Laugh Your Head Off Read online

  Evie wasn’t sure that was a good idea. ‘But . . . well . . .’

  ‘No, no, it’s the simple solution. Just give them some food and then they’ll go away. Look, here’s a pie I’ve just made. It’s probably not very good anyway.’

  ‘Herman, all your pies are wonderful. I saw a homeless man weeping tears of joy as he ate one the other day.’

  Herman, however, was already slicing up the pie and putting it on plates. ‘Just take these out to them, please,’ he said, thrusting the plates upon her.

  Not knowing what else to do, Evie took them out to the girls.

  ‘Ew,’ said Mel. ‘Is that really rodent pie?’

  Sarah prodded her steaming slice experimentally with a fork. ‘It can’t be, or else it wouldn’t be safe. The restaurant inspector would close this place down.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s what he’s called,’ said Evie.

  ‘Well whatever he’s called. Should I call him and tell him there’s a place serving rodent pie?’

  ‘No,’ sighed Evie. ‘They are not really rodent pies. They are normal, mince pies. We just call them rodent pies as a . . . joke.’

  Sarah took a bite, and Mel gave a fearful gasp— but a slow smile spread across Sarah’s face as she chewed.

  ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘That’s delicious.’

  Soon all three girls were demolishing their pies.

  When she’d finished, Sarah sat back and wiped her mouth. ‘Mmm!’ she said. ‘Now, what about that tea?’

  ‘We’re out of tea,’ said Evie through clenched teeth.

  ‘Too bad,’ said Sarah. ‘Bet it would have been great. Oh well, maybe next time.’

  Next time? thought Evie, as she watched her friends leave.

  She went back into the kitchen. ‘At least you made some money,’ she said, placing what Sarah had paid for the pie next to Herman as he stirred his stew and stared off into the distance. He seemed lost in his own thoughts. Evie left him alone, and went back to hacking up the booths, paying special attention to the one where Sarah had sat.

  • • •

  The next day at school, Evie found Sarah in the schoolyard.

  ‘That’s wasn’t funny,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Sarah. ‘I just wanted to see where you’re working, that’s all. You wouldn’t tell me anything! But, my goodness, that food was incredible.’

  ‘You can’t tell anyone!’ said Evie. ‘You’ll ruin it all.’

  ‘I won’t tell,’ said Sarah, ‘if you just get me a bit of that pie from time to time. But I can’t promise the same for Mel and Mandy.’

  Sarah gestured over Evie’s shoulder, and she turned to see Mel and Mandy talking animatedly to a large group of kids.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Evie. ‘It’s already too late.’

  For the rest of the morning, Evie heard other students talking about this amazing new café that served rodent pie, and how everyone was going to try it after school. Herman would probably have a heart attack, and it was all her fault! She was thinking so hard about what to do in class, she hardly paid attention to the teacher. Eventually, an idea came to her. She needed to get to the café before everyone else, so, for the first time in her life, she skipped school. It was for a good cause!

  Later that afternoon, Evie told Herman to hide out in the kitchen and leave everything to her. Maybe no one would come, after all? Maybe no one would believe Mel and Mandy?! They had a reputation for spreading gossip and rumours, after all.

  But then she heard the sound of laughing and chatting outside, and through the window she could see hordes of kids descending on the café. Some got stung by the thistles, some got chased by wasps but, still, the door opened, and in they piled, led by Mel and Mandy.

  ‘Get the booths!’ they cried, as a swirl of students spilled around them. Soon, the tables were crammed with kids excitedly banging their knives and forks.

  ‘Rodent pie!’ they chanted. ‘Rodent pie!’

  Evie imagined Herman cowering in the kitchen, which made her even more determined.

  ‘You want rodent pie?’ she called, and expectant eyes turned to her. She revealed a pie from under the counter. ‘Here’s one I prepared earlier,’ she said. Taking a (secretly blunted) knife, she cut into the pie, while everyone else watched with anticipation. As she removed a slice, a little black nose emerged, sniffing the air. A tail flicked back and forth—and then a rat scurried from the pie, over the counter and towards the booths!

