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MONDAY MORNING. RANDY and Piho were not exactly talking to each other, at least not about Saturday, but they still met as usual and biked to school. At the bike sheds they bumped into Robbo Martin, another of last year's league team.
"Hi," said Robbo. “Whaddja do on Saturday?"
"Nothing," answered Piho cagily, "Why you asking, anyway?"
"Just asking. Didn't see you down the Zap-Zone is all."
"Well, we didn't have no spendo, did we?" snarled Piho, and he stomped past. Randy hesitated, then turned back to Robbo.
"'You heard anything?" he asked vaguely.
"What about?"
"Aw nothing. Just about the league team."
"No. What about it?"
"Ah... nothing," repeated Randy hastily as he started edging away. "Nothing. Really." He hurried after Piho, but Piho had already disappeared.
#
ROBBO WENT TO FIND Johnny Tuiloma, last year's team captain. He knew nothing either. "Let's go ask Tully," said Johnny. Mr Tully was the teacher in charge of sports. They found him talking to Ms Tukaki, so they waited till he was done.
"Hey, ah, Mr Tully?" they called. "Can we have a word?"
"Ah!" said Mr Tully straight off. "Just the boys I wanted to see. What's this fundraising thing all about?"
The boys looked blankly at each other. "Eh?"
"You know, the fundraiser? Randy and Piho's thing?"
"Oh yeah," said Robbo, nodding wisely. "I was talking to Randy about that just before. What was it again?"
"Selling horse manure – two dollars a bag."
Johnny groaned and rolled his eyes, "Oh gawd, do we have to?"
"Apparently Randy and Piho have already made twenty dollars," said Mr Tully enthusiastically. "I think we should all get behind this effort!" He smacked his fist into his other hand for emphasis. "It'll set you up for the season – give you a great boost – you might even win a few more games!"
"Yes, sir," agreed Johnny reluctantly. "So, ah, what exactly do we have to do?"
"Well," Mr Tully waved his hands about vaguely, "I was hoping you could tell me. I don't know the precise details. Why don't you go ask them? They seem to be the ones in charge."
"Yeah," they said, grinning coldly and smacking fists-to-palms, "we will!"
Robbo and Johnny found Randy lurking behind the school hall, waiting for the bell. PJ Jackson and Tama Bexley had joined them. Four of them, and only one of Randy.
"So what's this fundraising crap Tully says we have to do?"
Randy shrugged nervously. "Ah nothing really, just this dumb idea of Piho's. We made a few bucks. No big deal."
Johnny scowled suspiciously. "Twenty bucks, Tully said."
"What?" squawked Randy. "No way! Only fourteen, honest. I dunno where he got twenty from. Geez!"
"Tully says we all have to do it," grumbled Johnny.
"Yeah," sneered PJ. "So what do we; like; do?"
Randy felt himself breaking out in a cold sweat. He really needed Piho right then.
"Geez! Ah, well, y'see, me and Piho, ah, we've sussed out our supply already . . . um, y'see: everyone gets into teams of two; like sales teams, right? Then you go out and suss your own supplier, like you know: a horse farm..."
"Horse stud," Tama corrected.
"I knew that! So anyway you set it up with them to bag up the stuff, you know, the manure, they want you to pick it up, it's like part of the deal ..." Randy was beginning to enjoy this. He was beginning to feel important. "...then you set up your stall or whatever and start selling. Of course you've gotta get your presentation right. Selling's all about presentation, y’know," he finished impressively.
"So we have to do it every Saturday?" asked Johnny dangerously.
"Aaah, no, no - any time you want," he added for good measure.
"So will there be sales incentives?" asked PJ.
"Oh yeah!" said Randy cheerfully. "Of course!"
"Like what?"
"Ahhhhh, that hasn't been finalised yet. I've, ah, I've got to discuss that with Mr Tully yet. Must go. Bye!"
Phew. Saved by the bell. Randy scuttled away towards class, hoping to nab Piho on the way. The two of them had to sort out some details, and fast!
#
PIHO WAS FURIOUS. "Oh great!" he shouted. "Flippin' marvellous! If you'd just kept ya big gob shut . . ."
"It wasn't my fault," snivelled Randy. "Geez, we had to tell your mother something."
"Yeah, and look at the mess you've got us into!"
"I keep telling you - it's not a mess!" insisted Randy. "Okay, it's not what we wanted, but it could've been worse!"
"Oh yeah?" sneered Piho. "First we worked flippin' hard for twelve bucks, then we got robbed, then we splattered some guy's van who's probably still out to kill us, and now we've been put in charge of this dumb scheme and we'll have to come up with twenty bucks that we haven't got! What could be worse?"
"Er . . getting arrested for theft?"
"Yeah, well, that was your idea, man!"
"So? It was your idea to say it was fundraising.
