joshua said.

  The air was filled once again with the rude noise of deflating popcorn.

  Mr Barker stood at the door, frowning, at a total loss for words, watching as the pile of popcorn slowly began to shrink.

  Paul reached the desk and crawled underneath. He felt around for the electrical cord. He found the rubbish bin first, then reached over to the other side and felt the cord. He grabbed it and pulled. He felt it come away from the power socket.

  “It’s off, Miss Strickland!” he shouted.

  “Thank you, Paul,” Miss Strickland shouted back as the piece of popcorn she’d just bitten deflated rudely into her face. She giggled to herself.

  Eventually the desks appeared and children began to rise like sprouting seedlings above the surface of the popcorn.

  Miss Strickland pushed herself from the floor and stood up. She brushed the hair from her face and spat out a piece of popcorn.

  “Are you okay?” Mr Barked asked from the doorway.

  Miss Strickland adjusted her clothing. “Yes, thank you, Mr Barker,” she said.

  Mr Barker gazed slowly around the room. “I trust you’re going to clean all of this up?”

  “Of course,” Miss Strickland said.

  “Okay then.” Muttering to himself, he turned and walked away, looking through the windows as he went.

  “Righto, everyone,” Miss Strickland said, watching him go, “we’re almost there. When they’re all flat, put them into the bin.”

  For the next five minutes the farting noises continued as the last pieces of popcorn were flattened and thrown onto the growing pile in the bin.

  “Sit down now year five,” Miss Strickland said when the room was tidy again. “And do it quietly.”

  Everyone sat down.

  Miss Strickland returned to her spot on the sink.

  “Thank you for a most interesting talk, Paul,” she said. “We can always count on you for something different. Only test your talk first next time.”

  A few children giggled.

  “You can pack your machine away now,” Miss Strickland said.

  Paul began to wind up the cord.

  “Now, who’s next?” Miss Strickland asked. She squinted at the talks chart. “Nicole. Do you have your talk here today, Nicole?”

  Nicole nodded.

  “Okay then,” Miss Strickland said.

  “Can I get it from outside?”

  “Quickly,” Miss Strickland said.

  Nicole went outside and returned with a large cardboard box. She waited for Paul to put his machine away before she put it onto Andrew’s desk.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Miss Strickland said. She opened the mark book on her lap.

  “Good morning grade five,” Nicole began. She took a nervous breath. “Today I’m going to show you how to make popcorn.”

  BEANS

  Miss Strickland looked sadly at the row of shrivelled bean seedlings. “I’m sorry year five,” she said, turning to the class, “but our Science experiment has died. We’re going to have to start again.”

  “That’s because Joshua didn’t water them,” Tiffany called out.

  “Did so!” Joshua shouted. “You probably looked at them and they died from shock!”

  “That’s enough!” Miss Strickland snapped.

  “Yes, Joshua,” Tiffany said, and poked out her tongue.

  “I think the packet of seeds was too old,” Miss Strickland said. “I’ll buy a new packet this afternoon and we’ll start again tomorrow.”

  Jason put up his hand.

  “Yes, Jason?” Miss Strickland asked.

  “I can bring some bean seeds, Miss. My grandfather has a bean bank.”

  “Bean bank?” Joshua said.

  “Yeah,” Jason said. “People like my grandfather collect different kinds of beans and store them. It’s called a bean bank.”

  “That’s dumb,” Tiffany said.

  “Thank you for that observation, Tiffany,” Miss Strickland said. “Jason’s right. It’s to stop different strains from disappearing. Thank you, Jason. Can you bring them tomorrow?”

  “Yep,” Jason said.

  “Instead of measuring the bean plants today you can finish your title pages”, Miss Strickland told the class. “And do a nice job.”

  “Jason, are you sure your granddad will give you some?” Nathanael asked, taking out his pencils. “He treats those beans like they’re his kids.”

  Jason opened his Science book. “I’m sure,” he whispered. “I don’t even have to ask anyway. He’s away visiting Aunty Joan for three weeks. I can just go into his room and take some.”

  “He’ll notice for sure,” Nathanael said. “You’ll get busted.”

  “No I won’t,” Jason said. “I’ll take some from one of the big jars at the back. Trust me.” He grinned.

  “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Nathanael said. “By the way, you’ve got some lettuce stuck in your teeth.”

  “Oh,” Jason said. He picked at his braces with a fingernail. “Thanks.”

  That night, after his parents had gone to bed, Jason tiptoed across the living room and ope
ned the door to the guest wing where his grandfather lived. He had his own bedroom, small sitting room, bathroom and kitchenette. Although there should have been plenty of room for him in there, he never liked to throw anything out, and so every room was stuffed full. He kept it reasonably tidy though, which was lucky because Jason was too scared to turn on a light and had to creep around in the dark with a torch that barely worked.

  His grandfather kept the bean bank in a large wardrobe in his bedroom. He was very proud of the fact that he had beans from just about every country in the world. They were kept in neatly labelled glass jars in tightly packed rows on all six shelves. Jason didn’t really care which ones he got, so long as his grandfather didn’t notice a few were missing. He only needed five.

  He opened the wardrobe door and took a breath. The collection amazed him every time he saw it, and in the weak torchlight it looked even bigger than usual. There would have easily been three hundred jars there, each one holding a different kind of bean. Up until his grandfather had moved in, Jason had thought there was only one kind of bean, the stringy kind he didn’t like his mum cooking. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought there would be this many. He hoped his grandfather would never get sick of his collection and decide to grow them all because then they’d have beans for tea every night. It was a horrible thought.

  Jason fetched a chair and stood on it. He put the torch on the jars at the end of the top shelf, then reached over and grabbed one of the big jars at the back. It was packed full of beans and really heavy. Praying that he wouldn’t drop it, he lifted it out carefully, then stepped off the chair and sat on the floor. He unscrewed the lid and shone his torch inside.

  “Wow,” he breathed.

