Read Online Living With Leanne by Margaret Clark - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Margaret Clark
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friends is bad, bad news, mate.’
‘His problem.’
‘You still like Belinda?’
‘Nah. Well … dunno. I don’t want to go with her, but … I don’t want Cooja muscling in either.’
‘Top confusion, mate. Look, why don’t I give you Mandy?’
Mandy’s Boxie’s cousin who lives up the bush somewhere and he’s supposed to be going with her. I don’t need his cast-offs and I don’t need love at a distance, either.
‘Nah,’ I go, ‘I don’t need a woman in my life right now. There’s enough flak about Leanne without adding to it. I just want to live a peaceful, single, bachelor life.’
Boxie makes a snorting noise as the bell goes for the next period. We grab our books and rock on over to Science. Wish we were doing lupins but it’s frogs again, swimming in this stinking liquid, because they’re not alive are they? Dead as dinosaurs. We have to work in partners, hacking up these dead things, and I’m all set to work with Boxie as usual (or Cooja if he can peel himself away from his eternal triangle) but Cathy’s edged up.
‘We’ll work together,’ she says.
It’s a statement, not a question. Now what? I roll my eyes at Boxie who’s cacking away behind the Bunsen burners like he’s fit to burst.
‘Well …’
But she’s grabbed the frog in the tweezers and laid it on the board. She’s bending over with her dark hair practically dangling onto it, peering at it.
‘Wonder if it’s a male or a female?’ she says, prodding it with the tweezer tip between its little legs.
That’s the biggest turn-off I’ve ever experienced, I think, squeezing my knees together. I wouldn’t go out with Cathy Fletcher if she was the last living female on the planet. She’s still fiddling with the frog, playing with its armpits. I can’t handle this.
‘Er … I’ve gotta bail.’
I zoom outside to the dunnies and lean against the wall. My stomach’s going round in circles. It’s not the dead frog, I can handle that, it’s Cathy poking and prodding it.
Eventually I go back. I can’t live in the Men’s for the rest of my school life. I wander in, really cool, and the whole class gives a cheer.
‘My hero,’ screeches Cathy at the top of her lungs, and Micalinski the science teacher gives a sarcastic little speech about nerves of steel and operating theatres and people fainting at the sight of blood. Someone should tell him it’sbad manners to be sarcastic. I must bring it up in Thursday’s English class.
The next period’s free so we go to the library for silent reading, I’m sitting alone in a carrel, trying to read our English text which is dead boring, when I get this note.
‘Hey, Stud. Wanna have a Coke with me after school? C.F.’
What is happening here? Cathy Fletcher and I are about as suited to each other as chalk and cheese. She is a total bimbo with the brain of a flea and I like girls with some intelligent conversation. Belinda isn’t the Brain of Bennett High but she certainly isn’t as brain dead as Cathy. Plus Cathy is supposed to be going with Cooja. There’s only one answer to this note.
‘ No ,’ I write and pass it back.
‘Why not?’ comes the reply.
One thing about Cathy Fletcher, she’s not shy!
‘Because!’ I write back.
‘Because why?’
‘Because I hate your guts,’ I’m tempted to write, but we’ve just done manners in English and I should be polite. I chew the end of my pen and think. Do I say ‘You’re the biggest turn-off since Dracula’s daughter?’ (True but cruel and hurtful: years of living with Leanne have taught me about cruel and hurtful remarks!) Do I say, ‘I’m busy doinghomework’? (I’ll sound like a wimpette extraordinaire), ‘I’ve got to help my mum after school’? (Mummy’s boy) or ‘I’ve got a doctor’s appointment’? (then she’ll think I’ve got some incurable disease and spread the word). While all this thinking is going on another note lands on my desk.
‘Cooja, Boxie and Belinda are coming
‘His problem.’
‘You still like Belinda?’
‘Nah. Well … dunno. I don’t want to go with her, but … I don’t want Cooja muscling in either.’
‘Top confusion, mate. Look, why don’t I give you Mandy?’
Mandy’s Boxie’s cousin who lives up the bush somewhere and he’s supposed to be going with her. I don’t need his cast-offs and I don’t need love at a distance, either.
‘Nah,’ I go, ‘I don’t need a woman in my life right now. There’s enough flak about Leanne without adding to it. I just want to live a peaceful, single, bachelor life.’
Boxie makes a snorting noise as the bell goes for the next period. We grab our books and rock on over to Science. Wish we were doing lupins but it’s frogs again, swimming in this stinking liquid, because they’re not alive are they? Dead as dinosaurs. We have to work in partners, hacking up these dead things, and I’m all set to work with Boxie as usual (or Cooja if he can peel himself away from his eternal triangle) but Cathy’s edged up.
‘We’ll work together,’ she says.
It’s a statement, not a question. Now what? I roll my eyes at Boxie who’s cacking away behind the Bunsen burners like he’s fit to burst.
‘Well …’
But she’s grabbed the frog in the tweezers and laid it on the board. She’s bending over with her dark hair practically dangling onto it, peering at it.
‘Wonder if it’s a male or a female?’ she says, prodding it with the tweezer tip between its little legs.
That’s the biggest turn-off I’ve ever experienced, I think, squeezing my knees together. I wouldn’t go out with Cathy Fletcher if she was the last living female on the planet. She’s still fiddling with the frog, playing with its armpits. I can’t handle this.
‘Er … I’ve gotta bail.’
I zoom outside to the dunnies and lean against the wall. My stomach’s going round in circles. It’s not the dead frog, I can handle that, it’s Cathy poking and prodding it.
Eventually I go back. I can’t live in the Men’s for the rest of my school life. I wander in, really cool, and the whole class gives a cheer.
‘My hero,’ screeches Cathy at the top of her lungs, and Micalinski the science teacher gives a sarcastic little speech about nerves of steel and operating theatres and people fainting at the sight of blood. Someone should tell him it’sbad manners to be sarcastic. I must bring it up in Thursday’s English class.
The next period’s free so we go to the library for silent reading, I’m sitting alone in a carrel, trying to read our English text which is dead boring, when I get this note.
‘Hey, Stud. Wanna have a Coke with me after school? C.F.’
What is happening here? Cathy Fletcher and I are about as suited to each other as chalk and cheese. She is a total bimbo with the brain of a flea and I like girls with some intelligent conversation. Belinda isn’t the Brain of Bennett High but she certainly isn’t as brain dead as Cathy. Plus Cathy is supposed to be going with Cooja. There’s only one answer to this note.
‘ No ,’ I write and pass it back.
‘Why not?’ comes the reply.
One thing about Cathy Fletcher, she’s not shy!
‘Because!’ I write back.
‘Because why?’
‘Because I hate your guts,’ I’m tempted to write, but we’ve just done manners in English and I should be polite. I chew the end of my pen and think. Do I say ‘You’re the biggest turn-off since Dracula’s daughter?’ (True but cruel and hurtful: years of living with Leanne have taught me about cruel and hurtful remarks!) Do I say, ‘I’m busy doinghomework’? (I’ll sound like a wimpette extraordinaire), ‘I’ve got to help my mum after school’? (Mummy’s boy) or ‘I’ve got a doctor’s appointment’? (then she’ll think I’ve got some incurable disease and spread the word). While all this thinking is going on another note lands on my desk.
‘Cooja, Boxie and Belinda are coming
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