Free Head Spinners by Thalia Kalkipsakis

to make up for what I had done to Monty. Here was something amazing and alive that needed my help. If I could help these pieces of trout and keep them safe – then maybe I could forgive myself for Monty.

    Water was the first thing my fish needed. A bucketful. The bottle was way too small for them.
    I snuck into the laundry and filled an old green bucket with the tap on a quiet trickle. I didn’t want anyone to hear me and start asking difficult questions.
    The bucket was heavier than I expected and it bumped against the edge of the laundry trough as I lifted it out, sloshing cold water onto my legs and shoes. But I didn’t mind. It felt good having something important to do.
    I opened the laundry door and listened.
    Everything was quiet. I could faintly hear my parents talking in the kitchen.
    Struggling with the bucket, I started down the hall, but just as I passed Connor’s bedroom, the door opened.
    Typical. I stopped, unsure what to do.
    Connor leaned against the doorframe, grinning. ‘So what’s the real story with the sandwich?’ he whispered. Then he looked at the bucket of water and my wet shoes. ‘This one’s going to be good.’ He stood back so that I could walk into his room.
    I glanced across at my own room, wishing I could get back there without Connor trying to follow.
    â€˜Come on, Jamie,’ Connor said impatiently. ‘I won’t tell.’
    I knew he wouldn’t tell, but I still wasn’t sure what to say. I set the bucket on the floor of his room and rubbed the palm of my hand where the handle had been digging in.
    Connor shut the door. ‘So, spill the beans,’ he said. ‘Why did you steal the sandwich?’ He leaned against the edge of his desk.
    I looked down at the bucket. ‘It’s these amazing fish, see,’ I sighed. The truth sounded so weird . . .
    Connor frowned at the bucket. ‘It’s not for some boring school project, is it?’
    I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh, shut up, Connor.’ He always teased me for trying at school. Even if I was just reading a book, Connor always said something smart about it. So I looked him straight in the eye, and lied.
    â€˜I was going to hide the fish sandwich in Mr Murray’s desk so that it stank the whole place out.’
    There was a long pause as Connor looked at me – curious and impressed. He’d never looked at me that way before.
    I held his gaze, almost smiling. It made me feel strong and powerful, as if I was a dark, mysterious criminal. (See that scar on my finger? It’s from wrestling a thrashing killer trout. And see that wild look in my eye? It’s from seeing things that you would never believe.)
    After a while, he cracked up laughing. ‘Not bad, not bad . . . I’m impressed.’
    Then I thought of something. ‘Actually, I was wondering, when you sell worms up at the cafe, have you ever noticed anything . . . strange about the fish that get caught?’
    Connor frowned. ‘Strange in what way?’
    â€˜Nothing. I was just wondering.’
    â€˜That guy buys heaps of worms, though. I think the fish keep stealing them from the hook.’ He shrugged. ‘Lucky there are so many in our backyard. You can help me dig for worms next time if you want,’ he said.
    â€˜Thanks,’ I said, and picked up the bucket.
    Somehow, it didn’t seem quite so heavy anymore.

    Back in my own room, I put the bucket on the carpet and rubbed my aching hands again. The fish pieces were still flapping in the bottom of the bottle, right where I had left them.
    Gently, I lifted the bottle just above the bucket’s waterline, and tipped. Water trickled from the bottle, but nothing else did. The fish didn’t fall out.
    â€˜Come on.’ I jiggled my bottle, trying to shake out the fish. Nothing moved.
    I jiggled again, a bit rougher this time. With a series of sliding plops, all seven pieces slipped into