Don't Kiss Girls and Other Silly Stories (10 page)

‘I think it's really cool,' she says. ‘And definitely sexy.'

She lightly touches my spiked-up hair, which I think looks about as sexy as a rooster. ‘Well, you better get to work, Tone. See you around, huh?'

‘So you're really
finished?'
I say.

‘Yeah!' She slaps me on the shoulder. ‘You're still the same, aren't you? Always joking around.'

‘Yep. That's me. A real joker.' I stumble out of the chair knowing only one thing. The joke's on me.

As I'm walking out a lady calls me over. I saw her cutting hair earlier and she looked like she knew what she was doing. Maybe she's going to
fix
up my haircut?

‘That'll be eighteen dollars,' she says.

I'm too stunned to say anything. Eighteen bucks to have my hair mangled into a thousand different pieces? I look over and Ashleigh mouths ‘thank you' at me.

I take out my wallet and pay.

*

As I ride my bike to work I try to make a plan. I can't let people see me like this. My reputation will be ruined.

A horn honks behind me, nearly making me fall off my bike. As I turn my head to yell an insult, I recognise the four-wheel drive.

A boy is leaning out the passenger window. I recognise him, too.

‘Nice do, Rossy! You get a job at the funeral parlour?'

‘Shut up, Kane.'

He's wearing a polo shirt because he's doing work experience as a golf pro. He rang me up after the
firs
t day and said that all he has to do is drive one of those carts around, which was great until he did doughnuts in the sand trap and got bogged.

I couldn't stop laughing when he told me. Now he's laughing at me.

His sister, Lacey, is looking th
rough the back window. She and I were mates until I started going out with Ashleigh Simpkin. Then she started chucking stuff at me
.

But maybe she's
finally
getting over it because she rolls down the window and waves at me. She also says something. ‘Smile.'

Why does she want me to smile? Then I see what's in her hand. A mobile phone! The little stinker is
filming
me.

I give them one of Joe's special waves and they speed off, Kane's laughter echoing in my head.

As soon as I arrive at council chambers, I go looking for Dad.

‘Holy guacamole,' he says when I walk into his office. ‘The lawnmower definitely won.'

‘I need a hat,' I say.

‘You need more than that. If the blokes see you like this, there's going to be hell to pay. For you and me.'

I nod. For once in his life, Dad's right. Even if I get away with it for one day, I can't wear a hat forever. Imagine what my mates will say when I get back to school. Imagine what Simon and Belinda will say when I get home. Imagine what I'll say when I walk past a mirror.

‘Can you help, Dad?'

‘Yeah. I think so. Sit tight.'

He leaves the office and returns a few minutes later with something even more important than a shovel, Vaseline or an esky. It's a pair of clippers. He takes the kettle out, plugs the clippers in and
finishes
the job that Ashleigh started. In a few minutes the wastepaper basket is full of long, straight, spiky hair.

‘Now let me get you that hat,' says Dad.

By the afternoon I'm feeling a lot better. I've got a nice cool haircut, a cap on, and no one's looked at me like I was a freak since Dad gave me the chop.

I'm on traffic duty and cars are stopping and going slow when I tell them to. Once again, all is right with the world.

And then Ashleigh's mum drives towards me. I consider turning my sign around from STOP to SLOW, but then she'd be driving straight into a car coming the other way. That's probably against council regulations.

Mrs Simpkin rolls down the window. ‘Working hard I see, Tony.'

‘Yep.'

Ash calls out from the passenger's seat. ‘Hey, Tone. Show Mum the haircut.'

‘Yes,' says Mrs Simpkin, ‘I really want to see it. Ashleigh hasn't stopped talking about it since I picked her up.'

‘Hang on a sec,' I say, pointing at my walkie-talkie like I've just got an urgent call.

‘How long, Joe?' I say.

‘Well,' he says, ‘there's a big line of cars coming my way. How many have you got?'

‘Just one,' I say. ‘But it's my ex-girlfriend and—'

‘Yeah, I understand,' says Joe. ‘I'll let you two talk for a
long
time.'

‘No …'

But he's already signed off.

‘Come on, Tony,' says Ash. ‘Take your hat off.'

‘I would, but I'm not allowed to. Occupational hell and safety and all that.'

