Free My Life and Other Stuff That Went Wrong by Tristan Bancks Page B

the fence near the Sponge Throw. Skroop must be standing on a ladder. Either that or anger makes him levitate. He has a phone pressed to his ear.
    â€˜You have ruined Mr Fatterkins’ nap time,’ he shouts. ‘He’ll be tired for days. I am currently telephoning the police.’
    â€˜Watch out!’ a girl yells, but it’s too late. A sponge, thick with mayonnaise, cops Mr Skroop in the side of the face and spatters Fatterkins’ fur.
    Skroop lets out a strangled roar and wipes madly at his cat, turning the cat’s fur into dreadlocks.
    â€˜Sorry!’ I call out.
    â€˜Hello,’ he barks into the phone. ‘I’d like to report a neighbourhood disturbance. A riot at number forty-two Kingsley Street. I’ve just been assaulted with a missile … My name is Skroop. Walton Skroop.’
    The side gate screaks and a gang of nineor ten kids from the neighbourhood wanders into my yard.

    â€˜Sorry, but we can’t take any more customers!’ I say.
    â€˜Relax. It’ll be fine. I have an idea,’ Jack says. He hits the kids for cash.
    Suddenly, we have about twenty riders but only seven official rides. Queues start to form and kids complain about the heat. Mum’s bra strap breaks again but I can’t fix it. The Slip ‘n’ Slide gets ripped and we run out of jelly.
    â€˜This theme park sucks,’ Mac says. ‘I want my money back.’
    â€˜We’d better pack up,’ I tell Jack, who is running around with a lit match, lighting tiki torches underneath the Tree House High Dive. The torches are on bamboo poles taller than me, with thick white wicks poking from their tops. ‘The place is falling apart. Mum’s home in twenty-five minutes and Skroop just called the cops!’
    â€˜It’s okay. Leave it to Jacky-boy,’ he says. He lights the final torch, climbs the tree house ladder and makes an announcement to our disgruntled theme park guests: ‘Attention please, Valuable Visitors! Welcome to our premier attraction, the one you’ve all been waiting for, the most dangerous and death-defying ride at Jack and Tom’s FunLand – The Treeee House High Dive!’
    Everybody stops and looks up at him. They do not look impressed. He climbs onto the handrail that runs around the edge of the wooden tree house platform, four metresabove ground level.

    â€˜Watch me demonstrate a daring leap into the toxic, sludge-filled abyss known as Tom’s Swimming Pool!’
    He positions his toes right on the edge of the handrail. Twenty-five kids look on. A couple cheer. Others mutter about how shallow the sludge in the pool looks.
    Jack closes his eyes, readies himself for the dive, flaming tiki torches all around. He lets go of the branch he is holding and leaps out over the pool fence. As he falls through the air, his foot kicks over one of the tiki torches. He executes a perfect belly flop into the bright-green cesspit, disappearing beneath the surface.
    Kids gasp and gather around the pool fence.
    â€˜That bloke’s a nutter.’
    â€˜Maybe he split his guts open.’
    â€˜What if he’s dead?’
    The naked flame from the tiki torch setsalight the crispy leaves of a dead vine hanging off the fence between Skroop’s place and mine. Panic rises in my chest. It’s never good advertising for a theme park when one of the owners dies on opening day, but I should also go and put out the fire.
    Jack is still under, so I rip open the pool gate, climb the broken ladder, take off my T-shirt and scan the filthy swamp for any sign of life – only mosquitoes, thousands of them. I stand on the edge of the pool. I’m going to have to do this. I can smell smoke, but I figure Jack’s slightly more important than the fence. I am poised to dive in when Jack bursts from the goop with a wild animal roar. He is the Creature from the Green Lagoon.
    Kids cheer and queue up at the tree house ladder. Meanwhile,