So Gross! (9 page)

First, there was James Bearer’s. Gumby remembered sneaking up and snaffling a snotty tissue out of his school shorts when he was at gym. It was a beauty. Sort of a creamy colour streaked with red. Bearer’s fingers never stopped harvesting a crop and he was always getting nosebleeds.

Then there was Frank Castro’s. Gumby had just managed to stop him from eating his.

The next one cost him two bucks but it was worth it because it was the monkey head one of Matt Secker’s. Then there was Rowan Dooley’s. He didn’t get the nickname Plug-Ugly for nothing.

Most had been donated by the guys, eager to contribute to the collection.

Gumby placed the rest of them in a box he’d specially built. It had wooden partitions lined with cotton wool. He sighed when he saw the last empty spot. Coach sure was tough.

‘How goes it?’ asked Max, coming into the room without knocking. ‘Still not as good as mine,’ he added when he saw the specimens lined up in rows. ‘I’ve got the best boogie collection in all the world.’

‘It’s almost a full set,’ said Gumby. ‘Reckon a set beats your motley collection any day.’

‘Reckon you’re right.’ Max leaned over and jabbed his brother in the chest, hard. ‘But this isn’t a set.’ He jabbed again.

‘Yet,’ hissed Gumby. ‘But when it is
I’ll
have the best boogie collection in all the world.’

‘You’re a loser, Gumby. Your football team are losers. Your boogie collection is a loser.’

‘Time to go,’ yelled their mother from the kitchen where the rest of the family were assembled ready to go to the game.

With one last ‘Loser,’ Max left to join them.

‘We’ll see about that,’ muttered Gumby, then more loudly, ‘Coming.’ He stroked his boogie collection for good luck.

‘Nervous?’ asked Yonnie later on in the change room.

‘A little,’ said Gumby, trying to put Max out of his mind. ‘You?’

‘Probably won’t even get a game,’ said Yonnie. ‘Seeing as how I’m reserve.’

‘Yeah. Bad luck,’ said Gumby. He turned to the rest of the boys and pulled down his shorts. ‘Hey fellas, I’m wearing my lucky purple undies.’

‘Me, too,’ said Simon, who had on navy ones with hot pink love hearts.

‘Bet Jodie Stafford gave them to you,’ Dillon laughed. ‘Mine are from Mum.’ Dillon’s mum must have liked teddy bears because that’s what he proudly displayed to the rest of the team.

‘Boys,’ said Coach, calling them together. ‘I want you to go hard. Go low. Don’t give ‘em an inch.’ Coach wiped his eye. It looked like there was a tear in it. ‘You know I’m real proud of yous to make it to the final.’ A tear ran down his cheek. ‘You done good.’

‘You going all wussie on us, Coach?’ asked Gumby.

‘Go out an’ cream ‘em good,’ was the gruff reply.

The game was a tough one. Just as they’d expected it to be. At halftime they were down five points and Coach was giving them an earbashing.

At this rate they were going to lose. And after coming so far!

Coach kept having to stop, wiping his eyes and taking a deep breath before giving the boys another blast.

‘Hey, Coach,’ said Secker. ‘It’s not worth getting all emotional, like.’

‘Must’ve something in me eye.’

‘What? Both of them?’

Coach glared at Secker. ‘You. You’re playing like me old granny. Keep it up an’ Toft gets a boot in.’

The whistle blew for the second half. ‘Now go out there and kill ‘em,’ roared Coach.

Frank Castro scored a goal and so did Gumby. Things were looking up. Gumby snuck a look at Coach. He was weeping into his hankie, overcome by the moment.

Gumby quickly looked away.

The guy was an embarrassment.

When the final whistle went, Gumby’s team had won. By two points.

Simon and Dillon were dancing around clapping each other on the back. Yonnie rushed over to give them all a friendly punch, not a speck of dirt on him. The rest of them were wrapped in a giant team hug.

And in the middle of it all stood Coach, tears of joy streaming down his cheeks. Every now and then he’d wipe them away before letting rip into his hankie.

The fact that Coach was using a hankie registered with Gumby. To him hankies meant one thing — boogies.

In all the commotion Gumby sidled up to Coach, gently easing the hankie from his back pocket. He pulled it open to see the wettest, slipperiest, most beautiful snail trail he had ever seen.

‘We’ve done it,’ he yelled, running up to his mates.

