MY DAD ALWAYS TOLD ME NOT TO EAT MY GREENS

I stare at the glass that’s standing on the kitchen table in front of me, filled to the brim with an evil-looking mulch of murky green slime. The rest of the table is strewn with vegetable scraps: broccoli stalks and asparagus ends, sprout peelings and shredded spinach leaves, but the rest of this vegetable tsunami has all been blended to a pulp and poured into this brimming glass of goo.

‘There you are, Jake,’ Amba announces, taking away the now-empty blender jug, its insides splattered with the same green slime. ‘One Super Vegetable Smoothie Shake with added Vitamin C – all ready to drink.’

My stomach turns as I look more closely at the drink, now seeing the bits floating in it.

Earlier this year, our teacher, Mrs Beale, took us pond dipping in the local park. Using our nets, we skimmed the pond and then deposited what we’d collected in our trays, although Frankie Baines spent most of his time flicking us all with slime. I remember the sludgy mess that filled up my observation tray, pond weed and slimy creatures wriggling through the goo. We had to use this worksheet to work out what we’d caught, and I discovered that my tray was mostly filled with fly larvae and water flea soup.

But this crazy super shake that Damon and Amba have made me looks even more disgusting.

‘Come on, Jake,’ Damon says, giving me an encouraging smile. ‘Drink up.’

I shake my head. ‘This isn’t going to work.’

‘I think it will,’ Amba replies, setting the jug on the side and turning round to face me again. ‘When your skin turned green on the Kidsplorers weekend, you said it was an allergic reaction to the broccoli soup that you drank. The same thing happens to your dad too and, if you’re both chlorophyll-intolerant, then maybe this comes from the alien part of you.’

Stepping closer, Amba looks at me with a serious expression on her face.

‘Every vegetable we’ve put in this drink is chock-full of chlorophyll so it’s bound to trigger the same reaction. If we want the Cosmic Authority to think you’re breaking his stupid rules then you need to look the part. We need you to turn green, Jake. We need you to look like an alien.’

I look up at my friend. What she’s saying sounds so convincing, but the truth is I’m scared.

Most parents are always nagging their kids to eat their vegetables, but since I was little my dad always told me not to eat my greens. And now I know why.

I remember watching him caught in the tractor beam, his skin glowing green in the light. If I ever want to see him again, I’ve got to do this.

Closing my eyes so I can’t see the slime, I lift the glass to my lips and start to drink.

As the sloppy green goo pours down my throat, I gag.

It might’ve looked disgusting but it tastes even worse. I feel my stomach turn, a spin cycle of nausea whirring into life. I can taste sprouts and broccoli, peas, spinach and celery, the odd stray leaf that’s mixed in with the slime almost making me choke.

And then the last drop drains from the glass and I bang it down on the table in front of me.

Breathing hard to stop myself from being sick, I look up at my friends.

‘How do I look?’ I ask, trying to ignore the washing machine that’s churning in my stomach. ‘Has it worked?’

Looking stunned, Damon and Amba don’t say a word. Instead Amba holds up her pocket mirror and I stare into it to see a strange alien face staring back at me. My skin glows with a weird greenish tinge and, as my mouth gapes wide in surprise, I can see that even my tongue has turned green.

‘It’s worked,’ Amba says, finally remembering how to speak. ‘Now we just need to show the world.’