Read Online Blabber Mouth by Morris Gleitzman - Free Book Online Page A

up at seven-thirty.
    That’s still two hours away and I’m exhausted.
    I spent ages helping Dad choose his clothes.
    I managed to talk him out of the cowgirl shirt. For a sec I thought of trying to persuade him to get a white polyester and cotton one, but then I remembered he’d have to go to Mr Cosgrove for it.
    We agreed on the pale green one.
    It’s almost avocado.
    Since then, as casually as I can, I’ve been trying to remind him to be on his best behaviour.
    â€˜Ms Dunning doesn’t like too much chatter,’ I said just now. ‘She always telling us that in class.’
    Dad grinned.
    â€˜Teachers are always a bit crabby in class,’ he said.
    Then he messed my hair.
    â€˜I know how you feel, Tonto,’ he said. ‘Bit of a drag, having tea with a teacher, eh? Don’t fret, you’ll be fine with Claire, she’s a human being.’
    I know I’ll be fine, Dad.
    What about you?

It started off fine.
    When we picked Ms Dunning up she said she liked my dress and Dad’s dolphin belt buckle and I’m pretty sure she meant it about both of them.
    When we got here the waiter sat us at the table and Dad didn’t get into an embarrassing conversation with him about shirts even though the waiter’s shirt has got a big purple ruffle down the front and Dad’s got a theory that shirt ruffles fluff up better if you wash them in toothpaste.
    Then the menus arrived, and even though they were as big as the engine flaps on the tractor, Dad didn’t make any embarrassing jokes about recycled farm equipment or taking the menus home for spare parts or any of the other embarrassing things I thought at the time he could have said.
    When we ordered, he even said ‘steak’ instead of what he usually says, which is ‘dead cow’.
    I started to relax.
    At least I thought I did, but when I glanced down at my knees they were bright pink, so I was obviously still very tense.
    Ms Dunning asked Dad if he was going to the parents and teachers barbie tomorrow and he said he was looking forward to it.
    He asked her what would be happening there, and she went into great detail about the chicken kebabs and the raffle and the fund-raising auction and the display of skywriting by Darryn Peck’s brother and the sack race and the jam stall and the wool-carding demonstration by Mr Fowler’s nephew.
    I was totally and completely bored, but I didn’t care because I could see they were having a good time.
    Then the meals arrived.
    They were huge.
    The pepper grinder was as big as a baseball bat, and the meals were bigger.
    We started eating.
    Ms Dunning asked me about my old school and I told her, but I didn’t mention Erin in case my eyes went red. I didn’t want Ms Dunning thinking she was marrying into an emotionally unstable family.
    Dad, who was repeating to her what I was saying, was great. He didn’t mention Erin either, even though he’s a real fanatic about me telling the truth. He reckons if I tell lies I’ll get white spots on my fingernails.
    Why couldn’t he have stayed considerate and quiet and normal for the whole evening?
    The disaster started when Ms Dunning said she couldn’t eat any more.
    She’d only had about a third of her roast lamb.
    Dad looked sadly at all that food going to waste and I knew we were in trouble.
    At first I thought he was going to call for a doggy bag, which would have been embarrassing enough in the Copper Saddle, but he didn’t.
    He did something much worse.
    He told Ms Dunning how he’d read in a magazine somewhere that if you stand on your head when you feel full, you open up other areas of your stomach and you can carry on eating.
    Then he did it.
    Stood on his head.
    The waiter walked out of the kitchen and saw him there next to the table and nearly dropped a roast duck.
    All the people at the other tables stared.
    I wanted to hide under the tablecloth.
    I waited desperately for