Page 12 of Power Moves
‘My mum has a hybrid!’ announces the curly-haired boy. ‘Dad calls it a “pussy-arse—”’
‘OKAY!’ I interrupt. ‘Who wants to show me around?’
‘I will!’ says the curly-haired boy, jumping off the log. ‘I’m Rahul.’ He sticks out a chubby hand but just as I go to shake it, he yanks it away. ‘You snooze, you lose, bruh,’ he says, to a chorus of giggles from the other kids.
‘Rahul!’ warns Miss Rose from across the playground. ‘Manners!’ She’s now using netball defence-type moves to shepherd the stick-insect kid back to the group.
On the playground, Rahul is already running up a series of log steps that lead to a George of the Jungle–style tree tower. ‘C’mon Mrs Minister!’
It seems pointless to remind him I’m not the minister, nor the missus of the minister. Regardless, I’m not even sure I can make it up the steps in these slingbacks.
‘Not scared, are you?’ calls Rahul over his shoulder.
It shouldn’t provoke me as much as it does, but my body surges with aHell no, Rahul.
‘Coming!’ I call brightly. I tiptoe carefully up the log steps, my pencil skirt restricting my stride to an awkward, crab-like scuttle. By the time I make it to the top, Rahul is bouncing like the Energizer Bunny.
‘Let’s race to the bottom!’ he yells.
‘YESSSS!’ cheer the kids at ground level.
‘Oh, um.’
My options for descending include a slippery slide, a cargo net, a fireman’s pole and the fiddly log stairs.
‘Ready, set, GO!’ Rahul hollers. He darts to the slippery slide.
I’m not proud of the way I scramble for the fireman’s pole, but I blame my tennis-coach mum: the competitive streak is genetic.
It’s not until I’m airborne that I realise there’s no possible way to do this in a pencil skirt. A vision of Bridget Jones’s bum floods my cerebral cortex.The squeak, the slide, the undies!Desperately, I clamp my legs together, attempting a kind of arm-based descent down the pole, but I can’t stop gravity.
I tumble into thin air and land smack-bang on the bark chips. The sudden silence does nothing to cushion my fall.
‘SHIT!’ I gasp, scrambling upwards. ‘Shitshitshit!’
Around me, the kids are mute, their expressions stunned.
‘SHIP!!!’ I correct myself. ‘Ship! Ship! SHIP! This is how I play pirate ships. ARGH MATEY!’
Oh god.Even as I’m saying it, I’m thinking:This is it. My career ends now. I almost annihilated a horde of kindy kids with my bum. Imagine if a nose got stuck between my butt cheeks? I could have smothered a child to death!
Rahul cheers. ‘YEAAAA! PIRATE WAR!’
As if lit by a fuse, the kids squeal and race for the play equipment. Within seconds they’re taking turns on the fireman’s pole, trying to squash their classmates’ heads on the descent.
A panting Miss Rose comes to my side.
‘I’m so, so sorry,’ I gasp. ‘I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?’
Miss Rose laughs wearily. ‘It’d take more than a body falling from a height to scare these kids.’
‘Even so, would you mind not telling anyone about what just happened?’ I ask timidly. ‘It would be really bad for my boss if that story got out.’
Miss Rose chuckles. ‘Honey, it’ll be our little secret.’
‘Thank you,’ I gush. I hate secrets—I hate secretssomuch—but needs must. ‘I just hope my boss didn’t see.’
‘Is that him?’ she asks, pointing over my shoulder to the car park.
