Secrets of a Schoolyard Millionaire, page 3
* * *
‘Dane! Sash! Table. Now!’ Dad yells. ‘Liv! Poke time.’
‘I’ll do it, Dad.’ I grab Olivia’s kit and head into the lounge room. Her head is still buried in a book, and she barely acknowledges my presence as I grab her finger and pop it onto the poker. A little drop of blood bubbles up and I wipe it onto the strip.
‘I was going to do it,’ Olivia says. ‘After this chapter.’
‘I know. But this way, you don’t have to stop reading. Plus, sometimes I like to do it again, for old times’ sake.’
‘You’re weird,’ says Olivia, but I get a little grin from her.
As the glucose meter does its thing, I ask, ‘Any guesses?’
Without looking up from her book, Olivia answers, ‘Um, 6.1 maybe?’
I look at the machine. ‘Oh, so close. But not close enough. It’s 6.3. You lose!’ I shut her book and lightly bop her on the head with it. ‘It’s a 6.3!’ I yell to Dad.
‘Okay, good. Everyone. Table. Now,’ he yells back.
Dad finally gets us all to sit.
‘Sash! Unplug.’
Sash sighs dramatically and takes out her headphones. Dad serves up the fettuccine and sauce separately, measuring out Olivia’s portion.
‘Where’s Mum?’ Olivia asks, picking up a sauce-free noodle and lowering it into her mouth.
‘Where do you think?’ says Sash. ‘Work.’
‘Surprise, surprise,’ says Dane, with a mouthful of pasta.
Dad puts down his fork. ‘That’s enough, guys. She just texted me and she’ll be home soon.’
Dane slurps up another noodle. ‘Uh huh, sure.’
I don’t bother getting involved. We have this conversation every dinner and it always turns out the same.
Mum works at Balthazar Theatre. Before you think ‘cool!’ – it’s not. It’s not all the free movies I want to see. It’s not that kind of theatre. It’s an actual theatre theatre. Where they do plays and stuff. I mean, they actually do Shakespeare plays. Have you ever seen one of them? They’re long and B … O … R … I … N … G. She doesn’t mingle with famous actors or dress up in ball gowns for opening nights. It’s nothing like it is in the movies. What she does is work long shifts with early starts and late finishes. What she does is get called in all the time to cover other people. And what she does is not get paid much to do it all.
She’s the Operations Manager. Which really just means she’s the first to get there and last to leave. I don’t think she likes it that much, either. I always ask her why she became an Operations Manager. She says she just ‘fell into it’. I’ve decided I will never ‘fall into’ a job. So I started planning and working towards my career goals at the age of six.
* * *
HAVE GOALS!
Think about what you want to be when you grow up, but don’t pick from movies. Movies are not the real version. They get paid to make boring jobs look exciting. Look at the people around you. Read biographies (they’re books about people’s lives). Talk to adults. Get the real story. Pick someone you want to be like and then work for it.
* * *
So Mum misses dinner a lot. It doesn’t really bother me, but I think Liv misses her.
Before Dad quit his job, Mum used to take me, Dane and Sash to the theatre all the time. It’s a good place to hide kids when you can’t afford a babysitter. I guess we used to like it back then. Sash spent hours in the tech booth playing with all the light and sound equipment and making stuff for us to watch. Now she just makes YouTube videos. Dane loved messing around with the sets and rigging. We played hide and seek and knew the best places to hide – in the props house, under the stage trapdoor, in the lighting trusses. But now that Dad’s at home, we never go there anymore. It’s better, I guess. I get more work done now.
Jake’s dinner is now completely out of his bowl and he’s eating off the table. Sash has snuck one earphone back in and is watching some vlog she made of herself. Dane and Dad are yabbering on about changes they want to make to Dane’s bike trailer. Although I’d never admit it to him, the trailer is pretty cool. It goes on the back of his bike when he does his pamphlet delivery route. Butthead sits in it with the pamphlets and helps Dane deliver them. Dane trains Butthead to do some pretty impressive things when he’s not chasing his own tail around in circles!
