Specky Magee Read Online Free PDF Page B

his sister wander off through the vast, white-walled gallery to get herself an orange juice, while he forced himself to check out the exhibition.
    There were ten sculptures on display, each representing a part of the human body. They were all about a metre in height, and sat carefully on individual white podiums. What made the sculptures supposedly ‘unique’ was that they were crafted entirely out of broken eggshells—painstakingly glued together piece by piece.Specky pushed his way to the front of the crowd of art lovers to take a closer look. He stood directly in front of a large eggshell nose. Specky had to stop himself from laughing, especially since everyone around him was so serious about it. He couldn’t help overhearing the conversation of two ladies standing right beside him.
    ‘You know, it takes him an entire year to complete just one sculpture,’ said one. ‘This piece alone is made of a thousand eggshells. Now that’s dedication.’
    ‘And look at the realism of it all. The inner strength it depicts, while at the same time conveying a sense of vulnerability. That truly speaks to me, Penelope.’
    ‘I know what you mean, Gloria. I also heard that every egg was eaten by the sculptor himself. But he’s recently stopped doing that, as he then began to suffer from major constipation.’
    ‘Huh!’ Specky snorted uncontrollably.
    The two ladies glared at Specky, unimpressed, then turned and disappeared back into the crowd.
    ‘I did one just like that in my art class last term—I should’ve brought it along,’ said an unfamiliar voice.
    Specky turned to see who was talking to him. It was a boy about his age.
    ‘Kind of dumb, isn’t it?’ the boy added, staring at the eggshell nose.
    Specky nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s for sure. But I’d better not tell my dad what I think. He owns the place, that’s my reason for being here. Why are you here?’
    The boy who introduced himself simply as Greg, told Specky that he was with his father, who was an art collector. They were visiting from South Australia for the weekend.
    ‘Hi, Greg. I’m Simon, but everyone calls me Specky. So do you barrack for the Crows or Port?’ asked Specky, hoping that Greg knew his football.
    ‘The Crows,’ said Greg proudly. ‘My dad and I are going to see them play tomorrow. I can’t wait!’
    ‘Your dad likes footy, then?’
    ‘No, he hates it,’ said Greg. ‘But he’ll go for me. Like I’ve come with him to this and I hate art. You like footy then?’
    Specky nodded, not having really heard his question. He was thinking how cool it was that this boy and his father supported each other in things that neither of them liked.
    ‘Wanna have a kick now?’ Greg asked Specky. ‘I have a footy in our car outside.’
    Specky didn’t need to be persuaded—before he knew it he and Greg had left the boring exhibition launch and were having a kick-to-kick in the alleyway directly behind the gallery building.
    After a few minutes of back and forth punting and marking, Greg said, ‘How close do you think you can kick the ball to that open window up there?’
    Specky grinned as he looked up at the window. It was about twenty-five metres from the ground. ‘I bet I could get pretty close to it!’ he said, ready for a little friendly competition.
    Specky carefully aimed and booted the ball. The ball swished passed the window, and hit the wall about a metre above it.
    ‘Too powerful! I have to pull back a bit! Here, you have a go,’ said Specky, as the ball dropped back down to the ground.
    Greg then took his turn but didn’t get as close to the target as Specky’s kick.
    Both boys continued to take turns kicking the ball towards the open window, each time edging a little closer to it and declaring themselves the winner. Until Specky took his ninth try at it.
    Thump ! sounded the ball, as it left his foot and glided its way once again towards the target.
    ‘Closer! Closer!’ Specky said to himself in an effort to mentally