Pick Your Poison

‘I got something to tell you,’ said Ruby.

‘Please don’t make me guess,’ said Clancy.

‘My dad gave me this.’ Ruby took out the invitation.

‘You must be in his good books,’ said Clancy. ‘My dad said you either got to know the right people or part with a whole lot of cash.’

The first class of the morning was behavioural science and Mr Cornsworth was excited to announce a project which he hoped all the students would take part in.

‘I would like you to explore the idea of social interaction and think about the way human beings form groups and clubs and the various ways they communicate. Perhaps you could explore and investigate the importance and significance of these rituals.’

There was a lot of exaggerated yawning from Vapona Begwell and Gemma Melamare. Bailey Roach, who was sitting at the back of the class, was throwing balled-up pieces of paper across the room. Mr Cornsworth was not a confident teacher and had little clue when it came to controlling a class of thirteen and fourteen-year-olds, but when he went on to mention there would be ‘extra credit’ suddenly there was a lot of interest.

Vapona, Gemma and Bailey Roach really needed to make up their grades. So did Clancy, as a matter of fact, but he was interested in the project for other reasons. Already he could see the outlines of a way of making a strong challenge to Mrs Bexenheath’s proposal that the school lockers be relocated. Not only might he change Principal Levine’s mind, but he could also gain a big tick on his grade sheet.

Clancy started planning immediately, chewing on his pen.

Ruby felt she had enough on her plate, psychologically speaking, without having to think about other people’s behavioural patterns – and besides, she didn’t need the extra credit. She might not be the most punctual, but she was a straight-A student.

The issue more immediately facing her was the psychological falling apart of her basketball teammates. She had been thinking about this for much of the morning, already dreading the moment when school would end and she and her team would have to make their way to the Basketball courts, where they would almost certainly lose.

Mouse was sat on the bench just down from the lower Amster stop when Ruby got there, waiting for the bus that would take them to the tournament. Opposite was a large brick wall and newly pasted there was an advertisement for something which showed the massive cartoon head of a kid, eyes crossed, and twisting from the mouth in huge curly letters the words:

Weird, thought Ruby. What’s that supposed to—

‘What do you think the likelihood is that we get totally slammed?’ said Mouse, interrupting her thoughts.

‘You know that’s not a great attitude, Mouse.’

‘I just hate losing, and with Del on the bench we probably will.’

‘I read in this tennis coaching magazine that you’re a whole lot more likely to win if you love winning.’

‘I do love winning, that’s what I said.’

‘No, you said you hate losing. You shouldn’t be focusing on the losing, just set your sights on winning.’

‘Yeah, I guess you’re right, but I don’t think we’re gonna.’

Ruby sighed, knowing this was probably true: most of her teammates did not have the killer instinct.

‘What do you reckon Taste Twisters are?’ said Ruby, staring at the image of the boss-eyed cartoon kid.

Mouse studied the picture.

She shrugged. ‘Some kind of candy – aimed at kids.’

Ruby continued to stare. ‘It’s odd that they don’t tell you what it is, don’t you think? I mean, ordinarily they would want you to know.’

‘What are you guys looking at?’ called Elliot. He was walking towards them along the sidewalk, his gym bag over his shoulder. Del and Red were lagging a little behind.

‘We are trying to figure out what a Taste Twister is,’ called Mouse.

Elliot joined them on the bench and he too turned his gaze on the poster.

After a couple of minutes he said, ‘A drink – it’s a drink of some kind, most probably a kids’ drink.’

‘Why a drink?’ said Mouse.

‘Because of the straw,’ said Elliot.

‘Where’s the straw?’ asked Mouse. ‘I can’t see any straw.’

‘The twisting words, they represent a straw.’

‘I don’t see it myself,’ said Mouse. ‘But if it were a drink then what flavour would it be?’

‘Milk,’ said Elliot. ‘Milk. Has to be.’

‘Why?’ said Mouse.

‘Look at the kid’s teeth. If it was for soda or something then they wouldn’t emphasise how white the kid’s teeth were. They’re saying drink milk and have strong white teeth.’

‘When do they ever advertise a drink and show the kid with rotten teeth?’ said Ruby. ‘Doesn’t matter if the drink is choc full of sugar and treacle, they would still show the kid smiling a pretty smile. White teeth proves nothing.’

‘Who cares what it is,’ said Del. ‘I’d as soon drink a blue slushy, they’re super good.’

‘Think like that, my friend, and you’ll never taste anything better,’ said Red.

‘What’s better than a slushy?’ said Del.

‘You’ll never know,’ said Red.

‘I like slushies,’ said Del.

‘You should broaden your horizons,’ said Ruby.

They sat looking for a little longer until Elliot shook his head and said, ‘I gotta make tracks.’

The bus came into view and Mouse picked up her bag and waited for it to pull into the stop.

Ruby sat a little longer. Cross-eyes, she thought. If it’s a drink then it’s a sharp-flavoured drink. It has bite.

