‘Hils?’

  ‘Affirmative.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Affirmative.’

  It wasn’t nothing though.

  47

  THE WASN’T-NOTHING

  The next day at school it still wasn’t-nothing.

  During Chemistry – when Helna and Krishna poured something into something else and everyone had to evacuate the lab – it still wasn’t-nothing.

  At lunchtime – when Simon Bolivar screamed and no one took any notice and later we found out that he’d actually been bitten by a spider and might have to have his toe amputated – it still wasn’t-nothing.

  After school – when I lied to Hils and told her that I couldn’t do war training because I had promised to chop firewood for our blind next-door neighbour because the last time he’d chopped the firewood he’d decapitated five guinea pigs – it still wasn’t-nothing.

  The wasn’t-nothing was going to stay a wasn’t-nothing unless I did something.

  I needed to visit Rashid.

  48

  THE VISIT

  I locked my bike up outside Rashid’s house.

  I had telephoned to make an appointment. Rashid insisted everyone make an appointment before visiting him.

  Hils never made an appointment.

  ‘Bula,’ said Rashid.

  That’s Fijian for ‘Hello.’

  Rashid is Fijian. He is the biggest person at our school (including teachers), the smartest person at our school (definitely including teachers) and my second-best friend. (There is nothing wrong with Rashid. He is best-friend material. He’s amazing. He’s the greatest. Anyone else would be lucky to have him as their best friend. It’s just the best-friend-of-Charlie-Ian-Duncan-position is already filled.)

  ‘We are pleased to have you come before us with your question of great importance,’ said Rashid.

  Last term Rashid did a school project and discovered he was descended from the Fijian royal family. For some reason, after he found that out, he started speaking like a character out of a play about English kings.

  ‘We have prepared the royal meeting chamber,’ said Rashid.

  The ‘royal meeting chamber’ is Rashid’s lounge.

  ‘There we shall listen to that which vexes you.’

  For some reason Rashid says ‘we’ instead of ‘I’. I think it’s a royal thing.

  In the lounge I sat on the couch and Rashid sat on his throne. His throne is an old chair he found on the side of the road. He put it on a box and covered it in plastic knives. The plastic knives are meant to make it more intimidating. Thrones are meant to be intimidating. I don’t know why.

  The plastic knives don’t really make the throne more intimidating. Once I did get my jumper caught on one of them. That was annoying.

  Apart from the throne the lounge was pretty normal. It had some chairs, a light switch that always gives Rashid an electric shock, and Rashid’s grandmother. She is Fijian and doesn’t speak any English.

  Rashid calls her Bubu.

  She’s always in the lounge. In the same chair. Weaving baskets.

  The lounge is full of about five million baskets. She makes baskets out of anything: leaves, newspapers, forks. (Yes. Forks.) Once, I left my schoolbag in the lounge and when I came back Bubu had torn it up and made it into a basket.

  It felt a bit strange having Bubu in the lounge because I wanted to talk to Rashid about Stinkly Wrinklys.

  ‘Speak,’ said Rashid.

  So I spoke.

  I told Rashid everything that had happened.

  While I was telling Rashid about the chilli sauce and The Us and the Stinkly Wrinklys’ HQ, Bubu sat in her chair weaving a basket out of banana skins and carrot peelings.

  Finally I got to the wasn’t-nothing.

  ‘They’ve got false teeth. One of them has a glass eye. She takes it out and puts it in water. They have naps. Rashid, is it okay to go to war with someone who has naps?’

  Bubu finished her banana skin and carrot peelings basket and immediately started making another one.

  Out of ladies’ bras.

  ‘Rashid, I really need your advice. Should I go to war with the Stinkly Wrinklys?’

  49

  THE FIGHT

  ‘What do you mean you don’t want to go to war with the Stinkly Wrinklys?’ said Hils.

  ‘They have naps,’ I said.

  ‘Which means we can catch them napping,’ said Hils.

  ‘There are only two of them.’

  ‘Warren said nobody knows how many there are,’ said Hils.

  ‘It’s not right.’

  ‘They are preparing for war,’ said Hils.

  ‘We don’t know that for sure.’

  ‘We are not giving up. David never gave up.’

  ‘Who’s David?’

  ‘David from David and Goliath,’ said Hils. ‘You’re David. The Stinkly Wrinklys are Goliath.’

  ‘Goliath didn’t have a glass eye,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe he did.’

  ‘I bet he didn’t. If I’m David and the Stinkly Wrinklys are Goliath, who are you?’

