3

THE BEST IDEA IN THE WORLD (AND POSSIBLY THE GALAXY)

Harriet sits on the bus, glaring at me. She’s pulled her red hair back under a bathing cap and the plastic glistens with dried glue and fake daisies. She looks like she’s stuck a bowl of flowers on her head. Not that Harriet cares. Sighing, she looks down at my pile of smudged papers, all stapled together in the left corner, and pulls a face. ‘Now we’ve all signed Lucas’s petition, let’s get down to business. Come on, I want to hear all your ideas.’

The abandoned Route 701 bus sits in the paddock behind our town’s garage, where it’s been left since they stopped running a service between Ashton Hill and Bakersville. Not much good to anyone now, except us kids and two stray cats who live underneath. I’m not sure it’s the healthiest meeting place, either. I’m sitting on a split-open seat and spraying hand sanitiser onto my fingers. Harriet notices and rolls her eyes, but I don’t know why. Stray cats carry diseases and nobody cleans this bus, so we’re sitting in a germ factory.

Alex sits across from me, his eyes moving between a phone screen and his little sister, Ana. She’s only five years old and follows Alex everywhere. I guess babysitting Ana is his weekend job because their parents work long hours on their farm. She’s not much trouble usually and, right now, she’s busy playing on the floor with her pencil case, lining up coloured felts and rolling them towards the door.

I clear my throat. ‘Um, I’m still thinking of ideas. But any plans need safety checks first and that takes time. Right?’

‘Uh, okay …’ Harriet sighs. ‘Alex? What about you?’

He glances away from his phone and frowns, probably annoyed at being distracted from his screen. Alex is the only other boy in my year. We used to go eeling and kick the ball around after school, but lately he’s preferred to hang out with his phone, rather than me. It’s a good thing his dad’s farm does well off the rising price of lamb, because new iPhones must cost heaps.

‘I’ve already told you my ideas.’ Alex rubs his nose and leans further over his phone, dark hair hanging in his eyes. ‘My dad collects fertiliser from farmers for his organic tomatoes. Forget flour bombs, we should use manure.’

Harriet sniffs. ‘Yeah, and I told you chucking poo will get us thrown into jail.’

I nod and clear my throat. ‘And I’m pretty sure untreated manure carries diseases.’

Alex shrugs at his screen. ‘Yeah, well, you two would say stuff like that. Look, I don’t care. I’ll go along with whatever you both decide. Okay?’

‘No, that’s not how it’s supposed to work.’ Harriet hugs a ring binder to her chest and frowns. ‘But since I’m in charge, let’s be clear — no one is throwing manure or waving signs. It’s stupid and pointless. They’re closing our primary because the government can’t afford tiny schools, so they’re shipping us off to bigger ones. Which means the answer is obvious, right?’ She glances around until we both shake our heads. ‘If we encourage people to move to Ashton Hill, we’ll have more families in town and a much bigger school roll. Then no one will shut us down. Problem solved.’

‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘Aren’t we supposed to be protesting?’

‘We’re supposed to save the school and this could work. Encouraging people to buy houses is a proper plan. Expecting the government to care if we throw manure? That’s a waste of time, they’ll ignore us.’

Alex shrugs at his phone. ‘I suppose it’s not an entirely stupid idea. Boring, but not dumb.’

‘Well, thanks very much.’ Harriet rolls her eyes. ‘What’re you doing, anyway?’

‘Reading the newspaper headlines.’

‘O-kay.’ She looks around the bus. ‘Lucas? Come on, you must have some other ideas.’

‘Um, me?’ I roll the sanitiser bottle between my fingers, feeling its smooth edges moving back and forth. Stunned by Harriet’s idea, I’m disappointed we won’t be marching or waving signs, but I guess we should try. I’d do anything to stay here, including boring myself to death. ‘Why’re you asking me?’

‘Well, you started this whole project, remember?’

I just wrote a letter for Draft Writing, but it’s nice to feel important. Trying to think, I stare out the window. Mt Ashton, our town’s namesake, rises above the paddock and blocks the late afternoon sun, casting shadows across Main Street and the garage. The early settlers were gold miners, and they were annoyed about being lied to by real estate people who said the area was full of gold. At least, I think that’s what Harriet said when she presented our team’s last research project.

They called the town Ashton Hill because Mt Ashton was actually too small to be a real mountain and they were sick of lies. Harriet said the first people here were poor but honest people and we should be proud of that. Mum says our ancestors would’ve been more proud to find gold and get rich, but I guess you can’t have everything. Mr Ngata said they could’ve been prouder if they’d kept the te reo name, but that the spelling in Harriet’s project made him personally proud, so that was something.

