Fire!

By Anne McDonell

Flip has THREE major problems:

ONE - Jackson, a know-it-all who looks and dresses like a film star and bullies Flip

TWO - You wouldn't believe it but Flip's mother invites Jackson to stay for the whole holidays

THREE - Soon after Jackson moves in, a dangerous arsonist attacks a shop and homes in their street.

Can Flip and Jackson reach a compromise and work together to catch the culprit before someone is seriously hurt?

• Language: English
• Publisher: CreateBooks Publishing
• Release date: Sep 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386531258

Book preview

Chapter 1

Fire!

‘Jeez, smoke! Black smoke and sparks! Mum! Dad! Come here NOW,’ I yelled in the loudest voice I’d ever produced.  Our neighbours probably heard.

‘What’s wrong, Flip?’ Mum appeared at our front porch looking confused. To help her understand I ran from the garden to join her and pointed to a spot about fifty metres along our street. Something near the Dolphin Drive store was on fire. She called Dad – not as urgently as I’d called her – and he came out wearing a shaving-foam beard.

‘What’s all the fuss about?’ he asked as he stood beside us.

‘A fire of course.’ I was impatient. Couldn’t he tell that it was important? We watched, and smelled the black smoke as it rose in a long black ribbon over the rooftops.

‘What do you think it is?’ Mum grabbed Dad’s arm.

‘A rubbish fire. I can’t see any flames. Yes, some idiot has probably lit a rubbish fire even though it’s far too windy for fires.’ He wiped the shaving foam with his sleeve and only succeeded in spreading it further. ‘If they hose it down and cover it, that might control it.’ My ideas were more horrific than his.

‘I reckon someone’s house is burning down. Or it might be the store.’ I pictured a red-hot counter covered with melted chocolate and sticky lollies. Ugh! 

That’s when a siren sounded at the end of our street. It was getting closer and louder every minute. ‘What if it’s serious?’ I pleaded. I was worried now. Kids from my school live around that area and our soccer clubhouse is in the nearby sports ground. What if all our gear was burned? ‘I’m going down the road to see what’s happening,’ I announced.

‘Me too,’ Mum said. ‘I’ll see if I can help out.’ She’s a nurse and is great in scary situations, but how would she cope with burned people?

‘And me.’ My kid sister Skye – she’s two years younger than me but more confident - was now beside me hanging on to every word we said. ‘Let’s go!’

‘Keep out of the way of the fire-fighters and their equipment.’ Dad frowned. ‘I don’t want to watch other people’s misfortune so I’ll stay here. Flip can come for me if I can be useful.’

That was typical of Dad’s attitude. ‘Don’t annoy people,’ and ‘Mind your own business’ are two of his favourite sayings. Just as well, I thought: I didn’t want him turning up in public till he’d washed his face! We were out of the gate and heading down Dolphin Drive before he got the last word out.

An ambulance screamed past us and we weren’t the only ones running in that direction. A minute later the ambulance stopped behind the fire engine in a driveway next door to the store.

‘The fire’s at Grubby’s place,’ I called to Skye.’ I wonder what the old guy’s done now!’ The crowd that milled around the area, plus the screen of stinking black smoke, meant we couldn’t see much at all. Skye tugged my shirt urgently. ‘What if he’s still inside?’ We both hoped the old man who lived there was alright. He’s a loner and accident prone, but he's okay.

A fireman in protective clothing held his arms above his head and motioned for us to retreat. ‘Move back. Hurry up. Move back, I said. Come on, you can’t all be deaf!’ People at the front of the crowd tried to obey the fireman’s instructions but those at the back kept pushing forward, trying to see more of what was going on. When at last spectators saw the ambulance being loaded, they stepped aside to let it through. There was no siren this time.