  ‘I’m the rock that hits Goliath in the eye and kills him,’ said Hils.

  ‘Should I be the rock? You can be David,’ I said.

  ‘Negative. I am the rock. We have to go to war,’ said Hils.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You want a paper round.’

  ‘A paper round is not worth going to war for,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’

  ‘Scared?’ said Hils.

  ‘Am not,’ I said.

  ‘Are so.’

  ‘Am not.’

  ‘You’re so scared that you urinate in your fatigues,’ said Hils.

  ‘What does that mean?’ I said.

  ‘It means you wee in your pants,’ said Hils.

  ‘Do not.’

  ‘Lots of wee.’

  ‘I wee in the toilet where wee is meant to go. I do not wee in my pants.’

  ‘Do so,’ said Hils.

  ‘Do not.’

  ‘Do so.’

  ‘I’d rather be scared than love war,’ I said. ‘You love war.’

  ‘Do not,’ said Hils.

  ‘You love war so much you hold hands with it,’ I said.

  ‘Do not.’

  ‘You kiss war on the lips,’ I said.

  ‘You are being ridiculous. War doesn’t have lips,’ said Hils.

  ‘You wrote war a soppy love poem.’

  ‘I WOULD NEVER EVER WRITE ANYONE A SOPPY LOVE POEM,’ said Hils.

  Then she punched me.

  Really, very, super hard.

  ‘I DON’T WRITE POEMS. I start wars,’ said Hils.

  ‘Well I hope you enjoy your war.’

  ‘I will and when I win,’ said Hils, ‘I won’t give you a paper round even if you beg for one.’

  ‘That’s just mean.’

  ‘Being mean is how you win wars.’

  ‘I hope you lose,’ I said.

  ‘Are you on their side now?’ said Hils.

  ‘Maybe I am.’

  ‘See you on the battlefield. Don’t expect any mercy,’ said Hils.

  ‘That’s not very nice.

  I’d show you mercy.’ ‘I don’t want your mercy,’ said Hils.

  ‘Then I won’t show you any,’ I said.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Good.’

  50

  THE DREAM

  That night I lay in bed and tried to design a new high-tech gadget to put in my secret headquarters but I couldn’t.

  I felt weird about the fight I’d had with Hils.

  I’d never had a fight with Hils before.

  I knew I was right about not going to war with the Stinkly Wrinklys, but fighting with Hils had made me feel like I was wrong.

  Fighting with Hils was confusing.

  And tiring.

  That night I had a dream.

  I was watching a movie. Some writing came up on the screen:

  From the part of the brain that brought you last Wednesday’s dream about a gorilla full of Nutella comes a new dream . . .

  The screen went black and ominous music started.

  Then on the screen I saw Hils. She was the leader of some sort of rebel force. She was standing in a dark, misty wasteland on top of a big mound of rubble. She was dressed in ripped, dirty army clothes and carried a bazooka that fired rockets filled with rooster brand chilli sauce. Her face was covered in scars. She looked very serious.

  She was surrounded by other rebels who were also dressed in ripped, dirty army clothes and whose faces were also covered in scars. They were also very serious.

  ‘I know this has been a long and terrible war,’ said Scar-Faced Hils.

  I saw a flash of the war.

  It was a war against the Stinkly Wrinklys.

  I saw gnashing gnets being twirled.

  I saw snot-hardened hankies being thrown.

  I heard screaming.

  The rebels were losing.

  ‘This is our last chance,’ said Scar-Faced Hils. ‘We must defeat the Stinkly Wrinklys or all is lost. Are you with me?’

  ‘YES,’ shouted all the other serious-looking-scar-faced rebels.

  Hils raised her rooster-brand-chilli-sauce-rocket-firing-bazooka.

  ‘TO VICTORY!’ shouted Scar-Faced Hils.

  Then I saw the final battle between the serious, scar-faced rebels and the Stinkly Wrinklys.

  A gigantic gnashing gnet knocked out half the rebel force in one swipe.

  A snot-hardened hanky sliced off a rebel’s scarred, serious head.

  Very soon Hils was the only rebel left. Stinkly Wrinklys were coming at her from everywhere. She dodged a vicious pinch. She ducked a swinging gnashing gnet. She jumped to avoid a snot-hardened hanky but it hit her right in the bum.

  Hils grabbed her bottom and screamed in pain.

  51

  THE VISION

  ‘Quickly, tell us what happens next,’ said Rashid.

