Just Stupid! (11 page)

   I’m hurtling down into somebody’s backyard. This is going to hurt. Think of the biggest and baddest bike accident you ever had and then multiply it by fifteen thousand. Now take that number and raise it to the power of ten. It’s probably going to be about seventeen million times worse than that.

   I don’t believe it! A trampoline.

   I land on my stomach and bounce down so hard that for a moment I feel the ground through the thin layer of trampoline rubber. But it’s only for a moment. I shoot back up into the air. Away from the trampoline. Away from the backyard and towards a high wooden fence. I think I’m going to make it, but it’s going to be close.

   I flap my arms to give me extra lift.

   I skim over the top of the fence . . . but only just. A nail catches my undies and they’re pulled off me as I sail over.

   I’m flying through the air.

   Naked.

   Actually it’s not such a bad feeling. In fact it’s kind of nice. I can feel the wind on places I’ve never felt the wind on before.

   And my luck seems to be holding.

   I’m heading for a swimming pool!

   It seems strangely familiar.

   A man and a woman are lying on banana lounges by the side of the pool. They seem familiar too, but I haven’t got time to work out why. I have to prepare for splashdown.

   I close my eyes and make my body into an upside-down ‘V shape so that I don’t go too deep.

   SPLASH!

   A perfect landing.

   I swim to the surface, shake my head and wipe my eyes.

   Uh-oh.

   Now I know why the man and the woman look familiar.

   It’s my dad’s boss. And his wife.

   ‘Hi, Mr Bainbridge! Hi, Mrs Bainbridge!’ I say. ‘Just thought I’d drop in.’

   I don’t know why they are looking so surprised. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve appeared in front of them, without warning, without my pants. There was the time I got stuck in their bathroom window. And the time I fell through the dining room roof. But to be fair, I guess this is the most spectacular.

   ‘I guess you’re wondering how I got here,’ I say. ‘Well I can explain . . .’

   Mr Bainbridge holds up his hand.

   ‘No, please don’t, Andy,’ he says, getting up out of his chair. ‘It’s not necessary. I’ll just go and ring your father.’

   Mrs Bainbridge is holding her hands up to her eyes. Mr Bainbridge helps her up and they go inside.

   I kick back and float across the pool.

   I can’t believe it. I survived. That was the most terrifying ride of my life.

   I can’t wait to get home, fix up the pram and do it all over again.

s far as I’m concerned the only good thing about fancy restaurants is that they have candles on the tables.

   ‘Watch this,’ I say to Danny.

   I pass my hand slowly through the candle flame and then hold it up to show him the black mark left on my fingers.

   ‘How tough is that?’ I say.

   ‘That’s nothing,’ says Danny. ‘Watch this!’

   Danny rolls up his sleeve and passes his hand across the flame. But he doesn’t keep going. He stops halfway. The candle is burning him. Danny is crazy.

   He jerks his hand out of the flame and shakes it back and forth.

   ‘Ouch, ooch, itch, utch, eech,’ he says. He bites his lip and looks up at the ceiling.

   ‘I beg your pardon?’ I say.

   ‘Hot,’ he says, shaking his hand. ‘Really hot!’

   Mum gives us a withering look.

   ‘Would you stop that!’ she says.

   ‘Stop what?’ I say.

   ‘Stop playing with the candles.’

   ‘We’re not playing,’ I say. ‘We’re performing amazing feats of bravery and endurance.’

   She gives me another withering look. It’s even more withering than the last one. In fact it’s the witheringest look I’ve ever received. I’m surprised that the little pink flowers in the middle of the table didn’t just keel over and die from it.

   ‘Just don’t,’ she says.

   I sigh and slump in my chair.

   I thought tonight would be boring—but not this boring. I didn’t want to come, but Mum insisted. She won a meal for four in a radio competition and thought it would be nice to take the family out somewhere special. Jen got out of it because it’s her boyfriend’s birthday. I said I would only come if I could bring Danny along for company.

   I don’t think Dad is too thrilled to be here

either. He is fidgeting and drumming his fingers on the table.

   ‘Stop that,’ says Mum. ‘Do you want everybody to look at us?’

   ‘No,’ says Dad. ‘Just the waiter. What do we have to do to get some service around here?’

   ‘Be patient,’ says Mum. ‘This is a five-star restaurant, not a fast-food outlet.’

   ‘It is for some people,’ says Dad, nodding towards a table nearby. ‘That couple arrived after us and they’ve already been served drinks, and they’ve got menus.’

   I’ve got something that will get the waiter’s attention. Hanging on the back of my chair is my jacket, and in the pocket is a party popper I brought with me.

   I reach around to get it, but Danny stops me.

   He grabs my arm.

   ‘Hey,’ he whispers. ‘Isn’t that Natasha Teasedale?’

   ‘Where?’ I say.

   Danny points at the couple Dad was talking about. They are sitting a few tables away from us.

   ‘No,’ I say. ‘It can’t be.’

   ‘It is,’ says Danny. ‘Look at her hair. And that’s Dirk Gibson with her.’

   The more I look, the more I think Danny might be right. She has curly red hair that cascades down either side of her face and rests in bunches on the table-top. It’s Natasha Teasedale all right. Nobody else in the world has hair like that.

   ‘Wow!’ I say.

   In case you’ve just crawled out from under a rock, Natasha Teasedale is the biggest star on Australian television. She’s been in millions of shows and movies and won thousands of logies. Her boyfriend Dirk Gibson is on television too, but he’s not as big a star as Natasha. He’s on the wrestling program where big dumb beefcakes pretend to fight each other. Beats me what she sees in him.

   ‘Should we go and say hello?’ says Danny.

   ‘No!’ I say.

   ‘Why not?’ he says. ‘Are you chicken?’

   ‘No, I just wouldn’t know what to say or do.’

   ‘How about, “Hello”?’ says Danny. ‘And we could give her some flowers.’

   ‘Where are we going to get flowers from?’ I say.

   ‘From there,’ says Danny, pointing to the table next to ours. It’s all set up with plates and cutlery and there’s a vase of little pink flowers in the middle, but there’s nobody sitting at it.

   ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Go on.’

   ‘You’ve got to come too,’ says Danny.

   ‘No way,’ I say. ‘You saw her first.’

   ‘You like her more than me,’ says Danny.

   ‘Do not.’

   ‘Do so.’

   ‘But she’s with her boyfriend,’ I say.

   ‘No she’s not,’ says Danny. ‘Not any more. He just left the table.’

   I look over. Danny’s right. Natasha is alone. It’s now or never.

   ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Let’s do it.’

   We stand up.

   ‘Where are you going?’ says Mum.

   ‘We’re just going to the toilet,’ I say.

   Mum looks at Dad.

   Dad is cleaning his fingernails with his fork. He puts his fork down, looking guilty. ‘What are you looking at me for?’

   ‘Go with them,’ says Mum.

   ‘Me?’ says Dad. ‘Why?’

   ‘Well I can’t go,’ says Mum.

   ‘Actually, we don’t need anybody to take us,’ I say. ‘We’re old enough to go by ourselves.’

   ‘Well, don’t cause any trouble,’ says Mum.

   ‘We’re only going to the toilet,’ I say.

   ‘No need to use that tone of voice with me,’ says Mum. ‘You know exactly what I mean. Go straight there. Don’t play with the flush buttons. Don’t lock the cubicle doors and climb out over the top. Wash your hands when you’ve finished. Don’t have races to see how fast you can empty the soap dispenser. Don’t point the hand dryer at your hair and pretend you’re rock stars—remember, other people have to use the restrooms as well as you.’