friends.’
Meanwhile, back at the tent …
‘You’re sick,’ said Macca, finishing off his second slice. ‘At this rate you’ll all end up losing the lot. And wouldn’t that be a waste. Of course,’ he said reaching for his third slice, ‘nothing could make me chunder.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Old iron guts. That’s what Dad calls me.’
‘Betcha we could,’ said Sam, suddenly serious. ‘Get you to throw up, that is.’
Macca looked from the remaining slices of pizza to Sam then back again. ‘Uh uh,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘A MacTavish never throws up.’ He smiled at Sam. ‘Not even my little sister Annie when she mistook that cockroach for a chocolate.’
‘Reckon we could,’ persisted Sam, ‘and you wouldn’t even have to eat much.’
‘Could not,’ snapped Macca, whose reputation was on the line.
Macca MacTavish, the only boy to eat six Big Macs in one sitting at McDonald’s. Plus fries. And keep them down.
‘It’s worth a try,’ said Ben. ‘Just for a bit of fun.’
‘Yeah, Macca,’ said Harry. ‘It’ll be a laugh. Take us on. We dare you.’
‘Go for it,’ said Toby, giving Macca a playful pinch on the arm. ‘An eating competition,’ he announced. ‘We’ll have rules,’ he went on, ‘and if you win we owe you one Big Mac — each,’ he added.
Macca hesitated. ‘With a milkshake?’
They all nodded.
‘And if I lose I’ll have to buy you one each?’
It was the boys’ turn to nod.
‘Done,’ he said, shaking their hands in turn.
Long into the night they discussed the rules of the dare, each boy puzzling over what food they could bring that would be guaranteed to make Macca MacTavish throw up.
Chapter Three
‘Muuum?’ called Harry to his mother in the kitchen. ‘What food would make you want to vomit?’
Mrs Michaels was busy chopping carrots for dinner but she put down her knife and carefully considered the question.
‘I never vomit, Harry dear,’ she said. ‘I only … recycle.’
‘All right, Mum,’ said Harry. ‘What foods do you tend to recycle from your stomach then?’
‘Well, dear,’ said Mrs Michaels lowering her voice to a whisper and glancing over her shoulder. ‘I have to work very hard to keep down your father’s pigs’ hearts and lambs’ brains pie.’ She winked.
‘Pigs’ hearts and lambs’ brains pie?’ asked Harry.
‘Yes, dear.’ She giggled. ‘We eat it every Friday night.’ Harry looked puzzled then suddenly lost his suntan. ‘We’ve always told you it was chicken.’
Harry’s breakfast recycled itself into the kitchen sink.
‘Next time aim for the bucket, Harry dear,’ smiled Mrs Michaels. ‘Then I can put it in the compost.’ He nodded weakly, relieved that his search was over.
Chapter Four
Sam was sitting at his desk, trying to do his homework — without much success. He kept thinking about his challenge for Macca and staring into space.
Only the space wasn’t really a space.
It was a tank of water with bubbles in it.
His goldfish kept staring back.
Sam looked glumly at the essay in front of him. He had written across the top, ‘A Day in the Life of a…’ then stopped, stuck for something to write about. His dog’s scratching caught his attention. ‘Flea,’ he finished triumphantly.
The goldfish wasn’t impressed. It gave him the eye and swam round and round the tank.
Like it’s doing three-sixties, thought Sam deciding to cross out ‘Flea’ and writing ‘Skateboarder’ instead.
The goldfish opened and closed its mouth in disgust.
‘What’s your problem?’ Sam asked angrily.
There’s something seriously wrong with an animal that doesn’t blink, he thought to himself as he tried to stare down the goldfish.
It reminded him of a trout his dad had caught once and proudly served up for dinner. Whole. Its head and everything still attached. Sam had feltdecidedly queasy — especially when he looked at its eyes. The silver pools had turned an opaque white, looking like