The game itself might only have been forty-eight minutes plus stoppage time, but it was a long and uncomfortable forty-eight minutes plus stoppage time. Vapona Begwell and her team (the Vaporizers) took every opportunity to step on Ruby’s toes, elbow her in the ribs and knock her over.

The Deliverers (Ruby’s team) did not make it through to round two, and so as far as Ruby was concerned, there didn’t seem like a whole lot of point sticking around until the end of the tournament. She certainly wasn’t going to sit there and watch the Vaporizers grab victory.

Vapona’s parting words were, ‘I’m gonna pulp you Redfort.’

‘Yeah, change the record would you, you said that at least forty times.’

Del Lasco didn’t have to suffer the insults and general barging because her wrist was still strapped and she was sitting comfortably on the sidelines.

‘She’s only looking to pulp you because she can’t pulp me,’ said Del.

‘Is that supposed to make me feel better,’ said Ruby, ‘knowing that just being your friend causes me pain?’

MOUSE AND RED HAD STUCK AROUND TO WATCH THE REST OF THE GAMES, but Ruby and Del didn’t have the heart. They now had time on their hands.

‘You wanna go down to Back-Spin and play table tennis?’ asked Del.

‘Oh, interesting, you can hold a ping-pong bat but you can’t dribble a basketball?’

‘Table tennis isn’t a contact sport,’ countered Del, ‘basketball can be.’

‘You don’t need to explain that to me,’ said Ruby. ‘You wanna see the bruises Bugwart laid on me?’

‘I can’t wait for my sprain to heal – I’ll be only too glad to have her try and land a punch.’

‘I’d be happy to point her in your direction,’ said Ruby.

‘Don’t worry about it, I’ll get her soon enough.’

‘You should give up on the fighting, it doesn’t achieve a thing. You think if you punch her she’s not gonna punch you back?’

‘It’s an honour thing,’ argued Del. ‘If I let her knock me down and I don’t retaliate, what will people think?’

‘That you’re not as dumb as you look.’

In the end they decided to give the table tennis café a miss and instead hang out at Ruby’s house. Ruby was keen for Del to keep a low profile and, in any case, Mrs Digby had mentioned that she might be baking. Mrs Digby’s baking was right up there with sliced bread – her cookies were in a league of their own.

When Del and Ruby made it home to Green-Wood house, they found Mrs Digby peering at a large piece of black and white paper rolled out on the kitchen table. She had a comedy-sized magnifying glass in her hand and was moving it across the paper, back and forth.

There was no sign of any cookies.

‘What are you looking at Mrs Digby?’

‘A map of old Twinford,’ she said without looking up. ‘Your father got it for me.’

‘Why dya wanna look at an old map?’ asked Del.

‘I like to see how things once were in this town,’ said the housekeeper.

‘And how were they Mrs Digby?’ said Ruby, her head in the pantry.

‘Better,’ said the housekeeper. ‘Seems every day now they go knocking an old building down or running a road through it. I barely recognise my own neighbourhood, find I get lost in my own city. If it weren’t for the place names, you wouldn’t have a blind clue what used to be there.’

‘So Mrs Digby,’ said Ruby, ‘we were sort of wondering if there might be any, you know, cookies?’

The housekeeper put her hands on her hips and said, ‘Upstairs in your room, and don’t ever go about saying I’m not a slave to your every need.’

It was while they were sitting on the roof eating Mrs Digby’s cookies that misfortune struck.

Ruby had just popped down to the kitchen to fetch some banana milk and returned to find Del peering over the top into the next-door yard.

‘What are you looking at?’ asked Ruby.

‘Your comic – I just put it down for a second while I put on my sweater …’ said Del.

Ruby looked over the roof edge: there was the comic sitting on Mr Parker’s lawn.

‘It was an accident,’ said Del. ‘The wind sorta took it.’

‘You know, Kung Fu Martians is rare – that’s a collector’s edition, plus I haven’t finished reading it.’

‘I’m sorry OK,’ said Del, getting to her feet. ‘Look, I’ll go knock on his door and ask for it back.’

‘You’re kidding. You think you can just go over to Mr Parker’s and ask for your comic back? You must be crazy.’

‘Sure I do – what’s the worst he can do?’

‘One – feed it to his dog; two – feed you to his dog.’

‘You’re being a little dramatic, aren’t you?’

‘No,’ said Ruby, ‘actually, NO. Remember Red’s hat?’ Del made a face, she remembered all right. ‘Oh, and don’t forget Clancy’s sweater, Clancy’s left sneaker, Clancy’s trumpet, my mom’s scarf – he apologised for that one, he even returned it, though the whole middle section was missing.’

‘OK,’ sighed Del, ‘I get your point, I’ll have to climb over the fence.’

‘With your wrist strapped? I don’t think so.’ Ruby stood up. ‘It’s me that’s gonna have to get it.’ Without another word, she stepped off the rooftop and onto the eucalyptus branch that extended towards the house. Darn it Del, she thought.

