Blabber Mouth by Morris Gleitzman Read Free Book Online Page A

roared, ‘get out of the gutter.’
    It was Mr Cosgrove, coming out of the menswear shop.
    Amanda jumped up and her shoulders seemed to kind of sag and instead of looking at him she looked down at the ground.
    I didn’t blame her.
    His grey-green checked jacket clashed horribly with his irritable pink face.
    â€˜You’re a young lady,’ he snapped at her, ‘not a drunken derro.’
    Amanda still didn’t look up.
    Then Mr Cosgrove saw me, and an amazing thing happened.
    In front of my eyes he changed from a bad-tempered father into a smiling president of the Progress Association.
    â€˜Hello there,’ he said.
    I smiled weakly and gave him a little wave.
    â€˜We’re very grateful to you,’ said Mr Cosgrove, ‘for giving up your time this evening.’
    I looked at Amanda, confused, but she was still examining the footpath between her feet.
    â€˜It would have been a rum do,’ continued Mr Cosgrove, ‘if the president’s daughter had been the only one at the community service evening without a community service project.’
    I stared at him.
    I fumbled for my notepad.
    But before I could start writing, Amanda spoke.
    â€˜Dad,’ she said in a tiny voice, ‘you’ve got it wrong. Ro’s not my community service project.’
    Mr Cosgrove stared at her.
    â€˜But three days ago you told me she was,’ he boomed. ‘Who is?’
    â€˜I haven’t got one,’ she said in an even tinier voice, still looking at the ground.
    Mr Cosgrove stood there until his face almost matched his shiny dark red shoes.
    â€˜That’s just about what I would have expected from you, young lady,’ he said finally. ‘Come on, inside.’
    Amanda didn’t look at me, she just followed her father into the shop.
    As I watched her go, I knew I’d have to make a decision.
    Do I turn my back on a friend?
    Or do I allow myself to be turned into a community service project?
    A helpless case.
    A spazzo.
    Sympathetic smiles.
    Well-meaning whispers.
    For the rest of my life.
    I still haven’t decided.
    I promised myself I’d make the decision while I was walking home and I’m almost there and I still haven’t.
    I wish I was the carpenter in the song.
    Compared to this, it’d be a breeze.
    Even if I had run over the poodle.

If you’ve got a tough decision to make, talk it over with an apple farmer, that’s my advice.
    They’re really good at getting straight to the guts of a matter and ignoring all the distracting waffle. I think it comes from working with nature and the Department of Agriculture.
    â€˜It’s simple, Tonto,’ said Dad, after I’d explained it all to him. ‘If you do it, it’s good for her and bad for you. If you don’t do it, it’s bad for her and good for you. I care more about you than her, so I don’t reckon you should do it.’
    I thought about Amanda at home with her angry Dad.
    I thought about how her face would light up when she opened the door and saw me standing there.
    Then I thought about my first day at school and how people with a temper like mine aren’t cut out to be community service projects because if we crack under the sympathy who knows what we might end up stuffing into someone’s mouth.
    Squishy soap.
    Smelly socks.
    A frill-necked lizard.
    â€˜You’re right, Dad,’ I said.
    He nodded and reached into the fridge for a sarsaparilla.
    â€˜But,’ I continued, ‘I’m still gunna do it.’
    Dad grinned.
    â€˜Good on you, Tonto,’ he said. ‘I knew you would.’
    Like I said, apple farmers are really simple down-to-earth people.
    â€˜I’ve never been to a community service night,’ continued Dad. ‘Hang on while I chuck a clean shirt on.’
    My stomach sagged.
    I hope they’re also the sort of people who keep promises about behaving themselves in public.

Amanda opened the door and