So Sick! (14 page)

Of course! I look Mr Epeler in the eye. ‘Skunk!’ I yell.

Mr Epeler doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve called him a skunk. He actually seems pleased that I’ve finally got

it. ‘Quite right,’ he says and with a parting spray of deadly armshade he pats me on the head.

I slump on my desk, faint with lack of oxygen. I tell you, spelling is going to be the death of me.

Just as Mr Epeler sits down, Angus puts up his hand. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says. ‘Perhaps the people in Red shouldn’t have to spell Amorphophallus titanum … ’

I glare at him. Angus doesn’t
do
‘nice’.

‘It’s far too hard for them.’ Angus is looking from face to face as though he’s angling for class captain votes.

Ivy and Osheen and Jung Sian are sitting with their heads bowed and their hands clasped in their laps. I think of how hard Ivy tries. I think of Jung Sian and his reading books of squiggles (don’t know if they’re Mandarin or Cantonese). And Osheen, who taught me how to swear in Armenian. For them, this is the ultimate burner.

‘After all,’ goes on Angus to Mr Epeler, ‘You and I know they won’t be able to do it.’

I can’t take it any more. I get to my feet. ‘Everyone in Red group will be able to do it,’ I say. ‘Won’t we?’ Ivy, Osheen and Jung Sian are watching Mr Epeler closely. Adam and Kieran are looking at me like I’ve turned traitor.

‘Speak for yourself,’ says Kieran.

‘Yeah,’ says Adam. ‘Since when were you elected spokesperson for the Reds?’

‘Since Angus decided to call us idiots,’ I answer.

Mr Epeler finally comes in. ‘Now Jake,’ he says, ‘Angus wasn’t saying any such thing. He was trying to be kind.’

Kind? Angus trying to be kind is like a tapeworm helping you to digest your food.

‘Why don’t we have a vote, then?’ I ask. Mr Epeler nods.

‘Hands up those in Red who want to have a go at, you know, the word … ’

I put up my hand. No one else does. Come on, I mouth to Adam and Kieran. They both shake their heads. I glance at Osheen and Jung Sian. Their heads are still bowed. I look to Ivy. She shrugs. Her face goes blank.

I’m on my own. I gulp and take a deep breath. Doing my best to ignore Angus, I look at Mr Epeler.

‘Guess you’re the only one,’ says Angus.

‘Guess you’re right.’

‘We’ve got “deficient” on the Aquamarine list.’ Angus is talking to Levon after school. I’m standing with Kieran and Adam trying to recover from the shock of being the only Red person having to spell the flower word.

‘Spelling bee on the brain,’ Kieran whispers to me, rolling his eyes at the same time.

Angus goes on. ‘Deficient.
And
lugubrious.
And
rancid.’

‘Pity he’s describing himself,’ whispers Madeline to Francesca, loud enough for me to hear. They both explode with giggles.

I’m not too sure what they’re on about but I join in and laugh with them anyway.

Angus gives us the evil eye, but keeps on talking to Levon. ‘The Aquamarine list is much harder than your Yellow list,’ he says. ‘I compared. Your first word is nosology, isn’t it?’

I can see Levon has as much interest as a crim at confession. He yawns and shrugs before he agrees. ‘Yeah-h-h.’

‘Nosology is a cinch. Nose without the ‘e’, with ology tacked on the end. Grade One’s could get that.’

Levon pulls a face. ‘Grade One’s wouldn’t know what it means.’ He puts his face up close to Angus’s. ‘Bet you don’t, either.’

As well as learning to spell our words we had to look up their meanings. There’s something about the look in Levon’s face that grabs my attention. He looks like a butcher about to skewer a carcass.

‘Course I would,’ says Angus. ‘Nosology …’ He clears his throat, ‘… is the study of noses!’

‘Ah, hah, ha-a-a!’ Levon doubles over. ‘Wrong!’

‘Ah, hah, ha-a-a’
we all go.

Angus scowls. The last time he answered a question wrong was when he was in nappies. Come to think of it, that probably wasn’t too long ago — seeing as he’s such a s*#t.

Levon manages to compose himself. ‘Nosology!’ he announces in this professor type voice. ‘Nosology is the branch of medical science dealing with the classification of disease.’ He whacks Angus on the back. ‘Nothing to do with noses.’

‘Unless it’s Hooter’s Disease,’ I rub it in.

Angus gives me a shove. ‘You’ll be the one with Hooter’s Disease, tomorrow,’ he says. ‘After you try to spell Amorphophallus titanum, boy, will I rub your nose in it!’

