Head Spinners, page 8
And I realised that I wanted to say sorry. Not just to Monty, but to Mum and Dad and Connor. Monty had been their dog too.
Connor said, ‘But you didn’t kill Monty, remember?’
So I said, ‘Okay. I’m sorry for leaving the gate open.’
Then Connor hit me on the arm and said, ‘Just don’t do it again.’
And we all laughed because the gate’s open all the time now. There’s no reason to shut it.
It was good to feel normal for once, but I hadn’t forgotten about Splash. I kept thinking about her scales falling off. Maybe I’d kept her in a bucket too long. She needed to go back to the river. That was the only right thing to do.
I wished that I hadn’t lied about Splash and kept her secret. I had thought I was protecting her, but now no one knew how special she was.
When I asked Dad if he would drive me and Splash down to the Oakdale River, he said that I could have the day off school tomorrow to think about Monty and take Splash to the river. Dad’s not that bad, really.
When I went to bed that night, I gave Splash some worms and changed her water. She didn’t look any worse than before. I wished she could talk. I wanted to ask her about her magic. Did it survive for only a short time? Why didn’t it last forever?
‘Tomorrow, we’ll take you back to the river,’ I whispered. ‘You can have a normal home.’
I thought Splash might be too tired to listen to what I’d said, but she had heard. I didn’t know it yet, but Splash had no plans to go back to the river.
At dawn the next morning I was woken by something wet on my face. I opened my eyes and wiped drops from my cheek.
In the dim light I saw scales flash in the air beside my bed, then disappear with a plop. I sat up and yawned. Splash was swishing in the bucket, facing my desk. When she saw me looking, she flipped her tail, as if she was pointing at something.
‘What do you want, Splash?’ I whispered. The apple-tree stick was still sitting on my desk. I picked it up. ‘Do you want this?’
When Splash saw me pick up the stick, she turned in the bucket to face the door.
‘Okay,’ I said, ‘if that’s what you want.’ With the bucket in one hand and the stick in the other I walked into the hall and stopped.
Splash, in her bucket, turned to face the kitchen. When we got to the kitchen, Splash turned around to face the back door.
‘Outside?’
As soon as we were out in the backyard Splash turned to face Monty’s grave. I dared not hope.
I set the bucket down near the grave. Splash glistened in the morning sunlight but the dull patches where her scales had fallen off were bigger.
‘Can you do it now, Splash?’ I asked breathlessly. ‘Can you bring back Monty?’
Her fins wilted. This wasn’t the happy fish that I was so used to seeing.
‘It’s okay, Splash,’ I said. ‘Everything’s alright. I feel better about Monty now. It’s okay. Are you hungry?’ The spot where Connor dug up his worms was right next to Monty’s grave. It didn’t take me long to dig up a worm for Splash.
When I held it in front of her face, she balanced it on her nose then tossed it to catch in her mouth.
‘Wow!’ That was impressive. It reminded me of Monty eating cheese.
I looked at the spot where Connor dug up worms and then to Monty’s grave. The faint glimmer of an idea took shape inside me.
Splash had eaten worms from Monty’s grave, not just after she’d re-formed, but also when she’d first been caught. The bait worms that Connor sold to the cafe owner were from here. Was this where the magic had begun? From a spark of something still vital in Monty? Not his spirit exactly, but still part of him . . . a memory of who he used to be.
It made me feel happy and sad all over again to think that part of Monty had made his way back to me . . .
Splash jumped out of the water and touched her nose against Monty’s apple-tree stick. When I held it near her face again she pushed it towards Monty’s grave. There was still a small hole in it from where I’d been digging the day before.
‘Good idea.’ I buried the roots of the stick in the hole above Monty’s grave.
I stood back, brushing soil from my hands. ‘Okay now?’ I asked Splash.
But her fins wilted even more.
Looking at Splash was like looking into a mirror of my feelings for Monty. It was as if Splash knew what I had been going through. She could understand how I felt.
