Suddenly my legs felt light as whips and I knew I was going to win.
I didn’t care if Dad got so excited he kissed all the teachers and made them all drop their lunches and stuck his hand into all their armholes.
That was his problem.
I was level with Darryn.
The finish line was rushing towards me.
I stretched my arms out and hurled myself at the excited purple and yellow blur and crossed the line with Darryn’s feet thundering at my heels.
There was shouting and cheering and Amanda threw her arms round me and squeezed me so hard I couldn’t suck air.
I barely noticed.
All I was really aware of was the purple and yellow blur, which now I was up close wasn’t a blur at all.
It was the Parents and Teachers Association banner, rolled up in the arms of a teacher, a loose end flapping in the breeze.
Dazed, I turned away.
I felt sick, but that might have just been the run.
Keep busy, I thought, keep busy.
Darryn was sprawled on the ground, looking as sick as I felt.
His eyes flicked up at me, and then at the frog, and then at the ground again.
Just for a sec, while he was looking at me, he had the same expression he had yesterday after his brothers had been mean to him.
Suddenly I wanted to tell him to go home and tell his brothers to pull their heads in.
It wasn’t the time to do that, so I found my bag and pulled out my lunch box and pulled out the apple fritter I’d been planning to pick the burnt bits off and have for lunch.
I held it out to Darryn.
He looked at it, then at me, puzzled.
I found my pad and pen but before I could write anything, Amanda spoke up.
‘Frog fritter,’ she said to Darryn.
What a team.
Darryn took the fritter, and just for a fleeting second I thought he looked grateful.
Hard to tell, on a face that spends so much of its time smirking.
I picked up the frog in the bottle and turned to ask Ms Dunning if she thought it would eat the other frogs in our classroom.
While I was writing there was a shout.
Mr Fowler, pink and agitated, was hurrying towards Ms Dunning.
‘That blessed girl’s locked herself in the stationery cupboard again,’ he said.
Then he stopped and stared at me.
‘Well someone has,’ he said.
Everyone stood there for a bit.
Then I remembered and my heart tried to get out through my mouth.
Even though my lungs were still sore I made it into the school in about three seconds.
In the staff-room corridor I stopped in front of the stationery cupboard door and took the biggest breath I could and started to whistle ‘Heart Like A Fairground’ by Carla Tamworth.
I can whistle loud, but I’m a bit crook on tunes.
Mr Fowler and Ms Dunning and a crowd of kids arrived and they all stared at me as if I was loony.
I didn’t care.
There was a rattle at the keyhole and the cup-board door swung open and there was Dad.
‘About time,’ he said. ‘I forgot the peg and the pong in here’d strip paint.’
It was my turn to stare.
He was wearing a grey suit and a white shirt and a brown bow tie.
The suit was too short in the arms and the legs.
The shirt was so big that the bow tie was sticking up over his chin.
I didn’t know whether to collapse into giggles like Ms Dunning was doing or forget that half the class were there and burst into tears.
‘Dad,’ I said, ‘you look ridiculous.’
He gave me a nervous grin.
‘That’s what happens when you buy your clothes from a cheese-brain,’ he said. ‘Bugger doesn’t have anything in your size.’
We gave each other a huge hug, though it wasn’t easy for him because he couldn’t move his arms that much.
Even though I was so happy I could hardly think, I made a mental note that brightly-coloured satin shirts are much more generously cut than suits, and therefore much better for cuddles.
Then, after he went and had a chat to Mr Fowler and Sergeant Vinelli and persuaded them that any man in a suit must be a responsible father, he took me and Amanda back to our place and we built a big bonfire and had sausages and marshmallows for tea.
After Dad got changed I was tempted to chuck the suit onto the fire.
I didn’t.
I decided it might be useful to have it around, in case Dad gets out of hand again.
I might be totally and completely happy, but I’m not dumb.
Morris Gleitzman, Blabber Mouth
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