Ruby walked the branch like a tightrope walker might, arms outstretched and feet stepping one in front of the other, until she reached the end. From there she looked out across the yard and the alley that ran between the backs of the houses. She was looking to see where Mr Parker was and, perhaps more crucially, Mr Parker’s dog, Bubbles. Mr Parker was a man who rarely had a good word to say about anyone or anything. He just didn’t like people and as Mrs Digby so wisely said, ‘Steer clear of folks who don’t like folks.’ Bubbles, meanwhile, was a dog who didn’t like people, but did enjoy biting them. For these two reasons Ruby rarely trespassed on Mr Parker’s land, not if she could possibly help it.

She stood there perfectly still, listening for activity that might warn of her neighbour’s presence, but she could only hear the wind and feel its keenness to snatch her from her perch. She took a deep breath and leapt.

She landed on the branch of the tree next door and she didn’t stop, running now, climbing as high as the tree would take her. She moved so quickly that the weaker branches had no time to snap, her weight gone before the branch realised it could not hold her.

As Ruby swayed from limb to limb, reaching out to grab another, stepping lightly from one to the next, she felt almost like she were defying gravity, treading the space between things. Having left the safety of her own yard, she wanted nothing more than to retrieve the comic and get out of there. She couldn’t see Bubbles. She waited, she scanned the yard, looking all around, but there was no sign of the Doberman, which meant Mr Parker was out. Below her, a large cat watched, tail twitching, ready to pounce should the strange bird fall.

If Bubbles was here, she reasoned, then this cat would be running for its life.

She dropped to the ground, ran to the middle of the lawn and snatched up the comic, then stuffed it down her sweatshirt and began to climb back up the tree.

‘What exactly are you doing?’

The voice came from far below.

It wasn’t one Ruby recognised and in her confusion she nearly toppled from the branch.

‘Relax!’ came a different voice. ‘It’s just me!’

‘Jeepers Clance! Is that supposed to be funny? You nearly half scared the wits out of me.’

‘Sorry Rube.’ He was staring up from the alley at the back of the houses, his eyes hidden behind a pair of flower-shaped dark glasses. ‘But actually what are you doing?’

‘Dicing with death.’

‘I’ll say,’ said Clancy. ‘You do know that if Mr Parker catches you you’ll be skinned alive?’

‘That’s the kind of thing Mrs Digby would say.’

‘Yes, and she happens to be right.’

‘And I happen to know he’s gotta be out – there’s no sign of Bubbles.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’

‘You scared, Crew?’

‘Sure I’m scared – and not of the dog. Mr Parker is one mean old man.’

‘You don’t wanna be scared of Mr Parker,’ said Ruby, preparing to jump back towards home. ‘Mr Parker is a pussycat.’ She leapt.

At that exact moment a voice bellowed and Ruby, losing concentration, failed to catch the branch her outstretched arm was reaching for and tumbled through the leaves, grabbing at any flimsy twigs that might prevent her fall.

‘Boy!’ the new voice boomed. ‘What are you doing peering over my yard fence?’

Clancy twisted around to see the angry beet-coloured face of Mr Parker.

‘Oh, me,’ stammered Clancy, ‘me?’

‘Yes, you, idiot. Is there another skinny, good-for-nothing chump looking into my yard?’

‘I wouldn’t think so Mr Parker, I’ll bet I’m the only one.’

‘So answer me quick – what’s got you so interested in my property?’

‘I saw a raccoon,’ said Clancy, ‘more than one, several, in fact lots of them. I was going to inform you because I thought you would want to, you know, call raccoon control?’

‘I don’t need raccoon control,’ he spat. ‘I’ll simply set my dog on them just as soon as I find her – she’s gone AWOL.’ He whistled a command as if to illustrate the point. ‘Disappeared into thin air,’ said Mr Parker. ‘I don’t suppose you know something about that, do you?’ He trained his beady eyes on Clancy and Clancy stepped back a pace.

‘Why would I, Mr Parker? But I’m happy to help you look.’

Unfortunately, Ruby’s cluster of twigs parted company with the tree at that moment and she was again tumbling through the branches and this time to the ground.

‘Ouch.’

Mr Parker’s ears pricked up. ‘Was that an ouch?’ he said, fumbling for his gate key.

‘I doubt it,’ said Clancy. ‘I’ve never heard a raccoon say ouch.’

‘Don’t get smart with me boy. It’s that Redfort girl, isn’t it?’

‘I wouldn’t think so sir.’

But Mr Parker wasn’t listening. ‘Girl!’ he bellowed. ‘You’re in trouble so deep you’ll need that hound of yours to dig you out.’

‘Hey, let me help you with that key,’ said Clancy, knocking the key out of the old man’s hand. It fell between the bars of a drain cover, clattered into the darkness and that was that for Mr Parker’s gate key.

This delaying tactic gave Ruby just enough time to stumble to her feet, then half-run half-limp across the Parker lawn.

Mr Parker whistled again to his dog and this time Ruby thought she did hear something: not a bark, not a yap, but perhaps a whimper. It was the noise an injured dog might make. It was coming from the space underneath the house.

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