‘Since when were you a follower?' she says. ‘Come on. Just for a second. Do it for me.'

‘I'm sure you weren't wearing a hat yesterday,' says Mrs Simpkin.

Far out!

Slowly I lift up my cap and shake my hair loose. Trouble is, there is no hair.

Ashleigh's face goes from happy to sad, and then to mad.

‘That's, like, so rude!' she cries.

‘It's not my fault!' I say.
‘The blokes here held me down and chopped my
hair off against my will. They don't understand Emos.
I'm thinking about pressing charges.'

Wacko is walking past, a pick in hand. He starts chuckling.

‘Don't believe him, Ashleigh,' says Mrs Simpkin. ‘He's lying. I can see it in his beady eyes.'

My eyes are so not beady!

‘Go on, Ashie. Show him what Matt bought you,' she says.

For a moment Ashleigh just looks at me, but then she lifts out a necklace from under her shirt. It's got half a love heart hanging off it.

‘Real gold,' says Mrs Simpkin. ‘Very expensive.'

‘It's broken,' I say.

I
finally
get the go-ahead from Joe.

‘So are we,' Ashleigh says as they drive past.

The words cut my heart like a knife.

*

It's lunchtime. Men nod at me between bites of their meat pies, encouraging me to bare my broken heart.

‘Like, I'm the one with no hair and she's making
me
feel guilty? What's going on there?'

‘It's women, mate,' says Wacko, shrugging. ‘Can't live with 'em. Can't live without 'em.'

‘Not unless
you turn gay,' says the bloke next to Wacko.

We laugh.

‘What can I do to get her back?' I ask. ‘Her boyfriend just gave her a gold necklace.'

‘There's only one answer to that,' says Joe.

He looks at the boys and they burst into song. ‘
Money, money, money. Get some money. Then you'll get the girl
.'

I've never heard the song but I know what they mean. Devo bought her half a love heart and now I have to do better. I have to buy her the whole thing.

Trouble is, unless someone throws some coins at me as they drive past, I'm not going to
find
any cash around here.

I'll have to talk to Joe in private. I need a few tips for this weekend's races.

What Are the Odds?

Back at school everyone's talking about work experience. Brains worked with a pathologist and I ask what sort of path he got to make – concrete or gravel. Neither, Brains says, he got to cut a lady open with a scalpel. Luckily for her she was already dead.

Gavin Fox was a TV repairman and nearly electrocuted himself, and Kane reckons he got a hole in one, although he's probably talking about a tyre on the golf cart.

‘What did youse do, Rossy?' asks Mulligan – a nice bloke until you get on the wrong side of him, then he turns psycho.

‘Worked for the council,' I answer. ‘Fixed roads, directed traffic—'

‘Mowed his own hair,' says Kane.

Kids laugh, although they don't
know the half of it. Luckily Kane hasn't mentioned my
hair's brush with the emotional side. Maybe he's
not such a bad bloke after all.

I'm more focused on the future than on the past, especially on tomorrow. It's Melbourne Cup Day and I'm pretty sure I know who's going to win.

Me.

You see, I talked to Joe, and he said the only winner at horse racing (besides the horse) are people called bookmakers. They don't actually make books, they take bets, and because most betters are dumb, bookmakers rake it in.

I've decided that for Melbourne Cup Day, I'm going to be the school bookmaker. Or, as they're known by us experts, a bookie. It's time some cash galloped my way.

I think about asking Kane to
help me but decide he'd probably rip me off.
Instead, I tell Gavin my idea and he's all for
it. He says he'll text and email people tonight and tell them
to bring money for the Cup. We decide to be bookie partners,
splitting everything
50/50
. There are only
two of us so I'm pretty sure that should work.

The next morning when I walk through the school gates, a group of Year Nine boys rushes towards me. I'm about to run away when I notice that a couple of them are holding newspapers. A rolled-up newspaper might sting but it's not the weapon of choice among Year Nine boys, so I stick around to see what they want.

‘Five bucks on Razzle Snazzle,' says one guy, thrusting money in my face.

‘What are the odds on Life'
s a Gamble?' says another.

I take the
five
bucks and act like I know what I'm talking about. ‘If your horse wins,' I say, ‘I'll double your money.'

He looks confused. ‘What odds is that?'

‘Good ones.'

He seems happy enough, handing over ten bucks.

