So Sick! (2 page)

‘Got it in one, Einstein.’ I smiled and thumped him on the back. ‘It’s sewerage! Well, er, a by-product of sewerage.’

Ollie looked like he was about to produce some by-products of his own.

‘You’ll have to do better than that if we’re going to collect a few of these bacteria to show the class,’ I warned.

‘But I don’t want to collect any bacteria,’ snapped Ol.

He can be a right pain sometimes. ‘If we collect the bacteria, make up a slide show, or something, it’ll make this presentation awesome. No way will Mr Bryson stay mad at us.’

I could see Ol needed convincing. ‘You know where we had that fish fight last summer? The one where Karina Nelson fell in the rock pool and her cossie went see-through and she went as pink as hippos’ milk.’

‘Hippos don’t have pink milk,’ Ollie interrupted. ‘Sure they do.’ I rushed on before he asked for proof. ‘Well, near there is that big pipe, the big slimy looking one.’

Ollie wasn’t saying much but I could see he was listening.

‘The one that looks like it’s festering.’ I crossed my arms and dropped my voice to a low whisper.

‘Well, that’s a sewer outlet.’ I nodded for emphasis. ‘Dad told me. They only use it when it’s been raining a lot and there’s too much water overflow.’

‘No, they don’t.’ Ollie had found his voice. ‘They’re not allowed to do that sort of thing. Green Getters would be plugging it up.’

I put on my most official voice. ‘Green Getters don’t know. Dad works at the council. He saw the plans.’ I let that hang for a bit, then went on, ‘Well, that’s where we’ll find the Pseudomonas putida!’

‘How’re we gonna collect them?’ asked Ollie. He cut the air with his hand as he said, ‘There’s no way I’m doing breast stroke up a sewer outlet.’

‘You won’t have to,’ I said in my most reassuring voice. ‘Meet me at the rock pools after school, say four o’clock.’

When Ollie turned up I was more prepared than a boy scout. ‘Pseudomonas putida here we come,’ I said, holding up a bag.

‘Whatcha got?’ asked Ollie, his eyes narrowing.

‘Scientific equipment,’ I said and sat down on my haunches to unload. ‘Two pairs of rubber gloves. Thanks Mum. One pooper scooper. Thanks Miffie. One jar.’ I squinted to see that it was clean, then smiled at Ollie. ‘Had to wash the jam out first.’

Ollie and I stood up and walked past the rock pools. We peered over
the jutting edge to see a wall of rock that dropped into the ocean below. The sewerage outlet was set low in the rock, probably so nuisance kids like us wouldn’t find it. I sniffed. ‘Mmmm. Smells fine. Like the sea.’ I beamed at Ollie. ‘This’ll be a cinch.’ I pulled on my gloves and lay my body along the rock ledge. Grabbing the jar, I reached down with the pooper scooper to get a sample.

‘Too short,’ said Ollie.

‘As if I don’t know!’

I eased forwards, trying to get a grip on something to stop myself toppling over. An unexpected wave slammed into the rock face, pelting me with … Yuck! Flotsam. Or was that jetsam? Water poured from my face. Lucky my mouth was shut.

Ollie chatted to the seagulls, tipping back his head, ha-ha-hee-hawing away. No seagull had ever seen such teeth.

‘Your turn,’ I growled. ‘Your knuckles almost scrape the ground. Wasn’t your great-grandfather a gorilla?’

The pearly whites disappeared, along with the ha-has. ‘You’re nearly there,’ said Ollie, trying to sidetrack me. ‘Only a couple of centimetres to go.’

He was right. Lumpy liquid trickled close. But not close enough. ‘I need a good six to seven centimetres to be able to get the jar underneath.’

‘Give me a try,’ said Ollie, hoicking me aside and pulling on his glove.

Despite our best bacteria-hunting efforts, we still couldn’t reach.

‘There’s gotta be another way,’ said Ollie, looking over the rock ledge at the pipe. ‘But what?’

We sat down on the warm rocks planning and scheming, scheming and planning. The wind fumbled with our hair. Every so often a wave would dash extra hard against the rock and cover us with a fine spray.

‘What about tying the jar to a stick?’ asked Ollie.

‘No string.’

‘What about tying some rope around you and lowering you down?’

‘No rope.’

‘What about you dangling over the side and me holding on to your feet?’

‘No way!’

I stared at the water, rising and falling. I looked at the swell. The tide was in. The swell was full. Not a dumper in sight. ‘Maybe we could swim up to the opening?’

