Charlie and the Karaoke Cockroaches Read online

  Hils spread out the blanket on the grass. She placed the blender in front of her and all the other things around the blender.

  She passed me the nine-volt battery.

  ‘Hold that,’ she said. ‘You’re going to need it.’

  BETTER MY LITTLE PONY NAMES THAN THE ONES THEY HAVE NOW

  Thunder Bum

  Midnight Stumble

  Farty Flop

  Sparkle Droop

  Ploppy Poo

  Totter Fluffs

  Rainbow Sick-Up

  Dapple Dud

  Wettie Pants

  21

  THE THINC-NIC

  ‘A Thinc-nic,’ said Hils, ‘is a picnic where you only eat foods that have been proven to make your brain work better. When your brain is working better you will be able to come up with a good way of dealing with the box Vivien has left you. Or you could just tell me the amazing thing Vivien told you.’

  ‘I swore I wouldn’t,’ I said.

  ‘Then let us begin the Thinc-nic.’

  ‘How am I going to eat all these make-your-brain-work-better foods?’ I said.

  ‘In smoothie form,’ said Hils.

  ‘I love smoothies.’

  22

  THE SMOOTHIE

  Hils took the top off the blender.

  ‘For your brain to function at optimal capacity you need to be well hydrated,’ said Hils as she poured the coconut water into the blender.

  ‘Omega-3 is vital for brain health,’ said Hils. ‘Tuna is full of omega-3.’

  She tipped the tin of tuna into the blender.

  This was already not looking like the tastiest smoothie ever.

  Hils picked up the chilli.

  ‘Chilli helps your blood flow,’ she said. ‘Blood flow aids thinking.’

  Into the blender the chilli went.

  ‘That looks like a hot chilli,’ I said.

  ‘It is the hottest chilli in the world,’ said Hils.

  ‘Could I have my chilli on the side?’

  ‘Negative. Ginkgo biloba is an ancient herb known to help you think more clearly. I couldn’t get any of that so I grabbed some leaves off my mum’s ginkgo tree.’

  ‘Are ginkgo tree leaves and ginkgo biloba the same thing?’ I said.

  ‘Affirmative.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘What if,’ I said, ‘ginkgo tree leaves are poisonous?’

  ‘Then you will die.’

  ‘Thank you for not lying to me about the fact that this smoothie is probably going to kill me.’

  ‘I would never lie to you,’ said Hils.

  I knew that was a lie.

  Hils squashed the ginkgo tree leaves and branch into the blender.

  Hils then opened the blue plastic container and quickly dumped its contents into the blender.

  When whatever it was hit the blender it made a sound like an octopus being dropped onto a wet trampoline.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘It’s classified,’ said Hils.

  I decided not to remind Hils that only a few minutes ago she’d told me she hated secrets.

  ‘Is it classified because you spent many hours in a lab developing it and are worried that if you tell me what it is then enemy agents will capture and torture me until I tell them what it is, or is it classified because it’s really, very, super gross?’

  ‘It’s classified.’

  ‘It’s really, very, super gross, isn’t it?’

  ‘Affirmative.’

  ‘How gross?’ I said. ‘On a scale of one to ten where one is lemon gelato from that amazing place near your aunt’s house and ten is drinking stale cow wee from a mug made of blue cheese, how gross? One to ten?’

  ‘Twenty-seven billion,’ said Hils.

  That was a higher number than I had expected.

  ‘I have a right to know,’ I said.

  ‘It’s scrambled eggs,’ said Hils.

  ‘Scrambled eggs are yellow and bouncy not grey and squashy.’

  ‘It’s scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate.’

  ‘Chocolate?’

  ‘And asparagus.’

  ‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’

  ‘Affirmative. They are all brain foods.’

  ‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’

  Hils didn’t reply.

  ‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’

  She knew I needed to say ‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’ a few more times before I could ask any further questions.

  ‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’

  Hils stared at me patiently.

  ‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’

  I was nearly done.

  ‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’

  Hils nodded.

  ‘I’m not going to eat scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus.’

  ‘You’re not going to eat them. You’re going to drink them,’ said Hils.

  Drinking scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus sounded much worse than eating scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus.

  ‘I’m not going to drink scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus,’ I said.

  ‘You’re not just drinking scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus,’ said Hils. ‘You’re drinking scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus mixed with chilli, tuna, ginkgo leaves and coconut water. It’s a smoothie. You love smoothies.’

  ‘What is the smoothie called? If I am going to drink a chilli-tuna-leaf-branch-coconut-egg-chocolate-asparagus smoothie it is going to have to have a really, very, super tasty-sounding name.’

  Hils was silent.

  Thinking up names for things was not one of her strongest strengths.

  This was going to be tough for her.

  I felt mean thinking this but I was glad it was going to be tough for her. If I was going to drink a chilli-tuna-leaf-branch-coconut-egg-chocolate-asparagus smoothie – which I wasn’t – then thinking up a name that would make me drink it – which it wouldn’t – should be really, very, super hard for Hils.

  Hils was silent.

  Maybe I should help? I thought.

