So Sick! (3 page)

Now, it’s my turn to laugh. I let go of the rim of the pipe and launch myself back into the sea. ‘Here, gimme the jar,’ I say, swimming over to
The next thing I know, a spray of seaweed is flung in my face.

‘Get lost!’ I yell. I flip to get out of the way, but an extra large wave catches me by surprise. I slam into Ollie. He lets go of the jar of precious Pseudomonas putida. It disappears quicker than you can say collywobble. ‘Now you’ve done it!’ I yell.

I’m so mad. I grab the first thing that comes to hand and shove it down Ollie’s undies. It’s a frond of seaweed, no, a whole branch of seaweed. ‘Take that,’ I yell.

I shouldn’t have taken Ollie on while we were in the water. He’s a better swimmer than me by far.

‘You take this, then!’ yells Ollie.

Another jellyfish is shoved in my undies. And another. And another. They’re pulsating like leeches on steroids. There’s no time to pull them out. I have to get Ollie back. Whole plants of seaweed make their way into Ollie’s daks.

We’re twisting and squirming and laughing and panting.

I get a break and head in on the crest of a wave, scrambling up on a rock before I get sucked back in. Ollie’s hot on my heels.

I look up. I’m face to knee with Stella Mazoni.

‘Stella!’

I’m thinking, what a pretty knee she has. I want to tell her that I love birthmarks that are the same shape as Africa, but I don’t.

Ollie drags himself up and flops beside me. His undies are positively bulging. Seaweed flows over the waistband. Long tendrils have escaped from the leg area. One curiously-shaped bubble bit is curled over at the top, like a giant knobby finger pointing to his you-know-what.

I check out myself. Undies, which once floated gracefully in the warm current, are suctioned to my body. But only in parts. Other bits have the bulge-and-droop. Jellyfish push up against the material. I look like I’m covered in boils!

Stella places a delicate hand over her delicate mouth. Her delicate eyes are convulsing. ‘What
are
you two doing?’ she asks.

‘R-r-research,’ I stutter.

‘Ain’t it obvious,’ spits Ollie, tearing at bits of foliage and flinging them to the ground. ‘We’re communing with nature!’

As much as I want to, I stop myself from ditching the jellyfish.
I’m
not groping around my private parts. Not while the girl of my dreams is standing in front of me. I grab my shirt and shrug it on, hoping against hope it’s long enough.

‘Karina’s going to love this!’ says Stella. ‘Someone else who’s managed to make themselves look like an idiot at the same rock pool.’

I decide not to reply. Even the tiniest little movement could send the jellyfish into a slide. Who knew where they’d end up? I suck in my cheeks at the thought. The ones in my face, too.

Stella has finished eyeballing Ollie and has turned her sights on me. I stand there, pretending nothing is happening. I nominate myself for the Mr Cool of the Year Award. At the same time I’m getting a massage I’ll never forget!

‘We came to collect sewerage samples,’ I explain to Stella.

‘For our presentation,’ finishes Ollie.

I can see that Stella is trying real hard to believe us. She’s developed this charming little tic on the
side of her lip. God, I love tics! Call it a swoon, I guess, but I tripped.

The jellyfish made their escape. They flopped onto the rock face, quivering from the exertion. It looked like a scene from a sci-fi movie.

One landed on Stella, squishing on her uniform. She shrieked and leapt away.

I prayed for a tidal wave.

Without a backward glance Stella started to run, hopping from rock to rock.

Like a gazelle! I sighed.

Plop! Another jellyfish made its exit.

As soon as I was sure that Stella was out of earshot I flung it at Ollie. It left a mark on his shoulder as good as any water bomb. But it still wasn’t enough to pay him back.

‘You made me look like an idiot,’ I snapped at him.

‘Could be worse,’ said Ollie, trying to cheer me up.

‘How?’ I asked, thinking of Stella as she bolted home and how she’d probably think I was contagious and to be avoided at all cost.

‘Could’ve been attacked by a shark,’ said Ollie.

I closed my eyes, thought of Stella, and sighed. ‘Would’ve been a blessing.’

Trudging home we discuss our predicament. ‘No sewerage sample. No Psuedomonas putida. No presentation,’ I say.

‘We’ll think of something,’ says Ollie. ‘Even if we just write some information on a piece of cardboard. At least we’ve done it.’

I stop walking and grab his sleeve. ‘You don’t get it, ya big butthead. I was going to do something awesome, something to impress Stella.’

‘Cardboard can be awesome.’

‘Cardboard sucks — worse than jellyfish undies.’ I start dragging my feet real slow.

Ollie catches up. ‘What about making a model?’

I glare at him and keep walking. ‘Last model we made looked like it’d come out of a rubbish bin.’

‘It
had
come out of a rubbish bin.’

‘It was a box with toilet rolls stuck on it.’

‘Hey! That was my robot!’ Ollie pretends to look offended but it doesn’t work. He chuckles. ‘Remember how all the toilet rolls fell off and it ended up looking like a box.’

I give him a bit of a shove. ‘It
was
a box, stupid!’

‘Maybe there’s a video on sewerage treatment works we could show. See if they’ve got one in the library.’

I give him the eye. ‘What? The
Adventures of Splot?
The only videos the library has are
Learn to Touch Type
videos.’

‘No, it doesn’t. It’s also got
Fierce Creatures of the Deep
, ‘ says Ollie.

I am feeling pretty fierce myself. But then I get an idea. I start to wave my hands about in
excitement.
‘Fierce Creatures of the Deep
is exactly what we need,’ I say.

Ollie looks at me as if I’ve gone troppo. ‘What?’

I look back. I know I am wearing one of those smirky looks that people get when they’ve just had a brilliant idea but they haven’t told anyone about it yet.

‘Pseudomonas putida are not fierce creatures from the deep,’ says Ollie.

‘No.’ I pause while I count to five. ‘But we can be.’

Ollie’s been muttering all morning — at the bus stop, on the bus. Even when we hit the playground he is still muttering. ‘How’s being class clown gonna impress Stella?’ he eventually asks.

‘Trust me,’ I say. ‘It’s not your problem.’

Just at that moment Stella arrives. On her way to her friends she walks straight past Ollie n’ me. ‘Hi, Stella,’ I say. She holds her head high and keeps on walking. I love the way her nose speaks to the sun. ‘You could do plastic surgery commercials,’ I call after her.

Stella flashes me a look — a look that could nuke a jellyfish.

What have I said? ‘The “After” shots,’ I try to explain.

But Stella’s gone.

The bell goes and it’s time. Time to do our HSIE presentation.

Mr Bryson calls us up. We explain that we need a minute in the corridor to get organised.

Picture two Year Six boys.

Picture two Year Six boys wearing brown body-stocking suits, flippers and snorkels flopping around their necks (I agree, the snorkel bit was a tad overdone).

We shuffle in to the classroom carrying a large plastic bag full of water with corks floating in it (use your imagination!) and a label stuck on it saying, Sewerage Treatment Processes. We prop the plastic bag on Mr Bryson’s desk. And then we start …

We’re flap dancing, see, singing this song.

I agree. That last line needs a bit of work.