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  “I’ve got this! Just let me do my thing,” he says. Justice finally puts his big mouth over the kitten’s tiny wet mouth. Before he blows a breath into it, he pulls away. “Oh stink! This kitten tastes like fish, man!” Kitten fur sticks to his lips. He’d better be careful. Too much of that and he’ll be coughing up furballs.

  “Ignore the taste and blow,” I instruct him. Luckily, after a few little breaths, oxygen fills the kitten’s lungs and its eyes open. Justice smiles and looks at me. “You did it, brah!” I say encouragingly. “Well done. Only three to go.”

  Justice takes off his Broncos hoodie and wraps up his patient. As he gets started on the second kitten, I remember that we’re doing this because some fool tried to drown these little creatures – but why? I try to think of a reason but all I can do is watch Justice try frantically to save the second kitten’s life.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE WARNING

  Training is about to start. Coach Griffin looks at his watch when Justice and I run out onto the field.

  “Close call,” he says. “You nearly earned yourself one hundred push-ups.”

  “Sorry, coach. Justice and I had a bit of a situation we had to take care of,” I reply.

  “Well, Deadly, if we don’t beat the Rabbitohs on Saturday, we’ll have another situation to take care of,” Coach Griffin growls. I take the hint and join the forwards in their warm-ups. When we have finished, our forwards coach calls us over to explain the next drill. After he explains it, he pulls me aside.

  “A word of advice, Deadly,” he says. “There’s been a reporter called Bruce Sharp snooping around here all day, looking for you. Be careful with him. He’s starting to ask some strange questions about you.” Does Sharp know my true identity? The forwards coach rests his hand on my shoulder. “Try not to worry about him; just concentrate on your game.” This makes me feel a little better. I run off and join the other forwards. In the grandstand, I can see a person sitting by himself, dressed all in black. When I catch his eye, he smiles at me with yellow teeth and walks out of the stadium. If he is trying to upset me, he’s succeeded.

  CHAPTER 16

  DON’T LOOK IN THE BAG

  After training, we hit the showers. I’m always a bit embarrassed about showering with the fellas, so I like to have a private shower on my own. It doesn’t stop me listening to what the others are saying, though. I can hear Jack Reed talking to Justin Hodges.

  “Hey, Deadly D didn’t seem himself tonight. Is he OK?” Reed asks.

  “I think that reporter has rattled him a bit,” Hodgo replies.

  “We’d better keep an eye on Deadly, just to make sure he’s alright.”

  I always try to finish my shower first, so I can get changed before anyone else. I’m pulling on my NIKE hoodie when Corey Parker walks out of the shower with a towel around his waist. He gives me a concerned nod.

  “You alright, mate? Heard someone’s been hassling you,” he says.

  “I’m all good, brah,” I say. It feels good to know that my teammates are looking out for me – that’s what good teammates do – but I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. Parker nods and walks over to his locker. He puts his hand into his training bag and feels around for his clothes. Then he lets out a scream.

  “Help, help, there’s something in my bag!” he cries. The whole team comes running out of the showers to see what’s up. Some players have towels on, some don’t. “There’s something in my bag!” yells Parker. “Look, my hand is bleeding!” At first I think he’s gammin’ – but sure enough, there is a little scratch on his left hand and a tiny drop of blood. He kneels down and peers inside his bag. He keeps his distance but inches slowly closer and closer. The other players do the same, stretching their necks to see what will happen next. “I could have sworn there was something in my bag,” says Parker, sounding confused.

  He places one hand on either side of the bag and makes a large enough opening for his head. The whole dressing room is quiet. Parker puts his face up close to the opening of the bag and whoosh! A tiny ginger and white furball springs out and attaches itself to Corey Parker’s face.

  “Get it off, get it off!” Parker screams, while everyone else tries to hide behind one another. Then a second furball the same colour lands on Parker’s head. Then a third – and a fourth! Parker has four baby kittens hanging from his face, head and shoulders. The team is going wild!