Ollie shook his head and said, ‘We ain’t got no cossies.’

A brilliant idea began to form. I looked down at my school shorts and flicked the band down to check. You see, some days I don’t wear undies. A smile invaded my face. I looked at Ollie, tugged at my shorts and said, ‘No problem, man.’

Ollie looked at me, proudly posing in my Y-fronts. He wore a puzzled look on his face.

I acted like I was doing breast stroke.

The puzzled look turned pained. Ollie leapt to his feet shouting, ‘No way. Absolutely, positively, definitely not!’

Five minutes and a Chinese burn later we were both down to our underdaks.

Suddenly, I began to laugh.

You know all those times when your grandma insists on you wearing nice undies
just in case
. I used to think
just in case
meant in case you were in an accident. So when you get all mangled and they strip you off in the emergency ward all these doctors and nurses would shriek,
Oh, my gosh. Hasn’t he got lovely undies
. Although, why they’d be doing that and not trying to save your life is beyond
me. Probably all those doctors and nurses had grandmas like mine.

Anyway, Grandma was right.

Ollie’s undies had more spots on them than a Dalmatian running through a mud puddle.

I laughed harder saying, ‘You look like you should be in a washing-powder commercial.’

Ol just shrugged. That’s what I like about him. He couldn’t care less about how he looks. Any smart remarks and you’re wasting your breath. ‘We gonna do this, or what?’ he said.

So, here’s what happened …

We walk to the rock ledge and sit down. It’s easier to swing into the water from this position. I go first, surprised that the water’s not cold. ‘Come on in,’ I call, treading water and holding the jar at the same time.

Ollie follows. He grins as he says, ‘N-i-i-ce!’

‘Let’s get this over with,’ I say.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that although the tide is full it’s only on the crest of a wave that we can reach the pipe. As soon as the wave breaks we’re sucked down too low.

‘We’ll have to hang on to the pipe with one hand and try to scoop up some scunge with the other,’ I say. ‘See if you can get a toehold and push me up.’

‘Okay,’ says Ollie, moving closer to the wall.

We go up, we go down, but neither of us can get a grip. ‘It’s too hard holding the jar,’ I call to Ollie. ‘I’ll have to put it in my undies until I can hang on.’ I unscrew the lid and hand it to Ollie. ‘You mind this.’ Like me, he stuffs it down his Y-fronts.

With my free hand I manage to reach a jutting rock just above the pipe and cling on.

‘Good one,’ says Ollie. ‘Now collect some of the brown stuff and let’s get outta here.’

‘I’m onto it,’ I say, reaching into my undies for the jar. The water’s weighed them down and they’re all floaty.

Instead of finding something hard and slippery I find something soft and slippery.

‘Ugh!’ I yell at the top of my lungs.

‘Whazzup?’ asks Ollie with a giggle. ‘Something wrong with your tackle?’

As I pluck out the jar I pull a face. Something is still in there. I can feel this quivery blob sucking its way from front to back.

It’s an MGW. Major Gelatinous Wedgie.

Ollie dives under the water to get a better look. He comes up spluttering and laughing. ‘Looks like a giant turd,’ he says.

‘Giant jellyfish more like it!’

Ollie throws back his head. He laughs so much a nearby seagull takes flight. ‘Jellyfish don’t hurt, ya wuss.’

I can feel it sucking at my skin. ‘Get it out!’ I roar. But Ollie roars louder. ‘I’m not putting my hand in there!’

I’m still clinging to the rock. With that hand gone there’s only one thing I can do.

I hold the jar as steady as I can and fill it with this stuff. It’s mega dirty, and I don’t mean the colour. ‘Here, quick,’ I say and hand the jar to Ollie. ‘Put the lid on.’

Ollie reaches for the jar. He’s treading water like a frog with ADD, trying to put the lid on at the same time.

‘What the … ?’ yells Ollie. He drops the lid but manages to scoop it up before it spirals to the depths.

‘Lucky ba—’ I begin to say, but I’m cut short.

‘Aaagh!’ yells Ollie. He’s churning water faster than a washing machine with a power surge.

‘What?’

‘There’s something in my undies!’ yells Ollie.

‘What? A jellyfish?’ I put on my what’s-the-matter-with-you face. ‘Won’t hurt you,’ I echo.

‘This ain’t no jellyfish,’ pants Ollie. His face contorts with pain. ‘Ouch!’

Ollie.