Free My Life and Other Massive Mistakes by Tristan Bancks Page B

operate.
    His eyes widen and he steps back, almost falling into the bath. ‘Maybe let’s try the wiggling and see how we go.’
    So Jack and I each find our loosest tooth and wiggle like crazy. We wiggle all afternoon, then we say goodbye and we wiggle all night. I stay at Nan’s for the night, like we planned, but teeth are harder to pull out than I thought.It takes me three whole days to work the first tooth free, with very little blood loss. I wake up Tuesday morning to five big bucks sitting on my bedside table next to an empty glass of water. The best part is that Mum can’t take it off me no matter how lazy I am. What kind of a mother would steal tooth-fairy money?
    I lie back on my bed, wondering if Jack and I could franchise our tooth-mining idea and sell it to kids all over the world. I use my tongue to poke the smooth space where my tooth once was. It tickles when I flick at the loose threads of gum there.
    At school Jack tells me he lost his tooth, too. We are loaded, so we buy iceblocks and milkshakes from the canteen at lunchtime. We even buy lollies for other kids and everyone is nice to us. We’re finally getting the respect we deserve. Life is pretty good.
    We start working on our next teeth right away. Over the next month, we each removethree more teeth. It’s like my face is an ATM. I press a few buttons and boom! Cash slides out from between my lips. I even time one of the teeth to ‘fall out’ at Nan’s so that I get that tenner. With all these teeth missing, I’m starting to look like a jack-o’-lantern, which is cool because Halloween is next Friday.
    The problem is, when money starts flowing that easily, you can get greedy. You really can. The teeth get harder to pull. And that’s where Jack and I mess up.
    I’m working on my next tooth for about four weeks and I’m getting worried. Jack is suddenly a tooth ahead of me and our cashflow has started to dry up.
    â€˜We’ve saved nothing for our dreams,’ Jack says on the bus one morning. ‘We’ve got nothing for the future. We’ve got to start putting some away.’
    â€˜Don’t panic,’ I tell him.

    â€˜I’m not panicking. But if you’re just going to spend everything we make…’
    â€˜Yeah? How much have you got?’
    â€˜Four bucks!’ Jack says. ‘You?’
    â€˜This tooth is nearly out,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll have money soon.’
    â€˜You’d better, because I’m going to be a billionaire, and you’re either coming with me or you’re not.’
    â€˜Oh, I’m coming,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll have the money by tomorrow. Our first savings. We’ll start a bank account.’
    â€˜That’s more like it,’ he says. We seal the deal with a fist bump.
    That day, it’s Me v. Tooth. I wiggle it in class. I wiggle it on the way home. I wiggle it at soccer training. I wiggle it doing homework. I wiggle it in the shower. I wiggle it in bed and, finally, as sleep starts to take me, the tooth pops out. I nearly swallow it. I sit up, spit it into my palm and scream, ‘Mum! I lost a tooth!’
    She comes into my room, flicks on the lamp and says, ‘Another one? Let me see.’
    I show her. There’s a bunch of blood and it feels like I have a Grand-Canyon-sized hole in my mouth. It hurts, but it’s out and I suddenly have more money than Jack, and that is an unbelievable feeling.
    â€˜You’ve been losing so many teeth,’ she says.
    â€˜I know. I wish it’d stop.’ I hold my cheek like I’m in pain.
    â€˜Well, we’d better leave this out for the tooth fairy, I suppose. If you keep losing teeth I’ll have to get a second job.’
    I laugh and blood dribbles down my chin.
    Mum plucks a tissue out of her sleeve and mops it up.
    She looks at the tooth, turns it over in her palm, then stands and holds it up to the lamp light, inspecting