Six Impossible Things by Fiona Wood Read Free Book Online Page A

fish in the Yarra? And how do we know Adelaide didn’t come to a sticky end, for that matter?’
    ‘Dan, she was ninety-one. All her money’s gone to the gallery. And Oliver wasn’t even here when she died. He was in New York.’
    ‘The smart ones always have watertight alibis.’
    My father would have handled this better. I didn’t mean to end up in the middle of a murder mystery. I just don’t want my mother going all instant-best-friends with the guy.
    ‘All I’m saying is, we don’t really know him.’
    ‘Adelaide virtually grew up with his grandmother
and
knew his parents, and he’s part of our life now, for as long as we’re here, so it makes sense that we get to know him.’
    ‘That doesn’t mean you have to tell him everything.’
    ‘I decide what I will or won’t tell people. And you can decide what you tell people.’
    We never used to argue all the time like this.
    The phone rings. My mother nods at me to answer it. But she’s got this brilliant idea now that we have to answer the phone saying the business name, so I shake my head ‘no’ and take another huge bite of my toast, chewing defiantly. She spits her mouthful into her hand and answers in a calm way, belying the murderous look on her face. ‘I Do Wedding Cakes, how may I help you?’ It’s a wrong number. We sit there glaring at each other.

    Walking to school, I wonder how long I can avoid answering the phone. I decide it’s got to be for as long as she’s running the stupid business. And seeing as how our livelihood depends on the business being a success, it looks like I’ll never answer the phone again. Just as well no one’s ringing me.
    First period is science. They – we – are doing a biology unit.
    I’m looking into the dish trying to take deep, even breaths. We’re inspecting raw eggs. The teacher, Ms Peale, is enthusing. ‘See the stretchy chain-like substance between the yolk and the white? It’s called the chalaza.’ She writes the word on the whiteboard. ‘There are two in each egg; they anchor the yolk in the thick egg white. Some of you may be lucky enough to see brownish lumps of protein in your yolks; that’s undeveloped embryonic matter.’
    I’m feeling the familiar swooning dizziness that happens just before I faint. Don’t let it happen in front of Estelle. Please. Get a hold of yourself. Resist. Avoid public humiliation. Breathe.
    Ms Peale presses on. ‘Put you fingers into the egg white. Feel that slidey, albuminous viscosity. And note the yolk’s tough outer membrane; it’s called the vitellene membrane. Touch it. Feel that bouncy resistance. In a fertile egg the luscious yolk will nourish the growing embryo.’ I try to put my mind anywhere other than this slimy puddle of goop.
    Jayzo and friends help. I concentrate on their idiotic asides, and the swoony feeling fades back a bit. Forgetting that
the
guiding principle of underage sex is avoiding pregnancy, they are offering to fertilise the eggs of Dannii and the transposable brackets. Like I’m the expert. But at least I’ve got some basic theory up my sleeve.
    I see Estelle look at them in disbelief. I try to catch her eye to share a disbelief moment, but her glance skates across me, as though I’m not here.
    Then Ms Peale gets me from left field. ‘By the way, yolk is also the word for the greasy secretions exuded by sheep’s skin to keep the wool soft.’
    I’m really struggling to keep it together when I see Jayzo’s friend, Deeks, swallow his raw egg, nearly gag, then grin triumphantly. He’s won ten bucks.
    I crash.
    Ms Peale’s worried face is the first thing I see when I open my eyes. For one weird and scary beat I have absolutely no idea where I am. It comes back to me like waking into a bad dream. Ms Peale and a girl called Lou are helping me get into a chair and keep my head down.
    Between flicking bits of raw egg around, and hanging it on me, Jayzo and crew are probably having their best ever science lesson. ‘You’re a