‘Great game,’ agreed Dillon. ‘We showed them,’ said Simon, laughing. Yonnie just stood there with a sick grin on his face.

‘Not that,’ said Gumby. ‘This.’ He held up Coach’s hankie, prising it open to reveal what looked like a squashed albino slug.

‘You mean?’ said Yonnie, flicking his head in Coach’s direction.

‘Sure do.’ Gumby grinned. ‘I officially declare that the best boogie collection in all the world … is complete.’ He turned to the spectators stand. ‘Now, where’s Max?’

SWAK!

It was written on the back of the envelope he’d found on his bag.

SWAK?
What did it mean? Sam Wylie’s A Kook? Nahhh. Sam Wylie’s a King? As if. More like, Sam Wylie’s a Knob.

Sam studied the envelope closely. There was no clue as to who had sent it. A tingle shot up his spine, the same tingle you get when there’s a letter for you in the mailbox at home.

‘Sam’s got a girlfriend,’ Harry Rice started to chant. Then louder,
‘Sam’s got a girlfriend.’

‘Sssshh,’ said Sam, looking around and hoping no one had heard. The envelope was covered in red hearts, hand-drawn, in various sizes. He frowned. Who would send him a Valentine’s Day card?

Tyrone Landers ran over, asking, ‘Who’s it from?’ Sam tried to stuff the envelope into his pocket but Tyrone plucked it out. He held it up to the light, peering through the paper to read what was inside.

‘Give it here,’ said Sam, snatching for it.

Tyrone hid it behind his back.

‘Sam’s got a girlfriend,’ Harry started again.

‘It’s mine.’ Sam reached behind Tyrone, but Tyrone was too quick and threw the note to Harry.
Sam was left grasping at air. Before he knew what was happening Harry had ripped open the envelope. There was a red card inside.

‘No!’ yelled Sam as Harry’s fingers reached for the card.

Sam lunged, pulling the card from Harry’s clutches. Well, most of the card. There was an almighty tear. One corner stayed firmly clasped between Harry’s forefinger and thumb. He proceeded to shove it in his mouth and swallow.

‘Whatcha do that for?’ said Sam, punching Harry.

‘We’re only mucking around,’ said Harry, rubbing his arm.

‘Yeah,’ said Tyrone. ‘Just having a bit of fun.’

‘Some fun,’ said Sam. He put the red card back in the envelope and threw it in his bag. ‘Hey, Harry,’ he said, doing up the zip. ‘I notice you don’t have one.’

Harry shrugged. ‘So what?’

Tyrone swished a square of white paper under Sam’s nose. ‘But
I
do. From Tally.’

‘Tally Jones wouldn’t send you a Valentine’s,’ said Sam.

‘Would, too.’

‘Would, not.’

‘Too.’

‘Not.’

Harry butted in. ‘Who’s yours from?’ he said to Sam. ‘Look inside.’

‘Nah,’ said Sam. ‘It’s not important.’ He liked the way that came out. As if he didn’t care. But he did
care. He really did. Sam felt like he was the only boy in Year 6 who had never kissed a girl. Most of the boys were already boasting about who they’d kissed, even French kissed. He was tempted to pull out his card and open it. Instead he asked Tyrone, ‘You gonna send one back?’

Tyrone grinned. ‘Already have,’ he said. ‘I drew this flower with lots of petals. One was pulled off. Inside I wrote
She loves me, she loves me not.’
He nudged Sam in the ribs. ‘Sick, eh? But she went for it. D’you know what she did?’ Tyrone suddenly seemed five centimetres taller. ‘She kissed me.’ He pointed to his lips. ‘Right here.’

‘Wow,’ said Harry. ‘Awesome.’

‘Yeah. Awesome,’ echoed Sam.

The bell rang to go in and the boys ambled off. Mrs Connell, their teacher, was already waiting. ‘Line up, 6C.’

Before joining his class, Sam snuck a peek at his card. Inside there was another big heart. An arrow was lodged through it, the tip and shaft sticking out from either side. In the middle were the words
‘I love Sam’
. Sam frowned. His eyes raked up and down. He flipped the card over. Who was the sender? Maybe their name was on the corner that Harry ripped? The corner that was now lodged in Harry’s stomach. Sam kicked at his bag. He would never know.

‘6C,’ called Mrs Connell again.

Sam studied his class. He wondered which girl
had sent the card. He hoped it was Natalie Wright. He’d been keen on Natalie ever since Year 1.