  Even in the dim torchlight, he could see these beans were special. Each was as large as an egg, a brilliant blue in colour with tiny flecks of yellow. They were beautiful.

  Before he could change his mind, Jason picked out five and shoved them into his pockets, then screwed the lid back onto the jar and returned it carefully to its spot on the shelf. He closed the wardrobe door, carried the chair back to the kitchen and returned to his room, hopeful that he wouldn’t be found out.

  “Are you sure these are bean seeds?” Miss Strickland asked early the next morning before the bell went. She picked one from the bag and rolled it around in her hand. “They’re huge.”

  Jason grinned. “I’m sure.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Miss Strickland said. “They’re almost too beautiful to bury in soil. Are you sure it’s okay with your grandfather that we use these?”

  Jason nodded. “Yes, Miss,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as guilty as he felt.

  “Well, we’ll need something bigger to plant them in, and some more soil”, Miss Strickland said. “Can you go down and find Mr Matthews and ask him if we can borrow five pots and some potting mix?”

  “Yes, Miss,” Jason said. “Can Nathanael come?”

  “Of course,” Miss Strickland said. “And hurry because the bell’s going soon.”

  Mr Matthews was the school groundsman and had been there forever. He was good at gardening and there was always something interesting happening somewhere in the grounds. The boys found him at the back of his shed at the far end of the school oval, poking around in his worm farm.

  “Excuse me, Mr Matthews,” Jason said.

  Mr Matthews took his hands from the box and brushed them over his green overalls. “And what can I do for you boys this beautiful morning?” he asked, grinning broadly through his bushy orange beard and moustache.

  “Um, Miss Strickland was wondering if we could borrow five pots and some potting mix,” Jason said.

  “Doing some gardening are we?” Mr Matthews said.

  “Yep,” Nathanael said. “We’re growing beans in Science.”

  “Is that so?” Mr Matthews said. “I’m keen on growing vegetables myself.”

  “Our last ones died,” Nathanael said, “and Jason got some seeds from his grandfather’s bean bank.”

  “Well, they’d be special beans then,” Mr Matthews said. “You’ll need big pots if they’re going to grow well, and some good quality potting mix. We might even bung in a bit of manure to give them a boost. Come with me and we’ll see what we can rustle up.”

  “Thanks,” the boys said.

  They followed him into the shed.

  They returned to the classroom ten minutes later laden down with five large plastic pots and an enormous bag of compost. The class was lined up and ready to go in.

  “Thanks boys,” Miss Strickland said. “You can go in first and put it all on the sink.”

  “Pew, what’s that smell?” Tiffany said, holding her nose.

  “Manure,” Jason said, staggering past with the bag of compost. “Mr Matthews put some in to give the bean plants a boost.”

  “Yuck,” Tiffany said.

  “Make sure you close the bag well when you put it onto the sink,” Miss Strickland said as the boys walked into the room. “We don’t want to suffocate today.”

  The glass giggled.

  “Yes, Miss,” Jason said.

  “Forward in everybody,” Miss Strickland said.

  When they were inside Miss Strickland decided to plant the seeds straight away. She gave each group a pot, a spoon and a large ice-cream container full of smelly potting mix.

  “Now, when I give you a seed,” Miss Strickland said, “make sure you bury it just under the surface and water it well using a cup from the sink. But don’t water it until you’ve put the pot on the bench. We don’t want mud everywhere. Make sure you label your pots too, so we know which one’s which when we start measuring the growth of the plants. Now, when I give you a seed you may begin.”

  She opened the bag and took out one of the seeds.

  “Wow!” several voices called out.

  “Yes, it’s impressive isn’t it?” Miss Strickland said, holding it up. “You can thank Jason’s grandfather for donating some of his beans for our Science experiment.”

  “How long will they take to grow?” Tiffany called out.

  “Hand up, Tiffany,” Miss Strickland said.

  Tiffany put up her hand.

  “Yes, Tiffany?” Miss Strickland asked.

  “How long do they take to grow?”

  “I don’t know about these ones,” Miss Strickland said, “but the usual kind normally take a couple of days before they sprout.” She began walking around the room, giving each of the five groups a seed. “Now, I don’t want a lot of noise,” she said. “You can begin.”

  There was an eruption of loud chattering as groups began to fill their pots with soil and plant the seeds.

  Miss Strickland sighed.

  The day proceeded quite normally after that. However, as the class walked into the room after lunch, a shrill cry from Tiffany signalled the beginning of something very unusual. “Miss Strickland, the bean plants are growing already!”

  There was a rush of children to the row of pots on the bench.

  “What?” Miss Strickland exclaimed, amazed. She walked over to the excited crowd and pushed to the front.

  “See?” Tiffany said.

  “Well, how about that,” Miss Strickland said. “We’ve only just planted them.”

  In every pot there was a tiny plant only a centimetre or two tall with two bright green leaves at the top.

  “You said it would take a few days,” a voice said.

  “I know,” Miss Strickland said. “These must be very high quality seeds. Or maybe it’s the manure. We may as well start measuring their growth now. The measurer from each group can take the first measurements while the rest of you take out your Science books and turn to the table we ruled up last week.”

  As the class got themselves organized, Miss Strickland looked down at the seedlings again. She frowned. If she wasn’t mistaken, they seemed to be even bigger than the last time she’d looked.

  By the time three o’clock rolled around and teachers were
rejoicing that the weekend had arrived once again, the seedlings had doubled in size and had sprouted several more leaves. If they kept growing like that the children would get some pretty impressive looking graphs next week. As Miss Strickland locked the classroom door, she hoped that the beans would survive the weekend. Knowing their luck though, all they’d probably find on Monday morning would be shrivelled, yellowed plants.

  Jason arrived to school on Monday morning just as the bell was ringing. He quickly chained his bike to the bike racks, flung his bag over a shoulder and ran up the stairs to the top floor of the building. If he turned up when the class was already inside he’d get busted, even if he had an excuse.

