Thought I’d give you a sample of a short story I’ve been working on – if you like it let me know and I reveal more!
Eleven & a Half By Will I Am
When you’re eleven and a half a girl like Jessica Lomas can make your guts sore. It makes you feel like someone’s inside your stomach and they’re playing football with a meatball you’ve eaten the night before. Jessica has long blond hair and the bluest eyes. She has the kind of face that makes me forget about skateboarding. Jessica Lomas makes my guts go wonky.
I love Jessica more than Mum’s spag-bog.
The worst thing about someone playing football inside your guts is when the other person doesn’t know you exist. If I see her in the playground I try to say something cool but it always turns out to be dumb. She sort of turns her nose up and walks away. Fat Findlay reckons she’s a snob and doesn’t want to mix with the likes of us.
Being eleven and a half isn’t easy. I heard it gets even harder at twelve and a half. Then you’re in high school, the world of grown-ups, I poop my pants at the thought of high school; the royal flush, boys with beards and girls who don’t seem like girls anymore.
Fat Finlay is my best friend. Fat has a brother who is fourteen and he gets all the inside info about becoming an adult.
When you’re eleven and a half there’s not much time left before you’ll be an adult. For the time being you get told, ask your father, go ask your mother, you wouldn’t understand, when you’re older. What I can’t understand is how dad gets away with being an adult. Dad still laughs at farts. Mum says he acts like a child sometimes. So how come dad doesn’t have to ask his mother or father?
I often think about things like this. Mum says I think too much. I can’t help it. I mean, if thoughts come into my head I just got to think about them. Sometimes I think of really strange things, like how the wind throws trees all over the place. I think about how the tree feels about being chucked from side to side. Does it hurt? I mean if I was high up there minding my own business I wouldn’t be very happy. There I am sunning myself, taking in carbon dioxide, or whatever and along comes the wind and wakes you up. Apart from the wind, there are birds as well, I mean they poo all over you, peck at you, live on you and have sex all over you. I don’t know if I could ever get to sleep with all that going on.
Miss Withers, my grade seven teacher interrupts my thoughts. Miss Withers isn’t bad for a teacher. Fat reckons she’s twenty-five years old. I can’t believe that. She doesn’t look that old. I know she isn’t as old as Mrs Patterson. Mrs Pat taught me in grade four. She used to fall asleep in class and whistle through her nose and ears. Fat told me she was seventy-eight. I believed that!
‘Yes Miss.’ I reply.
‘Were you paying attention Sam?’
‘Yes Miss’ I nervously answer. The coast is clear. Miss Withers continues with the lesson and I try real hard not to wander off into my own world.
Fat winks at me from across the room. I can see him out of the corner of my eye. You get good at looking out of the corner of you’re eye when your eleven going on twelve. I have to be careful; otherwise Miss Withers will be onto me like a seagull with a chip. I face the front and concentrate hard but Fat is still looking at me, the corner of my eye sees him. My other eye looks at Jessica Lomas and my heart bubbles with excitement. Jessica sits two seats in front of me. Her hair is really long and I swear it nearly knocks me out of my seat when she flicks it back.
Jessica stares at Greg Andrews. Greg is captain of red team. They win the swimming and athletics carnival every year. Greg jumps the long pit every year as well. If they handed out gold medals at the school carnivals, Greg would need a big truck for the trip home.
I hate Greg Andrews.
Miss Withers paces at the front of the class and is talking about something but I’m all hung up on Jessica Lomas and her never-ending blond hair.
The rest of the class look at me, Miss Withers has caught me red-handed, I know she has asked me a question but what? I’m all embarrassed cause everyone’s looking at me as if I’m from a different planet. My face turns a reddish pink colour. I feel flushed. I want to go for a pee. Jessica Lomas looks at me. She is trying to tell me something. I watch her lips. Everything seems to be in slow motion. She is saying, say yes, say yes. I’m all fluttery cause Jessica is speaking to me. The meatball moves around inside my stomach. Jessica Lomas is trying to help me get out of trouble.
‘Yes Miss.’ I shout enthusiastically
All the kids roar with laughter. Jessica joins in and points at me like I’m an idiot. Meanwhile, Miss Withers is real mad and threatens the class with rubbish duty unless they shut up.
‘Silence. I will have silence, otherwise you will all be joining Sam on rubbish duty.’
The thought of picking up empty cans, sticky papers and half eaten pies didn’t excite me and it made everyone else shut up.
‘Now the class has settled down, do you think we can get on with the lesson?’ Miss Withers says with a real annoyed voice.
I feel relieved cause everyone has stopped gawking at me.
‘Oh before I forget, Sam, since you agreed, you will be on rubbish duty for the rest of the week. Maybe it will teach you to pay attention in the future.’
It now dawned on me the question Miss Withers had asked me. The words kept ringing in my ears, do you want to go on rubbish duty for the rest of the week. Now I know why Jessica Lomas told me to say yes. Now I’m stuck on scab duty for the rest of the week. That’s what we call rubbish duty, cause when you go around and pick up the rubbish everyone shouts out “Scab, Scab.”
It’s no good explaining to Miss Withers about my daydreaming problem. It’s like a disease to me. I can’t help it, my brain just does it. The class settles down and I keep my eyes pinned on Miss Withers. I don’t want any more scab duty. I keep out of trouble for the rest of the lesson until the bell rings and it’s home time.