Free Blabber Mouth by Morris Gleitzman Page A

father’s self-respect?
    Dad’s grinning, but inside he must be feeling awful.
    Stack me, Ms Dunning’s just bid ten dollars.
    Why’s everyone laughing? At least she’s doing her best to make him feel better.
    Oh.
    The ten dollars is for him not to sing.
    Mr Fowler has banged his auctioneer’s hammer and declared her the successful bidder.
    Everyone’s laughing and clapping, including Dad, but inside he must be bleeding.
    Four twenty-seven.
    Andy, this is getting desperate.
    I know skywriting is just a hobby for you, but it’s a matter of life and death down here.
    Now Ms Dunning’s trying to persuade Dad to go in the sack race.
    That woman is incredible.
    Even though he’s taken the sack off his feet and put it on his head and she must be burning up inside with embarrassment, she’s still pretending she’s enjoying herself so she doesn’t hurt his feelings.
    Definitely a saint.
    Four twenty-eight.
    Where is he?
    If Andy Peck has flown to Western Australia with my two hundred and ninety dollars I’ll track him down even if it takes me the rest of my life because it took me hundreds of hours helping Dad in the orchard to earn that money.
    There’s Amanda.
    She must have just arrived.
    Oh well, at least now I’ve got someone to moan to about the Peck family.
    Oh no, if she’s here, that means . . .
    Mr Cosgrove.
    There he is.
    He’s seen Dad.
    Don’t do it, Dad, don’t take the sack off your head.
    He’s taken it off.
    He’s seen Mr Cosgrove.
    They’re staring at each other.
    Oh no.
    Wait a sec, what’s that noise?
    Is it . . ?
    Yes.
    It’s a plane.

Andy Peck turned out to be a really good skywriter for an amateur.
    Though as I’d paid him two hundred and ninety dollars I suppose that made him a professional.
    Anyway, he did a great job and I’m really happy.
    Fairly happy.
    I think.
    His letters were big and clear, huge swoops of white smoke against the blue sky.
    As the plane started buzzing overhead, Mr Fowler stopped the charity auction. ‘We’ll take a breather,’ he said, ‘and enjoy the spectacle.’
    Most people were already looking up.
    â€˜What’s he writing?’ asked a woman near me.
    â€˜The Parents and Teachers Committee asked him to write the school motto,’ said a man.
    â€˜I didn’t think the school motto began with “Pull”,’ said the woman.
    â€˜Nor did I,’ said the man, frowning as he looked up at the huge PULL hanging in the sky.
    â€˜It doesn’t,’ Amanda said in my ear. ‘The school motto’s “Forward Not Back”.’
    â€˜He’s not doing the school motto,’ I said. ‘He’s helping me save my dad’s social life.’
    Amanda stared at me.
    I looked over at Dad.
    He wasn’t even looking up. He was walking towards Mr Cosgrove.
    That’s when I got mad.
    I wanted to yell at him.
    â€˜Listen, you cheese-brain,’ I wanted to roar, ‘I’m trying to tell you something.’
    But you can’t yell with your hands across a crowded school oval.
    I was nearly exploding.
    It was an emergency.
    I put my fingers in my mouth and gave three of my loudest whistles.
    Dad stopped and looked around and saw me.
    I glared at him and pointed up.
    He looked up.
    Andy had almost finished the YOUR.
    Dad stared.
    So did Mr Cosgrove.
    So did Amanda.
    So did everyone.
    Nobody spoke until Andy had finished HEAD, then a buzz of voices started.
    Amanda gripped my arm. ‘You didn’t?’ she gasped.
    I was still glaring at Dad.
    He was still peering up, puzzled.
    Andy finished the IN.
    â€˜â€œPull Your Head In,” ’ someone read. ‘That’s not the school motto.’
    â€˜It is now,’ someone else said, ‘so pull your head in.
    Everyone laughed.
    I wanted to scream at them. Couldn’t they see this was serious?
    Andy finished the DAD.
    Everyone went quiet