He went towards the back of the line.

‘Hi, Sam,’ said Rachel Skinner, swishing her ponytail and swinging her hips as she moved aside to let him pass.

‘Hi, Rach,’ said Sam.

Rachel turned to her friend, Thea. ‘Did you hear that?’ She squealed and placed her hand over her heart. ‘He called me Rach.’ Her voice was gushy.

Thea giggled.

Sam felt the skin on his back prickle. Did Rachel send him that card? Why would she do that? She was Matt’s girlfriend. Sam stared at his shoes and kept walking.

‘Hi, Sam,’ said Melanie Whittle, stepping forward to block his path.

Sam stopped and looked up. Melanie, at just eleven years of age, was already the tallest in his class. ‘Hi, Mel,’ he said, waiting for her to move.

‘He called me Mel,’ said Melanie in an overly loud voice and pretending to swoon.

Sam’s stomach went clunk. Did Melanie send the card?

‘Hey, Sam,’ called Harry.

‘What now?’ said Sam, losing his temper.

‘Did you hear that?’ said Harry in a high-pitched girly voice. ‘He called me Now.’

The whole class fell about laughing. Even Natalie.

Sam’s heart started to thump. What was going on?

6C filed in. Sam sat in his seat, thankful his desk was up the back. How he hated being the centre of attention. He looked up, then groaned. Someone had drawn a huge red heart on the whiteboard.

‘Can anyone tell me the significance of today?’ asked Mrs Connell, gesturing to the board and looking very pleased with her efforts. Mrs Connell was one of those teachers who prided herself on being modern. The sort of teacher who, in talks on reproduction, blurts out words like penis and vagina ten times more than is necessary.

Rachel’s hand shot up. ‘It’s Valentine’s Day. The day you get cards from your secret admirer.’ She beamed around the room. ‘Like these,’ she said, holding up her pile. ‘Roses are red, violets are blue,’ read Rachel. She deliberately turned to Sam as she said the last bit and winked. ‘Sugar is sweet, and so are you.’ Sam developed a keen interest in the dirt under his fingernails. Matt Walker snarled.

‘Thank you, Rachel,’ said Mrs Connell before turning back to face the class. ‘Does anyone know who Valentine was? Why we send cards?’

‘Wasn’t he a saint?’ said Natalie. ‘Who was killed on February the fourteenth?’

‘That’s what they say,’ said Mrs Connell. ‘But why send cards?’ No one answered.

‘There’s a story that there was a Saint Valentine who loved children,’ began Mrs Connell. ‘The Romans threw him in jail because he refused to worship their gods.’ Mrs Connell strolled up the aisle as she talked and picked up one of Rachel’s purple envelopes. She removed the card, flicked it open, and then sucked in her lips. Sam had never seen anyone do that before. ‘The children missed him very much.’ Mrs Connell almost spat the words out. ‘They used to throw messages to him through the jail windows. These were the first Valentines.’ She turned to Rachel. With a sharp-edged voice she said, ‘I’ll see
you
during recess.’

Rachel blushed down to her elbows.

Wonder what that’s all about? thought Sam. He looked to see Matt’s reaction but Matt was digging away at the desk with his pencil. Suddenly, a yellow twist of paper landed on Sam’s desk. He looked around sharply to see where it had come from. No one moved. They were all engrossed in what Mrs Connell had to say. As casually as he could, Sam covered the note with his hand.

‘Sammerson Wylie.’ Mrs Connell never missed anything. Sam’s heart began to pound. It was as though she had video surveillance cameras in every corner of the room. ‘Give it to me.’ Mrs Connell
marched down the aisle and stood in front of him, her hand outstretched.

‘It’s not mine,’ Sam said, reluctantly handing it over.

Mrs Connell opened the note and read out loud, ‘I love Natalie.’

Sam was frying from embarrassment. What would Natalie think? He didn’t dare look at her.

Mrs Connell sucked in some air, tsk tsking it out again. ‘I’ll see
you
after Rachel.’ She spun on her heel and returned to her desk. ‘Time for a quick quiz. Be ready by the count of five,’ she said, ignoring the groans from the class. All talk of St Valentine was forgotten.

Harry winked at Sam, whispering ‘lover boy’ as loud as he dared.

The morning dragged. The question,
Who threw that note?
going over and over in Sam’s head. Was it the same person who sent him the card? He kept trying to work out who it could be, looking for a sign from his classmates. But there was none.