  As he reached the top of the stairs he sighed with relief when he saw that the class was still outside the classroom. But something was wrong. Instead of lining up like they usually did, they were squashed up against the windows, talking noisily. As he got closer he noticed that there was something stuck up against the glass, something green.

  He ran the rest of the way.

  “Jason!” Nathanael cried, excited. “Our bean plants are huge!”

  He was right. What had been tiny seedlings on Friday had become enormous vines. They covered the windows with a tangle of stems and large, leathery leaves the size of dinner plates. You couldn’t see inside the room at all.

  “Wow,” Jason said. He put his bag on the port rack.

  Just then Miss Strickland arrived, breathless. Behind her was Mr Matthews. When he saw the foliage covering the windows, his jaw dropped open with amazement.

  “It can’t be,” he said slowly.

  “It is,” Miss Strickland said. “On Friday they were just tiny seedlings, but when I arrived this morning they’d grown into this.” She waved an arm at the vines.

  “Well, I never,” Mr Matthews said. “Never seen anything like it in my life.”

  As Miss Strickland opened the classroom door, several large leaves popped out around the edges.

  “They cover the whole classroom,” she said. “Have a look.” She stepped in and switched on the light.

  Mr Matthews peered through the door. The classroom had become a green, living cave. On the sink across the room he could see the five large plastic pots he’d given to the boys on Friday morning. A bean plant sprouted from each one. Each trunk was as thick as an arm and twisted its way around the entire classroom, branching off in every direction. Bright, glossy leaves covered everything except the floor, and dotted amongst them were brightly coloured flowers as large as pizzas. The centres were fluorescent yellow and the petals were a vivid blue, fringed with orange.

  “Oh my goodness,” Mr Matthews said slowly, clearly amazed.

  “Do you know what they are?” Miss Strickland asked.

  “Bean plants,” Mr Matthews said. He stepped outside again. “But they’re not like any bean plants I’ve ever seen before. If you don’t mind, I’ll give the Royal Botanical Society a ring. Maybe they’ll have some idea.”

  “You could try Jason’s grandfather too,” Miss Strickland said. “They were his seeds.”

  Jason gulped. “No!” he called out.

  Miss Strickland blinked.

  “Um, he’s away, visiting my aunt,” Jason said, blushing. “She lives interstate.”

  “Never mind,” Mr Matthews said. “The Botanical Society may know.”

  “Maybe,” Miss Strickland said. “Let me know when you find out.”

  “I certainly will,” Mr Matthews said. “I’ll ring them now.” He took a last look at the growth pressed up against the class, then walked hurriedly away.

  “Right, let’s see if we’re ready to go in,” Miss Strickland said.

  The class lined up noisily.

  “Quietly!” Miss Strickland shouted. “I know this is really exciting, but we still need to remember the rules.”

  The class lined up more quietly.

  “Forward in,” Miss Strickland said. “And no touching the plants as you walk in.”

  “You’re going to get really busted when your granddad finds out,” Nathanael whispered.

  “If he finds out,” Jason said.

  They walked inside with the rest of the class.

  “Listening now, everyone,” Miss Strickland said when they were all seated. She looked at the tangle of growth covering the blackboard and frowned. “I did have some maths written on the board this morning, but it seems to have disappeared.”

  The class giggled.

  “Does that mean we don’t do any work today?” Tiffany called out.

  “No,” Miss Strickland said. “I have a back-up plan. I think we’ll do some creative writing instead.”

  “What about?” Joshua called out.

  “What do you think, Joshua?” Miss Strickland waved an arm at the plants.

  Joshua grinned.

  Shayna put up her hand.

  “Yes, Shayna?”

  “It’s like Jack and the Beanstalk.”

  “Maybe there’s a giant up there,” Tiffany called out.

  “Maybe he looks like you,” Joshua said.

  Tiffany poked out her tongue.

  “We’ll stop the calling out, thank you,” Miss Strickland snapped. “If you have something sensible to say, put up your hand.”

  There was a knock at the door and Mr Barker poked his head inside and looked around, his mouth hanging open.

  “Good morning, Mr Barker,” Miss Strickland said pleasantly.

  Mr Barker blinked and stepped inside. “Good morning, Miss Strickland,” he said. “And what’s going on in here this time?”

  “Just a Science experiment,” Miss Strickland said.

  “A Science experiment?”

  “Yes, we’re growing beans.”

  Mr Barker looked slowly around the room again. “Beans?”

  “Yes,” Miss Strickland said. “They seemed to have grown quite a bit over the weekend. Mr Matthews is ringing the Royal Botanical Society to find out what kind of beans we have here.”

  “I see,” Mr Barker said. “You don’t do anything by halves, do you? So you’re okay then?”

  Miss Strickland smiled. “Yes, fine thank you.”

  “Just let me know if there’s a problem,” Mr Barker said. He sighed, took another look around, then stepped out of the room and strode along the veranda, muttering to himself.

  “Take out your draft books, everyone”, Miss Strickland said.

  It was the kind of creative writing lesson that teachers dream about. Motivating the students was usually the hardest part. The more motivated they were, the better the writing was likely to be.

  This morning Miss Strickland had no problem with motivation. After a brief discussion to get the creative juices really going, everyone began writing with enthusiasm about enormous bean plants, bloodthirsty giants and heroic adventures.

  “I hope you’re not putting any gore in your story, Joshua,” Miss Strickland said.

  “No,” Joshua said guiltily.

  “Let me have a look,” Miss Strickland said, walking over. She glanced at his work and sighed. “Start again, Joshua.”

  “But it’s not gory,” Joshua complained.

  “I don’t think Jack chopping up the giant with a chainsaw is quite necessary,” Miss Strickland said. “Start again.” She turned the page in his exercise book.

  Joshua put down his pencil and folded his arms.

  “You can do it at morning tea if you really want to,” Miss Strickland said.

  There was a knock at the door and Mr Matthews stepped into the room.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Miss Strickland,” he said, “but I thought you’d all like to know what the Royal Botanical Society said.”

