Peanut and, when he looked at me, he opened his beak wide, making a shrill cheeping sound.
âHere, have some apple,â I whispered. I bit into it and threw small pieces onto the ground around me.
Peanut dived forwards and pecked greedily, making apple juice spurt in the air. Jumble watched for a minute, then started pecking, too. Before long theyâd eaten all the sultanas and all the apple, and then they pecked at my laces looking for more.
âWhoâd be scared of you hey, Peanut?â I asked as Peanut ran over my leg to chase a march fly. His claws left red scratches, but I didnât care. âYou canât even catch a fly.â
Jumble started digging in the soil where Iâd just pulled out the weeds. He found a worm and tossed it into his beak. âThatâs it, eat up,â I encouraged, digging around looking for another. âMaybe I could help you find some proper food? The sort youâd eat if your real dad was here to show you how?â
I found another worm and threw it out for Peanut. He gobbled it up, the end disappearing just as Jumble ran over to share. Jumble turned back, looking at me hungrily.
âI know. Iâm sorry. It must be horrible without your dad. At least I have my mum when my dadâs not around. And Iâm old enough to look after myself these days.â I dug my fingers into the soil. âYou guys are only babies. You need your dad to show you what to do.â
Peanut was in the middle of scratching his neck when suddenly he stopped and cocked his head. Two seconds later, he and Jumble darted across the lawn and disappeared under the side fence.
âDonât go!â I shouted. I sighed and stared at my half-finished weeding. The sun was fully out now and, even though I was sitting in the shade, the temperature had quickly risen. Sweat prickled my forehead, and my left foot started to itch. I took off my shoes and gasped. Blood soaked my sock. I reached down to peel it off.
âWhat are you doing?â said a voice.
âAre you okay?â Abby cried, flinging her bike down and peering worriedly at my foot.
Blood oozed from a small hole on my ankle. âI had this slug-thing sucking my skin,â I explained. âBut itâs fallen off.â
âShow me,â Abby commanded. âWhat slug?â
I turned my crimson sock inside out. The slug wriggled free.
âOh, itâs a leech.â Abby giggled, pushing her hair from her eyes as the leech flip-flopped onto the grass. âNo wonder thereâs so much blood.â
âA leech?â
âThey look terrible, but theyâre pretty harmless really,â said Abby. âWhere did it come from?â
I flicked my sock, just in case there was another one hiding in it. âIt was on my foot this morning. Maybe it crawled into my sock yesterday when I was over there in the swamp.â I pointed to the trees past the lawn.
âThe swamp? I thought your dad didnât let you out of his sight?â
âYeah, well, he doesnât know everything. Is it really a leech?â I poked the slimy body with the end of a nearby stick.
Abby rolled her eyes, like the question wasnât worth answering. âDuh. Donât you people from Brisbane know anything? Course it is. We get them all the time.â Abby slid her legs into the splits and once she was all the way down on the grass, she held her arms out in front of her, like a ballet dancer. âSo, what were you doing in the swamp?â she asked.
âNothing,â I said, a little too quickly.
âI donât believe you,â she insisted, her eyes narrowing. âWhyâs your face red?â
I turned to hide my guilt. Was she always this bossy? âI found something, thatâs all,â I murmured.
Abby fell out of the splits and sat up, turning her head to me as if she were balancing a crown.
Over in the shed, I heard the tractor start up. Good. Dad would be busy
Learning to Kill: Stories