My Life and Other Stuff I Made Up Read online

  Yes, you do.

  Poo.

  Not a small amount, but a LOT of poo.

  And it doesn’t just drip out. It explodes. The contents of the bag go all over Sue, all over her dog, all over the monster-truck granny cart – and all over Jack. It is the most intense explosion in the history of that disgusting brown substance.

  Everything stops. Jack’s nan stands there, her fist frozen where it made contact with the colostomy bag. She looks a lot like she did after round two, only this time it’s not casserole sauce that’s dripping from her eyebrows and chin. The gigantic double-mouthed dog is licking itself madly, like it’s just been for a swim in Willy Wonka’s chocolate river.

  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Jack and his nan wipe their eyes.

  ‘Ding-ding. End of round three,’ I say.

  Jack looks like he’s ready to blow.

  Nan dusts her hands together. ‘Well, that settles that then. Who wants a cuppa?’

  I have the toughest Nan in the world.

  Think yours can beat her? Bring it.

  ‘Tom-Tom, come he-ere!’

  That cry sent a shiver down my spine. It was 35 degrees outside but I was covered in goosebumps. I quickly closed the trapdoor, rolled back the rug in the centre of my bedroom floor, stuffed the lollies and comics into my backpack and zipped it up. Then I dropped and rolled under my bed.

  ‘Tom?’ the voice said, sharper this time. I closed my eyes and sent out a desperate prayer that if I kept quiet she might think I’d left for Jack’s place already, that maybe I’d climbed out the window and disappeared into the afternoon.

  ‘I’m getting a little perturbed,’ she said a few seconds later. ‘I know you’re in there. I can smell you.’

  My mind raced for answers. But I knew there were none. I slid out from under the bed. I could run but I couldn’t hide. She’d find me, and whatever she did to me then would be ten times worse than whatever she had planned for me now. Like the time she texted Sasha and told her that I was in love with her. And the time she put plastic wrap over the toilet seat.

  I stood and walked slowly to the door. I pulled it open and peered through the crack. Across the hall I could see her sitting at the dining room table. My sister, Tanya. Evil genius. Four years older than me, hair in a ponytail, grin on her face. There was half a glass of orange juice sitting next to her on the table. She was letting thick, sticky saliva drip down past her chin, then sucking it back up into her mouth, yoyo-style. This was one of her favourite tricks. Sometimes she could let it drip right down to her bellybutton and still vacuum it back up.

  ‘Don’t be shy, little friend,’ she said, like she was trying to lure a small marsupial out of its home before injuring it in some way. ‘C’mon, Tommy. I have something for you.’

  I opened the door a little more, squeezed out, shut it behind me and shuffled across the hall to the dining room. I stopped in the doorway, leaving at least three metres between us. Tanya had a three-metre rule. If I came within three metres of her she’d pull out a chunk of my hair. She’d done it once about a year ago. A small piece of scalp had come away, too.

  ‘Getting ready to go to Little Jacky’s place?’ she said, hoisting one foot up onto the dining table. Bando, lying on his dog bed in the corner of the room, watched her foot carefully.

  ‘His name’s Jack, he’s not little, and you know I am,’ I said, super-suss.

  She looked down at her toe and I could see there was something stuck to it. Something big and black. I looked away, not daring to ask.

  ‘There’s just one little thing I need you to do before I let you go,’ she said.

  ‘Mum already said I could go. As if I’m doing anything for you.’ I was trying to be strong but I was a goldfish to her killer whale.

  She laughed. Actually laughed in my face. I tried not to say anything, but it went on and on until I had to ask the question. ‘What?’

  ‘I just love it when you try to act tough,’ she said. ‘If it was anyone else I’d say it was “cute”, but it’s you so it makes me want to puke.’

  ‘You’re adopted,’ I said.

  ‘Me? I’m the one who looks like Mum. You just look like some … random dude.’

  I turned away and headed for my room.

  ‘Eat it or I’ll tell Mum about the hole,’ she said.

  I stopped, my back still turned. I didn’t want her to see my face.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Eat the Vegemite off my toe or I’ll call Mum and tell her about the hole that you sawed in the middle of your bedroom floor. It’s hidden by the rug and you hide lollies in it.’

