Blabber Mouth by Morris Gleitzman Read Free Book Online

explored new continents, they had this nagging problem.
    They weren’t sure if they could trust their navigational instruments.
    I know exactly how they felt.

There’s a Carla Tamworth song called ‘Drawers In My Heart’ about a carpenter who can make a chest of drawers with silent runners and matching knobs, but he can’t make a difficult decision.
    I know how he feels, because I’m having trouble making one too.
    Mine’s even more difficult than his.
    His is pretty hard— whether to tell his girlfriend he’s backed his truck over her miniature poodle—but at least he decides what to do eventually.
    He makes the poodle a coffin with separate drawers for its collar and lead, and leaves it where his girlfriend will find it.
    I wish I could decide what to do.
    I just want everything to work out fine like it does for the carpenter, who discovers he hasn’t backed over the dog after all, just a bath mat that’s blown off the clothesline.
    Unfortunately, life isn’t that simple.
    For example, you’d think going for a milkshake with someone after school’d be pretty straight-forward, right?
    No way.
    Amanda was a bit quiet walking into town so after we’d got the milkshakes, to make conversation, I asked her how long her parents have had the menswear shop.
    We sat on the kerb and between slurps she told me they’d had it for seventeen years, and that her dad had been president of the Progress Association for six.
    Then she started to cry.
    It was awful.
    She looked so unhappy, sitting there with big tears plopping into her chocolate malted.
    I asked her what was the matter, but she couldn’t see the question so I put my arm round her.
    She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes on her sleeve and said she was fine.
    I was just about to say she didn’t look fine when a shadow fell across us. I thought it was a cloud, but when I looked up it was Darryn Peck.
    He stood there with a smirky grin on his elephant’s bum mouth and a mate on each side of him.
    In his hand he had a bit torn out of a newspaper.
    It was a photo.
    The one of me and Amanda winning the race.
    â€˜I know how you feel, Cosgrove,’ he smirked. ‘I’d be bawling if I couldn’t beat a spazzo.’
    I amazed myself.
    I just sat there without throwing a single container of milkshake in his face.
    I must be getting old.
    Instead I reached into my bag for my notepad and wrote ‘She could beat you any day, cheese-brain’. While he was reading that I wrote him another. ‘We both could.’
    â€˜Oh yeah?’ he said, throwing the notes down
    I nodded.
    Amanda read the notes and looked a bit alarmed.
    â€˜OK,’ said Darryn, ‘prove it. I’ll race you both to the war memorial and back and if you lose, we get to give Curly Cosgrove a milkshake shampoo.’
    Amanda looked more alarmed.
    I stood up.
    Dad always reckons I’m a blabber mouth and he’s probably right.
    â€˜A proper race,’ I wrote. ‘On the oval. A hundred metres. Me and you.’
    Darryn read the note.
    â€˜You’re on,’ he said.
    I wrote some more.
    â€˜The loser has to eat a frog.’
    Darryn read that note twice.
    Then he gave his biggest smirk ever.
    â€˜You’re on,’ he said.
    One of his mates, who’d been reading over his shoulder, tugged his sleeve.
    â€˜That big tent’s up over the running track, Darryn.’
    â€˜OK,’ said Darryn, not taking his eyes off me, ‘Monday lunchtime, after they take the tent down.’
    He screwed the notes up and bounced them off my chest.
    â€˜Don’t have any breakfast,’ he smirked as he swaggered off with his mates, ‘cause you’ll be having a big lunch.’
    Amanda unscrewed the note and read it and looked up at me as if I was a complete and total loony, which I probably am.
    Before she could say anything, a voice boomed out behind us.
    â€˜Amanda,’ it