Although smoke still floated in a haze around a window by the chimney, we couldn’t see much of interest. The atmosphere of intense excitement and fear had passed, and some people began to move away in groups. Others stayed to watch the firemen hose down the scene. Now that Skye and I had a good view of Grubby’s house at the end of the tree lined driveway, I realised I was almost disappointed to see nothing more exciting than a charred chimney wall. We call the owner Grubby because he’s a lot like a tramp - doesn’t care about cleanliness or tidiness. It’s not that he stinks. His dog does though. Of course, I don’t call him ‘Grubby’ to his face. I don’t know his proper name but we manage a two-minute chat sometimes. He’s always friendly if we’re polite and he’s sensible enough to ignore my classmates, Keith the bully and Jackson his enthusiastic supporter, when they taunt him. I should say fellow students because they’re definitely not my mates. Anyway, I wish I could ignore the pair like Grubby does. It would save me a lot of suffering.

Then I recalled Pop telling me about Grubby’s home. He reckoned it was ‘an historical cottage’ or an ‘old landmark’, and was built in the 1890s by a proper craftsman. ‘Few of today’s homes will last for 120 years,’ Pop said. ‘One day someone will restore it, you’ll see.’ Dad didn’t think so.

Some people, our family included, call Grubby’s place a house but others (mostly those who live at the posh end of Dolphin Drive) call it a shack and complain that it’s an eyesore and should be demolished. They would probably be glad if the fire had destroyed it. When I saw Mum coming back up the road towards us, my thoughts about the place evaporated. Skye and I asked her how bad the damage was.

‘I wasn’t needed,’ she said. A fireman told me that the old guy who lives here...’

‘Grubby,’ I told her.

‘Whatever. The old guy had a chimney fire. He hadn’t had his chimney cleaned for ten years so it’s no wonder. Fortunately the chimney is on an outside wall that’s made of bricks so the damage was slight – mainly charred window frames, broken glass and smoke damage. The owner’s furniture and other belongings seemed to be safe. He wasn’t too concerned.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ I said, though I knew I’d be terrified.

‘Is his dog okay?’ Skye asked anxiously. She often stopped outside the shop to talk to and pat Grubby’s best friend.

‘He was cuddling a brownish grey, shaggy dog with long ears. It wagged its tail at high speed. It’s a crossbreed; part spaniel I think. It looked fine to me.’ Mum stopped to talk to a neighbour, so Skye and I headed for home.

By this time, I was no longer experiencing the intense emotions I’d felt at the scene of the fire but was wondering if the blaze would be the main gossip at school on Monday. Then my mood changed abruptly. I cursed under my breath. Matt, Keith and Jackson from my class were across the road. I hung back so they wouldn’t see me and hoped I’d observed more than they had. At least Mum would have info to share with me.

Sometimes a trick my Pop taught me helps. He reckons I should visualise irritating and nasty people as animals. It makes them look less intimidating. He pictures his annoying neighbour as a ferret because both are small, fierce and fast movers. I thought vegetables would suit Matt, Jackson and Keith. Matt’s tall, pale and slippery with a mop of curly hair on top, so celery suits him. Keith’s tough, solid and rotten inside like a bad spud. Jackson’s vegetable needed careful consideration. He’s good at sport and schoolwork, neither too tall nor too short and the girls reckon he’s got a movie star’s looks and acting ability. I eventually came up with chilli. They’re pretty on the outside but fiery in the middle and only bearable in small doses, if at all. Yes, chilli suited him very nicely.

‘Why are you walking so slowly?’ Skye said. ‘Are you tired or something? Look! There’s Petal.’ She yelled for her best friend (Jackson’s sister, of all people) to join us. I swore aloud this time because of course Jackson and his mates saw me as well as my kid sister.

‘Hi Flip. Have you finished your project yet?’ Keith yelled.

‘If not, I hope you’ve booked half a day of computer time,’ Jackson said scathingly and the pair cracked up. Matt didn’t say a word.

We can only book half an hour on the class computer. They were being smart because I take longer than everyone else in our class to complete projects that require a computer or the internet. We haven’t got either; that’s why my projects are usually last in for assessment. Jackson suspects the truth, isn’t sure though. I can’t hide anything from him forever because Petal’s sure to tell him that Mum and Dad are against most technological gear. They believe in pen and paper and ‘rote learning’.