  “They’re just playing with you, Mr Parker,” says Justice. He stands on a chair and pulls the kittens off Parker, leaving our captain cut and bleeding. Someone has already handed him a band-aid. He looks like he’s had a head knock with Manu Vatuvei. “You cheeky little things; I wondered where you’d got to,” continues Justice. “Here, come to Daddy.” He cuddles the kittens and they purr in his arms.

  “Are these your pets?” Parker asks Justice.

  “Nah, Mr Parker, bro. But they are free to a good home.” On the other side of the dressing room, Ben Barba puts his hand up.

  “Oh please, can I have them? I promise to love and care for them forever!” he begs. Justice smiles and gives me a wink.

  “On one condition, Mr Barba,” says Justice seriously. “Kittens aren’t toys, you know. You must have them desexed and looked at by a vet.” Ben Barba claps his hands like a kid on Christmas morning.

  “Oh thank you, Justice!” he says gleefully. “I will! Come here, little pussy-wussy.”

  CHAPTER 17

  SICK AS, BRO

  When the team manager sees that we are showered and dressed, he lets the media into the dressing room. Some reporters want to talk to players about their injuries. Some want to ask us about our game against the South Sydney Rabbitohs next Friday night. But before anybody can ask a question, they spot Ben Barba cuddling four kittens. Justice has told Barba how they were rescued. The scrum of reporters, cameramen and photographers rush over to him.

  “Are these your new good luck charms?” asks a reporter, shoving a microphone into Barba’s face.

  “Are they part of your warm-up preparation?” asks another.

  “Do you breed cats in your spare time?” says a third, hoping for an exclusive. Barba raises one hand, signalling that he is going to speak. Everyone shuts up.

  “No. I have offered to care for them. Our ball boy, Justice, found them on his way to training. Someone tried to drown them, so he resuscitated them.” Barba puts his arm around Justice and pulls him into the spotlight. The cameras go crazy. Justice usually likes attention but tonight he doesn’t look so good. In fact, he looks like he’s going to be sick. The microphones swing from Barba to Justice and the questions come fast.

  “Justice, how long did it take you to bring these kittens back to life?”

  Justice goes green in the face.

  “Justice, it must have been hard blowing air into their tiny mouths – how exactly did you do it?”

  Justice is looking greener by the second.

  “Is it true that cat’s lips taste like fish?”

  Justice’s eyes roll back into his head. It’s time to clear the decks. Justice leans over – and then he coughs. Not a little cough but a deep cough from the bottom of his throat. The reporter who asked about the fish screws her face up. It wasn’t the response she wanted. She doesn’t move her microphone; it’s still right there in Justice’s face. The cameramen are still filming. I run up to see if my mate is OK. I pat him on the back but he brushes me away with his hand. He opens his mouth again and the same deep cough blasts from his throat – only this time, it’s followed by something else.

  “Look out!” one of the photographers says. “He’s going to be sick!” Before anyone has time to move, Justice coughs again and vomit gushes out of his mouth. It looks terrible. Old chunks of carrot cover the reporter’s microphone and her shiny black high heels. In the middle of the pool of vomit is … a huge ginger furball. Justice must have swallowed it when he gave those kittens mouth to mouth! Shame job! The reporter can’t handle the sight or the smell of Justice�
�s spew and now she pukes, all over the front of her pretty red dress. Shame job again! The media go crazy. There are flash bulbs clicking, cameramen fighting for the best shot and reporters asking a thousand questions all at once. The dressing room has turned into a madhouse!

  “Stop!” yells a voice from behind the scrum. I know who it is already. “I’m Bruce Sharp from the Brisbane Daily. I have a question for Deadly D.” His eyes lock in on mine. My eyes travel from side to side but there is nowhere for them, or me, to hide. He steps over the two ponds of vomit and starts recording.

  “I understand that you were there when this young boy resuscitated the kittens,” he says, smiling with those teeth. I don’t say anything because I don’t know what to say.

  “But,” Sharp continues. “I have a reliable source who says you weren’t anywhere to be seen under the bridge. In fact, the only people there were Justice and another boy the same age. Apparently he was Aboriginal – just like you.” I fidget nervously.