  “Yes we do, thank you,” Miss Strickland said.

  Mr Matthews gazed around the room and shook his head slowly. “I still don’t believe it,” he muttered. “Anyway, they seem to think it is a very rare, almost extinct, species of bean from the jungles of the Congo. But they’re not sure. They need to see i
t. They’re sending somebody over later today to have a look.”

  “Okay, thank you, Mr Matthews,” Miss Strickland said.

  “That’s okay,” Mr Matthews said.

  “Oh no,” Jason whispered. “I’m dead.”

  Nathanael leaned across the desk. “You shouldn’t have taken them,” he said.

  “How was I to know they were really rare?” he said.

  “Keep writing,” Miss Strickland said. “You have twenty minutes left.”

  When they came in later from morning tea, the bean plants had changed. All the flowers had fallen off and tiny bean pods had taken their place. They were no bigger than thumbs, but they were growing steadily. It was like watching one of those nature programs done using time-lapse photography.

  “How big will they get?” Tiffany called out.

  “I don’t know,” Miss Strickland said. “We’ll wait and see. Take that off your head, Joshua,” she said.

  Joshua was wearing one of the flowers on his head like a large, floppy hat. The petals drooped down over his face. He grinned and lifted it off. Yellow pollen covered his head like a fluffy helmet.

  The class laughed.

  Joshua rubbed a hand through his hair and pollen flew everywhere.

  Paul sneezed.

  “That’s enough,” Miss Strickland said. “We’ll spend a bit of time now listening to some of the stories we wrote this morning. Who would like to go first?”

  Tiffany’s hand shot up like a rocket.

  “Okay, Tiffany”, Miss Strickland said.

  Tiffany stood up with her draft book and cleared her throat. “Once upon a time there was a very beautiful model named Tiffany.”

  Joshua smirked.

  “Be quiet, Joshua”, Miss Strickland said sharply.

  Tiffany gave him a mean glare, and then started again. “Once upon a time there was a very beautiful model named Tiffany. She lived in a mansion with her rich mother and father. She had 300 servants to look after her and give her everything that she wanted. But she was sad because she didn’t have a boyfriend yet. One day while she was lying on the banana lounge beside the pool wearing the knitted bikinis her designer mother had knitted for her, something landed on the lawn beside her. She put her mobile phone down and saw that it was a beautiful seed. When she picked it up she suddenly saw a worm on it and threw it into the garden.

  That night she was woken up by a loud noise. She got out of bed and looked out the window, only to see a huge vine growing up into the sky. She was so curious that she put on some designer pants and top and some matching shoes and went out to investigate.” Tiffany looked up from her book. “That’s as far as I got, Miss.”

  “That’s very good so far, Tiffany”, Miss Strickland said. “What’s going to happen at the end?”

  “Well, she climbs up the bean plant and finds a castle above the clouds”, Tiffany said. “She discovers that a horrible ogre named Joshua lives there and he is keeping a prince named Justin Bieber prisoner in his dungeon. Tiffany kills the ogre and rescues Justin Bieber. They get married and live happily ever after.”

  “She can’t use my name like that!” Joshua called out.

  “Yes I can!” Tiffany snapped. “It’s called creative license.”

  “Enough!” Miss Strickland shouted. “I don’t want you two arguing with each other in the classroom. Okay?” She paused. “Thank you for sharing your story with us, Tiffany. But you will need to pick another name for your ogre.”

  “That’s not fair!” Tiffany cried.

  “Tough”, Miss Strickland said. “Right Joshua, you’re next.”

  Smiling smugly, Joshua stood up. “Once upon a time there was a blood thirsty monster with huge blood dripping fangs and snot coming out of its nose named Tiffany…”

  “Miss Strickland!” Tiffany complained.

  “Thank you, Joshua”, Miss Strickland said. “I think we’ve heard enough.”

  Joshua sat down and folded his arms angrily.

  “Right, who’s next?” Miss Strickland said. A jungle of hands waved in the air.

  Although the class usually enjoyed listening to stories, the growing bean pods were far more interesting this morning, and the children spent more time looking at the ceiling than paying attention to the person sharing. After fifteen minutes, Miss Strickland gave up.

  “All right, grade five, I can’t compete with the bean plants today. We’ll finish listening to the stories another time. If you want to watch the pods growing, that’s fine.”

  “Can I get a cushion from Book Corner and rest my head on the desk?” Tiffany called out. “My neck is getting sore from looking up.”

  “No,” Miss Strickland said.

  “Can I lie on the floor then?”

  “No,” Miss Strickland said.

  Tiffany pouted.

  Miss Strickland sighed. “Okay, everyone, if you want to lie on the floor you can. If we have a problem, we’ll be back at our desks. I’ll give you a minute to get organized.”

  Everyone in the class took up the offer and spread themselves on the floor around the room.

  Miss Strickland sat at her desk. “Now, you don’t need your lips to look,” she said. “When they’ve finished doing what they’re doing we’ll write up our observations in our Science books.”

  The class watched the bean pods growing, and they grew quickly. In only a few minutes they were as long and as thick as a man’s arm and dangled from the ceiling like crazy vines. Although they had been pale green when they were small, they gradually turned dark brown. They began to swell too as the beans inside them grew. Everyone began to wonder what was going to happen next. They soon found out.

  “Ow!” Nathanael yelled. “Joshua, don’t kick me!”

  Suddenly, with a tremendous bang, one of the bean pods exploded and brightly coloured egg-shaped beans flew across the room like bullets.

  Everybody screamed.

  More pods exploded. Beans ricocheted from furniture, punched holes through leaves and shattered windows.

  Screaming and trying to protect themselves with their arms, the children crawled underneath their desks. Miss Strickland dived under hers as well and waited for the explosions to stop.

  When everything seemed to have settled down, Miss Strickland crawled out.

  “Is everybody okay?” she asked.