  I turned, looked her dead in the eye.

  Almost in a whisper, I said, ‘How did you know about the hole?’

  ‘I know everything,’ she said. ‘Now eat the ’mite or I’m calling.’

  Bando stood and jumped up, resting his paws on Tanya’s lap, trying to eat the Vegemite off her toe. ‘Get down!’ she barked at him, shoving him away roughly and brushing fur off her uniform.

  I looked at her foot again. The gooey stuff was definitely Vegemite. It was like a small scoop of black ice-cream perched right on top of her big toe.

  ‘As if I’m going to eat something off your toe,’ I said.

  She picked the phone up off the dining table. I couldn’t believe she was going to do this. Well, actually, I could. This was exactly the kind of thing that she would do.

  ‘I thought you didn’t like me going near you,’ I said. ‘Think about it for a second. I’d actually have to touch you if I ate that Vegemite.’

  She looked up from the phone and blinked. Just once. It wasn’t much but I knew I’d hit a nerve. She sat there for a minute, chewing it over, trying to keep a straight face, nervously dripping juice yoyos down her chin and sucking them back up.

  ‘As you know,’ she said, ‘I don’t even like being in the same room as you. But, just this once, I’m prepared to make an exception. So lap it up.’

  I looked at her. I looked at the toe.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I don’t care. Call Mum.’ I turned and headed for my room again. I heard the first beep as my hand hit the door handle. Then there was a slow series of beeps as she dialled. Oh well. I didn’t mind. So what? Mum’d find out about my trapdoor. Big deal.

  She’d pressed five numbers. Three more and she’d have a connection.

  Beep.

  Six numbers. I mean, who cares that Mum had been trying to sell the place for a year? The new owner would just have to put a new floor in. Simple.

  Beep.

  Or maybe they could build a cellar underneath the house?

  Beep.

  I turned to her. She was looking at me, phone to ear.

  ‘Hello, can I please speak to Catherine Weekly?… Okay, thanks.’

  She’s bluffing, I thought.

  ‘You’re totally bluffing,’ I said.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, waiting, listening.

  ‘Yeah, we’re good.’

  She looked and sounded suspiciously like she was really talking to Mum.

  ‘There’s a little problem with Tom, though.’

  Now I could actually hear my mother’s voice on the other end of the phone.

  ‘He’s done something,’ she said. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while.’

  I walked across the hall towards her, shaking my head.

  ‘Well,’ she said, smiling. ‘He’s been in his room …’

  I put my hands together, begging her not to say anything. I pointed to the toe and nodded my head, licking my lips, rubbing my belly.

  ‘And he’s cleaned it all up,’ she said. ‘It looks really good.’

  I heard Mum say something.

  ‘Yeah, I was proud, too. Anyway, just wanted to let you know … Love you … Bye …’

  She hung up. She wiggled her toes. She pointed to an empty seat. I sat. I looked at the toe in close-up. Her grinning face was a blur in the background. She took a slow sip of orange juice and then di
d the longest saliva stretchy I’d ever seen. On the way back up it hung right out to the side, almost around to her ear, before – ‘SSSSSLP!’ – she hoovered it back into her gob. It was almost a ‘Round the World’. If there was a Gross Olympics then she just won gold. I was waiting for the national anthem.

  But the toe twitched and I looked at it again. I could mainly see the underside. There were little bits of dry skin flaking off. I looked around to the edge of the toenail and I could see scratchy scraps of black nail polish. There was definitely some kind of carbuncle on the side, too. I didn’t exactly know what a carbuncle was, but I had a sick feeling that this was one.

  I shook my head. ‘I can’t,’ I said. I stood up.

  She grabbed the phone, lightning quick, like she was drawing it from a holster.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  I sat back down on the chair. She ended the call. I looked at the toe again. She grinned. I sniffed. The foot had a sweaty, been-at-school-in-a-shoe-all-day stink to it. I eyed off the Vegemite – a golf ball of concentrated yeast extract sitting on top of the toe. Even making me eat that much Vege off a spoon would have been sick and wrong. To serve it on a festy toe took a mind so evil that she could have been in a Batman comic. The Joker, Mr Freeze and My Sister.