  ‘Yum!’ shouted Evie. ‘Rodent pie for everyone!’

  She gave the pie a shake, and more rats spilled out, crawling across the counter.

  ‘What?’ someone shouted. ‘The rats are real?’

  ‘Mel and Mandy said it was just a joke!’

  While everyone was getting freaked out by the rats, Evie pulled a string she had attached to a series of cardboard boxes hidden in the shadows. The tops flew off, and mice and rats spilled forth, like a flood of furballs across the floor. Students screamed and jumped on tables, while others scrabbled for the door.

  ‘Oh no!’ shouted Evie. ‘The rodents are escaping before we can cook them! Quick, everyone—if you want to eat, catch them and then we’ll stuff them into pies! Catch them quick!’

  ‘We don’t really want to eat rats!’ shouted someone. The kids were stampeding for the door, squealing as rats and mice brushed them underfoot or crawled up their legs. The door banged open and they poured onto the street, fleeing the café like it was a sinking ship.

  ‘We’ll never believe Mel and Mandy again!’ they shouted.

  Evie smiled as the rodents squeaked and scampered across the floor. At the kitchen door, Herman peeked out.

  ‘Has everyone gone?’

  ‘They have,’ said Evie. ‘I think we scared them enough to be quite sure they won’t ever come back.’

  ‘How did you get all these little beasties, anyway?’ asked Herman.

  Evie shrugged. ‘There are some pet stores in town I know pretty well. I got a very nice taxi driver to take me around to all of them this afternoon, and pick these guys up.’

  She didn’t tell him she had spent most of the money he’d paid her to organise the whole thing.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we’d best get them all collected up and gone—I don’t want the restaurant inspector to come along right now!’

  They caught all the rats and mice who, having been bred as pets, were quite used to being handled, and were easy enough to round up. Back into their cardboard boxes they went, then Evie called her taxi driver friend. She didn’t think the pet stores would buy all the rodents back—but maybe at least she could swap them for a kitten?

  • • •

  ‘Well, she’s very cute,’ said Herman.

  ‘Maybe we can keep her here?’ said Evie, stroking the purring kitten she held in her arms. ‘That way, if the restaurant inspector does visit, we can tell him we got this cat to stop our terrible rodent problem!’

  ‘Thank you, Evie,’ said Herman, with a smile.

  ‘Well, it was my fault all those kids came here in the first place.’

  ‘But you fixed it up, and that’s what counts.’

  He patted her head, and gave her a piece of pie.

  As Evie left for the evening, she noticed a nice young couple who had stopped to look at the café.

  ‘Hello there,’ said the man. ‘We were wondering about the café there.’

  ‘It looks very rustic,’ said the woman. ‘Quite charming, in fact.’

  ‘What’s on the menu?’

  Evie thought about Herman Grout cooking away in his kitchen at that very moment, producing all kinds of delicious foods which anyone would love to eat. Then she pulled her ugliest face, letting spit dribble out her mouth and down her chin.

  ‘Cat-litter crepes,’ she said, ‘and kitten-whisker tea.’

  The couple looked very surprised indeed, and quickly retreated.

  Evie smiled. It was wonderful to have such a satisfying job.

  UNSTICK


  YOUR FACE

  by

  Randa Abdel-Fattah

  CHAPTER 1

  Two things.

  Pay attention.

  First: parents lie all the time. Examples:

  I ate all my veggies as a kid.

  I’ll think about it.

  Any story involving walking barefoot in snow as a child.

  Second: parents don’t have a clue what they’re doing.

  You know when they’re assembling a piece of furniture and tearing their hair out and saying words you’d be literally killed for saying yourself and the bed ends up with three legs and a missing spring? And they’re doing all that with a manual? There’s no manual for us kids. They’re making it up as they go along. Really, it’s a miracle anybody makes it past their first birthday.

  Which brings me to my eighth birthday. The day I decided that enough was enough.

  Birthdays are supposed to be happy occasions. My parents hugged me in the morning and, for about three seconds, seemed very excited. About ten of my friends were coming over for a pool party.