We finish our family dinner (minus Mum) and Dad cleans Jake up. With the mess that he makes of himself when he eats, sometimes I think it would be easier to just strip him off and hose him down in the backyard like we do to Butthead when he rolls in another dog’s poop. I suggest it to Dad. Although he says no, I think he’s tempted.
I clean up the table and load the dishwasher. It’s probably not my turn, but most nights it’s easier to just do it than argue with everyone about whose turn it is on the roster. Sash is back in her room and Dane is building something with Butthead in the lounge room.
‘Bring me the red piece. No, the RED piece, Butthead. That’s blue,’ Dane says.
I stick my head in. ‘Why are you trying to teach him to fetch Lego?’
‘Why not? No one else plays Lego with me,’ Dane says. ‘So sometimes I gotta be a little creative.’
If you’re feeling sorry for Dane here, don’t. I’ve tried playing Lego with him and it’s impossible. Dane’s really good at building stuff and, other than passing him the pieces he needs, he barely lets you help.
‘Not sure Butthead is the best playmate, though,’ I say. ‘Aren’t dogs colourblind?’
‘Seriously?’ Dane asks, looking at Butthead holding a yellow Lego piece in his mouth.
I shrug. ‘That’s what Google says.’
I finish with the dishwasher and leave Dad to wrangle Jake as I head upstairs.
In my room, ‘Kids In America’ by Kim Wilde is playing on my ancient laptop. It used to be Sash’s and it’s about seven years old so it’s almost the size of my desk and weighs more than me, but it works. After spending my life as a middle child, I know there’s no point in asking for anything new. Everything goes through Sash, then to Dane and then to me. I have to feel sorry for Jake. He’ll probably be using this same laptop when his classmates all have robot butlers. Luckily, at the moment he’s happy with a table leg to chew.
I spend the next hour or so researching stuff on the internet. I check out crowdfunding. I’ve heard a bit about it and want to see if I can use it to fund my next business venture. I need some cashflow because I want to buy something retro. Retro is totally in now. I open a new tab, Google ‘retro’ and scroll through the pictures. Maybe I could get a jukebox. If I could find an original one from the 60s or 70s it would have all my favourite songs on it. Or maybe a pinball machine – I could set that up at school and collect the money that the kids pile into it. But I look at the prices and retro stuff is expensive, which brings me back to the crowdfunding. Usually being old makes things cheap, but apparently being ‘in’ makes things expensive. Hopefully that will happen soon to my laptop.
I hear Mum’s car pull up. Three, two … and there’s Olivia’s footsteps thumping downstairs. She’s getting quicker every week. I look at my watch. It’s 9:07 pm, so she should already be asleep by now, but she always tries to stay up until Mum gets home. I listen as Mum carries her back to her room and puts her to bed. I can hear Mum’s muffled voice as she reads Liv a story. Ten minutes later my door cracks open.
‘Hey, Tess,’ Mum says. She’s all dusty and her hair’s a mess. She looks tired too, but she always looks tired. ‘All good?’
‘Yeah, Mum. How was work?’
‘Oh, you know, same old. Electrical problems this time. Dad said you did the dishwasher again. Thanks. But you know you can get Dane and Sash to help?’
I turn back to my laptop. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Do I get a hug?’
I get up from my desk and give Mum a quick squeeze.
‘So what are you working on?’ she asks, nodding towards my laptop.
‘A few things. I was just looking at interest rates and I think I want to transfer my no-access savings to another bank. They’re at 3.64% now.’
Mum shakes her head at me. ‘Whose child ARE you?’ She gives me a quick kiss. ‘You all good, kiddo? Need help with anything? Homework?’
I shake my head. ‘Homework’s done, clothes are out for tomorrow and I did February’s calendar and put it on the fridge. I added Liv to the green jobs like you asked.’
Mum runs her hand over my hair. ‘Great. Almost ready for bed?’
‘I have a bit more to do.’
‘Okay. But not too late, all right? Before nine thirty. Love you.’
‘Me too, Mum.’