  No. She needed to do this on her own. She wanted me to drink chilli-tuna-leaf-branch-coconut-egg-chocolate-asparagus. She needed to work for that.

  Hils was silent.

  She did look like she needed help.

  Actually, Hils never looked like she needed help. Only I could tell when her I-never-need-help look was actually an I-really-do-need-help look.

  She needed help.

  I would help. That’s what friends do.

  I would start her off with one suggestion. The first one was always the hardest. Only one, though. After that she would be on her own.

  ‘How about Ginkgo Surprise?’ I said.

  That was it. That was the only help I was going to give her. From here on in she was on her own.

  Hils was silent.

  I felt sorry for her. She didn’t look it but inside she was writhing in agony because she couldn’t think up a name for her horrible, spew-coloured smoothie.

  ‘Looks-Like-Spew Smoothie?’ I said.

  I couldn’t help myself. I was really good at thinking up names for things.

  Hils was still silent.

  ‘Chilli Tuna Brain Extravaganza?’ I said.

  ‘Negative,’ said Hils.

  ‘You’re right.’

  Hils might not have been good at thinking up names for things but she was really good at working out what was wrong with the names for things that I thought up.

  ‘Red Velvet Cake Milkshake?’ I said.

  ‘That is factually incorrect. It has asparagus and leaves in it, not Red Velvet Cake.’

  ‘But calling it a Red Velvet Cake Milkshake certainly won’t remind me that I am about to drink asparagus and leaves.’

  Hil
s shook her head.

  ‘The Zombie?’ I said.

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘Tree-tastic Tuna Treat?’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘Brain-a-cino?’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘Brain-o-nade?’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘Jar of Smart?’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘Egg For Your Noggin?’

  ‘Negative,’ said Hils.

  ‘Tuna For Your Thoughts?’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘Brain Freeze?’

  ‘Good but not good enough,’ said Hils.

  ‘Drink This Awful Looking Grey Sludge Or I Will Make You Drink This Awful Looking Grey Sludge?’

  Hils considered it for a second. ‘Negative.’

  ‘Thinc-Shake?’

  ‘Let’s try it out,’ said Hils. ‘Excuse me, Charlie, would you like a Thinc-Shake?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I really would. That sounds very tasty.’

  ‘Thinc-Shake it is,’ said Hils.

  ‘Good suggestion,’ I said.

  ‘Affirmative.’

  Hils put the top on the blender and turned it on.

  The blender made exactly the sound you would imagine a blender would make if it was blending coconut water, tuna, chilli, ginkgo tree leaves (and branches) and scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus.

  I will never – ever – forget that sound.

  Hils stopped the blender blending.

  She took an old tin cup out of her backpack and poured the Thinc-Shake into it.

  I felt sick just looking at it.

  Hils handed me the cup.

  ‘Before you drink your Thinc-Shake,’ said Hils – and I was wrong, it didn’t sound really tasty – ‘I need to tell you what to do with the nine-volt battery.’

  23

  THE SHOCKING

  ‘The brain,’ said Hils, ‘works using electrical currents.’

  I nodded.

  ‘If we want your brain to work at optimum capacity then it needs as much electricity as it can get.’

  I nodded again. That sounded logical. Logical but potentially dangerous.

  ‘After each sip of Thinc-Shake that you take you are going to give your brain extra electricity by licking the metal end of the nine-volt battery.’

  I nodded my head. That sounded logical. Logical but actually dangerous.

  ‘No!’ I said.

  ‘Disobeying a direct order is a court-martial offence.’

  That is the army way of saying, ‘Drink the Thinc-Shake and lick the battery or I will punch you really, very, super hard on the shoulder and it will really, very, super hurt because you have a low tolerance for pain and I have a really strong punching arm.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said.

  ‘You have clearance to commence your mission.’

  This is army-talk for stop stalling and drink some smoothie.

  I took a sip of Thinc-Shake.

  ‘EWWWW!’

  Unfortunately calling it Thinc-Shake didn’t stop it tasting exactly like coconut water, tuna, chilli, ginkgo leaves and branches, and scrambled eggs, chocolate and asparagus blended together.

  I licked the sticky-outy bit of the nine-volt battery.

  ‘OWWW!’

  I sipped.

  ‘EWWWW!’

  I licked.

  ‘OWWW!’

  Sip.

  ‘EWWWW!’

  Lick.

  ‘OWWW!’

  Sip.

  ‘EWWWW!’

  Lick.

  ‘OWWW!’

  Sip.

  ‘EWWWW!’

  Lick.

  ‘OWWW!’

  ‘How do you feel?’ said Hils.

  ‘I feel okay,’ I said. ‘Yes. I feel okay. I did it. I drank the Thinc-Shake and licked the battery. Wow, I did it. My tongue is twitching quite a lot because I have been shocking it with electricity but apart from that I feel okay. I might even feel slightly better than okay. I’m absolutely sure I am going to be able to think up a great idea.’

  Then I fainted.

  24

  THE IDEA

  SLAP!

  I un-fainted.

  SLAP!

  I un-fainted because Hils was slapping me.

  SLAP!