  ‘Tombles! Eat!’ she growled. ‘Three seconds. Three …’

  I swallowed hard.

  ‘Two.’

  I licked my lips, tensed my fists, clenched my jaw.

  ‘One.’

  I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, tried to tell myself it was just Vegemite ice-cream. I took a deep breath and …

  I couldn’t do it. It was too disgusting.

  WHACK! Tanya hit me on the back of the head, my teeth closed around the toe and I bit down hard.

  I didn’t mean to, but I heard tendon and bone snap, like a dog chomping on a chicken wing. She screamed next-suburb loud and stood up, her foot still in my mouth.

  Then the final crunch and the toe came away. I screamed. I had my sister’s toe in my mouth. And it wasn’t connected to her foot. This was not part of my plan for the afternoon. All I wanted was to go to Jack’s, and now I was chewing on a big, festy toe that tasted like school. I could only think of one thing to do … I took the toe out of my mouth and offered it to her.

  She screamed even louder. She didn’t have to get so upset. I was just trying to be nice. I was the one who should have been angry. She’d threatened to reveal my secret, messed up my whole afternoon, hit me on the back of the head.

  I mean, I couldn’t exactly head off to Jack’s. I’d have to call the doctor, call Mum, wait around. This could take hours.

  I wondered if I should put the toe on ice.

  Or if I should hide it in my trapdoor. No, that’d be weird.

  Maybe I should offer to sew it back on.

  Although I’ve never officially sewn anything before.

  Then, out of nowhere, Bando jumped off his bed, lightning-quick, grabbed the toe in his jaws, and bolted off through the kitchen and out the back door.

  My mouth fell open.

  Tanya fell to the ground.

  ‘Go!’ she shouted.

  I chased Bando into the yard. By the time I caught sight of him he was three-quarters of the way to freedom through the hole at the back near the shed. I ran and dived, just grabbing his tail. I thought I had him but then that rod of wiry fur slipped through my fingers as he wriggled his way out into the world, and then he was gone.

  What was I supposed to do? And what was I going to say to Mum? Sorry, but I accidentally bit Tanya’s toe off and then the dog ate it?

  There was no way I’d be going to Jack’s now. My life was officially over, and it was all Tanya’s fault.

  Big sisters can be so thoughtless sometimes.

  Three days ago, 2.51 pm, our whole class was sitting on the floor at the front of the classroom listening to a story. I was staring at a scab, the biggest I’d ever seen. It was wafer thin and golden brown, like a perfectly baked Anzac biscuit. Delicious almost. It was lifted slightly at the edges. I could rip it off in one quick movement. I knew I could. It wouldn’t even bleed. It would look incredible in my scab collection. I just wished it was on my knee instead of Jack’s.

  ‘Sir, could we please see the pictures?’ Jack asked.

  Mr Skroop, the teacher filling in for Miss Norrish for a few weeks, was reading us a book. It was a fantasy novel with a picture every few pages. I’m about the only kid in my year who doesn’t like fantasy books. The scab was much more interesting.

  Skroop glared over his glasses at Jack, pursing his thin lips. He used the back of his bony hand to wipe white stuff from the corners of his mouth.

  Jack gulped. He should have known by now not to mess with Skroop. Nobody in the room breathed for a few seconds.

  Skroop continued reading. He still didn’t show us the pictures, and he read so fast that you could hardly catch the words. Unlike other teachers, Mr Skroop seemed to not like books. Or kids. He was dead on the inside. Just spider shells and snake tails.

  I looked down at Jack’s scab again. It was so loose that I bet he would hardly even feel it coming off. Jack was staring at the ceiling and picking his ear. I had to find exactly the right moment. In the story there was a creature called The Squandrel creeping along a forest track, looking for prey.

  ‘Searching, hunting,’ said Skroop in a lifeless voice. ‘It had been three long days since The Squandrel had eaten.’ I listened, carefully waiting for my moment.

  ‘Boo!’