Leaning my head against the glass, I say, ‘Well, maybe we should start by telling people what’s good about our town. Give them reasons to stay here. What about the hiking track up Mt Ash?’

‘Yeah, but that’s all we have and it only takes fifteen minutes.’ She taps a pen against her chin. ‘I guess it’s also quiet. City people always go on about how nice and peaceful life is in the country. We also have cheaper house prices than bigger towns. Maybe we could start a website advertising property from Ashton Hill?’

Alex glances at her and nods. ‘A blog’s easier, I could make one.’

Harriet bites her lip. ‘Okay, but people can’t move here if there’s no jobs. We need to create employment opportunities, too. I’ve done a few Google searches and it seems like tourism is the biggest growth industry, well, besides storage.’

‘Storage?’

Harriet frowns and freckles swarm like tiny bees between her eyebrows. ‘I didn’t invent the research, okay? Anyway, we don’t have enough capital to invest in building high-security sheds for storage … Why are you both staring at me?’

I can’t speak for Alex, but I’m not sure I understood everything Harriet just said. I thought capitals were uppercase letters in the alphabet. I mean, aren’t they?

Alex clears his throat. ‘Um, Harriet? You think we could start a business? Us? A couple of kids?’

‘Okay, I dunno, but I don’t see you two coming up with anything better. Seriously, doesn’t anyone have any ideas?’

Ana picks up a felt tip and announces to the bus, ‘Rainbow.’

Then she starts drawing on the dirty vinyl floor. No one bothers answering. Ana mostly talks to herself, on account of being ‘her own person’, which is what Mr Ngata calls Ana when she won’t sit on the mat or pack her bags at 3 pm. Mr Ngata told us some people don’t fit into boxes, whatever that means, so Ana gets to wander around the room and play with the maths equipment, so long as she keeps passing her tests. Most of the time Ana’s just super shy and follows Alex like a shadow, though she’s not as keen about the rest of us.

Alex mutters at his phone, ‘I like rainbows.’

Ana doesn’t look up but smiles and draws bigger circles under the seats, tracing her fingers through dust. I shake my head. Bacteria is an invisible killer, doesn’t everyone know that? That floor needs a proper wipe down. I glance towards my backpack, which is dumped in the bus aisle. It’s easy to spot because I’ve drawn Red Cross symbols with black vivid on the pockets. It’s full of important gear like Panadol, nail scissors, bandages, tinfoil (great for hypothermia, not just keeping a Sunday roast warm), burn cream and plasters, but I’m not sure I packed the antibacterial wipes.

Well, that’s just typical.

I’m about to suggest going home so I can grab some, when Alex snorts. ‘Hey, have any of you seen the local paper today?’

Harriet and I shrug because no one our age reads The Ashton Hill Times. It covers exciting events like ‘Most Rainfall Ever Since October’ and ‘Cow Almost Stuck in Mud’. Mrs O’Leary from the local garage prints pages off her computer and sticks them in our letterboxes as if she’s delivering a community newsletter, even though we’ve all got computers and can read her blog anytime we feel like it, which is probably never.

Picking my bag up, I’m trying to remember if I left the wipes in my bedroom, when Alex says, ‘Someone saw a UFO over our town.’

Harriet almost falls off her seat. ‘What?’

I manage to splutter, ‘You’re kidding?’

Alex grins and holds up his phone. ‘Looks like Mrs O’Leary sent a copy to The National Herald and they published her article. Listen to this:’

UFO SPOTTED OVER ASHTON HILL TOWNSHIP

Last night, local resident Edith Jones spotted a mysterious, unidentified object floating near the Tools ’n’ Tucker Garage on rural Route 52. The same phenomenon was also witnessed by Mr Juan Adios, a local farmhand aged 23, while he was checking fences in the paddocks near Asher’s Gully. He described the anomaly as a small cluster of greenish lights in the shape of a diamond, bouncing in an erratic pattern for nearly three minutes.

There have never been sightings of unidentified flying objects in Ashton Hill in the past, however, reports continue to come in and locals have ruled out the possibility of weather balloons. Police were unavailable for comment.

For a second no one speaks.

My bag falls out of my hand and I sit back down, feeling light-headed. ‘Oh, no.’

Alex asks, ‘Are you okay, Lucas?’

But I can’t answer. A diamond shape? They must’ve seen my kite, nothing else makes sense, but I only flew it for a few minutes before the wind dropped … Oh, wow. Is faking UFOs a crime? I mean, it’s an accident; they can’t arrest me. Can they?

Alex shakes his head. ‘Relax, you don’t really believe someone saw UFOs flying over our town, do you?’