  ‘Hils, stop slapping me.’

  Hils stopped slapping me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  SLAP!

  ‘Hils!’

  Hils actually stopped slapping me.

  ‘Did the Thinc-nic work?’ said Hils. ‘Have you had any good ideas?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Outstanding,’ said Hils.

  ‘Gum-leaf-flavoured rice bubbles,’ I said. ‘Gum-leaf-flavoured rice bubbles for koalas. They must get bored with only eating plain old gum leaves all the time. But they really love gum leaves. So we make gum-leaf-flavoured rice bubbles. All the gumminess of gum leaves with the snappy crackly poppiness of rice bubbles. I think it’s a really good idea.’

  25

  THE DEBRIEF

  ‘Debrief’ is what army people say when they mean, ‘Honestly discuss whether something you had just done was a success or a failure.’

  ‘The Thinc-nic was a failure, wasn’t it?’ I said.

  ‘Affirmative,’ said Hils.

  26

  THE CHOICE

  Hils and I were sitting on my bed.

  We were both staring at the box.

  ‘I know what to do with it,’ said Hils. ‘I will take it to a secret location and blow it up.’

  That sounded like a good idea.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  Even though I had said no, it still sounded like a good idea.

  ‘You are making an unsound operational decision,’ said Hils.

  This is army-speak for, ‘You should let me take the box away and blow it up.’

  ‘I swore to protect it,’ I said.

  ‘You could crush it with a tank,’ said Hils.

  ‘Crushing something with a tank isn’t protecting it. Anyway, I don’t have a tank.’

  Hils smiled. Well, almost smiled. Her lips moved a really, very, super tiny bit in a slightly upward direction.

  ‘Hils, do you have a tank?’

  Hils’s lips moved a really, very, super tiny bit in an upward direction. Again.

  ‘I cannot confirm or deny that,’ said Hils.

  That meant Hils probably did have a tank.

  ‘We’re not going to crush it with a tank.’

  ‘Why don’t you sell it?’ said Hils.

  ‘I could bury it.’

  ‘Why don’t you sell it?’

  ‘Burying it would protect it,’ I said.

  ‘Why don’t you sell it?’

  ‘I’ve got it,’ I said. ‘I could get our school involved in one of those projects where students team up with scientists and build a satellite which is actually going to be shot into space on an actual space rocket and I could secretly put the box in the satellite and it’d go up into space. That would really, very, super protect it. No. No. I haven’t got it. Everyone knows that wouldn’t work because the box would float around in space for years and then it’d be found by a passing spaceship and the box would include exactly the part the aliens on the spaceship needed to fix their enormous planet-destroying low-orbit laser cannon which they would fix and then use to blow up Earth as a test before they go and blow up the planet they really wanted to blow up.’

  ‘Why don’t you sell it?’

  ‘Why would anyone buy a mysterious black box given to me in the middle of the night by someone who has disappeared?’ I said.

  ‘People will buy anything,’ said Hils. ‘All we need to do is make some “For Sale” posters and put them up around the neighbourhood.’

  PEOPLE WILL BUY ANYTHING

  FOR SALE POSTERS I HAVE SEEN

  AROUND OUR NEIGHBOURHOOD

  FOR SALE:

  One shoe.

  FOR SALE:

  Brown shorts
. Weren’t always brown.

  FOR SALE:

  A painting of a zebra exploding.

  FOR SALE:

  Vintage Japanese spoon rest

  (I didn’t even know spoons got tired.

  I suppose stirring is hard work.)

  FOR SALE:

  A coffee mug. Has ‘Dad Smells of Farts’ written on it in texta.

  27

  THE ADVERTISEMENTS

  Hils grabbed a piece of paper and a pen off my desk.

  ‘That’s my good paper,’ I said. ‘I’ll get you some different paper.’

  Before I could get some different paper Hils had already finished a poster.

  ‘I don’t like that poster,’ I said.

  Hils immediately started making another one.

  ‘I told you not to use my good paper.’

  That evening Hils and I walked around the neighbourhood putting up the posters advertising the mysterious black box.

  Hils put her poster on one side of the road.

  ‘Your poster is a lie,’ I said to Hils as she stuck a poster to a wall that had a sign on it saying:

  ‘Have you looked in the box?’ said Hils.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then it might not be a lie.’

  I stuck my poster to a power pole.

  28

  THE REMORSE

  That night I lay awake in bed worrying.

  I spend a lot of time lying awake worrying so I am very good at it.

  I kind of wish worrying was a sport because then I’d be good at a sport.

  I am not even sure why I want to be good at a sport.

  It’s just something I figure it would be good to be good at.

  I worried about the posters.

  I worried about selling the box.

  I couldn’t sell the box. It wasn’t my box.

  I wasn’t going to sell it.

  I was going to go out and take down all the posters Hils and I had put up.

  I worried about going out at night, all by myself, and taking down the posters.

  I worried that if I didn’t go and take down the posters someone might buy the box.

  I worried that I would never work out whether I was more worried about going out at night and taking down the posters or not going out and not taking down the posters and maybe then selling the box.