  Hannah, my little sister, was already dressed in her bathers. She had no idea that I had plans to lock her in the cupboard when my friends arrived. She drew the curtain and then, in a loud voice, declared:

  ‘Everybody! DO YOU KNOW WHY IT’S “OH DEAR”?’

  ‘Huh?’ My sister should come with subtitles.

  ‘BECAUSE IT’S RAINING AND WE CAN’T SWIM!’

  Mum let out a terrified shriek. I could be wrong, but she seemed to suddenly go pale. Dad, moaning quietly, sank slowly into the couch and stared at a spot on the carpet.

  ‘An indoor party,’ Mum whispered. ‘Ten of them.’

  ‘Yes,’ was all Dad could manage.

  Just then the hail started.

  ‘See,’ Hannah said. ‘I told you. Oh dear.’

  CHAPTER 2

  After we cut the cake, Mum insisted on a ‘nice group photo’. Mum is a professional photographer. This means a photo is art. Even Dad moaned.

  She was frustrated because every time she took a photo one of us would pull a face. John went crosseyed, Anh flipped his eyelids, Sunil stuck out his tongue.

  Remember I mentioned parents, manuals and furniture assembly? My parents had that look of defeat that they have after hours of trying to put together a dining table. That look meant searching for the receipt and trying to get a refund.

  By that stage of the party I was pretty sure that if I came with a receipt, my parents would have just given up and tried returning me.

  ‘Say cheese!’ Mum cried. She had bits of chips and a streamer in her hair.

  ‘FART!’ we all yelled. (And then somebody did, which I think is what Ms Jobs would say is turning a noun into a verb.)

  ‘I just want one nice photo!’ Mum cried. ‘Sunil, please stick your tongue in.’

  ‘He’s trying to taste the fart in the air,’ I said, which got the others giggling, which got Mum madder, which made us pull more faces until Dad yelled at us to cut it out before the wind changed.

  ‘That’s not even true,’ Anh said.

  ‘It is true,’ Dad said, as he scrubbed the bench top with sugar soap (how was Sunil to know the pen he won in ‘pass the parcel’ was permanent marker?).

  ‘Is not.’

  ‘Is too.’

  ‘Not.’

  ‘Too.’

  ‘Jacob’s father is right,’ Mum added. ‘All you boys might end up stuck with silly faces if you keep mucking around like that and the wind changes.’

  See what I mean? Liars. And why? Because as much as they would like to deny it, they had absolutely no clue how to control us.

  We were all eight now. Did they seriously expect us to believe them?

  Just then a gust of wind threw a plastic cup off the outdoor table.

  So I decided I’d have a little fun.

  CHAPTER 3

  ‘Jacob!’ Mum shrieked. ‘ONE photo where you don’t look like you belong in a circus!’

  My face was all scrunched up like a walnut shell. My nostrils flared, my eyes were crossed. I looked hideous. (If, by chance, you are reading this and your nostrils naturally flare and your eyes naturally cross, please know that I mean no offence. I offer you my condolences, having freakishly big eyes and one thick carpet eyebrow myself.)

  I touched my face, pretending to be in a panic. My mum was now muttering under her breath and packing her camera away. Dad was still madly scrubbing. I stamped my feet to get their attention, and pointed to my face. I probably should have chosen a face that didn’t interfere with my speech but my mouth was stretched wide and my jaw was locked tight so I couldn’t really speak without it sounding like I was making grunting noises.

  ‘Jacob, what did we say?’ Mum snapped.

  ‘The wind will change,’ Dad scolded me.

  I nodded furiously. The others were laughing at me as they ate cake.

  I tried to grunt a reply but it was useless so I grabbed a piece of paper and pen from on top of the microwave and scribbled a note:

  The wind DID change. MY FACE IS STUCK!! HELP!

  I held up the note. It just made the guys laugh harder. Mum sighed and Dad shook his head.

  ‘Very funny, Jacob,’ Dad said.

  ‘Jacob, I am ordering you to return your face to normal,’ Mum said.

  I shook my head and pointed to the note.

  ‘UNSTICK your face,’ Mum yelled.