  Something jumped out from behind a tree in the story. The kids gasped. I ripped the scab. Jack screamed, loud. Then he punched me in the arm. Skroop stopped reading and looked at Jack. I pocketed the scab.

  ‘WHAT was that?’ he asked.

  I knew Jack would cover for me. There was no way he’d dob me in to Skroop.

  ‘Tom ripped the scab off my knee!’ he squealed, pointing at me. I looked to my right, trying to make out like Jack was pointing to some other Tom.

  ‘Tom Weekly. OUT!’ Skroop said.

  ‘But I –’

  ‘Oouuuuuuut!’

  I stood and accidentally kicked Jack really hard in the ankle as I walked past.

  ‘Stand with your nose to the wall in the corridor and then see me after the lesson. Book time is SPECIAL!’ he screamed. ‘I won’t have it ruined.’

  I spent 20 minutes sniffing the wall in the hall before the bell rang for the end of school. The class walked past me, looking miserable. Jack picked up his bag and said, ‘Gimme my scab.’

  ‘No way. That baby’s going in my book,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe you dobbed me in.’

  Skroop appeared in the doorway. He made a come here motion with one knotted, dinosaur finger and then headed back inside.

  I gulped and followed. He sat down at his desk, poured a cup of tea from a thermos and took an unopened packet of biscuits from his bag. Iced VoVos. He placed them on his desk.

  ‘Looking at me please, Mr Weekly, not at my biscuits,’ he said. ‘Did I overhear in the hallway that you have a scab collection?’

  I looked at the floor and nodded.

  ‘I, too, had a scab collection when I was a boy,’ he said.

  I looked up. ‘That’s good,’ I said, thinking how creepy it was.

  ‘Give me the scab.’ He held out one bony hand.

  I looked at him for a moment. Did he really want it? I had to think quickly. ‘I gave it back to Jack.’

  He watched me darkly, like he was about to make me empty my pockets but, after what seemed like forever, he said, ‘You will spend every lunchtime with me in the classroom until you have read this entire novel, do you understand?’ He held up a copy of The Squandrel. I hung my head. My worst nightmare.

  ‘Yes,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Yes, what?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Skroop.’

  ‘And you will give me a daily report at the end of each detention.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I said.

  ‘Now go and ca
tch your bus, Weekly. I shall see you tomorrow.’

  I turned and headed for the door, running my finger over the rough surface of the scab in my pocket. I already knew that I wasn’t going to show up for detention. I just needed a plan.

  ‘Where does it hurt?’ Mum asked, sitting on the edge of my bed the next morning.

  ‘Just sort of there,’ I said, rubbing the right side of my stomach, just above my hip.

  She poked it with her fingers and I said, ‘Ow.’ She looked at me and I tried to give her my best pain-face. She poked it again. I said, ‘Ow.’

  Poke.

  ‘Ow.’

  Poke.

  ‘Ow.’

  She looked suspicious. ‘Well, we’ll have to take you to the doctor. Even though it’ll make me late for work.’

  She was testing. She knew I didn’t like going to the doctor, but I was more scared of Skroop.

  ‘Okay,’ I said in a husky voice.

  She growled and stood, turning to me at my bedroom door. She knew there was something weird about the way I was acting.

  ‘Alright, I’ll call now,’ but she stayed there, giving me one last chance to say, ‘No, I’ll be okay.’ But I thought about The Squandrel and I thought about Skroop. In my mind, Skroop was becoming The Squandrel.

  ‘Alrighty then,’ I said.

  She looked annoyed and left the room.

  I jumped out of bed and pulled on my school shorts from yesterday. The scab was still in my pocket. I figured I’d take it with me, for good luck.

  ‘Jump up on the bed for me, Tom,’ Dr Pellow said. He was an old guy with a sunburnt face and one gold tooth, right at the front. He’d been our family doctor for, like, 250 years.

  I sat up on the hard bed with the red leather cover. I strained as though it hurt to climb up. Mum rolled her eyes and looked at her watch.

  ‘Hands to the side please,’ the doc said. ‘Cough for me.’

  I coughed.

  ‘How does that feel?’

  ‘Bit sore,’ I said, resting a hand on my stomach.