Just Annoying! (2 page)

He thinks I'm waving to him!

I wave.

He waves back.

I wave again.

He waves back again.

We're best friends now.

‘Stop waving,' says Dad. ‘Sit down and put your seatbelt back on.'

‘But he waved first,' I say.

‘Don't annoy bikies,' says Dad. ‘I don't want any trouble.'

‘I'm not annoying him—I was just being friendly.'

‘Sit down!'

‘Okay, okay, don't get your knickers in a knot.'

I give one last wave to Bike-man, but he's pulling into a service station and doesn't see me.

I feel like I've lost my best friend.

I notice a movement out of the corner of my eye.

I look up. The fly is on the roof. It's taunting me. It buzzes again.

‘Andy,' says Dad, ‘you're pushing your luck!'

‘It wasn't me,' I say. ‘It was the fly!'

I have to get rid of this fly. And quickly. Before it gets rid of me.

I reach up and try to cup it with my hand.

It jumps to the left.

I try again.

It jumps to the right and then heads towards the front windscreen, daring me to come after it.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and dive into the front seat. I catch the fly in mid-air.

 

 

‘HOWZAT?' I yell.

I'm lying with my head in Mum's lap and my legs all over the steering wheel.

Dad slams the brakes on. The car lurches forward.

‘Get out!' he says.

‘But it's not my fault,' I say. ‘It was the fly.'

‘I don't care whose fault it was,' he says. ‘Out!'

‘But look!'

I open my hand to show Dad the fly and prove that I'm not lying, but my hand is empty. It must have swerved at the last minute. Outsmarted by a fly! I hate that.

‘Out,' says Dad.

Surely he can't be serious.

‘I'm sorry, Dad . . . I was just trying to get the fly out of the car . . . in case it caused an accident . . .'

‘You're the only one who is going to cause an accident,' he says. ‘Out.'

‘Mum?' I say. ‘Are you going to let him do this?'

‘It's for your own good,' she says. ‘You've got to learn.'

I open the door.

‘You'll be sorry,' I say, ‘when you come back and find my bones being picked clean by vultures.'

‘There are no vultures in Australia.'

‘Kookaburras then.'

‘Shut the door,' says Dad. ‘You're letting the hot air in.'

There's no reasoning with him.

I get out of the car and shut the door slowly.

The wheels of the car spin. I am showered by gravel. I wipe the grit out of my eyes and look for the car. It's gone.

I look down at my shoes. There is a big red bull ant on my toe. I brush it off. Maybe I should try to catch it. I might need it for food.

Nah. I won't have to eat ants. They'll be back. Any second. Five minutes tops. Just enough to give me a scare.

I start walking.

Actually, it's quite nice. Fresh air. Blue sky. Space. No grumpy parents.

Five minutes pass.

Another five minutes.

And another five minutes.

Where are they?

I sit down.

I should just lie down and die—that would teach them.

The only trouble is that it could take a while because I'm actually feeling pretty healthy.

I hear a droning sound in the distance.

Ha! I check my watch. It took them fifteen minutes to give in and come back and get me. That's really going to teach me a lesson I'll never forget. Not.

But as I listen I notice the drone has a different quality. Throatier. Not the putty-putt-putt sound of Dad's car at all.

It's Bike-man!

I jump up and wave.

He waves back and pulls up alongside me.

He looks even crazier close up. His beard is full of insects. Some of them are still alive.

‘Well,' he says, ‘if it isn't my little mate. What are you doing out here all by yourself?'

‘My parents threw me out of the car,' I say. ‘They told me I had to walk.'

‘You like bikes?' he says.

‘Are you kidding?'

‘Hop on then,' he says. ‘What's your name?'

‘Andy. What's yours?'