‘I suppose Fish Face will have to help you again!’ Keith watched me squirm.

If Ms Mullet, our teacher, didn’t help me I’d never complete a project and he knew it.

Their mate Matt joined in then. He was chicken when it came to starting trouble but enjoyed being part of their group. ‘Why don’t you practise at home?’ he said. ‘Catching up isn’t impossible; might take a year or two though!’

‘Catch up? You must be joking!’ Keith sneered. ‘He’s not a brain-box like you and Jackson are.’

‘Shut up!’ I shouted and took off. The vegetable trick hadn’t worked this time.

‘Why don’t you tell them the truth?’ Skye whispered. ‘I would.’

I couldn’t explain. I don’t know why it mattered so much, but it did. I guess I don’t want everyone to know that I’m the only person in our class whose parents choose to make do without what they call ‘modern luxuries’.

Thoughts of the fire disappeared and my assignment on ‘flight’ loomed like a storm cloud in my mind instead. It had to be on my teacher’s desk by three o’clock on Monday. I could work on drafts and sketches but couldn’t complete the project till I had access to the school computer: hopefully sometime Monday morning. I still had to print a cover with an airship and a space-rocket on it as well as complete and print a page of diagrams.

‘It’s not fair!’ Skye complained. Her mate had taken off with the boys.

‘What’s not fair? Say what you mean,’ I snapped. Just thinking about my enemies made me fume.

‘Petal’s going away next week. She’ll be gone for six weeks. Her parents have to go to Aussie on business or something.’

‘So? It’s not the end of the world. Six weeks will fly fast as, you’ll see.’

‘Doubt it!’

I can’t understand why Jackson Smythe’s so up himself and his sister Petal’s an okay kid. Skye reckons she’s her best friend ever. She’s had a few so she should know. I don’t know their parents but our mothers go to some meetings together; garden club and parent/teacher meetings mostly. Skye often talks about their expensive furniture, soft carpet, shiny appliances and electronic games. She’s right. Life isn’t fair. She wasn’t going to let me forget it either.

‘Petal’s going to Wellington. She’ll stay with her aunt and go to school there.’

I held my breath as a thought entered my mind. ‘What about Jackson? Is he going with her?’

‘No, her aunt’s been sick and can’t take them both. He wants to go so he’s mad as...’

‘Perhaps he’s going to Aussie. His parents can’t leave him home alone for six weeks.’

‘I don’t know who he’s staying with, probably one of his mates.’

We were home so I stopped to look in the mailbox. ‘Matt’s dad is hardly ever home so I doubt Jackson will stay with him. Perhaps he’ll stay with Keith’s family,’ I said, but I was talking to myself. Skye had run inside.

‘Hurry up Flip! I’m hungry.’ Dad was yelling from our front porch. ‘I’m as hungry as two horses. Your mum’s waiting to serve dinner.’

Chapter 2

Arson?

It was Monday morning on the week after the fire at Grubby’s place, and though I’d worked on my flight assignment all weekend I was still struggling with its presentation. I couldn’t concentrate. The jargon bugs me, I lose icons and menus and find ‘Help’ to be no help at all. It’s not because I’m dumb, it’s because I don’t get the practice everyone else gets. I’m sure of that because Keith, our class bully, is dumber than me by far but copes well enough.

‘Jeez! I haven’t got all day!’ Jackson Smythe (not Smith) leaned over my shoulder, peered at my rough, hand-written notes then waved his impressive assignment under my nose. ‘Why don’t you download diagrams from the net and make a good job of it?’ he sneered.

I wanted to punch him. Instead, I stared at the few words I’d managed to put on the screen – my hands are as mobile as bunches of bananas especially when I’ve got an audience. Problems rushed around inside my head. How do I create charts and download graphs? Most kids had grasped more than the