Boy Next Door: Part 5

By PENELOPE TODD

When Dad had gone, I washed the dishes with the window wide, listening to the crunch of Joe's feet.

At school the boys in my class were like puppies. Funny, maddening; they had to be patted and told what to do. They needed adults. Apparently Joe didn't.

I tossed the dishcloth onto the taps and went out in the garden. I shot a few hoops against the back of the house, listening for Joe bumping round in the van, crossing over the gravel. Once he squawked and there was a crash on the wooden ramp.

What if I 'accidentally' chucked the ball over? I stepped back and shot. Trouble was, I was too good. I had to get reckless. I ran back and came at a wide angle, jumping into the splits. The ball glanced off the guttering and spun up the roof. I ran back to see it roll down the iron, gather speed, flick into the top of the hedge. Bummer.

There was a sudden rustle, a snap, the hedge shook, feet ran inside. Then silence.

I crept into the hedge. No sign of the ball. Okay, this was my chance. I'd have to go and ask for it. I backed out and brushed off the leaves.

'Catch!'

I heard the thunk of fist on vinyl, the ball arced over the hedge and bounced once on the concrete behind me. I leaped to snatch it, seeing in the same instant the stained concrete. My hands slid on the ball then stuck in something gritty, tacky. What on earth? The sweet smell was almost sickening. I looked closer. It was honey! Strange brown honey, smeared thick.

'Pinhead!' I shouted.

'Glueball!' His voice came back high and husky, laughing.

Yuk. What kind of twisted mind did that boy have? And to think I'd been trying to find a way to meet him. I stormed inside, kicked the door shut, dropped the ball in the laundry tub and washed my hands. Joe was a freak.

In the kitchen I banged the window shut and threw my stamp box and album onto the dining table. With a saucer of water I started soaking stamps off envelopes and drying them out. I imagined walking through Joe's entire house, in and out of the removal truck, drizzling golden syrup over every surface. That'd show him. I worked my way through a fat package of stamps and didn't budge all morning.

When Dad came home at last he slid a pizza into the oven and began slivering cabbage.

'Pineapple too, Dad?'

'If you open it. How'd the stamping go?'

'Good. I stuck in all the ones from Uncle Brett. Wild animals of America. Skunks included.' I fitted the opener onto the tin. 'Boy next door's a skunk.'

'A skunk? Now how would you've found that out already?'

I wrenched the opener round the rim. 'I haven't been anywhere, Dad, except in our own garden. But you don't have to go that near a skunk to find out it stinks.'

I could feel Dad's eyes one me. Sometimes I wish I had a helmet to keep him from reading my thoughts. Sometimes I wish he'd just agree with me. Yeah, you can tell from here - Joe stinks, let's get him!

But he said, 'People can get cranky moving house. It's stressful, y'know. Even for a kid.' He threw raisins into the salad bowl.

Why did he have to be so reasonable? 'Stressful for the neighbours more like.'

'Well for neighbours who sit quietly sorting stamps it should be no ordeal.' Eyebrows up.

'Huh.' I poured the pineapple juice into a cup and drank it.

'What say we go over after lunch to help Ms Skunk and son empty the truck?' said Dad.

I dolloped mayonnaise over the raisins. 'There is no mother skunk. Just one cruddy boy skunk with gross habits.'

Publisher: Longacre Press

Price: $16.95

Age group: 9-13 years


Want to win this book?
Send us all six of this week's Kids into Books coupons from the print edition of the New Zealand Herald and you'll go into the draw.