  I was back at Rashid’s telling him about the dream. I was sure that he would understand what it meant.

  ‘I was really high above the city,’ I said. ‘The sun was rising. Then I was standing at the end of my street. The neighbours started coming out of their houses to go to work and school and yogalates but they weren’t dressed for work and school and yogalates THEY WERE ALL DRESSED LIKE STINKLY WRINKLYS.’

  While I was telling Rashid about the dream his Bubu was sitting on her chair weaving a basket out of fingernails.

  It was amazing.

  And disgusting.

  ‘All the females were wearing old lady dresses,’ I said. ‘All the males had their pants pulled up really high. Everyone was wearing hand-knitted cardigans and brown shoes.

  ‘Then it was night and I was standing outside my house. I looked inside. There was nothing on the TV except the news and programs where old ladies solve murders. Everyone went to bed at 7.30 and read books about old ladies solving murders. Everyone had false teeth. Everyone had a glass eye.

  ‘STINKLY WRINKLYS RULED THE WORLD.

  ‘It was horrible.’

  ‘Why bring us news of this horrifying vision?’ said Rashid.

  ‘I need to know if you think the Stinkly Wrinklys could really take over the world.’

  ‘It was a dream. It was not real. It does not show the future.’

  ‘I didn’t want to go to war against someone who had a glass eye, but if they are going to make me have a glass eye then maybe war is the only way to stop them,’ I said.

  ‘Calm yourself, good sir. The elderly are weak. We need not fear them.’

  Just then we heard a really, very, super loud ripping noise.

  It was Rashid’s Bubu.

  SHE WAS RIPPING UP THE COFFEE TABLE.

  She was holding the wooden top of the coffee table between her thumb and forefinger and was ripping it into strips.

  ‘Are you sure we need not fear them?’ I said. ‘Are you sure they are weak?’

  Rashid’s Bubu finished ripping up the coffee table and started making a basket out of it.

  ‘Rashid?’ I said. ‘Do you think your Bubu could rip us up like that?’

  ‘We fear she could,’ said Rashid.

  ‘I think we have to go to war against the Stinkly Wrinklys.’

  ‘We believe you must.’

  ‘We’ll need your help, Rashid,’ I said.

  ‘We are not sure we wish to become embroiled in a war.’

  ‘Please, Rashid. Please.’

  ‘We shall consider your entreaties when we next sit in counsel with our most trusted lords.’

  I think he meant the other guys from his rugby team.

  ‘If you help us you’ll need to do some training,’ I said. ‘Hils has scheduled a training session for tomorrow afternoon. It’s at our secret training location behind the bamboo next to the railway tracks near the zoo.’

  Then I had a thought.

  ‘At least I think training is still happening. Hils and I had a bit of a fight.’

  52

  THE APOLOGY

  Hils and I had arranged to meet outside Warty Ear’s House of Horrible Food (otherwise known as The Intersection Café) then go to our secret training area.

  We’d never fought before.

  I didn’t like it. It made me feel bad.

  When I saw Hils I would say sorry.

  But what if she wasn’t waiting for me?

  Maybe what I had said about her writing a soppy love poem had made her so mad she’d decided not to meet me?

  Maybe she had moved to Ashgabat, the capital of Turkmenistan? I walked down past the Shop That Has Been ‘For Lease’ Forever, turned the corner and there she was.

  At least I think it was Hils.

  She was facing away from me. I could only see her back.

  Maybe it wasn’t Hils.

  Maybe Hils was so mad at me she had sent someone who looked like her to tell me she had moved to Ashgabat, the capital of Turkmenistan.

  I walked up behind the might-be-someone-who-looked-like-Hils-or-might-actually-be-Hils.

  ‘Hils?’ I said.

  The-might-be-someone-who-looked-like-Hils-or-might-actually-be-Hils turned around.

  It was Hils.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘I’m sorry too,’ said Hils.

  53

  THE AMBUSH

  ‘Rashid’s probably already there,’ I said to Hils as we pushed through the bamboo that led to our secret training area.

  We squeezed out of the bamboo.

  Rashid wasn’t there.

  There was someone there though.

  Someone who wasn’t meant to be there. Lots of someones who weren’t meant to be there.

  The someones were Stinkly Wrinklys.

  Lots of Stinkly Wrinklys.

  We’d been ambushed.

  My stomach got all hot and I felt like I was going to be sick.

  I looked over at Hils.

  She started laughing.

  Oh no.

  Hils only started laughing when something had gone really, very, super wrong. I don’t know why she did it. She just did.