  “No,” the class replied loudly.

  Once again the air was filled with explosions and flying beans. The children screamed and Miss Strickland dived under her desk.

  “Don’t make any noises,” Miss Strickland whispered as loudly as she dared when the beans had stopped bouncing around. “The noise is making the pods explode.”

  “I’ve got bean bruises all over me,” Bethany whimpered from underneath her desk at the back of the room.

  “So have I,” Tiffany groaned.

  “Never mind,” Miss Strickland said. “Let’s just quietly leave the room. If we don’t make any noise we should be okay.”

  “I’m too scared,” Bethany whimpered.

  “You’ll be fine,” Miss Strickland said. “Trust me. Now everyone, stand quietly and move carefully outside.”

  Gazing at the threatening bean pods swaying above them, they stood up slowly.

  Suddenly Mr Barker burst into the classroom.

  “What is going on in here?!” he demanded, his eyes wide with alarm.

  Bean pods exploded loudly. The class screamed and dived for cover again. A bean struck the surprised principal on the forehead and he collapsed, unconscious, in the doorway.

  “Let’s try again,” Miss Strickland whispered when the rain of beans had stopped.

  “Is Mr Barker dead?” Andrew whispered as he stood up carefully.

  “No,” Miss Strickland said. “But he’ll have a good egg on his head when he wakes up. Help me drag him outside.”

  Andrew and Miss Strickland dragged a very limp Mr Barker onto the verandah and the rest of the class followed. They crunched over broken glass away from the
windows. The other teachers on their floor had all come out to see what had happened in Miss Strickland’s classroom this time while their classes poked their heads out of the windows and chattered excitedly.

  Later that night Jason crept into his grandfather’s room again and replaced the beans he had taken with some new ones that had landed in the school car park.

  When he returned to his room he was confident that he’d gotten away with it, but early the next morning, as he was eating his breakfast, his father came into the kitchen and lay the newspaper open on the table in front of him.

  “Look what’s in the paper this morning, Jason,” he said.

  Jason looked down at the headline and gulped.

  “Rare Bean Species Causes Havoc at Local School,” his father read out. “Early yesterday afternoon police and ambulances were rushed to Wattle Creek Primary School when a rare species of bean plant growing in one of the classrooms caused several injuries when its bean pods exploded violently. Several students were treated for shock and bruising and the principal, Mr Barker, was admitted into hospital for observation after being knocked unconscious. The class teacher, Miss Strickland, explained that one of the student’s grandfathers had donated the rare bean seeds for a class experiment and that she had no idea they were dangerous. A member of the Royal Botanical Society arrived shortly after the incident and told reporters that this particular bean was only known to grow in the jungles of the Congo and was extremely rare in the wild, if not extinct.”

  His father stopped reading. Jason stared down at the newspaper, feeling like he was going to throw up.

  “Well?” his father asked. “Do you have any idea who ‘donated’ those beans?”

  “Sort of,” Jason said.

  THE GOLD STAR

  Bethany knocked softly on the door of the dental van. A young looking nurse in a white uniform opened it.

  “Hi, I’m Bethany Grainger,” Bethany said.

  “Hello Bethany,” the nurse said, smiling. “Come in.”

  Bethany stepped into the van and the nurse closed the door.

  “Just hop up here,” the nurse said, “and we’ll have a look and see what your teeth are doing.”

  Bethany got up onto the white dental chair. The plastic cover squeaked as she wriggled into position. The nurse tied a small apron around her neck and pressed a button. The chair began to move.

  “Just relax,” the nurse said as Bethany’s head end went down. “We’re only looking today. Nothing painful.”

  Bethany relaxed and stared into the light above her.

  The nurse pulled on some rubber gloves, then picked up a long, thin metal instrument with a hook at the end. “Okay then, Bethany, open wide.”

  Bethany opened her mouth as wide as she could.

  “You’ve got a decent set of teeth there,” the nurse said, peering inside. She squinted. “They’re getting a bit crowded.”

  “I know,” Bethany said. “I need braces, but Mum can’t afford them yet.”

  “Hmm,” the nurse said. “Open up again and we’ll have a bit of a look around.”

  Bethany opened her mouth again and the nurse poked around inside. She did the bottom row first, then the top, stopping every now and again to write something down or suck up some saliva with a little sucker hose. Bethany really wanted to swallow and was glad when the nurse finally said, “All done now, dear.”

  Bethany swallowed. “Thanks.”

  “Now, that wasn’t so bad was it?” the nurse said as the chair rose back into position.

  “Not really,” Bethany said as she massaged her jaw.

  “Well, you’ll be pleased to know you don’t need any fillings,” the nurse said. “Keep up that brushing. You’ll get a note in the next day or two explaining some things to your mother about those crowded teeth of yours. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Bethany said.

  The nurse bent down and pulled a box from a shelf near by. “Since you were so brave today, Bethany, you can choose a little something from this box as a reward.”

  Bethany’s eyes lit up. “Thanks,” she said.

  She poked around in the box. There were the usual stickers and things, but something else, something gold, caught her eye. She picked it out. It was a gold star, no bigger than a five-cent piece. It had a small hole at one end.

  “Good choice,” the nurse said.

  “What is it?” Bethany asked.

  “A charm for a bracelet I think,” the nurse said. “I used to collect them when I was your age. They’re not really in fashion now, though.”

  “I like it,” Bethany said, although she wondered how it would go on a chain with the hole where it was. It didn’t even go all the way through.

  “It’s yours,” the nurse said, and put the box away.

  “Thanks,” Bethany said, and slipped it safely into her pocket.

  “Now, off you go,” the nurse said. “There’s someone else from your class waiting. At least I hope there is.”

  When Bethany opened the door to the van, Tiffany was waiting outside for her turn.

  “I bet they got a fright when they saw your mouth,” Tiffany said, and giggled.

  Bethany frowned and walked away quickly.

  Twenty minutes later Tiffany returned to the classroom.