She closes the door quietly and heads downstairs. I don’t get a bedtime story, but I’m too old for that now anyway.
It’s 9:48 pm and I’m still not in bed, but Mum hasn’t come up to check.
I hear Mum and Dad downstairs. I can guess what they’re arguing about even before I sneak down to eavesdrop, but I do it anyway. Mum and Dad don’t fight that often, but when they do, it’s about one of two things: Olivia or money. It’s the end of the month, so I’m guessing it’s about money.
I tiptoe down the stairs and sit right on the edge of the fifth step. From here, I can see the kitchen table, but the stream of light passes just next to my leg so you can’t see me from downstairs. It’s not the first time I’ve sat here. Because Mum doesn’t get home until late, I never get a chance to hear about her day. This is a good place to sit, listen in and catch up on what’s going on with her.
They’re at the table. Mum’s eating leftover fettuccine, and Dad has papers spread out and his laptop open in front of him. He’s squinting at it like it’s an alien and typing painfully slowly using only two fingers.
‘I know Tess said it was something really easy to remember …’
I roll my eyes. It’s okay to do that now because nobody is watching. Look at the top of the screen, Dad! I wrote the new password on a label and put it just above the screen because I knew Dad would forget. Look up!
Mum taps the label. ‘Could that be it?’
Dad smiles. ‘Good old Tess!’
Good old Tess? I’m ten, Dad! He’s so embarrassing.
‘Okay, got it open,’ says Dad.
‘So when was the last payment? We can’t owe that much again already.’
Dad scrolls down on the screen. ‘Yeah, end of October. Sorry, it’s quarterly.’
Mum drops her head into her hands. ‘But we wanted to get Liv an insulin pump this month. And we still haven’t paid last quarter’s electricity bill.’
‘Hon, maybe we should think about me going back to work. Even just for a few days a week.’
‘But with Jake it would cost more to pay for day care than the money you’d make. And someone needs to be around for Liv. It’s just not worth it.’
‘Okay, so what about at night? After you get home?’
Mum tosses the papers aside. ‘Yeah, great idea. Then we’ll never see each other.’
‘I’m just trying to help,’ Dad says. ‘Don’t get snarky at me.’
I decide to go back to my room. I know where this argument is going and I don’t need to hear it again. I turn to see Olivia standing outside her bedroom door. Her pyjamas used to be mine and they’re a bit too big for her. She looks even smaller than usual.
‘Are they fighting again?’ she asks.
‘Not really,’ I say, walking over to her.
‘Is it me?’ She looks up at me. She’s chewing on her bottom lip. I don’t like it when she does that. ‘Are they fighting about me?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Well, you don’t have a choice,’ I say, putting my hand on her shoulder and steering her back into her room. ‘I’m your big sister, so you have to believe everything I say.’
‘Do you believe everything Sash says?’
‘No, but that’s different.’ I pull back her doona. Liv crawls into bed and I tuck her back in.
‘Why?’ she asks.
‘Because Sash isn’t a genius like me.’
Liv laughs and I grin back at her. ‘Now go back to sleep.’
‘Mum will be in soon for poke time anyway.’
‘Then just pretend to be asleep,’ I say.
‘Can you put on the diamond shoes song?’ Liv asks as she snuggles her chin down below her doona.
‘Sure.’ I pop open the CD player on her desk. It used to be the family one, then mine and now it’s Olivia’s. It skipped Sash because she ‘wouldn’t be seen dead with a CD player’ and Dane because he’s just not that into music. I’ll never understand that. But before you go feeling sorry for Liv that she gets the crappy old CD player, it did come with an awesome CD collection. Mostly Dad’s music, filtered by me. The result being that unlike Sash, who has terrible taste in music, and Dane, who has no taste, Liv is really starting to get it. As I press play and ‘Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes’ begins, I couldn’t be prouder that Paul Simon is her favourite.
I head out of her room and, as I pull the door closed, she calls out.
‘Hey, Tess.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Am I a genius like you?’
‘Yeah, you and I must have Mum’s genes.’