‘Sure,’ I say, but he’s got me worried!

‘He’s picked this stupid flower for our spelling bee.’

Grandad and I are sitting in the kitchen when I get home, chewing the fat. After school Grandad is always good for toast, tea and a chat. Mum and Dad are at work and Grandad feels responsible for my after-school welfare. Well, that’s what he told Mum. Truth is we both love these afternoon sessions.

‘A flower, eh?’ says Grandad. ‘Which one? Always was interested in botany, myself.’

I wrench my spelling book out of my bag and throw it on the table. It’s amazing the paper doesn’t rip as I turn to the dreaded page.

‘There,’ I say, pointing to the word that takes up
one whole line
.

Grandad pulls the book up close. He’s a bit blind, see. He starts to read. I watch his lips move as he reads. I love that about Grandad. I love the way he
doesn’t care that when he has to read his lips move. At school we’d get noshed for that.

‘Amorphophallus titanum,’ reads Grandad. His dentures click on the ‘ph’ sounds. He looks at me, slaps his hand on his thigh and grins. ‘One of the most famous flowers in the world,’ he says. ‘It’s a beauty.’

‘I’m glad someone’s getting some pleasure from Amor — amorphothingummy whatchamacallit,’ I say in disgust.

Grandad throws back his head and roars with laughter. His teeth migrate forward and almost escape, except Grandad’s prepared for this and holds them in with his left hand.

‘What’s so funny?’ I try not to look like a girl and pout but my voice comes out all gravelly. There’s a lump in my throat. I swallow.

‘This is the most amazing flower in the whole wide world,’ says Grandad. ‘It is extremely rare. It’s only found in the rainforests of central Sumatra. That’s in Indonesia,’ he adds for my benefit. ‘North of Australia.’

I lean back in my chair and make like I’m yawning.

‘Hell, I remember when I was a lad about your age, my Grandad telling me about the time he was seconded to London. He queued in a line for hours and hours in the Royal Botanic Gardens just to see one in bloom.’

I put on my most disinterested look. ‘So … ?’

‘So!’ says Grandad, his voice crackling in excitement as he leans towards me. ‘What he told me — it’s fascinating.’

‘But how’s that going to help me at the spelling bee tomorrow?’ I almost wail.

Grandad gets a glint in his eye. I lean forward to inspect. Good, it’s not a blocked tear duct.

‘Here’s how,’ begins Grandad. ‘Here’s what he told me … ’

Friday morning.

When I arrive at school and Kieran starts going on about the spelling bee I don’t get my usual guts-to-the-bum problem, thanks to Grandad. I calmly stand there and listen. Ivy listens, too.

‘Netball training for a week!’ says Kieran, slamming me on the back and grinning. He leans forward and says in a stage whisper, ‘Goal Defence!’

I’m surprised when Ivy starts to laugh. I thought it was a boy joke. ‘How do you do it?’ I ask her. ‘How come you don’t keel over?’

‘Simple,’ explains Ivy. ‘Before training we all go into the loos and drench ourselves.’ She grins and makes a victory salute. ‘Perfume power!’

‘Easy for you,’ I reply. ‘If I tried that I’d be laughed out of school.’

Just as Ivy’s about to reply Angus goes past with Madeline and Francesca. ‘I bet you both I’ll beat you,’ he’s saying. ‘I bet I win the spelling bee.’

‘Sure,’ says Madeline.

‘We’ll see,’ says Francesca.

‘I will. I’ll be the winner. And I bet Jake’s the first one to get out,’ Angus goes on, finally spotting us.

‘We’ll see,’ I echo Francesca.

The buzzer goes and we head for our line. ‘Pretty cocky, aren’t you?’ whispers Kieran. ‘How come?’

I smile a secret smile. ‘You’ll see … ’

‘Time for the spelling bee,’ announces Mr Epeler. ‘Everyone be seated and take out your spelling books. Turn to a blank page.’

I do as he asks and look around. The flower word has been rubbed off the board. In its place are three columns labelled Red, Yellow and Aquamarine.

Mr Epeler clears his throat and holds up his hand for silence. Gosh, I wish he wouldn’t. ‘We will go through the roll,’ he says. ‘As I announce your name I will give you a word from your list. If you spell it correctly you will write it in the appropriate column. Words spelt incorrectly will be written out ten times
in your spelling books and that person has the pleasure of helping me with Grade 5 netball training.’ Hear,
collective groan
.

‘We will continue to rotate through the list till we get to the optional words. Those who want to have a go at these may do so, those who do not wish to may sit this out.’

Hear,
mass moan
.