Of course she could, something of Monty was in her . . .
I knelt next to the bucket. When she saw me kneel close, Splash jumped out of the bucket and touched my cheek with a kiss that felt like butterfly wings.
‘I’m taking you back to the river. You should go home.’
But Splash kept pointing her face to Monty’s grave.
‘Do you mean . . .?’ I whispered, not wanting to say it. ‘Are we saying goodbye?’ I was only just managing to let go of Monty. I didn’t want to say goodbye to Splash too.
But Splash jumped again and gave me another soft kiss.
A lump formed in my throat as I realised what she was giving me – a chance to say that I was sorry. A chance to say goodbye.
Slowly, I nodded. ‘Splash, I’ll never forget you,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
Splash flicked her tail happily in the water. She didn’t look sad now. She looked like she was ready to go.
‘Goodbye, Splash,’ I whispered.
Splash jumped out of the bucket and flopped onto the upturned soil. She lay next to the stick and lifted her face to look at me.
Then she lay still.
It happened in an instant. At first I could see the life in Splash, in her gills and in her body. Then she was gone. Her body lay still. Lifeless.
Soon her fins and her scales and her other features melted away until Splash became the fishy blob that had once floated in the bucket. The big piece separated into a pile of smaller slivers of trout. I remembered them flipping around my room. Now they lay drying out in the sun.
All that life and joy, all gone.
Using my hands as a scoop, I pushed dirt over the pieces of trout until they were buried beside the stick. Then I poured the water from Splash’s bucket onto the mound of dirt. I imagined it trickling past the pieces of fish and the roots of the stick, then soaking further down to where Monty’s body lay.
This was what Splash wanted. This was what she had asked me to do. This was why she had come.
I heard a noise behind me.
‘Jamie!’ It was Connor. And not just Connor; Mum and Dad were with him. ‘Come and look,’ I said, pointing at the little stick.
All three of them came and stood near Monty’s grave. Mum put her arm around me. ‘Are you okay, Jamie?’ she asked.
‘What do you think?’ I began to say, but I didn’t get any further.
Mum and Dad gasped as the stick started to push up. Thicker and taller it grew, as if we were watching it in time-lapse. When it was about as wide as my arm the trunk sprouted branches.
‘Look at that . . .’ cried Connor.
All four of us stepped back as the tree grew even more. It was my height and branching out. Clumps of dirt dropped away as the trunk pushed the soil aside. Twigs sprouted out of the branches. Leaves sprouted out of the twigs.
We stepped back again. The trunk grew thicker and thicker as the branches sprouted more and more twigs, and more leaves.
Finally we moved back one last time. In front of us stood a mature apple tree. Solid, strong.
‘Oh my . . .’ Mum whispered.
Before anyone else could speak, the tree blossomed.
Delicate, pale pink flowers appeared like fairy dresses. For a moment, they fluttered in the breeze. Then their centres swelled and grew into apples.
The apples grew bigger, riper, redder until the tree was covered.
Finally, one last branch reached out towards me and stopped just where I could touch it. A perfect apple dangled from the branch.
I reached out and picked the apple. Then I took a bite. The apple was sweet and juicy.
‘Yum,’ I said, and smiled at my family.
Connor was shaking his head in wonder. He looked as if he wanted to pick an apple too. But Mum and Dad looked stunned.
‘Pick one, Connor,’ I said. ‘It’s a present.’
Connor reached out and picked an apple. He paused for a moment then took a bite.
‘Mmmmmm,’ he munched. ‘A present from who?’
‘From Monty,’ I said, ‘and from Splash.’
The apple tree is still in our backyard. Its apples are the best I’ve ever tasted. And even though I’ve eaten dozens of apples now, I always think of Monty as I munch. The way he’d bound after a stick and then trot back happily with his ears pricked up. The way he used to make me feel. I think about Monty a lot, but I think about Splash too.