  “Miss Strickland!” she said excitedly as she came into the room. “Look what I got!”

  Miss Strickland looked up from a large pile of homework books and squinted at the gold star glittering in the middle of Tiffany’s hand. “That’s lovely, Tiffany,” she said.

  “The nurse said it’s a charm for a charm bracelet. It was the only one in the box. Aren’t I lucky?”

  “Yes you are, Tiffany,” Miss Strickland said.

  “I got to choose because she said I had perfect teeth. When I’m a model I’ll need to have perfect teeth.”

  “Of course you will,” Miss Strickland said tiredly. “You can sit down now. You’ve got a few minutes left to finish that exercise.”

  Tiffany returned to her seat, showing the gold star proudly to everybody she passed.

  That night Bethany lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking how wonderful it would be if she had heaps of friends and everybody liked her. She could be a really good friend if somebody would only give her a chance. But nobody could ever see further than her rabbit teeth. And even if somebody would want to be her friend, Tiffany and her group of friends would soon change their mind.

  At the least she wasn’t being teased this year. All the really horrible girls had ended up in the other class. They just left her alone now and played their own games. Bethany didn’t really mind being by herself at lunch time. She had her electronic pet to play with and the teacher on playground duty to talk to. And sometimes one of the mothers in the canteen would feel sorry for her and give her something.

  Suddenly a very soft beeping sound, barely audible, crept into her ears, and she opened her eyes and looked around the room.

  It was a full moon and the bright light through the window lit up her room well enough for her to see her desk with the computer on the top, the bookshelf in the corner and the closed wardrobe door next to the bed.

  Bethany listened hard. There was definitely a beeping sound, and it wasn’t coming from outside. It was somewhere in her room, and it was moving. As she listened, it travelled slowly from the window side of the bed, around the end and along the other side until it was directly below her head.

  Bethany swallowed hard. What was it?

  Carefully, she turned over onto her side and wriggled to the edge of the mattress. She took a breath and peeked over.

  Although she wasn’t sure what she had expected to see, what she saw standing on the floor below was the last thing she would have thought of: a person, a little person, a very little person no bigger than a cat. It was too dark to see much else, except that the beeping was coming from a small object it was studying in its hands.

  “Hello,” Bethany whispered.

  The
little person jumped with surprise, dropped what it was holding and dived under the bed. After a few moments, a little hand snaked out, grabbed the beeping object, and disappeared again.

  Bethany turned on the bedside lamp and jumped out of bed. She knelt on the floor and carefully lifted the edge of the blanket.

  “Hello?” she whispered into the darkness. “Is anybody there?”

  There was no answer.

  “It’s all right. I won’t hurt you.”

  The beeping noise began again. It came from the head end of the bed. Bethany stared hard, but couldn’t see anything.

  “Shut up,” a high-pitched voice whispered, and there was a rattling sound.

  “Oh, okay,” Bethany said, taken aback. “If you really want me to.”

  “No, not you,” the voice said crossly. “It’s this stupid locator. It won’t stop beeping.”

  “I don’t mind,” Bethany said. “Do you want to come out? I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  There was a sigh and the little person stepped out from under the bed.

  Bethany stared. It was a little man, clean-shaven and dressed in a pair of jeans, long sleeved check shirt and sneakers. He wore a red baseball cap.

  “Hello, I’m Bethany,” Bethany said, sitting on the floor in front of him.

  “Hi,” the little man said, brilliant blue eyes staring out from under a mop of curly orange hair. “I’m a tooth fairy.”

  Bethany gasped. “The tooth fairy?”

  “No, I’m A tooth fairy, not THE tooth fairy,” he said crossly. “There’s more than one of us you know.”

  “Is there?” Bethany asked.

  “You don’t honestly think that one tooth fairy could get to everybody in the world who loses a tooth do you?” the little man said. “You’ll be saying next that there’s only one Santa Claus.”

  “Um, I’ve never really thought about it before,” Bethany admitted.

  “It’s a bit of a thankless job, really,” the tooth fairy said. “Not many kids believe in us anymore. We spend our nights putting money under pillows and parents take all the credit. It’s not fair.”

  “I believe in you,” Bethany said.

  “I know,” the tooth fairy said. “You can see me. Only people who believe in us can see us.”

  “You look a bit different to what I expected though,” Bethany said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I kind of imagined the tooth fairy wearing a white ball gown and a glittery crown.”

  The tooth fairy laughed loudly. “Really? You’ve watched too many Disney movies. “

  “Maybe,” Bethany said. “Anyway, why are you here? I haven’t lost any teeth.”

  “I know,” the tooth fairy said. “But I’ve lost something.”

  “What?”

  The little man sighed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin, golden stick. “See this?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Bethany said. “What is it?”

  “A wand,” the tooth fairy said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Every tooth fairy has one. It helps us do our job more efficiently. We get one when we sign our contract, and we’re meant to keep it until we retire.”

  “Cool,” Bethany said, her eyes wide.

  “Yes, but mine’s broken”, the tooth fairy said sadly. “I’ve lost the star. It won’t work without the star. If I go back without it I’ll be in big trouble.”

  “How long has it been broken for?” Bethany asked.

  “Four months,” the tooth fairy replied. “But I think I’ve finally found it.”

  “You have?” Bethany said.

  “Yes.” He held up the tiny box in his hand. It was still beeping and a tiny green light on the front was flashing. “See this?”

  Bethany nodded.

  “It’s a star locator,” he said. “It will only beep like this when it’s close to my star.”

  He stared up into Bethany’s face, eyes pleading. “Do you have it?”

  “No,” Bethany said, thinking. Then her eyes lit up. “Hang on, I might!” She jumped up and fetched her jewellery box from her desk.

  The tooth fairy watched as she opened in on the floor in front of him.

  “I went to the dentist today,” Bethany said, “and she gave me a gold star.” She rummaged around inside and carefully pulled it out.