"Aw bull! Your idea!" Piho pushed.
"Was not!" Randy shoved.
"Was so!" Piho made a fist and waved it in Randy's face.
"Okay, okay," Randy said soothingly, "maybe it was, maybe it was, but chill out, man. I've got another idea. See - the other guys can do fundraising if they like, but you and me," he lowered his voice, "we could make a little extra on the side."
"What d'ya mean?" asked Piho, lowering his fist.
Randy lowered his voice some more. "Look, there's plenty of poop at Bennithorpe's, right? And who's gonna be counting anyway? We sell a bag for the team, then a bag for us."
Piho pursed his lips and slitted his eyes. "Hmm . . ."
"Besides," continued Randy, "Tully'll be expecting us to hand in twenty bucks pretty soon so we're going to have to do something to make it up. At least we've still got that two bucks your parents gave us."
"Errr. . ." mumbled Piho, looking a bit uncomfortable about something.
"Well you have, haven't you?"
"Um, well, actually, no. I, ah, sort of spent it."
"Shee! That was ours, man! Ours to share!"
"So? A whole lousy two bucks? Anyway, they were my parents."
"Doesn't matter. It's the principle! It's an honesty thing. So now we've got to make up twenty bucks instead of eighteen. That's still gonna be extra bags!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," grumbled Piho, and said no more.
They were back at Bennithorpe's that afternoon, just fifteen minutes after the end of school. By three-thirty they were filling bags and by ten to four they were at the roadside stall. They arranged their stock attractively and sat down to wait for the sales to begin.
By five-fifteen they were still waiting.
Randy got bored. He got up, extracted a firm horse apple from one of the sacks, and kicked it across the road.
"Hey, quit it!" growled Piho after the fifth meadow muffin had gone flying. "Who's gonna want to stop and buy if there's all this crap around the place?"
"Mondays suck," Randy muttered, sitting down again. "In fact this whole thing sucks!"
"Tell me about it," grumbled Piho darkly.
"There's been enough traffic," moaned Randy, "so how come no one's stopping?"
"I reckon it's just that no one's thinking about gardening today. And remember Saturday? As soon as people knew it was for fundraising they coughed up with a smile. What we need is a big sign or something."
Randy sat up suddenly, gurgling and gesticulating wildly.
"What's up?" asked Piho hopefully. Maybe the stupid git was choking to death.
No such luck. "Signs!" Randy finally gasped out. "That's what we tell Tully: we spent the money on signs!"
"Oh, get real!"
"No, wait, wait. . . we're in charge, right?"
"Ri-ight.”
"So-o-o, we've decided it needs advertising, right?"
Piho snorted. "Advertising costs thousands, man!"
"No, I mean just a bit of paint and cardboard and stuff, y'know, to make signs for all the teams – " he waved his hands in the air, making a big square shape, " – Stop and Shop! Get Your Horse Apples Here! Great for Roses!' Then in big letters: 'Proceeds To Kainui Junior Rugby League Team', and-and-and ..." Randy was spluttering again, indicating that another brainwave was on its way.
"Earth to Randy," called Piho, "Earth to Randy!"
"Huh? Eh? What's the problem?"
Piho spoke in a very slow, level voice, like someone talking to an idiot. "How–do–we –get–the –signs,–Randy?"
"We'll just make them."
"What–will–we–make–them–out–of,–Randy?"
"You know: paint, hardboard, wood, nails ..."
"But how do we get all that stuff when we haven't got any flippin' money?"
Randy laughed. "We just go to my dad's garage and get it! He's got heaps of it, man."
Piho stood up slowly. He smiled warmly at Randy. Then he seized him by the T-shirt and shook him violently (as any good friend would), roaring, "Why didn't you say so?"
Randy flopped about like a rag doll, giggling.
Piho huffed impatiently. "Well, let's get on with it then." He heading off to get his bike.
"But what about our poop? There's ten bucks of it here. Someone might nick it!"
"Who cares? There'll be more tomorrow. Come on!"
"Yeah, 'spose you're right," admitted Randy reluctantly, "and anyway; people can always use the honesty box ..."
"The honesty box!" they both shouted together, plunging over the sacks to find it. It was on the ground in the corner where they had chucked it in disgust on Saturday. And it rattled.
"Kerr must have the key. Come on!"
They raced back to the farm and found Mr Kerr.
"Oh, the key?" said Mr Kerr. "It's hanging on a nail round the back of the stall."
They ran back. The key was there, and with much fumbling and arguing they got the box open. "Three dollars!" shouted Randy. "Excellent!"
"Three?" asked Piho suspiciously.
"Yeah," said Randy thoughtfully, "why only three dollars?"
"Someone's ripped us off!" roared Piho. "Slimeballs!"
"Geez! You just can't trust anyone these days!"