Cool School (13 page)

on't be such a wimp. Take the risk and go to 53. I mean, after all, it's only a story.

ell, you've talked Sam into it, though you half wish you hadn't. Still, it's time you used your electronics knowledge for something.

You give Sam the easy job of getting information, and by the next morning it's done. It's all there: Ms Janzen's desk is third from the door in staff room two. ‘Pretty impressive, Sam,' you say, after studying the info. Then you proceed to eat the note. ‘Can't be too careful,' you say. ‘We should have eaten the last one.'

Later that morning you ask permission to leave class. ‘Touch of gastro,' you say, making glugging noises deep in your throat, just to show you're serious. Once you're out in the corridor you race to staff room two. You knock on the door and wait. There's no answer. That's cool. If there had been, you just would have tried again later, and again, and again, and again, until the room was empty. You're a very persistent person.

Inside the staff room you quickly locate the third desk from the door.

You find Ms Janzen's phone too. You unscrew the base and attach the gadget you bought from Tandy last night. Then you fit the base back on and get out of the room fast, racing into the little booth next to the office where they make the announcements. A bit of work there, then it's back to the classroom. ‘Feel much better now, sir,' you pant to the teacher as you sit down, giving a nod and a wink to Sam, to show you've succeeded. Sam goes white and dives into a large Science textbook.

Nothing happens until mid-afternoon. You're in an Art lesson when there's a sudden crackle of static over the loudspeakers. No one takes any notice: there's a constant stream of dumb announcements over the speakers all day long. But this time it's different. You hear the ringing of an amplified phone. People listen, in surprise. Then you hear a man's voice. ‘Hello?' he says.

‘Hello, my sweet little butterfly, my darling cutey-pie,' says Ms Janzen. ‘Hello, my twinkling star.' Her voice sounds like she's soaked it in sugar and honey for an hour and a half.

‘Why hello, my lovely Barbie doll,' the man replies.

This is the first announcement in the history of education that everyone's actually listening to. Even the teacher's listening. She almost looks like she's smiling.

‘Are you having a smoothie-woothie day?' Ms Janzen asks.

The conversation continues like this for a couple of minutes. The students are in convulsions. Several of them have to leave the room.

Then there's a ‘squeech' noise, and silence. Seems like someone's finally pulled the plug.

Next morning there's a huge witch-hunt to find the person who connected the phone to the amp. The heat's off Sam, who's gone on camp for a week, but you're certainly feeling the pressure. You start wondering whether you should maybe even own up, especially when they start talking about a mass punishment for the whole school . . .

ou sit straight down on the floor and start reading the book. It's fantastic, wonderful, better than that Shakespeare guy even. You don't notice the fire any more. You don't notice anything. All you can do is read this great book. When you've finished you decide to send the author all the money you can find to encourage him to keep writing.

You empty your pockets, your money box, your bank account, and borrow five years' worth of allowance from your parents. You put it all in a large envelope and send it to the author. He never even bothers to send you a thank you letter, but when his next book comes out you notice that he's now living in a Beverly Hills mansion, in Hollywood, instead of the tiny bush hut he used to inhabit.

So you're sure that he's grateful; you feel absolutely confident that you've done the right thing, and you start looking around for more money to send him.

ou take one look at the corridor and realise that it's time to get out of there, otherwise you're going to end up as a smoked student.

You run from the building and out to the street. There's a wild wailing noise of sirens, a jangling of bells, and a fire engine pulls up.

Firefighters jump off the truck and start pulling out hoses and axes and fire extinguishers. ‘I'll help!' you cry enthusiastically. A fireman hands you the end of a hose.

‘Quick!' he says. ‘Attach it to the tank.'

You're not sure what he means but you don't like to admit that. You look around and, yes, there's a big white tank just fifty metres away, sitting in the corner of the schoolyard. You rush over to it and connect the hose to the outlet. Then you stand back and watch. The fireman points the hose at the fire and opens the valve on the nozzle. Liquid shoots out in a huge powerful spray, falling straight onto the flames.

To your amazement there's a massive
whoooosh
and a great fireball rolls up into the sky. You look at the tank in surprise. Oopsadaisy. You should have looked at it before. On the side in big red letters is painted:
DANGER—PETROL—HIGHLY INFLAMMABLE
. You realise you'll go down in history as the person who burnt the school down on your very first day. What an honour.

ou have an amazing afternoon. Norths win by eleven points. No one can believe it, least of all you. The only time they get behind is when you go to buy a hot dog. You have to wait while they heat it up, and it takes a while. You're away from your seat for ten minutes, without a view of the match, and when you get back the other team has scored twice and now leads. You remember what that weird kid said—how you have to be watching them if they're going to win, and you start to believe that maybe he really did know what he was talking about.

All season long you can hardly wait till the weekends. All season long you sit there with your eyes glued on the team. And all season long they keep winning. The only time they lose is when your parents make you go visit Grandma one Sunday afternoon. They get thrashed that weekend, like you knew they would. It's uncanny.

On the day of the Grand Final you persuade Alex to come with you. It's your first date. But as the match goes on, Alex gets more and more irritated. It's because you sit there with your eyes glued to the game, of course. You can understand how annoying it must be but you daren't take your eyes off the ground. It's such a tight match; never more than a couple of points in it. With seconds to go, and Norths a point in front, the Norths' full-back fouls a Magpies' player. The whistle blasts for a free kick, then the full-time siren goes. The player in the black-and-white jumper lines up the ball. The crowd is howling. They're all on their feet. You have to stand on your seat just to be able to see. This kick will determine the match and the premiership. And just at that moment Alex grabs you and wrestles you back down to your seat. ‘What . . . what . . . what?' you stammer. ‘I didn't come out with you just to watch football,' Alex whispers in your ear. ‘Kiss me now or you'll never see me again.'