Blacky Blasts Back by Barry Jonsberg Read Free Book Online Page A

and I were on the same team. Unfortunately, the other two members were John and Kyle. Kyle had a face like roadkill, a home-pierced eyebrow and the attention span of a goldfish. He didn’t fill me with confidence. We got into a huddle, which was a good idea since we exchanged heat. I was starting to lose feeling in my extremities. Unfortunately, we were also exchanging body odours. Kyle was part fish. Fish that had been left out in the sun for a couple of days. I broke away.
    â€˜Any ideas?’ I asked.
    The signs weren’t good. Kyle shuffled songs on his iPod and Dyl drained his fifth cola of the day. At this rate he’d run out by the weekend. John, meanwhile, did a stunning impersonation of a tree. Time for Marcus to take charge.
    I had two ideas. The first was to spread John across the river and use him as a bridge. I didn’t suggest it. The second involved building a raft.
    â€˜C’mon guys,’ I said. ‘We need to work together here. There’s no I in team.’
    â€˜No Z either,’ said John. ‘What’s your point?’
    â€˜There is a B in banana, though,’ chipped in Kyle. ‘Isn’t there?’
    â€˜And plenty of A s,’ said Dyl. ‘Why? Has anyone got a banana? I’m starving.’
    I sighed.
    â€˜Forget the bananas,’ I said. ‘We need to build a raft.’
    â€˜Hate fruit,’ said John. ‘Not a monkey. Need Mars bar.’
    It took some time to get the subject away from food, but eventually we fanned out along the bank of the river and collected logs and fallen branches. I kept a firm hold on the machete. I didn’t trust John.
    The other team were also collecting wood, but I got the impression they were just copying us. We dragged the bigger branches down to the riverbank. The key, I reckoned, was speed. We didn’t need to build a catamaran with carved figurehead, sundeck and tennis court. Just a bog-standard raft, big enough to take the weight of three boys and a human giraffe.
    I selected eight branches and lopped off unnecessary foliage. Dyl and John took each branch as I finished it and lashed them together with rope. Kyle scrolled through his iPod.
    John surprised me. He knew what he was doing with the rope, first of all dunking it into the river and then weaving it through the individual branches. Finally, he tightened the whole structure with a slipknot.
    â€˜Rope wet,’ he said. ‘Tightens when dry.’
    â€˜Cool, John,’ I said. I felt brown-nosing wouldn’t hurt. ‘Were you in the Cub Scouts?’
    John snorted.
    â€˜Nah, Mucus,’ he replied. ‘Executioner. Career aim. Read a book once.’ I tried to keep the surprise out of my face. I’d have put money on John being incapable of colouring in a book, let alone reading one. ‘Knots. Need knots to hang people.’
    It wasn’t the right time to point out that we don’t have capital punishment in Australia anymore. It’s not a good idea to upset a potential homicidal maniac.
    Both groups finished their rafts at the same time. It wasn’t fair. The other group had just imitated us, move for move. But I had a secret weapon. True, I was banking on the other kids being idiots, but nothing I’d seen so far suggested I might be mistaken. As soon as our misshapen raft was finished, I jumped about like a frog on a sugar rush.
    â€˜Hurry, guys,’ I yelled. ‘Get this in the water. We can’t let them win.’
    It was a simple plan, but it worked. The other group grabbed their raft, flung it onto the slow-moving waters of the river and leaped on board. The whole contraption rocked violently, threatening to send the boys into the water. Then it settled. I had my hand on the edge of our raft, stopping it from being launched. I wanted to see if I was right.
    I was. The other group panicked for a moment, shuffled to get their balance. Then, when they saw they were safely floating and we