  “Well, um …” I mumble. But just at that moment, a gift comes from the heavens. Justice spews again. The remains of today’s lunch hit Bruce Sharp’s shoes like a tidal wave, along with a slightly smaller furball. Sharp lifts his shoes to inspect the damage.

  “You disgusting little beggar,” he snarls. Then he turns and walks away, his feet squelching with Justice’s warm vomit as it drips into his shoes and down his socks. Before he leaves the change room, he stops to look back at me. “I’m not finished with you Deadly D!” he shouts angrily, pointing his finger. “I’m going to tell the world who you really are!”

  CHAPTER 18

  BOMB-DIVE BREAKFAST

  I’m at the breakfast table, tipping Weet-Bix off my spoon and watching it bomb-dive into the milk. My mind is in a thousand different places and it isn’t focused on breakfast. I snuck in late last night, after jumping into the creek to change back to normal. Juggling Deadly D and Dylan Conlan isn’t easy but I’m getting better at it. I’ll always be proud to be Dylan from Mount Isa. Not even Bruce Sharp can take that away from me.

  “You going to eat that or play with it?” asks Mum, staring at me from across the table. She knows something’s up. But if I tell her about my secret life, she’ll never trust me again.

  “I’m OK, Mum,” I lie. I’m not OK at all. Being Deadly D was supposed to be enjoyable – but now someone is trying to spoil my fun.

  “You don’t look OK,” Mum frowns.

  “I’ve got a bit on at school today,” I reply, finally eating some of my cereal. Drops of milk fly from my mouth and land near Mum’s toast. She raises an eyebrow.

  “Say it, don’t spray it, son,” she says. Just then, Justice knocks on the door; it’s time to go to school.

  CHAPTER 19

  BE AT SCHOOL EVERY DAY

  We have assembly today and it’s the moment every kid in the school has been waiting for. Which class will be the attendance champions for semester two? Coming to school every day is important and Mr Woolly has entered us in a competition everyone wants to win. The class with the best attendance record will win a day at Dreamworld with the entire Queensland State of Origin team! Imagine going on all the cool rides at a theme park with your favourite footy players. Well, the class who wins will be doing just that – on Friday!

  Mr Woolly is handing out medals to the girls in the grade-six netball team. They won their grand final and are now district champions. As they leave the stage, I see Justice fixing his hair, trying to catch their eye. When they walk past without looking at him, I giggle a little bit.

  “They don’t know what they’re missing,” he mutters.

  “Whatever,” I whisper back.

  Mr Woolly clasps the microphone in both hands. Everyone falls silent.

  “Well, boys and girls, I think you know what time it is.” Everyone starts to chatter excitedly. “Quiet please, students,” he says, but no one can hear him. The excitement is too much. “Simon says hands on heads!” he shouts into the microphone. A few students hear him and follow his instructions. “Simon says hands on shoulders!” he shouts again. He loves this game. The noise starts to drop as everyone puts their hands on their shoulders, including the teachers. “Hands on … chin!” Mr Barwick puts his hands on his ears. When he realises he’s made a mistake, he put his hands on his chin, then pretends he was scratching his ears. Gammin’. Our class cracks up.

  “Flatwater State School,” says Mr Woolly. “I am happy to say that in semester two, our attendance has improved out of sight!” He looks around proudly, a smile from ear to ear. “Now I would like to announce the top three classes, in no particular order. One of these classes has the highest attendance rate and will be off to Dreamworld with the Queensland players on Friday!” A hush falls over the school. We all cross our fingers. Some cross their toes. I place my hand inside my school shirt and gently hold my red stone against my chest.

  “Would these classes please stand,” instructs Mr Woolly. “Prep Orange!” he shouts. The preppies go nuts, their little arms and legs pumping up and down. They don’t really understand what they’re in the running for but they are happy anyway. “6B, please stand!” That’s us! The entire class cheers. We know we haven’t won yet but at least we are a chance! Mr Barwick can’t believe it. He’s asking the other teachers if he heard correctly. He tries to stand but he can’t; his knees are shaking. The thought of going on a roller coaster with Cameron Smith is too much for him. “And the third and final class with excellent attendance is … 7K!” announces Mr Woolly. Behind us, Mrs Kellogg’s class goes crazy. Please don’t let it be them, I think to myself. Give it to the preppies but don’t let Rice Bubble’s class win.

