Just Tricking! (8 page)

I'm having such fun visiting all the restaurants along Lygon Street, that I lose track of the time.

I'm not sure how much later it is when I return to the seafood restaurant. The old man and lady are gone, but a couple of girls are sitting at their table.

I put my hands up behind my head, start swivelling my hips and singing, ‘I'm too sexy for my gorilla suit'.

I'm dancing pretty well I think – for a gorilla – but the girls are not interested. They are looking at something behind me.

That's when I notice the flashing blue light reflecting off the restaurant window.

I turn around. There are two police officers – a man and woman – crouched beside a police car.

Uh-oh.

The man is talking into the handpiece of his radio. The woman is holding a gun. The gun is pointed at me.

Time to become human again.

‘Don't shoot!' I yell. ‘I'm not a real gorilla! It's just a suit!'

The policewoman brings her left hand up to her gun so that now she is holding it with both hands.

‘Stay there, big fella!' she says. ‘Don't move. Everything will be all right.'

‘No, you don't understand,' I say. ‘You're making a terrible mistake!'

But either she's not listening, or my voice is muffled by the mask, because she keeps that gun pointed right at my chest.

I realise that the quickest way to convince her that I'm not a gorilla would be to take my mask off.

I grab the hair on top of my mask and pull. But it won't come off.

I can't undo the eyelets that attach the back of the head to the suit because my hands are inside the big rubber gloves. And I can't get the gloves off because I need the use of my fingers to undo the press-studs on the cuff.

‘Come on,' I say. ‘I know it looks real, but it's just a suit, okay? Just a dumb gorilla suit.'

‘Okay, boy,' says the policeman. ‘It's okay. We don't want to hurt you. Just want to get you back to the zoo where you belong.'

‘I don't belong in the zoo!' I yell. ‘I'm a human being! I'm wearing a suit, but I can't get it off!'

The police look at each other. They frown.

‘What do you think he's trying to say?' says the policewoman.

‘I don't know, but he sure seems to be trying to tell us something.'

‘Almost human, aren't they?'

‘Yeah, it's scary.'

‘I am human, you idiots!' I bellow.

Then I have a brainwave. I'll sing ‘Happy Birthday'. That will prove beyond a doubt that I'm not a gorilla.

I start singing at the top of my voice.

‘Why is it making that horrible noise?' says the policewoman.

‘I'm not sure,' says the policeman. ‘Sounds like it's in pain.'

I hear applause and laughter coming from the other side of the street. A large crowd has formed. And Jen is amongst them! Thank God!

‘Jen!' I call. ‘Jen! Help me!'

She doesn't move.

‘Jen!'

I jump up and down and point to her.

‘That's my sister!' I say to the officers. ‘Ask her! She'll tell you I'm not a gorilla!'

But Jen makes no attempt to come across to me. She just stands there scowling, her arms folded.

‘Excuse me, miss,' calls the policewoman. ‘This might be a silly question, but do you know this gorilla? He seems to know you.'

Jen looks me up and down.

She hasn't forgiven me for the gorillagram. Or for what I did to her spaghetti.

In fact, it was probably Jen who called the police.

I know she'll help me, but it will take some serious suckering-uppering.

‘I'm sorry for the gorillagram, Jen,' I call. ‘I didn't mean to muck up your party. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Anything you want. I'll give you money – I'll be your slave for a week – I'll give you all my Easter eggs next Easter. You name it, it's yours. Can you just tell these police that it's me? Come on,
Jen, please . . . this is serious!'

But my words are drowned out by the roar of a large green truck with ZOO painted on its side. The truck screeches to a stop behind the police car.

A group of zoo-keepers armed with nets and tranquilliser guns pile out of the back.

‘Well?' says the policewoman to Jen.

‘Now, Jen, now! Tell her!' I call.

Jen shakes her head.

‘Are you kidding?' she says. ‘I've never seen it before in my life.'

hursday night.

Mum and Dad have gone out and left me at home all by myself.

Normally I would be making prank phone calls, setting up buckets of water over half-opened doors and putting rubber snakes underneath pillows – but not tonight.

Tonight I'm standing on a ladder polishing the light-globes in the loungeroom with Dad's CD cleaning cloth.

