Free Blabber Mouth by Morris Gleitzman

pest,’ the tracksuit guy growled at him.
    They didn’t have to be so nasty about it though.
    Darryn looked really hurt, and for a moment he reminded me of Dad at the sports carnival after Mr Cosgrove had called him badly dressed.
    Then Darryn scowled at me and vanished.
    The door opened wider and a thin bloke in a singlet and shorts stepped in front of the other two.
    I guessed he was Andy because on the front of his singlet was written Crop Dusters Don’t Say It, They Spray It.
    â€˜What is it?’ he said, looking at me.
    â€˜I think she’s that girl from Darryn’s class,’ the tracksuit guy muttered to him. ‘The one he’s always on about. You know, the one that can’t speak cause she was shot in the throat by Malaysian pirates.’
    The three of them stared at me.
    Andy was looking doubtful, and I knew I had to grab his attention before Darryn came back and started telling him more stories about me.
    I decided the note I’d written explaining every-thing might be a bit complicated to kick off with, so I showed Andy the money instead.
    He looked down at the two hundred and ninety dollars in my hand.
    â€˜Tell me more,’ he said.

Where is he?
    It’s twenty-three minutes past four and he was meant to do it at four.
    Come on Andy, please.
    Perhaps he’s lost the bit of paper and he’s forgotten what he’s supposed to write. No, that can’t be it, because after he finished laughing, and agreed to do it, he wrote it on his wrist.
    If he doesn’t get here soon it’ll be too late.
    Dad’ll have upset and embarrassed every parent and every teacher at this barbie and they’ll form a vigilante group and we’ll have to move to another town.
    He’s already upset the lady on the jam stall by asking if he could taste all the jams before he bought one. She laughed but I knew that inside she was ropable.
    And he’s embarrassed Megan O’Donnell’s dad by buying twenty raffle tickets from him just because the third prize is a Carla Tamworth CD.
    Mr O’Donnell shook Dad’s hand and slapped him on the back, but I could tell that inside he knows we haven’t got a CD player and he thinks Dad’s a loony.
    And at least six people have commented how Dad’s purple and yellow shirt looks as though it’s made from the same material as the big purple and yellow Parents and Teachers Association banner over the marquee. They pretended they were joking, but inside I bet they were nauseous.
    At least the Cosgroves aren’t here.
    It means I won’t see Amanda today, but I’m prepared to pay that price if it means Dad and Mr Cosgrove won’t be stabbing each other with chicken kebabs.
    Four twenty-four.
    Come on, Andy.
    Perhaps he’s got mechanical trouble. No, that can’t be it, everyone knows crop-dusters keep their planes in A-1 mechanical condition. Farmers won’t hire you if you keep crashing into their sheds.
    I’ve got a knot in my guts the size of Antarctica.
    Relax, guts, it’ll be fine.
    That’s the great thing about talking in your head. It takes your mind off stress and you don’t get ulcers. If I wasn’t having this conversation now I’d be a nervous wreek.
    Oh no.
    I can’t believe what Dad’s just done.
    He’s donated a song to the fund-raising auction.
    He actually expects people to bid money for him to sing them a song.
    This is so embarrassing.
    I’d go and hide in the marquee if I didn’t have to keep an eye out for Andy in case he’s having trouble with his navigational equipment and I have to set fire to some chicken kebabs to guide him in.
    Dad’ll be so hurt when nobody bids.
    I can picture his face now.
    Good grief, someone’s just bid.
    Two dollars, that’s an insult.
    Haven’t these people got any feelings?
    And now four dollars from Doug Walsh’s parents.
    What are you trying to do, destroy my