  On the big screen behind the stage, a slide appears: “THE HIGHEST ATTENDANCE RATE IS 96.5% …” There is silence from every corner of the assembly hall. Mr Woolly is controlling the computer. He can see the suspense on everyone’s face. Some kids are holding their breath. Mr Barwick is on his knees, praying.

  “God, please forgive me for eating that grape in the supermarket, I know it was stealing,” he confesses, his eyes shut tight. “If we win this prize, I’ll never illegally eat another grape again.”

  Mr Woolly clicks another slide. This one says, “THE WINNING CLASS IS …” He makes one final click and … nothing happens. He clicks again, peering at the computer to see what’s wrong. On his third click, another slide appears on the giant screen. It says, “6B”. For a second, none of us can believe that we’ve won. When we finally do, the cheer is deafening. Our arms fly up into the air and there are kids high fiving and hugging. Mr Barwick is in a state of shock. When he recovers, he jumps to his feet and says, “Thank you, Jesus!” This is awesome. We’re off to Dreamworld, baby.

  CHAPTER 20

  THREE’S A CROWD

  After the excitement has died down, it’s back to work. We split up into our groups again, preparing for the Billy Cart Derby. Everyone has been brushing up on physics, even Justice and I. Taylor knows an amazing amount and is very well organised. She shuffles her papers into a neat pile. She asks us if we’ve done the homework she gave us last week. We say that we have, which is kind of the truth. I read the first five pages before I fell asleep and Justice read the first two chapters to Fluffy, his dog. Then Fluffy saw a bird and chased it so Justice stopped reading.

  Taylor has calculated the average speed of a billy cart carrying two people down a hill with a gradient of thirty percent. It sounds complicated, and it is. Justice and I sit there, nodding our heads — not really knowing what she is talking about, as she rattles off measurements of speed and velocity. Finally, I get restless.

  “OK, so what’s this cart going to look like?” I ask. Taylor frowns.

  “We’re nowhere near the prototype stage,” she replies. “First we have to map out the course and calculate the angles of the turns.” Justice rolls his eyes. He’s bored out of his brain and so am I. Taylor ignores him.

  “As long as I get to ride at the front,” says Justice impatiently. Before I can ar
gue with him, Taylor beats me to it.

  “I’m not sure you’re the man for the job,” she retorts. “I think my reflexes are sharper.”

  “If there’s one more seat left, then I bags sitting in it,” I say, not wanting to miss out.

  “What am I supposed to do, then?” asks Justice. Taylor fakes a smile.

  “You can be the first-aid officer,” she says. “But don’t worry. If I’m driving, we won’t need any first-aid.”

  Right now, I’m wishing Taylor Neila would go back to wherever she came from and let Justice and me have our fun.

  CHAPTER 21

  SMOOTH RIDE

  The bus trip from Flatwater State School to Dreamworld is great. Mr Barwick doesn’t drive this time, so it is a smooth ride. No crashes, no angry truck drivers and no kids spewing into their school bags. We all talk excitedly about which Queensland players we are going to hang with. We’ll be meeting them in the Dreamworld Corroboree part of the theme park. I’m really excited to go there because it is all about my culture. I decide that I’ll lead the way.

  As we walk down the pathway, the excitement builds. There’s a real buzz in the air. Mr Barwick has his autograph book ready. Justice and I have our swimmers on under our uniforms, ready for the waterslides. An Aboriginal lady welcomes us into Dreamworld Corroboree. She is wearing a khaki green uniform and is holding a very large carpet python. She sees me at the front of the line and smiles.

  “Hey, young fella, you want to hold the snake?” I stop dead in my tracks.

  “Uh, no thanks.”

  “Go on!” she teases me.

  “They scare the life out of me,” I say sheepishly. Shame! The lady giggles and lets someone else have a turn. Better them than me. I don’t care if I am Aboriginal – I hate snakes.