Read Online Thrill Seekers by Edwina Shaw - Free Book Online Page B

we’re not too far out. My jeans drag on my legs but I’m a pretty good swimmer, got a trophy last year at school, so I make it to the bank first.
    Steve crawls up out of the mud and punches me on the arm, ‘You big loser. Why’d you have to go and do that for? We could’ve drowned.’
    ‘What? What did I do?’
    It’s not really a question he’s supposed to answer so I look out at the others struggling in with the boat. Brian’s helping Beck to hang onto the side as he and Russ kick it in. And then I see Jacko clambering up out of the mud. At least I think it’s Jacko. Jacko with no clothes on, stark white and skinny,dragging his jacket behind him. His droopy grey undies sagging and leaving a trail of drips.
    I turn to Steve and grin and he smiles right back at me, like maybe he’s even missed me a bit.
    ‘It was worth it,’ he says and we laugh till we could bust.

CHAPTER 8
Mates and Mushrooms
    Brian
    I saw Russ last night. He came to me in my dream. Funny that, how the dead come to visit you in dreams. It freaked me out. Even though it’s been months now since it happened, there he was, real as life. I could even smell the Marlboros on him, his hair as wild and bushy as it ever was.
    ‘How’s it going mate?’ he said.
    We were in that field, the one near the creek where we went picking mushies, a couple of weekends after the fight with the skins.
    I didn’t know what to say. What do you say to a dead guy?
    ‘You look good, haven’t changed a bit,’ I said.
    ‘Yeah mate, you look like a right bloody fat bastard.’
    I laughed, ‘Yeah mate, reckon I am.’
    He was still the same funny bugger, always up for a laugh, when he wasn’t having one of his moods that is. It was a shit of a thing. Should never have happened to him at all.

    It was Jacko’s idea to go mushy picking. We grabbed Steve and Russ on the way; at least we had the sense to leave Douggie at home. We were looking for gold tops. After that kid got sick that time, we steered clear of blue meanies. They weren’t called mean for nothing. So gold tops it was. And we found them, heaps of them.
    It’d rained the night before so we got up early and drove out to the vet school cow paddocks, down the creek a bit from Mum’s. Grass seeds stuck to the hairs on our legs and our flip-flops got slippery with dew as we scoured the cow pats for mushies.
    People always used to cheer when we arrived at parties with our shopping bags full of dripping black gold tops. Like at that coolest party ever at Jacko’s place. That night we boiled up two huge vats of mushies, bubbling thick and black. Everyone had too much.
    We tried to stop the little ones – the grommets – make them have only one cup; but shit, those mongrels, who could stop them? I didn’t like to see the young ones get too wasted, not after what happened to Douggie. But you can’t tell kids anything.
    That was some party alright, chairs busting out through the windows onto the lawn, kids up trees howling at the moon, slam-dancing into walls. So many colours;some wild trip. Then those fellas crashed and Jacko lost it, went ape-shit kicking their heads in till Russ and Steve threw the crashers out, and steered Jacko back to the dance floor.
    That was just before the pigs came and that kid came running in screaming, ‘The pigs, the fucken pigs. Anyone with drugs get out!’
    We were out over the fence, across the neighbour’s yard and hurtling down the street when we heard a sound like rolling drums, and there was the rest of the party racing down the asphalt after us. Don’t know who was left back at the house, probably no one. That was some party. One of our great mushy parties.
    There was going to be another one that night, that’s why me and the other fellas were out there in the paddock, filling plastic bags, laughing and munching on a few as we went. Tasted foul, like rotten dirt, but still, we swallowed anything if it got us stoned.
    The trip started coming on strong, good fresh