  ‘That’s not a word,’ one of the guys called out.

  CHAPTER 4

  It took a great deal of effort and concentration not to unstick my face for the rest of the party. I was impressed with my determination. Mum and Dad threatened to call the party to an end but I knew that meant ten phone calls and ten explanations. I could just imagine:

  Mum: Um, please come and pick up Sunil. We’ve had to stop the party because Jacob won’t unstick his face and we can’t make him . . . Yes, we’re his parents. Yes, you’re right. He’s supposed to listen to us but really who are we kidding? He runs the show.

  The only thing my parents hated more than me not obeying them was other people knowing that I didn’t obey them. So I knew their threats were empty.

  They promised that I wouldn’t be allowed to open my presents. But I wasn’t bothered. I’d open them eventually. For now, I was on a mission to teach them a lesson. No more lies. No more treating me like a child (unless it meant getting out of certain chores or not having to watch the news). I deserved respect!

  I made it to the end of the party. My face was a little itchy from being scrunched up for so long. When I went to the toilet I was able to enjoy some privacy and unstick it for a little while. Parents started arriving to collect their kids. They wished me a happy birthday. I held up my note sadly. They just laughed, which proved to me that they were in on the lie too. You only laugh because you know how ridiculous it is to believe that a person’s face can freeze if the wind changes.

  They were all in on this together and I was going to teach them a lesson. On behalf of all children who are sick and tired of being told things like:

  I don’t mind that you came last in the race, honey.

  I love it when you pick your own outfits to wear.

  I am not taking my bad day at the office out on you!

  Of course I’m listening to your joke. I was not fake laughing.

  I’m not on Facebook. I’m checking a work email because if I don’t, the company will collapse and thousands of people who depend on me being online now will lose their jobs.

  CHAPTER 5

  ‘Have you had enough?’ Mum and Dad asked me when everybody had left and we were packing up.

  ‘You’re really scaring me,’ Hannah said. Then she ran upstairs, screaming dramatically.

  ‘I could die of embarrassment,’ Mum cried. ‘What those parents must think! To not even thank them, or smile! No! Just this twisted face, and you waving that sign around.’

  I shrugged and pointed to my sign.

 
I was pretty sure now would be the time my parents would throw their hands in the air, admit they’d made the whole thing up, confess their lie-a-holic ways to me, and we’d be done. I could finally relax my face, offer them clemency, get on with opening my presents and maybe even get another piece of cake.

  But to my horror—my horror I tell you—they did no such thing. Instead, they looked at each other and continued cleaning. I needed time out. I started hopping on the spot like I needed to go to the toilet. I ran to the bathroom. I closed the door behind me and let my face drop. It was heaven. My muscles were aching from all that tension. It was like facial constipation.

  I gave it a couple more minutes, scrunched up my face again, and returned to the living room. I was hoping they would have reflected on the error of their ways.

  But to my shock—my shock I tell you—Dad strode over towards me and started patting my face.

  ‘You’re being too harsh on him,’ he told Mum. ‘It is stuck.’

  Mum gasped and ran over towards me.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she said. She touched my face, poked and prodded, and tried to smooth it out. She grabbed the right side of my mouth and tried to pull it back into place. She tried squashing my nose back down. She tried closing my nostrils, pressed down on the flared edges. I tell you it was a superhuman effort not to relax my facial muscles. But I did not give in. I stood there obediently, and let them handle my face like a toddler with play dough. In the end, Mum let out a kind of cry and collapsed into the couch.

  ‘We’ll have to take him to see Dr Knead,’ she said.

  ‘Nooo,’ Dad cried, and clasped his hand over his mouth.

  Slowly, she nodded.

  For a split second I allowed myself to believe them. But then I remembered why I was in this situation in the first place and was ashamed of myself for being so gullible.

  ‘He’s the only one who can unstick faces,’ Mum said. ‘Don’t worry, Jacob, they use more advanced technology nowadays. Back when we were kids the doctor would just use a rolling pin. Sure, the kid would end up with a flat face for a couple of weeks but eventually it would swell into shape.’