Liv giggles. ‘Poor Dad.’
‘But at least we got his taste in music.’
I pull the door closed and go back to my room.
Our street’s boring. Like super boring. Nothing. EVER. Happens.
On this boring street in this boring neighbourhood live boring people with boring lives. Of course, the exception is Scotty. And it’s because of him that the only interesting thing ever to happen to Wyndeman Close … happened.
It’s Saturday morning. We’ve already gone through the madness of a typical Heckleston Saturday. Mum’s at work. Dad’s taken Dane to karate. Olivia and Jake went with him. I’m at home with Sash. Well, I assume she’s somewhere in the house. Being at home with Sash is like being at home with a television that doesn’t work. You know it’s there, but it might as well not be.
I’m in my bedroom listening to ‘Bad Moon Rising’ by Creedence Clearwater Revival. My MP3 player is a hand-me-down from Dad and still has all his songs on it. Sash reckons she can reset it and put some of her music on it for me. Songs from ‘this century’, she says. But I’ve heard the noise that comes from her room and I can’t think of anything worse.
It’s 10:30 and Toby’s not coming over until lunchtime. I’m bored. And it’s pretty hot today. I wish we had a swimming pool. My future house is so going to have a swimming pool. I go over to my window and rest my head on the cool glass. I’m hoping for some action at Scotty’s, but it looks like everyone’s still sleeping.
As if answering my wishes, Scotty runs into the kitchen. He’s moving fast. Scotty doesn’t often move fast. Through the sliding doors I can see he’s got his mobile phone pressed to his ear and he’s yelling. It’s like watching the TV with the sound down, but he’s definitely panicky because within seconds there are people running around in their pyjamas and grabbing things. Scotty’s screaming at them all and pointing.
Being a naturally curious person – curious, not nosy – I really want to hear what’s going on. I grab the bottom of my window and push it up, sliding it open. I still can’t hear much. I think about going down to the backyard, but I don’t want to miss anything.
I don’t know what’s going on over there. Everyone’s running around like their pants are on fire. Grabbing things and shoving them into bags. Hiding things. Throwing things. I can’t see what any of it is but it must be important.
Then I hear it. In the distance at first, but I hear it. Sirens. Not an ambulance. Definitely police. The police NEVER come to Wyndeman Close.
Scotty hears it too.
He yells something and even though I’m no lipreader, I’m pretty sure it’s a swear word. He runs into another room and comes out clutching a navy blue sports bag. The sirens are getting closer. People start running in all directions. Some bolt out of the house. Scotty looks around frantically, opening cupboard doors and slamming them closed again. What’s he looking for?
He runs out into the yard.
He swears again. This time I can hear it.
He looks around and then … he looks up at me.
He pauses. I can’t move. I just kind of stare at him.
He gives me a strange smile and then throws the bag over our fence. Reaching up, he pulls himself over too.
Scotty is in our backyard.
I freeze.
I know I should get Sash or call Dad but I just can’t move. Scotty grabs the bag from the grass and runs over to my treasure chest. He opens the lid, pulls out all my toys and lifts up the false bottom. Throwing the bag inside, he squishes it down. The false bottom goes back in, toys on top, lid closed and, before I can even work out what just happened, he’s back over the fence and in his own yard.
The sirens are really close now. I think our boring street just became seriously un-boring. I bet all the neighbours are out in their front yards like stunned seagulls gawking at hot chips.
But Scotty is just standing there staring at me. And I’m staring back.
The sirens are here now. I hear the screeching of car wheels. Police flood into Scotty’s house, yelling. I feel like I’m watching a movie. ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ is playing in my head.
But Scotty isn’t moving. He’s just looking at me. As the police approach him, he raises his hands in the air. But one hand moves to his mouth. He places his finger in front of his lips and over all the noise and craziness and theme music, I’m sure I can hear his, ‘Shhhh.’
I don’t know why. I think I know it’s wrong. But just before he disappears under a pile of police officers pushing him to the ground, I look him straight in the eye … and nod.