Gavin and I talked about odds yesterday and realised that we didn't really know how they worked. Doubling people's money for picking the winning horse was my idea. And a pretty good one, I reckon.

By recess we've got over $100 cash! My pockets are so weighed down with gold coins I couldn't play handball even if I wanted to. Besides, I'm too busy taking bets.

We'd have
a lot more coinage but heaps of kids are
wanting to bet with no money, promising to
pay us tomorrow. I don't really like
that idea but Gavin says it's okay for our
friends to do it. What I didn't know is that
Gavin has over 3,000 friends on Facebook, and it
seems that most of them want to bet on the Melbourne
Cup.

We make them write a note swearing to pay us, because then we'll have legal evidence against them if they don't. And if the legal stuff doesn't work, at least I'll know who they are. I might be able to hire Mulligan to beat them up.

Speak of the devil, here he comes.

‘Fifty bucks on Life's a Gamble,' Mulligan says.

I give a low whistle. ‘Got the cash?'

‘Nah. But I've got a note. And you know I'm trustable.'

I pause, knowing only one thing: This isn't good. If I don't take his note he might go psycho on me, but if I do and he has to pay me back he might go nuts as well.

‘I have to check with my business partner,' I say.

‘He's in the dunny,' says Mulligan. ‘Here, I've already written it.'

He hands over a piece of paper that says:

‘Come on, Rossy. I consider youse a mate,' he says, holding out the note.

I don't have much choice. I take it.

We get to watch the race during maths, but only after Mr Relf gives us a lesson on odds.

‘Now, the favourite for this year's Cup is a horse called Life's a Gamble,' he says.

He's right there. Most kids have betted on it and if it wins we're going to owe more money than we make, which isn't good. Especially when I don't have any money to begin with.

‘The last time I checked it was paying three to one,' Mr Relf continues. ‘So if I put a dollar on it, how much money will I get back if it wins?'

Gavin pipes up. ‘Rossy and I will double your money, sir.'

Kids chuckle.

Mr Relf raises his eyebrows. ‘Wrong answer. And I hope there's no betting going on in this school. It's highly illegal.'

Gavin starts back-pedalling, not wanting to get busted and
lose our hard-earned cash. ‘Of course not, sir.'

‘No,' I agree. ‘We don't want to go to the slammer.'

‘The slammer's not that bad,' Mulligan says. ‘I went there for work experience. They get Foxtel.'

Mr Relf tries to get back to maths. ‘Anyone else know what I'd get if I put a dollar on Life's a Gamble at three to one?'

Brains raises his hand. He knows all the answers. ‘Four dollars.'

‘That's right,' says Mr Relf. ‘Three to one means that for every dollar I put on, I'll win three dollars plus get my original dollar back, which means I'll end up with four dollars.'

All around the class, kids who've made bets with us start counting their
fingers
and looking at each other.

Mulligan puts his hand up. ‘So, sir, say if someone said they'll double your money, what odds is that?'

‘It's called even money,' Mr Relf answers, looking our way. ‘Not very good odds at all.'

Mulligan throws me a
filthy
look, and I get some dirty ones from other directions. I better do something before there's mutiny on board the bookie ship.

I put my hand up. ‘You can get worse odds than even money though, can't you, sir?'

‘Yes, it's possible. You can get odds on, which means …'

I stop listening. I just wanted to prove to everyone that we're not giving them the worst possible deal – only a bad one.

Mr Relf tries to teach us some more but no one's listening.

‘Can we put the TV on now, sir?' asks Gavin. ‘The race is about to start.'

‘Yeah!' says everyone except Brains. I think he likes maths more than TV.

Mr Relf sighs and switches it on. Everyone suddenly looks a lot more interested.

The horses are on their way to the starting gate and I feel all tingly in my tummy. No wonder people like betting so much. It kind of makes you feel like you do before a date. You don't know if at the end of the night you'll get kissed. Or get slapped.

When they make it to the gate all the horses walk in except for one. It's shaking its head and stamping and bucking – kind of like me when I was young and Mum tried to make me have a bath.

The commentator says that the crazy horse is Life's a Gamble. Yes! If it wins I'll lose, so I want it to be as nervous as a kitten walking past a dog kennel before the race. Other kids in the class are getting nervous, too. They are whispering that they want to back out of their bets.