  “Yes!” the tooth fairy screamed in delight, seeing it glinting on the palm of her hand. He danced around on the spot. “Yes, that’s it! Four months of searching, and I’ve found it!”

  Bethany smiled. “It’s yours,” she said. “You need it more than me.”

  “Thank you,” the tooth fairy said, smiling broadly. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  He reached over and picked it carefully from Bethany’s hand, then pushed it down on the top of the wand. He held it up proudly and gave it a flick. He frowned, then flicked it again. “That’s odd,” he said.

  “What’s wrong?” Bethany asked.

  “It’s not working,” the tooth fairy said. He flicked it again, then studied the beeping box in his hand.

  “Oh no!” he cried suddenly. “Oh no, no, no!”

  “What’s wrong?” Bethany asked.

  The tooth fairy threw the box down on the floor. It slid under the bed where it kept on beeping. “It’s the wrong star!” he cried. “I set it to the wrong setting! I’ve spent all of this time looking for somebody else’s star!” He burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry,” Bethany said, feeling tears pricking in her eyes.

  “It’s not your fault,” the tooth fairy blubbered. “It’s all mine! How stupid!” He hit himself on the side of the head and collapsed onto the floor, dazed.

  “Are you okay?” Bethany asked, alarmed.

  “Yes,” the tooth fairy said, sitting up. He wiped a sleeve over his face. “What am I going to do now?”

  Bethany suddenly had a thought. “I might have an idea,” she said.

  “What?” the little man asked.

  “One of the girls in my class got a gold star from the dentist too. She said it was the last one in the box. It could be yours.”

  “You’re kidding,” the tooth fairy said, eyes opening wide.

  “No I’m not,” Bethany said. “It looked just like this one.”

  Excited, the tooth fairy scrambled to his feet and fetched the locator. He twisted a knob on the side and the beeping stopped.

  “I’ve got it on the right setting now,” he said. “Hold me up near the window. Does this girl live close by?”

  “Yes,” Bethany said. “Only a few streets away.”

  She picked the tooth fairy up carefully and held him in front of the open window.

  All of a sudden the locator began to beep slowly.

  “Yes!” the tooth fairy screamed in delight. “It must be it!”

  He looked up into Bethany’s face. “Can you take me there?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Bethany said. She was quiet for a moment. “But Tiffany hates me. She won’t want to give away her star.”

  “Why does she hate you?” the tooth fairy asked. “You’re a nice girl.”

  Bethany opened her mouth and pointed to her large front teeth. “Because of these,” she said. “She calls me Bunky Beaver.”

  “That’s horrible,” the tooth fairy said.

  “Yeah,” Bethany agreed. “And because she hates me, so does everybody else.”

  “You have no friends?”

  Bethany shook her head.

  The tooth fairy thought for a moment. “You’ve already helped me a lot. If you can help me get my star back from this horrible Tiffany person, I’ll see what I can do about your problem.”

  “What could you do?” Bethany asked.

  “Just leave that to me,” the tooth fairy said mischievously.

  Ten minutes later they were standing in Tiffany’s back yard, staring up at her bedroom window.

  “Thanks,” the tooth fairy said.

/>   “How are you going to get in?” Bethany asked.

  “Easy,” he said. “Well, it’d be easier if I had my star, but I can still manage well enough. Just put me down and I’ll show you.”

  Bethany put him down on the lawn. “Be careful,” she said.

  “Sure,” the tooth fairy said. “Don’t worry. I’ve had lots of practice.”

  He skipped lightly across the lawn and scrambled through the ferns to the wall below Tiffany’s window.

  Bethany retreated to the shrubbery against the back fence and found a spot where she wouldn’t be seen from the house. As she watched through the leaves, she saw the tooth fairy nimbly climb the wall to Tiffany’s window sill. She wondered how he did it. Maybe he had suction cups on his shoes.

  Tiffany had just won the Miss Universe beauty contest when a tapping sound woke her up. She groaned, disappointed. She rolled over and tried to get her dream back.

  The tapping sound came again and she opened her eyes. She sat up and stared into the darkness of her bedroom. As she listened, the noise came again. It was really soft and seemed to be coming from the window. Perhaps there was a bird sitting on the sill. Maybe it was a tame one that wanted to come in. That’d be cool.

  Tiffany pushed the sheets aside and stepped onto the carpet, then walked over to the window and carefully opened the curtains.

  There was nothing there.

  Disappointed, she undid the catch, lifted the bottom part of the window up and leaned out to have a better look. Nope, nothing. Maybe whatever it was had flown away. It would have been good to have a pet bird. Deciding that she would ask her mother in the morning if she could have one, she closed the window and climbed back into bed. She pulled the sheets up around her neck and wriggled around to get comfortable. Closing her eyes, she thought about the Miss Universe contest again. If she was lucky she would get her dream back. It wasn’t every day that she got one that was so true to life. She’d heard somewhere that sometimes dreams showed the future. Maybe she’d just had one of those. Being Miss Universe would be so cool.

  As she felt herself begin to drift off she heard a soft beeping noise and opened her eyes again. It wasn’t a bird this time, and it didn’t come from outside. It was somewhere in her room. She pulled the sheets over her head and listened, trembling. What could it be? A monster? An alien? A burglar? None of those ideas seemed very plausible. And then suddenly an idea popped into her mind - one of Bunky Beaver’s electronic pets! They beeped like that when it was time to feed them. Maybe she was trying to get her into trouble by saying that she had stolen one. That must be it! Bunky Beaver must have been jealous that the dentist had given her a gold star because of her perfect teeth.

  The beeping stopped.

  Tiffany switched on her bedside lamp. The room was suddenly filled with a golden glow. She may as well find out now if there was an electronic pet in her bag or not. There was no way Bunky Beaver was going to get her into trouble.

  As she swung her legs out of the bed, she froze when she noticed something odd happening on her dressing table. Her jewellery box was moving. It wasn’t moving much, but it was definitely moving. It was as if there was something inside that wanted to get out. It wasn’t an electronic pet, that was for sure.

