Free Where Cuckoos Call by Des Hunt Page A

deciding to do something. There was no problem with the photos of Bigmouth and the bay, they were easy. It was the photo of me that I worried about. Somehow I was going to have to look fifteen. I took a photo of myself, but it just didn’t look right. I then tried a little computer modification. I changed the hair, altered the shape of the nose, put some bristles on my chin, and even added some pimples that were ready to burst. Nothing worked—I still looked like an overweight twelve-year-old. Then I had abrain wave. I didn’t have to send a photo of myself at all—it could be somebody else. Sarah-Lee would never know the difference.
    My cousin Tyrone is fifteen and he’s always sending me photos of himself with some girl attached. It’s always a different girl and they’re all good-lookers. That’s because Ty isn’t a bad-looker himself. A few minutes on the computer and I had erased the latest girl from a photo and had something I was proud of: something that a fourteen-year-old girl would be very happy to get.
    Shortly afterwards, my package was on its way, ready for Sarah-Lee to admire the following day.
    Her next email took ages to download. There was very little text but a heap of photos. I got a much closer view of Mount Lopevi gushing steam and ash, views of other islands taken from Lopevi, shots of a very rugged coastline, and even one of some sharks circling close inshore. It was certainly not my idea of a tropical paradise—still, it would be a fantastic place to visit.
    Then there were photos of the archaeological dig. These showed posts with squares of strings, and people on their hands and knees with trowels and brushes. A label on one pointed out Sarah-Lee’s parents. Both had golden hair, very brown skin, light clothes, and big, happy smiles. They looked like people who really enjoyed their work.
    And then came the photo of Sarah-Lee herself. It filled the whole screen. I stared at it for a moment and then jumped out of my chair, clapping my hands and shouting. I had struck gold. This girl was gorgeous. She looked like an all-American beauty. She had the same features as her parents, with the smooth complexion of women in beauty ads. She was also particularly well developed for a fourteen-year-old.
    I gaped at the photo for ages. I had never exchanged emailswith a girl before, and to strike one like this…Suddenly I was nervous, as if she was in the room. What would I say to her? What would she think of me? And then I remembered: to her I was not a gawky, fat kid—I was a cool-looking teenager. My cousin Ty would have no problems with a girl like this. He would be chatting her up, fast as. And that’s what I would do, just relax and act as if I was somebody else.
    Over the next few weeks, Sarah-Lee and I communicated almost every day. We found that we had many things in common: a love of birds, an interest in all natural things, and a deep concern for the environment. As I got to know her, I overcame my stupid reaction to her photo and acted like myself. Our email conversations became natural and sincere; at least I know mine were.
    Towards the end of this time, my Mum started acting strangely. First, she began to take a great interest in the mail, even going to the gate to collect it herself. Next she made me shift the computer out of my room and into an alcove in the hall. Her reason was to learn how to use the Internet and, in particular, email.
    I had some problems with this: while I don’t mess around on the Internet, I have some things I would prefer nobody saw. I overcame this by installing a new operating system so that both of us could use the computer without seeing each other’s stuff.
    For a couple of days I showed her how to access sites and send emails. She learnt quickly. From then on, I would often hear the keyboard clicking away late at night after I had gone to bed. I still had no idea what she was doing.
    Then we took photos of herself and Dad, followed by one of me, and I