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THE FINAL BELL RANG and once again Randy and Tammy weathered a barrage of catcalls, jibes and romantic twaddle as they hurried out through the school gates and headed for her p1ace. Once clear of all the noise, and walking well apart, they spoke for the first time since yesterday.
"We're really gonna go at it this afternoon," Randy began, smacking the seat of his bike for emphasis.
"Ooo!" she cried and took an extra step away from him.
"No I mean – I mean – I mean – the money!" he added quickly, instantly turning bright red. "You know - the fundraising. It's our last night toge- I mean our last day together and I really want to go for it."
"Look," Tammy said with a little sigh. "I know you're really busting to win and all that but the others have done really well and -" she shrugged resignedly, "- well, you just can't win 'em all is what I'm trying to say."
He was shocked. "But you can't give up!" he cried. "You just can't! I need to win!"
She stopped and stared at him. She looked pretty angry. "I hope I mean more to you than that!" she said sharply.
"No, no, not at all!" he replied, getting his answer completely muddled. "I mean 'yes' – 'yes' – you mean much more than that. You do!" She still didn’t look happy though. "And, and, and anyway I don't want the prize for myself. No. I, I ..." his brain finally picked up speed and overtook his mouth. "... y’see: I've decided if, like, I win, then I'm gonna give my bit to Piho."
"Awwuh," she said, "That's really nice of you."
"Yeah, I guess it is, yeah."
"So, you were saying?"
"Eh?"
"That I mean much more to you?"
"Oh, ah, yeah." Why did she have to go back to that?
"Mm-hmmm?" she asked encouragingly.
"After last night. I- I..."
"Yes?"
" I think I l- l- ..." He couldn't say it, not the L-word, so he changed it to: "I think I care about you. A lot. A bit lot." Well, yes, he did care about her, like if she got sick or something or didn't turn up for school one day and nobody knew what had happened he'd care, of course he'd care. But as to, well, liking and all that – gee, he just didn't know.
"Do you?" she asked. "Really?"
"Yeah, sure I do. You're ah, you're a lot of fun to be with and ah – and ah, and I like your teeth?" (Oh God! What was he saying?)
"Do you really?"
"Yeah, um, they kind of make you look classy, no, um, I mean noble. Yeah, that's the word." He had nearly said 'royal'.
"Thanks," she said. No-one's ever said that to me before."
"Uh," he said, nodding interestedly as if he would quite like to hear everything else that no one had ever said to her, but she didn't go on. Instead she said, "Well, I think you're very honest, and really quite smart - you know, brainy."
"Really? Gee thanks." Randy was beginning to wish for a bit of simple wrestling on the grass instead of this kind of talk, but luckily they were getting close to her place.
To his great relief there was no invitation to have lemonade by the pool; Tammy just grabbed her bike and they set off.
#
THERE WAS A TWO-DOLLAR coin in the honesty box that afternoon, but sales were slow. Randy kept himself busy. He scooped up every paddock pie he could find and filled every bag he had, except the last half of the last bag. It was a little bag, maybe half the size of the others, but he still figured he could get a dollar for it if he could fill it.
So he jumped the fence into the neighbouring farm and hastily topped it up in a bull paddock, keeping a wary eye on the solitary bull that was loafing in the far corner.
Back he went to the stall with the last wheelbarrow load.
"This is it," he said, quickly counting the unsold bags Tammy had arranged so nicely against the back wall. After a bit of quick figuring he risked a happy smile. If it all sold today they still had a really good chance of winning.
Tammy saw him smiling and smiled back, so he smiled again, and she smiled real big, so he decided to grin for a change, then she beamed, so he beamed, then she grinned, and so on until they were both totally embarrassed.
"Seen any good movies recently?" he said, finally.
So they discussed movies and sold manure and Randy counted the money again and again in his head and gradually the time crept towards five-forty when Tammy always needed to leave.
Then they stayed an extra five minutes, just in case, but no one came by and there were still three bags left, two regular-sized ones and the little one.
"Let's leave the signs out," he said when Tammy started packing up. "Maybe someone might come by later and take some "
"You'll be coming back then?" she asked, sounding concerned.
He shrugged. "Maybe, or in the morning."
"You shouldn't, not alone. You know what Mr Tully said about keeping safe!"
"Yeah, true," he said as if he were agreeing. After that he kept his plans secret. Sure he was coming back - that evening, and in the morning too, if necessary. These last few bags had to sell. Had to, or he was toast!
It was still light at eight o'clock that evening with daylight saving and all, so without saying anything to his family he slipped out the back door and began biking out of town. It took fifteen minutes to get there and the sky was already growing dim when he arrived.
The three bags were still unsold. Hopeful to the last he checked the honesty box. Empty.
Randy felt himself starting to spin inside. He had to sell these bags, but how? And to whom? "Think, brain, think!" he murmured to himself, Then he had an idea: he could sell them to the old lady who lived across the road from his house. She was just the type who would need manure, but she didn't have a car.
Randy smacked himself. Why hadn't he thought of this before – Deliveries!
He groaned and looked at the sky. It was almost completely dark now and with just his bike it would be midnight before . . .
He smacked himself on the head again. No; all he had to do was get one bag to her on his bike and promise to deliver the other two tomorrow! Yes! Possible! So, wobbling precariously, he headed home with the little bag of manure poised upon his handlebars.
#
TEN MINUTES LATER HE was approaching the first lights of Kainui when a big old car passed him and he happened to look up and see, in the car's half-closed boot, the last two bags.
"Yee-es!" he shouted and slammed on his brakes. He heaved the little bag into the nearest ditch, turned around and began pedalling furiously, hoping...hoping...
It was getting darker and darker but he knew the road well and figured he would hear cars coming in time. Sure enough a few cars did go by and he very sensibly got well over to the side. Then, with only about a kilometre to go, a van shot out of the night towards him, going at an insane speed.
He swore and jerked his handlebars instinctively to the left, lurching onto the thickly grassed verse. The van roared by, tooting, and he glanced up angrily at the driver.
In doing so, he wobbled completely off his bike and onto the grass. By the time he had scrambled to his feet the vehicle was nothing more than two red taillights disappearing around the next corner. Even so he leapt up and began shouting after it, "You scumbags! You filthy rotten scumbags!"
It was the same van, he was sure of it: that rotten pack of low-down toilet-brained city-scum who had robbed him three weeks ago.
Randy knew he couldn't chase them, even though he was burning to do so. He knew, in fact, that he couldn't do anything, and that just about made him explode with anger. Snarling with frustration he jerked his bike back onto its wheels and set off again at top speed, as if getting there sooner was going to prevent the thing he now feared the most.
With a burst of angry pedalling he swooped around the last corner and up the straight. He braked, dumped his bike and peered into the gloomy interior of the manure stall.
The honesty box, chain and all, was gone.
"I'll kill them," he screamed into the silent country night. "I'll bloody kill them!"