Don't tell me. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, Andy, if your parents really have gone out and left you all alone, why are you wasting precious
practical joke preparation time polishing light-globes? Why aren't you making prank phone calls, setting up buckets of water over half-opened doors and putting rubber snakes underneath pillows?

Well, the reason is that tonight I've decided to clean up the house as a surprise for Mum and Dad. I'll admit, it might seem a bit unusual to polish light-globes, but the trick to making a place look really clean is in the details. And believe me, I have to make this place look
really
clean.

See, Mum and Dad have gone up to my school for parent–teacher interviews and I already know that my reports are not going to be that great. Lousy, in fact.

It's not my fault, though. I've worked really hard this year, but my teachers are all against me. They think that just because I spend a lot of time talking and laughing in class, I'm not concentrating. But what they don't realise is, I can't help talking and laughing in class because I get so excited about schoolwork. I've tried to explain this to them, but they won't listen. It's like I said – they're all against me.

So what I've decided to do is tidy up the house and make it absolutely clean and spotless – right down to the very last light-globe. That way, when Mum and Dad come home fuming about my lousy reports and launch into their ‘it's time we had a little talk' routine, they're suddenly going to be struck by how beautiful the house is looking and they'll forget all about lecturing me.

They'll be so impressed that I cleaned up the house without being asked that, as a reward, they'll let me eat a whole bucket of chocolate ice-cream and stay up till midnight watching TV. It's a lucky thing for me that my parents are so gullible; otherwise I might have been in a lot of trouble.

I'm halfway through polishing the second light-globe on the chandelier. There's a knock on the door. It can't be Mum and Dad because they're not due back for at least half an hour.

I climb down the ladder and open the front door. But there's nobody there.

‘Hello!' I call. ‘Hello?'

No answer.

That's strange. Whoever it was must be really impatient. I hate that.

I close the door, climb back up the ladder and continue polishing the light-globe.

There's another knock at the door.

‘Hang on,' I yell, ‘I'll be right there.'

I practically jump off the ladder, and rush to the door.

I open it.

Nobody there.

This is obviously somebody's idea of a joke. And I can guess exactly who that somebody is – Danny Pickett.

Poor Danny. That guy is a compulsive nick-knocker. He can't bear to walk past a house without knocking on the front door and running away. I reckon he should join Nick-Knockers Anonymous.

He's probably out in the garden somewhere right now, laughing at me.

‘Danny!' I call. ‘You might as well come out. I know it's you.'

I peer into the darkness but I can't see him anywhere.

‘Okay,' I say, ‘have it your way.'

One last scan of the garden and I close the door. Let him freeze if he wants.

I've hardly put my foot on the first rung of the ladder when he knocks again. But this time I don't answer it.

He knocks again. And again.

I climb to the top of the ladder and start polishing the third light-globe. I concentrate on it to help block out the sound of the knocking.

It's actually a very interesting light-globe. An Osram. 60 watts. Clear. A little squiggly thing in the middle. Ouch. It hurts to look at the little squiggly thing for too long.

Danny's still knocking, but I'm not going to open the door. It will only encourage him and make me look like an idiot. He can knock until his knuckles are red-raw and he's bleeding to death right on our front doorstep. See if I care.

Yeah, see if I care.

I don't care . . .

Yes I do! I do care!

It's driving me crazy.

He knocks on and on and on. He's not going to stop until I open the door.

I jump off the ladder, sprint to the door and open it – all in one fluid movement. I'm going to catch him and kill him. But even before I open the door I know I'm too late.

He's gone. Nobody but the wind. A flurry of brown autumn leaves blows through the door and onto the carpet – the carpet that I vacuumed only fifteen minutes ago. I slam the door.

This means war. I'll be ready for him next time. Danny's fast on his feet, I'll give him that. But when it comes to brainpower, he's no match for me.

I go to the laundry and grab the yellow plastic bucket. I take it back to the kitchen and fill it to about halfway with white flour. I put the bucket on the table and go into the pantry. I take out a bottle of tomato sauce, a bottle of soy sauce, a tin of blackberry jam, a can of tomato paste, a jar of corn relish, a bottle of vinegar, a can of spaghetti, a jar of peanut butter, a jar of Vegemite, a dozen eggs, a jar of honey, a packet of cornflakes and a small jar of crushed chilli peppers.