Harriet chews her bottom lip. ‘Mrs Jones wouldn’t make up stories. She goes to church every week, even when the minister can’t make it into town. I mean, Mrs Jones just sits there and prays in an empty room. She must’ve seen something, even if it wasn’t a spaceship.’

I clear my throat. ‘Um, actually, she’s not lying. I know what she saw.’

Everyone stares at me.

‘It’s no big deal, but last night I stuck glow-in-the-dark stickers on my old kite. I just wanted to see if it would light up, but I never thought anyone would really think they saw a UFO, honest.’

Alex makes a small choking sound. ‘Brilliant.’

Great, Mrs Jones will think I tricked her on purpose. Mum will lose the plot and ban me from screens for a month. Talk about a disaster. How can I keep updated with important safety tips if I can’t access my favourite website?

Harriet sighs. ‘Unbelievable. You didn’t realise the kite looked like a UFO?’

‘Of course not, and who would be dumb enough to believe in aliens?’ I don’t like the way she’s looking at me, so I say, ‘Anyway, you should be glad. We’ll probably get heaps of tourists pouring into town trying to see stupid, imaginary aliens — Oh, wait.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve got an idea.’ A shiver runs through my spine, as if thoughts vibrated right through my body and landed in my toes. I blink at everyone. ‘I mean … that’s what we want, right?’

‘What? Aliens?’

‘No, tourists!’

Again, everyone stares at me, except Ana who’s lying on the floor and trying to catch bits of dust with her tongue.

Harriet leans forward so fast that several flowers fall off her hat. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting we fake UFO sightings?’

Alex stuffs his phone into his jacket pocket. ‘Wow, imagine if we pulled off a prank like that! Let’s film it! We’d be famous on YouTube.’

Harriet snorts. ‘Are you both serious?’

Running the idea through my head at top speed, I check for any serious risks from electrocution, sharp appliances, falling, drowning or overconsumption of fats. (The top five killers according to www.keepsafekids.com’s list of ‘Everyday Risks and How To Survive Them’.) Faking alien spacecrafts isn’t mentioned, once. So really, what’s stopping us?

‘Harriet, we could … Look, it’s already made The National Herald, so half the country will have read it. But imagine how many people would visit our town just to see a UFO? It’ll encourage heaps of tourists and that’s exactly what we need.’

Harriet blinks. ‘I suppose people would travel to see UFOs.’ Then she shakes her head hard, like she’s trying to throw ideas out her ears. ‘No — no, we can’t. Think about it. If our parents catch us, we’ll end up in massive trouble.’

My stomach twists. Faking UFOs doesn’t sound dangerous, but what would Mum think? Angry parents aren’t covered in any safety plan I’ve come across.

Pressing my head against the seat in front, I trace my fingers over the cross on my bag, trying to think straight. ‘Lying is bad, but … so is having your school sold, right?’

‘Yeah, I guess.’

‘And seeing your friends leave isn’t great, or choosing between moving house and vomiting for two hours a day in a car. Would you rather we let them knock our school down?’

‘No, but …’ She glances around, like she’s waiting for someone else to finish her sentence.

I try to think of something smart to say. We need Harriet on board. Faking UFOs sounds like a lot of work and she’s super-organised, plus with all her research I bet she’d come up with brilliant ideas. It’s also a great plan because, if we’re in the same group, she can’t tell on us.

‘Harriet, when our plan works, nobody will care. We’ll save the whole town and driving tourism was your idea. You’ll probably get an A on the project.’

Harriet taps her folder. ‘I know what you’re doing, so stop sucking up. But I’m not happy about other kids getting better grades, just because Mr Ngata thinks protest marches sound exciting.’ She shuffles in her seat, then pulls off her glasses, cleaning them on her T-shirt. ‘Not that I’m bothered about winning … Look, I’ll help so long as you lot actually make an effort. Don’t leave me doing all the work like you did on our Egyptian project. Those plasticine pyramids took me ages.’

Taking a deep breath, I nod. ‘Yeah, I swear.’

Alex glances at us. ‘So, we’re all doing this?’

Everyone nods except Ana, but we know she’s part of the team. She follows Alex everywhere, so she’s in by default.

Alex grins at us. ‘For a second I thought this was going to be the boring group. I mean I’d rather make booby traps, but an alien invasion? Kind of sounds like fun.’

Harriet sighs. ‘Maybe. But if we’re going to fake a bunch of UFOs, we need to make it the best and most believable alien invasion in the world. Okay? Otherwise we’ll get caught and look like idiots.’

Taking a deep breath I think of the small grave. I’m picturing long grass waving around the fading cross, and no one changing the flowers or cleaning the bottles.

‘No worries.’ I say, folding my arms. ‘I promise.’