Hils took the top off the blender.
‘For your brain to function at optimal capacity you need to be well hydrated,’ said Hils as she poured the coconut water into the blender.
‘Omega-3 is vital for brain health,’ said Hils. ‘Tuna is full of omega-3.’
She tipped the tin of tuna into the blender.
This was already not looking like the tastiest smoothie ever.
Hils picked up the chilli.
‘Chilli helps your blood flow,’ she said. ‘Blood flow aids thinking.’
Into the blender the chilli went.
‘That looks like a hot chilli,’ I said.
‘It is the hottest chilli in the world,’ said Hils.
‘Could I have my chilli on the side?’
‘Negative. Ginkgo biloba is an ancient herb known to help you think more clearly. I couldn’t get any of that so I grabbed some leaves off my mum’s ginkgo tree.’
‘Are ginkgo tree leaves and ginkgo biloba the same thing?’ I said.
‘Affirmative.’
‘Are you absolutely sure?’
‘Negative.’
‘What if,’ I said, ‘ginkgo tree leaves are poisonous?’
‘Then you will die.’
‘Thank you for not lying to me about the fact that this smoothie is probably going to kill me.’
‘I would never lie to you,’ said Hils.
I knew that was a lie.
Hils squashed the ginkgo tree leaves and branch into the blender.
Hils then opened the blue plastic container and quickly dumped its contents into the blender.
When whatever it was hit the blender it made a sound like an octopus being dropped onto a wet trampoline.
‘What was that?’
‘It’s classified,’ said Hils.
I decided not to remind Hils that only a few minutes ago she’d told me she hated secrets.
‘Is it classified because you spent many hours in a lab developing it and are worried that if you tell me what it is then enemy agents will capture and torture me until I tell them what it is, or is it classified because it’s really, very, super gross?’
‘It’s classified.’
‘It’s really, very, super gross, isn’t it?’
‘Affirmative.’
‘How gross?’ I said. ‘On a scale of one to ten where one is lemon gelato from that amazing place near your aunt’s house and ten is drinking stale cow wee from a mug made of blue cheese, how gross? One to ten?’
‘Twenty-seven billion,’ said Hils.
That was a higher number than I had expected.
‘I have a right to know,’ I said.
‘It’s scrambled eggs,’ said Hils.
‘Scrambled eggs are yellow and bouncy not grey and squashy.’
‘It’s scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate.’
‘Chocolate?’
‘And asparagus.’
‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’
‘Affirmative. They are all brain foods.’
‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’
Hils didn’t reply.
‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’
She knew I needed to say ‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’ a few more times before I could ask any further questions.
‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’
Hils stared at me patiently.
‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’
I was nearly done.
‘Scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus?’
Hils nodded.
‘I’m not going to eat scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus.’
‘You’re not going to eat them. You’re going to drink them,’ said Hils.
Drinking scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus sounded much worse than eating scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus.
‘I’m not going to drink scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus,’ I said.
‘You’re not just drinking scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus,’ said Hils. ‘You’re drinking scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus mixed with chilli, tuna, ginkgo leaves and coconut water. It’s a smoothie. You love smoothies.’
‘What is the smoothie called? If I am going to drink a chilli-tuna-leaf-branch-coconut-egg-chocolate-asparagus smoothie it is going to have to have a really, very, super tasty-sounding name.’
Hils was silent.
Thinking up names for things was not one of her strongest strengths.
This was going to be tough for her.
I felt mean thinking this but I was glad it was going to be tough for her. If I was going to drink a chilli-tuna-leaf-branch-coconut-egg-chocolate-asparagus smoothie – which I wasn’t – then thinking up a name that would make me drink it – which it wouldn’t – should be really, very, super hard for Hils.
Hils was silent.
Maybe I should help? I thought.
No. She needed to do this on her own. She wanted me to drink chilli-tuna-leaf-branch-coconut-egg-chocolate-asparagus. She needed to work for that.
Hils was silent.
She did look like she needed help.
Actually, Hils never looked like she needed help. Only I could tell when her I-never-need-help look was actually an I-really-do-need-help look.
She needed help.
I would help. That’s what friends do.
I would start her off with one suggestion. The first one was always the hardest. Only one, though. After that she would be on her own.
‘How about Ginkgo Surprise?’ I said.
That was it. That was the only help I was going to give her. From here on in she was on her own.
Hils was silent.
I felt sorry for her. She didn’t look it but inside she was writhing in agony because she couldn’t think up a name for her horrible, spew-coloured smoothie.
‘Looks-Like-Spew Smoothie?’ I said.
I couldn’t help myself. I was really good at thinking up names for things.
Hils was still silent.
‘Chilli Tuna Brain Extravaganza?’ I said.
‘Negative,’ said Hils.
‘You’re right.’
Hils might not have been good at thinking up names for things but she was really good at working out what was wrong with the names for things that I thought up.
‘Red Velvet Cake Milkshake?’ I said.
‘That is factually incorrect. It has asparagus and leaves in it, not Red Velvet Cake.’
‘But calling it a Red Velvet Cake Milkshake certainly won’t remind me that I am about to drink asparagus and leaves.’
Hils shook her head.
‘The Zombie?’ I said.
‘Negative.’
‘Tree-tastic Tuna Treat?’
‘Negative.’
‘Brain-a-cino?’
‘Negative.’
‘Brain-o-nade?’
‘Negative.’
‘Jar of Smart?’
‘Negative.’
‘Egg For Your Noggin?’
‘Negative,’ said Hils.
‘Tuna For Your Thoughts?’
‘Negative.’
‘Brain Freeze?’
‘Good but not good enough,’ said Hils.
‘Drink This Awful Looking Grey Sludge Or I Will Make You Drink This Awful Looking Grey Sludge?’
Hils considered it for a second. ‘Negative.’
‘Thinc-Shake?’
‘Let’s try it out,’ said Hils. ‘Excuse me, Charlie, would you like a Thinc-Shake?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I really would. That sounds very tasty.’
‘Thinc-Shake it is,’ said Hils.
‘Good suggestion,’ I said.
‘Affirmative.’
Hils put the top on the blender and turned it on.
The blender made exactly the sound you would imagine a blender would make if it was blending coconut water, tuna, chilli, ginkgo tree leaves (and branches) and scrambled eggs mixed with chocolate and asparagus.
I will never – ever – forget that sound.
Hils stopped the blender blending.
She took an old tin cup out of her backpack and poured the Thinc-Shake into it.
I felt sick just looking at it.
Hils handed me the cup.
‘Before you drink your Thinc-Shake,’ said Hils – and I was wrong, it didn’t sound really tasty – ‘I need to tell you what to do with the nine-volt battery.’