Page 21 of Power Moves
Archie raises his other eyebrow.
‘You know that game,’ I insist. ‘Like if you said “Archie is a sick bro” and I was copying you, I’d have to say “Archie is a sick bro” too.’
‘Who actually says “sick bro”?’
‘I think sick bros say “sick bro” … don’t they?’
Archie tries to hide his smile by turning his face up to gaze at the bats. I look up too and wonder whether the school has some kind of ceremonial rifle I could fire to quickly scare the bats away. Some private schools still have shooting clubs, don’t they? I know Lilac Beach Public technically isn’t a private school, but that’s just in name. I’m pretty sure some of the P&F members have been knighted. I think another one owns eBay.
‘How could we get rid of them?’ I ponder out loud. ‘Do you reckon there’s a rifle here we could use?’
‘We?’
‘I’m glad you found the “we” part of that sentence weirder than the rifle part.’
‘No, that sounded batshit crazy too. That was implicit in my tone. I’m just confused about why you think I’d get involved in any scheme to source a gun at a primary school.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting anything illegal,’ I snap. ‘I meant like one of those old-fashioned musket things that fires blanks. Something that makes a bigpopsound.’
‘A bigpopsound?’
‘Stop copying my words to make them sound stupid. We can’t all be clever enough to have a “batshit crazy” pun on the tip of our tongues.’
Archie smiles and shrugs. ‘I’m gifted.’
Regrettably, it’s the truth.
‘Anyway,’ I press on, ‘I don’tactuallywant to use a firearm at a primary school. It was a fleeting thought that I accidentally verbalised. And I still maintain that a loud bang would probably get rid of them. That was what I was trying to communicate. I was clumsy on the delivery.’
(This is embarrassing to admit. I am supposed to be an expert in communications. I’m certainly supposed to be better than Archie. I’ll just keep talking. That will help.)
‘Do you have a spud gun handy? And a potato?’
Archie snorts.
‘Or we could blow up this paper bag and pop it?’ I suggest, prising it out from my handbag. ‘Like kids used to do in primary school?’
The corners of Archie’s mouth properly curve now. ‘We could give it a go.’
I pull out the jam bun and wrap it in a serviette.
‘Do you want to blow it up?’ I ask. I can imagine stuffing this up, which would be both humiliating and frustrating, especially if it meant the bats continued to fly around shrieking like the Real Housewives of Sydney.
I pass the bag to Archie and he puts the paper to his lips and starts to blow. It’s one of those extra-large, waxy bags, butit becomes a taut balloon in a couple of puffs. He twists the end to seal it. ‘Ready?’ he asks.
‘Go for it.’
He pulls his hand back and I stick my fingers in my ears as he flexes his palm and slams it against the paper bag.
I reflexively close my eyes on the impact and then open them in disbelief.
Archie blinks too.
‘That sounded like a fart.’
‘I know,’ Archie says sheepishly.
‘That was useless!’ I giggle, shaking my head.