  Tiffany went over for a closer look. As she reached the dressing table, the box stopped moving.

  “That’s strange,” she said, and picked it up. She turned the red, felt covered box around in her hands. There was definitely nothing on the outside that could have made it move. She surveyed the cluttered tabletop. There was nothing out of the ordinary there either. Maybe there was something in the box, an insect or something. Her skin crawled at the thought of a cockroach or spider big enough to make the box jump around. But then, she thought, insects didn’t make beeping sounds, and how would they get inside anyway? And then another thought entered her mind. Maybe her mum had put a surprise in there for her.

  She put the box down carefully, then opened one of the drawers of the dressing table and dug around in her collection of hair scrunchies until she found a small, gold key. She slipped the key into the lock of the jewellery box and turned it.

  “Well, here goes nothing,” she whispered, and carefully lifted the lid.

  “Boo!” a high-pitched voice suddenly yelled.

  Tiffany screamed, dived back into bed and pulled the covers to her chin.

  As she watched, trembling all over, rings, bracelets and necklaces jumped out of the box and clattered onto the dressing table.

  “Aha, got you!” the voice shouted gleefully as the gold star rose into the air.

  Tiffany screamed again.

  There were hurried footsteps in the hallway and the bedroom door flew open.

  “Tiffany, what’s wrong?” her mother asked anxiously. She switched on the light.

  “There’s somebody in my room!” Tiffany screeched.

  “Where?!” her mother asked, looking around.

  Tiffany burst into tears. “My dressing table! I heard a voice!”

  Her mother frowned. “I can’t see anyone, dear.”

  “There is! I heard it!”

  “There’s nobody here.”

  “Yes there is!”

  Her mother frowned. “You must have had a dream, dear.”

  “It wasn’t a dream! I heard a noise near my dressing table, and when I got out to have a look somebody said boo.”

  “Has Miss Strickland been reading you scary stories again? She knows I don’t approve of those.”

  “No,” Tiffany said.

  Her mother stepped over to the dressing table and began picking up the scattered jewellery. “You mustn’t leave your jewellery out like this,” she said. “You could lose it.”

  “It jumped out by itself,” Tiffany said.

  Her mother looked at her incredulously. “It jumped out by itself? Do you expect me to believe that?”

  “It did!”

  Her mother sighed. “That’s enough now, Tiffany.”

  “But...” Tiffany began.

  “No more, Tiffany,” her mother interrupted. “I’ve heard enough. It’s time to go back to sleep. You had a dream.”

  “You never believe anything I say,” Tiffany said, folding her arms.

  “Goodnight,” her mother said.

  “Goodnight,” Tiffany grunted.

  Her mother switched off the light and closed the door. Tiffany listened to her walk back to her own room. “I did hear a voice,” she said.

  “ Of course you did,” somebody said from the end of the bed. “It was me.”

  Tiffany screamed again.

  Down in the garden Bethany heard the screaming and saw the light in Tiffany’s room going on and off, and she wondered if the tooth fairy was okay. She was just contemplating whether or not she should go and help him when there was a soft zapping sound and he was standing beside her in the shrubbery.

  “Hello,” he said brightly.

  Bethany jumped with surprise. “Oh, hi,” she said. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry,” the tooth fairy said. He held up his wand and grinned. “I got it back,” he said triumphantly.

  Bethany smiled. The gold star glittered on the end of the wand. “That’s great,” she said. She glanced up at Tiffany’s window. “It sounds as though you gave her a fright.” She giggled.

  “That’s nothing compared to the fright she’s going to have when she wakes up tomorrow,” the tooth fairy said. He grinned wickedly.

  “What are you going to do?” Bethany asked.

  “It’s a surprise,” the tooth fairy said. “But I think it’s going to teach her a valuable lesson.”

  “Tell me,” Bethany begged.

  The tooth fairy shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s the rules. Just be patient. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Bethany sighed. “Okay, if you say so.”

  The tooth fairy smiled. “Good girl.” He looked down at the small gold watch on his wrist. “Oh dear, it’s getting late,”
he said. “I really must be going. There’s still a lot to do before dawn.”

  “Oh, do you have to?” Bethany asked. “Please stay.”

  “I’d love to,” the tooth fairy said, “but I really have to go now. Thanks for all you’ve done for me. I really appreciate it.”

  “That’s okay,” Bethany said.

  “I’ll pop in from time to time to see how you’re getting on,” the tooth fairy promised. “You’ll see me again soon.”

  “Thanks,” Bethany said, tears in her eyes.

  The tooth fairy coughed uncomfortably. “Okay then, off I go now. Good-bye.” He gave the wand a sharp flick, and disappeared.

  Bethany was alone again.

  When Tiffany finally returned to school three days later, Bethany and her new friends didn’t notice until Joshua cried out, “Hey, Tiffany’s back!”

  Tiffany didn’t smile or say anything as she put her bag on the port racks. Her mother went inside to talk to Miss Strickland.

  “Hello, Tiffany,” Kimberly said as the group of girls crowded around her.

  “Hi,” Tiffany mumbled, hardly opening her mouth.

  Kimberly frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Tiffany grunted.

  “Did you see what happened to Bethany?” Shayna asked.

  Tiffany shook her head.

  “It’s amazing,” Kimberly said.

  “Show her, Bethany,” Sally said.

  Bethany stepped closer. “Welcome back, Tiffany,” she said, and smiled broadly, revealing a perfect set of white teeth.

  Tiffany’s eyes widened with horror. “No!” she screamed. “No!”

  The girls around her gasped when they saw her large front teeth covered with silver braces.

  ****

  Sadly, this is the end of the first collection of stories about Miss Strickland’s class at Wattle Creek Primary School. If you would like to find out more about the author, Ronald Hart, or read more about Tiffany, Joshua and the other children in their own blog, visit the Wattle Creek Books web site.

  https://www.wattlecreekbooks.com

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