Even though she was only here a short time, I remember the clever jumps Splash made after she had done some magic, and the feeling of having something special to look after. When I go to the Big Cow Cafe, I feel somehow close to her, even though she’s gone.
I also remember the things she taught me, about life, and about death. About where things come from, like Monty’s collar, and about where everything is going.
I miss Splash, but in the end, I know that she had to go. Even though she was magic, she wasn’t meant to be here forever. Nothing is.
But I’ll never forget.
‘Wow, pretty cool.’
‘You can’t even see the top.’
‘Look at the size of that crane on the roof.’
Everyone around me has their heads back and their mouths open, staring up at Grand Southern Tower.
Not me. I keep my eyes locked on the ground. And my mouth shut.
‘Alright, class,’ calls Mr Tan. ‘Pair up please. Find an excursion buddy.’
Voom. Even lightning doesn’t move as fast as my class picking partners. Indigo is left with a choice between me and Big Mouth Bruce. She rubs her cheek and steps towards Bruce. Of course.
‘Okaaay,’ says Mr Tan looking at me. He’s a relief teacher, so he’s the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on. ‘Do you want to form a group of three?’
I shake my head. ‘No. See, I’m not actually going up. I’ll just wait for you all down here.’ I cross my arms to show that I’m the kind of person who means business. The decision has been made.
Mr Tan’s eyes narrow. ‘You’re Alice, aren’t you? Your mum called the school about this.’
‘And explained why I won’t be going up?’ I ask hopefully.
‘Actually, she thought it would be good for you, and I have to say that I agree.’
Great. That’s all I need. Mum also thinks that broccoli and fresh air are good for me, so there’s no trusting her judgement.
Mr Tan bends down until his face is level with mine, his hands on his knees. There’s something about his eyes that makes it hard for me to look away. They’re the blackest of any black that I’ve ever seen.
‘Listen, Alice,’ he says quietly. ‘I know it’s no fun being afraid. But if you face up to your fears, I promise you’ll find they’re not as bad as you think.’
Now he’s sounding like Dad. There is nothing to fear but fear itself.
‘I don’t know,’ I say slowly. ‘Mrs Summers just lets me sit out.’
‘Well, Mrs Summers isn’t here now, is she?’ Mr Tan smiles, and for a moment it’s almost as if we’re sharing our own private joke. ‘Just stick with me and I’ll talk you through it, okay?’
‘Yeah, maybe . . .’ I say vaguely. As far as relief teachers go, Mr Tan’s not all that bad. But those big black eyes aren’t fooling me. My feet are staying firmly on the ground, thank you very much.
Our class files into the lobby of the Grand Southern Tower. A huge banner reads grand opening! see the city from the tallest building in the southern hemisphere!
The ceiling’s really high and hung with lights that look like huge snowflakes. Beyond the ticket booth is a whole row of lifts. As long as I don’t go anywhere near them, I’ll be fine.
Everyone’s desperate to get to the lifts, but Mr Tan smiles and points us towards a sign that says interactive centre. ‘How about we learn a bit about the structure before we go up, eh?’
Sounds good to me.
It’s dark in the Interactive Centre, and the ceiling is low. I like it as soon as I step inside. Photos along one wall show every stage of the building process as well as the architecture plans. Scale models of other tall buildings around the world are roped off in the centre of the room. Dubai, New York, Taipei . . .
Shanghai has the highest outdoor observation deck in the world. I’m definitely not going to Shanghai. Ever. What if someone makes me go up and observe things?
When we come to the model of Grand Southern Tower, my eyes travel to the observation deck. They have to travel up. Even when it’s just a model, this building is taller than me. That can’t be healthy. I hold onto the rope and let my eyes drop down the length of the model. Floor after floor, all the way down to street level. Tiny little plastic people are frozen in position, going about their tiny little plastic lives . . .
The next thing I know, the room begins to tilt. My throat tightens and my knuckles turn pale as I clutch the rope.
