Free So Sick! by J A Mawter Page B

routine. I pass a note to Kieran telling him to meet me for a game of touch at lunchtime. I colour in the empty letters on my book that say, Homework. I draw a mo on the photo of the author at the back of our class novel, then add fangs, horns and a tail. Anyone who writes crap like that deserves it.
    Mr Epeler is handing out crosswords to help our spelling. Being told how many letters we have to aim for is meant to miraculously turn us into spellers. But, hey? Knowing there’s twenty-one letters in that flower word only tells me that I’ll have to know nearly the whole alphabet — all jumbled up! Not much comfort in that.

    Mr Epeler has done one group and is moving to another. By the protest from my nostrils I can tell he’s getting close. I hold my breath, waiting for him to pass. Holding my breath is something I’m quite good at. It started with holding my breath when I go past a cemetery, to holding my breath going over bridges and through tunnels. You name it, and I can hold my breath for it. My best breath-holding stunt ever was when I pretended to drown at the school camp while we were canoeing. Everyone’s clutching their canoes and peering into the water, looking for signs of life, when up I swim beside Mrs Weston. It was the Boo! that did her in. The Boo, and the fact that she jerked and ended up in the drink.
    I see Mr Epeler’s shoes stopped at my desk, and wonder what’s going on.
    ‘Bit of a problem, Jake,’ he says as a statement, not a question.
    He means well, I know he does. He leans over and puts an arm around my shoulder. How could he? Today he’s worse than a nest of dead mice. I hold my breath and try to concentrate on what he’s saying. Maybe it will help him move on.
    ‘Can I help?’ asks Mr Epeler. He points to one of the clues. ‘What about starting with this one? Three down.’
    I stare at the clue but I can’t read it. My eyes have started to water. I develop double vision.
    Mr Epeler thinks I’m stalling. How can I explain? It’s lack of oxygen. ‘Go on Jake,’ he says. ‘Have a go.’
    Once more he reaches out to point at the clue. Once more I’m smothered in After-Shave à la Pong! I look up.

    Kieran’s frowning.
    Adam’s clowning.
    And I’m drowning.
    Angus is doing his work.
    ‘Come come,’ says Mr Epeler. He looks at me with this half-smile on his dial.
    The classroom has gone very quiet.
    Ivy looks concerned. She grimaces, then shrugs as if to say, sorry I can’t help you.
    Mr Epeler ploughs on. ‘It’s quite simple, really. Five letters. A small black and white animal …’ he reads.
    My head’s spinning. What’s the answer? A cat? Dog? Ferret, perhaps?
    ‘… from North America … ’
    Now, that changes things. Despite being blind, I try to pull up an internal picture of this animal.
    ‘… which gives off an unpleasant smell when it is frightened!’ finishes Mr Epeler triumphantly.

    Of course! I look Mr Epeler in the eye. ‘Skunk!’ I yell.
    Mr Epeler doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve called him a skunk. He actually seems pleased that I’ve finally got
    it. ‘Quite right,’ he says and with a parting spray of deadly armshade he pats me on the head.
    I slump on my desk, faint with lack of oxygen. I tell you, spelling is going to be the death of me.
    Just as Mr Epeler sits down, Angus puts up his hand. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says. ‘Perhaps the people in Red shouldn’t have to spell Amorphophallus titanum … ’
    I glare at him. Angus doesn’t
do
‘nice’.
    ‘It’s far too hard for them.’ Angus is looking from face to face as though he’s angling for class captain votes.
    Ivy and Osheen and Jung Sian are sitting with their heads bowed and their hands clasped in their laps. I think of how hard Ivy tries. I think of Jung Sian and his reading books of squiggles (don’t know if they’re Mandarin or Cantonese). And Osheen, who taught me how to swear in Armenian. For them, this is the ultimate burner.
    ‘After all,’ goes on