  ‘There are more than three of them,’ I said.

  Hils looked around.

  ‘I put the number of enemy combatants at approximately forty,’ said Hils.

  ‘That is more than three,’ I said.

  ‘Affirmative.’

  ‘Run.’

  ‘Affirmative.’

  Before we could run anywhere the Stinkly Wrinklys formed a circle around us.

  We were trapped.

  Mrs Cyclopolos and The Skrink stepped forward.

  The Skrink was hiding something behind her back.

  I dropped to my knees and covered my eyes.

  When I didn’t get squirted with rooster brand chilli sauce I opened my eyes.

  From behind her back The Skrink pulled out my bike.

  She had Del Zarzosa Soy Yo The Sabre.

  ‘You stole my bike,’ I said.

  The Skrink didn’t say anything.

  The Skrink placed The Sabre on the ground in front of her.

  ‘How did you get my bike here?’ I said. ‘Did you ride it? Did you put the seat up? If you did, you had better have put it down again. It’s very rude to change the height of someone’s seat and then not change it back.’

  The Skrink didn’t say anything.

  She looked at Del Zarzosa Soy Yo The Sabre. Then she looked at me. Then raised her pinching fingers high in the air.

  ‘Hoo haa,’ shouted all the other Stinkly Wrinklys.

  Then The Skrink pinched the middle of my bike and MY BIKE SNAPPED IN TWO!

  I was shocked.

  I was furious.

  I was horrified.

  I was terrified.

  I was laughing.

  I was laughing?

  I watched, frozen to the spot, laughing as The Skrink kept pinching my bike until The Sabre had been pinched into hundreds of tiny pieces.

  ‘Hoo haa,’ shouted all the Stinkly Wrinklys.

  Why did Hils and I laugh when

  we were ambushed and things

  went horribly wrong?

  You know how when you mix a whole lot of different colours together you get brown? Well, I think that when you mix a whole lot of emotions together you get laughing. When The Skrink pinched The Sabre in two I felt shock, anger, sadness and a whole lot of other emotions. I felt them all at the same time and they got all mixed up together and came out as laughing.

  54

  THE ANGER

  The Stinkly Wrinklys walked off, leaving a pile of metal and rubber and plastic that used to be my bike.

  They had killed Del Zarzosa Soy Yo The Sabre.

  They had pinched him into little bits.

  They had taken my freedom.

  They had done that and then just walked off.

  I had let them walk off.

  I hadn’t done anything.

  Neither had Hils.

  ‘YOU JUST STOOD THERE,’ I said. ‘YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DO SOMETHING I SUPPOSE I SHOULD DO SOMETHING AS WELL BUT I DON’T EXPECT ME TO BUT I DO EXPECT YOU TO AND THEY’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO PINCH MY BIKE INTO PIECES WHAT’S SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN WHEN I WANT CHEESE AND BACON BALLS AND TO KICK A GOAL AGAINST HUNGER IT WILL TAKE MUCH MORE THAN 4.4 MINUTES TO GET THEM YOU JUST STOOD THERE WHILE THEY KILLED MY BIKE I WANT TO BE ABLE TO FLY AND I WANT TO BE ABLE TO SHOOT PEANUT BUTTER OUT OF ONE HAND AND TINY BITS OF ITCHY HAIR OUT OF THE OTHER HAND BUT NOT ALL THE TIME THAT WOULD MAKE NORMAL STUFF VERY HARD TO DO BUT I WANT TO HAVE PEANUT BUTTER AND TINY-BITS-OF-ITCHY-HAIR-SHOOTING HANDS WHEN I AM REALLY MAD AND I WANT TO SWOOP DOWN ON THOSE BIKE MURDERERS AND COVER THEM IN PEANUT BUTTER AND TINY BITS OF ITCHY HAIR AND THEY’LL BE ALL STICKY AND ITCHY AND I’LL LAUGH AND THEY’LL ITCH AND ITCH AND ITCH AND GET PEANUT BUTTER IN A WHOLE LOT OF PLACES YOU SHOULD NEVER GET PEANUT BUTTER THEN THE PEANUT BUTTER WILL GET ALL SMELLY AND THEY’LL BE SMELLY AND ITCHY AND I’LL LAUGH BUT THEY WILL PROBABLY NOT HEAR IT BECAUSE I’LL BE FLYING PAST REALLY FAST AND BECAUSE THEY’LL BE ALL SMELLY AND ITCHING LOUDLY.’