‘Impressive, hey?’ Mr Tan juts his chin at the model of Grand Southern Tower. ‘Cutting-edge engineering. It’s safer than some buildings that are a tenth of this height.’
‘It’s not like I’m worried about the building falling down,’ I say, turning away from the model.
Mr Tan’s quiet, waiting. Even in the dim light I can feel him watching me.
So I take a breath and keep going. ‘It’s just . . . I get dizzy . . . My whole body goes weak and I have to grab onto something.’ Like my excursion buddy, which is what happened last year when our class went on a trek to Maidenhair Falls. I look up at Mr Tan and hit him with my big guns. ‘Then I start feeling really sick. You don’t want me to throw up all over the floor, do you?’ Or all over my excursion buddy which, unfortunately for Indigo, is also what happened last year at Maidenhair Falls.
Mr Tan laughs. ‘No, I don’t want that to happen. But if you face your fears today, I promise everything will be alright. Will you do that for me, Alice? Will you give it a shot?’
This is making me nervous. Mr Tan seems to have me at the top of his to-do list. The very top.
He leans close. ‘Trust me, Alice. I used to be afraid of heights, too. But then something happened and I realised you can’t run away from your fears forever.’
I swallow and nod because he’s given me an idea. I’m going to run right outta here.
The tour guide taps Mr Tan on the shoulder and pulls him aside. It gives me a chance to scan the exits. The main archway where we entered the Interactive Centre is also the way you’re meant to leave. But I see a door near the back of the room that looks promising. I’m too far away to read the sign.
Mr Tan glances in my direction then back to the tour guide, so I wander up to the other end of the room, pretending to be totally transfixed by the exhibits along the way.
When I casually glance back, Mr Tan is still talking to the tour guide, holding his arms out and shaking his head. Time to make my move. Indigo looks over as I pass, but I just smile and keep going. I’m not even sure what I’ll do when I get through the door. Curl up in a dark corner? Find a broom closet and hide inside until the trip to the top is over? It’s not like I want to run away, exactly. More like lie low until the storm clouds pass.
But when I reach the door, my heart sinks. through to staff elevators, says the sign.
No way, I’m not going anywhere near those things. I spin around, looking for somewhere else to hide. In a little alcove in the corner I see a door I’d overlooked before, probably because it’s painted all black. I can tell that it’s not meant for the public. It almost seems to disappear into the wall.
I check to see if anyone’s watching and just make out the top of Mr Tan’s head moving through the crowd, turning from side to side as if he’s looking for someone. Me?
He’s tried so hard to help. I feel bad for sneaking away. For a moment Mr Tan’s words come back. You can’t run away from your fears forever.
I look at the door, then at the top of Mr Tan’s head. It’s stopped moving now, and is facing my way. I’m not sure if he can see me, it’s so dim in here. But it makes me wonder, maybe I should stay . . . Maybe I will be alright . . .
Then I imagine what it would be like at the top of this place, teetering above the world and feeling like I’m about to fall off. What was I thinking? There’s no way I’m going up the tallest building in the southern hemisphere. If people were meant to be that high, we’d have been born with jet engines.
I have to get out. Now! The knob on that strange black door seems to vibrate as I twist it, but the door doesn’t budge. I take a breath and push against it with my shoulder. The door opens slightly with my weight and the hinges groan as if it hasn’t been opened in ages. I keep pushing as hard as I can until the gap is wide enough for me to squeeze through.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind me my senses are filled with a low hum. It shakes my bones and makes my teeth vibrate. What is this place? It’s a tiny room, close and enclosed. An eerie green glow lights up bare walls and another door a few steps away. I’m feeling around the room for a light switch when the humming stops. Just like that. All I can hear is the sound of my breathing. This place is creepy. There’s no way I’m staying in here. But there’s no way I’m going back into the Interactive Centre either. That leaves the other door.