‘No way,' I say. ‘It's too late. Rules are rules.'

Finally, Life's a
Gamble makes it in and a bell goes. The commentator yells,
‘And they're off!' and the horses burst out of the
gates like we do at the end of a school da
y.

The horses lope around the track and I feel a rush of excitement mixed with confusion, because it's hard to tell which horse is which. Luckily the commentator tells us what's going on. ‘Leading the pack is Two Weeks with the Queen, in second we have Gift of the Gab, then Boy Overboard followed by Toad Away …'

He keeps going and going and I don't hear Life's a Gamble once. Has it run the wrong way? Then I hear, ‘In second-last we have Misery Guts, and right at the
tail, Life's a Gamble.
It's not looking good at all for
the favourite.'

A smile crawls across my face. It mightn't be looking good for the favourite, but it's looking darn good for the bookies.

I start thinking about what I'm going to do with the money. If everyone pays up we should make a couple of hundred each, which is enough to buy something really nice for Ashleigh. I wonder if she'd like a ticket to the big monster truck show coming to town?

‘And with 800
metres to go, Life's a Gamble is
making his move around the outside!' cries the commentator.

What move? I crash back into the present.

‘Go!' yell half the kids in the room.

‘No!' yells Gavin.

‘Life's a Gamble has woken up and is absolutely
flying!'
yells the commentator.

He's lying. The horse might be going super fast but he's not
flying.
Not yet.

‘Once is still in the lead but Life's a Gamble is coming home strong. Once. Life's a Gamble. Once. Life's a Gamble. It's Once … Life's a Gamble has won it on the line! What a magnificent run!'

‘Yaaaay!' yells the class.

‘No waaay!' yells me.

Gavin drops his head into his hands.

My stomach drops somewhere around my
bum region.

We're stuffed.

I'm never going to gamble again, I decide. Well, I might gamble to win my money back, but after that, no way. Well, not unless I get told about a sure thing.

Soon kids are pointing and yelling at Gavin and me, telling us that they want their money right now, even though half of them haven't even paid us yet.

The commentator is still talking but I'm not listening anymore. I'm trying to
figu
re out which school I can move to. Our two closest schools are Drug Dealer High and Gangland Central Community College. It's a tough choice.

One thing is for sure: I can't stay here. When I don't pay up, kids will be
fighting
each other to kill me.

‘Quieten down,' Mr Relf says. ‘There's a protest.' A protest? I look up, expecting to see a bunch of hippies walking around the track with signs saying ‘Stop Horsing Around'. The track is empty.

‘Life's
a Gamble may have impeded the third place-getter,'
says the commentator. ‘If that's the case he
could be disqualified, which would be a cruel, cruel blow.'

Disqualified? Are you joking? That would be awesome!

There's a
slow-motion replay of Life's a Gamble drifting across in
front of a horse called Girl Underground. It doesn
't look too bad, nothing Kane hasn't done to
me heaps of times during cross-country races.

And then the commentator starts yelling again: ‘The protest has been upheld! The protest has been upheld!'

Everyone is confused.

‘What's he talking about?' Mulligan shouts at Mr Relf. ‘Did he win or lose? Am I rich or what?'

‘I don't know about your personal wealth, David, but what it means is Life's a Gamble has lost. Once is the winner.'

Gavin and I cheer. Not one person betted on Once. Someone throws a maths book at my head but I don't really care.

It's money time.

*

After all the counting is done and dusted it turns out we made $466: $120 in cash, $346 in promises. Not bad at all.

Gavin and I take 60 bucks each and I bring an empty wallet to school the next day to collect the rest. Seeing as they're all good friends of either me or Gavin, it should be easy.

‘Aww, sorry, mate. I'll bring it tomorrow,' says a Year Nine boy, smirking. ‘Or maybe next year.'

‘You think I'm paying you losers?' says a Year Seven girl.

I would give her a piece of my mind except she's standing next to her boyfriend. He's in Year Seven, too, but he's supposed to be in Year Nine. Small brain, massive arms.

‘What are you talking about?' says Mulligan. ‘Life's a Gamble won. I saw it with me own eyes.'

I try to
speak nicely. ‘No, it didn't. It got disqualified.'

‘No, that was rigged. It won. I saw it. You should pay
me
.'