Blabber Mouth Read Online Free PDF Page B

him I’ll be fine and I promise no frogs’, and gave it and the phone to Amanda.
    She looked at me, puzzled, then remembered Dad was hanging on the other end.
    â€˜Ro says she’ll be fine and she promises no frogs,’ she told Dad, then handed me the phone.
    â€˜Right-o,’ said Dad. ‘I’ll come and get you at eight. If cheese-brain gives you a hard time, just ring me and whistle.’
    Amanda said bye from both of us and we went back to class. I felt a bit guilty not telling her what Dad had said about her dad, but at that time I still thought she was my friend and I wanted to protect her feelings.
    I did have a few doubts about Amanda’s dad during the rest of the afternoon.
    What if he flew into a rage when I walked through the door and said something hurtful about Dad?
    Or Mum?
    And my head erupted again?
    And he was cleaning out a goldfish bowl?
    Or a hamster cage?
    Or a kennel belonging to a very small dog?
    I told myself to stop being silly.
    I watched Ms Dunning patiently explaining to Darryn Peck that painting Doug Walsh’s ears wasn’t a good idea, and told myself I should be more like her.
    Calm and sensible.
    But I did mention my doubts to Amanda while we were walking to her house.
    â€˜Are you sure your dad won’t mind me coming?’ I asked.
    â€˜Course not,’ she grinned. ‘He’ll be delighted to see I’ve got a community service project.’
    I stared at her and felt my guts slowly going cold.
    â€˜A what?’ I said.
    â€˜A community service project,’ she said. ‘Dad’s the president of the Progress Association and they’re sponsoring a youth community service drive. It’s where kids find someone who’s disadvantaged and help them. There’s a community service night tomorrow night where we introduce our projects to the other members so they can help them too.’
    My guts had turned to ice.
    Amanda must have seen the expression on my face because her voice went quiet.
    â€˜I thought you could be my project,’ she said.
    I stared at her while my guts turned to liquid nitrogen and all the heat in my body rushed to my eyelids.
    Words writhed around inside my head, stuff about how if I wanted to be a project I’d pin myself to the notice board in the classroom, and if I wanted to be a tragic case I’d go on ‘60 Minutes’, and if I wanted everyone to point at me and snigger I’d cover myself in Vegemite and chook feathers, but I knew she wouldn’t understand all the signs, and my handwriting goes to pieces when I’m angry and disappointed and upset.
    â€˜No thanks,’ I said, and turned and ran.
    She called my name a couple of times, but I didn’t slow down.
    I didn’t stop running till I was halfway home and the ice in my guts was stabbing me.
    I walked the rest of the way and the trees all pointed at me and whispered, ‘Poor thing, she thought she’d cracked it’.
    OK, I know trees can’t point and whisper, but the insects did.
    I decided if I ever make another friend I’ll wait at least a week before I get excited.
    A week should be long enough to find out if the person’s a true friend, or if she just wants me for charity or to borrow money or because she needs a kidney transplant or something.
    Dad was surprised to see me.
    I must have looked pretty upset because he immediately switched off the tractor and the compressor and was all set to go and pay Mr Cosgrove a visit with a pair of long-handled pruning shears.
    I calmed him down and told him about the community service drive.
    â€˜Tonto,’ he said, his face creased the way it is when he’s trying to add up the purchase dockets from the wholesaler, ‘sometimes life’s a big shiny red apple and sometimes it’s a bucket of blue mould and disappointment.’
    I nodded.
    When Dad gets upset he tends to talk like a country and western song, but he means