Blabber Mouth by Morris Gleitzman Read Free Book Online Page B

when she saw me standing there, she just stared.
    â€˜Can I get a lift to the community service evening with you?’ I asked. ‘Dad’s gone on ahead.’
    Yes, I know, it was a bit theatrical. Runs in the family, I guess.
    Amanda’s face lit up.
    Mr Cosgrove’s did too.
    Well, sort of.
    He stopped scowling and by the time we arrived at the RSL club he’d even smiled at me and told me not to be nervous because everybody there would be very sympathetic.
    They were.
    Amanda took me around the crowded hall and introduced me to people.
    â€˜This is Rowena Batts,’ she said. ‘She’s vocally disadvantaged but she’s coping very well.’
    And everyone nodded very sympathetically.
    Just before the fifth introduction I stuck a cocktail sausage up my nose to make it look as though I wasn’t coping very well, but the people still nodded sympathetically.
    When Amanda saw the sausage she pulled it out and glanced anxiously over at her father, and when she saw he hadn’t seen it, she relaxed.
    â€˜Ro,’ she giggled, ‘stop it.’
    â€˜I will if you do,’ I said.
    She frowned and thought about this, and then, because she’s basically a sensitive and intelligent and great person, she realised what I meant.
    At the next introduction she just said, ‘This is Ro’, and I said g’day with my hands and left it to the people to work out for themselves whether I’m vocally disadvantaged or an airport runway worker.
    Then I realised we’d been there ten minutes and I hadn’t even checked on Dad.
    I looked anxiously around the hall for a ruckus, but Dad was over by the refreshments table yakking to an elderly lady. From his arm movements and the uncomfortable expression on her face I decided he was probably describing how codling moth caterpillars do their poos inside apples, but she might just have been finding his orange shirt a bit bright.
    Amanda squeezed my arm and pointed to the stage.
    Mr Cosgrove was at the microphone.
    â€˜Ladies and Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘welcome to the Progress Association’s first Community Service Night.’
    I smiled to myself because his normally gruff voice had gone squeaky with nerves.
    â€˜He’s vocally disadvantaged,’ I said to Amanda, ‘but he’s coping very well.’
    Amanda didn’t smile.
    I don’t think she understood all the signs.
    Then I heard what Mr Cosgrove said next and suddenly I wasn’t smiling either.
    â€˜Now,’ he said, ‘I’m going to ask each of our Helping Hands to bring their Community Service Projectee up onto the stage, and tell us a little about them, so that we, as a community as a whole, can help them to lead fuller and more rewarding lives. First I’d like to call on Miss Amanda Cosgrove.’
    I stared at Amanda in horror.
    She looked at me apologetically, then took my hand and led me up onto the stage.
    Everyone applauded, except for one person who whistled. But then Dad never has grasped the concept of embarrassment.
    I stood on the stage and a sea of faces looked up at me.
    All sympathetic.
    Except for Dad who was beaming with pride.
    And except for the other Projects—a bloke with one arm, a young bloke in a wheelchair, an elderly lady with a humpy back, and a kid with callipers on her legs—who all looked as terrified as I felt.
    Then a strange thing happened.
    As Mr Cosgrove handed the microphone to Amanda and went down into the audience, my terror disappeared.
    My guts relaxed and as I looked down at all the sympathetic faces I suddenly knew what I had to do.
    I knew I had to do it even if it meant Amanda never spoke to me again.
    Amanda coughed and spoke into the microphone in a tiny voice.
    â€˜Ladies and gentlemen, this is Ro and I’d like to tell you a bit about her.’
    I tapped her on the arm and she looked at me, startled.
    â€˜I want to do it,’ I said.
    I had to say it twice, but