Maximus

By Steve Heron and Tash McFarlane

Sometimes you need a special friend to give you wings…

Eleven-year-old Mitch is a regular kid who argues about cleaning his room, thinks his younger sister is a pain, and enjoys hanging out with his friends. But he’s finding life tough going. For one thing, he’s being picked on by Jason, both in class and on the football

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen James Heron
• Release date: Feb 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9780648212744

Steve Heron

Steve's passion is to write books for children with a unique blend of heart, hope, humour, and help to create stories that touch and tickle hearts.Maximus, his first middle-grade novel was published by Serenity Press in 2018 His first trade-published picture book, Ling Li's Lantern MidnightSun Publishing in 2020.Diploma of Children's Writing and Publishing, Australian College - 2015.Steve is the founder of Nurture Works Foundation and developed the acclaimed 'BUZ - Build Up Zone' programs for children.He received an Order of Australia Medal in 2016 for contribution to the social and emotional wellbeing of children.

Book preview

CHAPTER

ONE

FURRY PIZZA CRUSTS

‘Don’t forget to tidy your room,’ Mum’s voice was muffled through my bedroom wall.

I wasn’t in a room-tidying mood. Instead, I lay on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. I felt like a kite on a windless, grey Autumn day.

It was Saturday morning. A two-day break from the torture chamber, aka school. I was looking forward to some serious gaming on my computer this weekend. That was enough to motivate me to move.

Just as I sat down at the computer desk Mum poked her head in my doorway. One look at her scowling face told me she was already in a grumpy mood. I’d heard arguing the night before when Dad came home late after drinking with his mates, only one day after coming back from the mines.

‘No computer till you have tidied your room.’ She glared at me the way mums do, about to shoot laser beams from her eyes.

‘It’s tidy!’ I protested.

‘Looks like a cyclone hit it.’

‘I like it that way.’

‘Clothes belong in a wardrobe, not on the floordrobe.’

Mum and I were still dancing the tidy your bedroom tango, which goes on in a trillion households, when Dad bulldozed into the room. His eyes were red. Probably had a hangover.

He blurted out a pile of words which included the F-bomb and, ‘Do as your mum says and stop being a pain in the a***!’

Arguing with Dad was like trying to do karate with an elephant while wearing a onesie.

I backed down. ‘All right, sorry, Mum.’

That was enough to get rid of them. I stared at the back of the closed door, wanting to punch it and rip it off its hinges. My anger at Dad bubbled inside like the volcanic lava pool I once saw on that Wild Planet show on TV.

I stomped around my room, slammed dunked my dirty clothes in the basket and drop-kicked some stuff under the bed.

Something caught my eye beneath my computer desk. A piece of blue furry pizza which looked like a biology experiment. You know, the one where the teacher gets everyone to put a piece of food in a plastic zip lock bag to see what will happen over time?

Seeing it distracted me from my rage. It reminded me of Maddy. She used a Big Mac meat patty for her experiment when we did it in class. It was the last thing to grow some kind of furry culture. I’m still not sure if this was a good or bad thing.

At the time Maddy told me this pun: ‘Did you hear about the hamburger patty that couldn’t stop telling jokes? He was on a roll!’

Her jokes are a bit lame. Like Dad jokes. But I like them. They remind me of the jokes my dad used to tell before he turned into a jerk.

Maddy’s the only person I can call a real friend lately. She’s not a girly-girl, but she’s not a tomboy either. If she thinks I’m a bit down she either says, ‘You okay, Mitch?’ or she tells me one of her jokes, in an attempt to cheer me up. I’ve needed a lot of that lately.

We’ve known each other since we were born. Our family was there for her and her mum after her dad died in a bad car accident when we were about seven years old. Maddy doesn't talk much about her dad, but I know he used to be a champion footballer. Maybe that’s why she’s so good at footy.

My dad’s a surfer. But the last time he took us surfing was before he started working at the mines. He used to have dreddies but cut them off because his hard hat wouldn't fit properly. It reminds me of a story I once heard about a guy called Samson. He lost all his strength when he had his hair cut off, except my dad lost his temper and niceness.

My dad? Humph! It seems like nothing I do is ever good enough for him. I don’t know what’s going on in his head. He’s always so aggro now he’s working at the mines. He started just after Christmas, so we couldn’t have our regular camping trip down south. Bummer. It’s usually my favourite time of the year. I haven’t forgiven him for that.

Dad is away for three weeks and home for one-and-a-half. I used to look forward to him coming home each time, not so much anymore. Every time he’s away I wish he’d come back in a good mood. Doesn’t happen.

I guess most parents fight about all kinds of things, but it sucks that Mum and Dad fight more than they used to. It’s like they’ve grown apart since Dad started his new job. Mum hardly ever smiles now.

They call this kind of work – FIFO – Fly-In Fly-Out. I’ve heard it called other things: for example, Father-In Father-Out, and another one with swear words I’d better not repeat.

Phht!

I didn’t want to think about my cranky dad anymore. I just wanted to finish tidying my room so I could get on with the weekend.

Finally, after picking up the furry pizza crust with tongs and straightening my bed, I got my room up to what I thought was mum standard. But I was no longer in the mood for computer games. It was mid-morning. Time for food and fresh air.

CHAPTER

TWO

THE FIRST ENCOUNTER OF

THE FEATHERED KIND

The fridge offered countless tasty treats. I grabbed the nearest container holding something drinkable – some kind of breakfast juice with seven different vitamins, minerals, and antioxidants. I thought we needed oxidants or oxygen or something. Anyway, it tasted okay.

In the chiller tray, I found some sandwich meat, which I slapped between two slices of bread. We’ve got one of those cool sauce bottles where the sauce comes out of a monster’s nostrils, like lava from a volcano. I squeezed some of my anger at Dad on the sandwich meat, lots of it.

I plonked myself down on an outdoor chair on the back patio and peered out across the wetlands. Dad and I used to love sitting out here watching the birds. Once we got hold of a bird book and discovered we’d seen thirty-six different species from our patio. It was totally cool the time we saw the Black-faced Cuckoo Shrike. That one’s rare around here.

As I remembered the good times, when Dad and I used to chill on the patio, I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye. On the lawn, just to the right of the patio, a black-and-white feathery creature was staring at me. A magpie. The lone, curious magpie tilted his head to the side. He seemed more interested in me than flying away.

We eye-balled each other for a while. Could this feathered dude be a friend? I started to cheer up at the thought. After a tough week back at school, and then my Dad’s mood, cheering up was just what I needed.

I hadn’t told my parents, but school was bulging with heaps of things that got me down. The same boys who picked on me in Term 1 kept up their usual tricks. On Wednesday, Jason got Ryan and Jack to grab my school bag and tip everything onto the ground. I was fuming but I didn't show them.

Ryan used to be my friend before he started hanging out more with Jason. He’s okay when he isn’t around Jason. Jack is