Box of Shocks (5 page)

But there's no need to worry. As I put the wood panel back in place and close the closet door, I know there's no way they'll ever find my hiding place. No one will.

Sometimes, I'm bursting to tell my friends all about my Box of Shocks and the crazy things I've done. But I can't. I can't take a chance on telling anyone, not even my friends. Even if only one other person knew, the secret would spread like head lice. In no time flat, everyone would know—including my parents. As long as I'm the only one who knows about my Box of Shocks, my secret is safe.

It has to stay safe because there's still plenty of room in the box. I'm always on the lookout for another great stunt, but during the next three months, I've got soccer, more swimming lessons, track and field, plus school and “Quality Family Time” to keep me busy.

I'm looking forward to the start of summer holidays because I have big plans. I'll be spending two whole months at Uncle Ned and Aunt Jean's farm. Mom and Dad will be in Toronto, where Dad is teaching a course at the university while Mom takes some accounting classes. They figured it would be much healthier for me to spend the summer on the farm than be cooped up in the tiny apartment they've rented in Toronto. Plus, Mom thinks it'll be good for me to spend time with my cousin Stuart. I overheard her talking to her sister, my Aunt Jean, on the phone one night. Mom thinks Stuart would be a good influence on me because he's such a hard worker and always does what his parents tell him.

I'm tempted to tell Mom that even though Stuart and I are cousins and even though we are exactly the same age, there is zero chance of us ever being real friends. If Stuart was in my class at school, I'd be out at lunch break shooting hoops while he'd be inside sharpening pencils for the teacher or making sure all of the toilets in the washrooms were flushed.

I don't say anything about Stuart to Mom though. Putting up with Stuart for two whole months will be worth it. The farm is a perfect place for me to do all kinds of crazy stunts. By the end of the summer, who knows? Maybe my Box of Shocks will be filled right up!

Five

E
very day is pretty much the same at Aunt Jean and Uncle Ned's farm. In the mornings, I pitch bales of hay, shovel manure and do other wonderful chores like weeding the garden. In the afternoons I'm free, but I'm also stuck with Stuart. As often as possible, I try to ditch him, but it isn't easy.

The first two weeks he sticks to me like Velcro. Whenever I go for a bike ride, Stuart's right behind me on his bike. Whenever I want to hike in the hills behind the farm, Stuart follows me, step for step.

One afternoon I catch a lucky break. Aunt Jean is taking Stuart to some doctor's appointment, and Uncle Ned is fixing his tractor, so I've got a whole afternoon of freedom. I'm not about to waste my first chance to collect another shock for my Box of Shocks.

As soon as Aunt Jean and Stuart drive away, I check to make sure Uncle Ned's busy working in the tractor shed, and then I head off. I know exactly where I'm going. For my next stunt, I am going to ride Brutus the bull.

Sure, I've ridden plenty of bikes, scooters, roller-blades— that sort of thing. But I've never ridden anything alive before. Not even a pony. Mom says horseback riding is too dangerous. I'm sure when Mom and Dad sent me to Aunt Jean and Uncle Ned's, they didn't figure bull riding would be one of my spare-time activities.

I head out to the far field and look for Brutus. When I reach the fence, all I can see is one animal, and it is definitely not Brutus the bull. Even though I grew up in a city, I know the difference between a bull and a cow. The four-legged thing standing in the field is definitely a cow. “Where's Brutus?” I yell. The cow just stands there chewing on some grass.

Since this is Uncle Ned's only fenced field, this cow is it. They must have gotten rid of the bull, so if I'm going to ride something, it's got to be this cow. Sure, there's a huge difference between riding a bull and riding a cow. After all, how often do you see cow-riding in a rodeo? The problem is, I don't have much choice right now. It's this cow or nothing.

I slip carefully through the barbwire fence and look across the field at the cow. She stares back.

I take a few steps toward her, and she lifts her head a little. “There's nothing to worry about, my fine four-legged friend,” I say. “It's your old buddy, Ollie. I'm going to take you for a bit of a ride, that's all. It won't hurt a bit.” I take two more slow steps toward her.

As I get closer, I wonder what I could bring back from riding a cow to put in my Box of Shocks. There's nothing on the cow I can take. All around the ground are cow patties, but I don't think I want a dried hunk of cow poop stinking up my Box of Shocks. I'll have to think of something as I ride her.

I'm a few feet away from the cow when she suddenly bolts, galumphing across to the other side of the field. Cows aren't exactly built for speed, so if she runs again, I should be able to catch her pretty easily.

I walk toward her, and just like last time, when I'm about five feet away, the cow starts to run. This time, I take off after her. It doesn't take me long to catch up to her. Just as I'm ready to fling my arms around her neck, she veers to the left and gallops away.

“Get back here, you four-legged milk machine!” I shout, sprinting across the field toward her. As soon as I'm close to grabbing her, she changes direction and dodges away.

“All right! Now you've had it!” I shout, taking off after her again. Once more she swerves and gallops off just as I'm about to grab her.

“Listen here, Ms. Moo!” I shout. “You may think you're pretty fast, but I have a third-place ribbon from track day when I was in grade four! You don't stand a chance!” I run at her, pumping my legs as fast as I can. Just when I think I've got her, my foot slips on something. It isn't a banana peel. It's green and squishy and very stinky. My foot shoots out from under me, and I fall sideways, putting my hand down to try to stop my fall.

My hand ends up sinking into another blob of green squishy stinky fresh cow poop.

“YYYYUCK!” I scream, trying to wipe the cow poop off my hands on the grass. “Who wants to ride a stupid cow anyway!” I run from the field and crawl through the fence, catching my shirt on the barbwire.

I swear I'll never drink milk again! Or even a milkshake! Yes, that's how mad I am! But the worst thing is that, for the very first time, my plan for a wild and crazy stunt hasn't worked out—all because I tried to ride the fastest cow in the world.

Over the next few days while Stuart and I are doing chores around the farm, I keep an eye out for other stunts to pull. After the disaster with the cow, I have to come up with something that doesn't involve farm animals or any kind of manure.

One afternoon while we're weeding the vegetable garden, Uncle Ned says, “Mind you don't touch that orange wire.” He points to a wire fence running around his beehives.

“What is it?” I say.

“It's an electric fence to keep the bears out.”

Right away, I know what my next stunt will be.

The electric fence is way too close to the house for me to do my stunt during the day. Someone is bound to see me, so it can only be done at night.

That night I wait until I can hear Aunt Jean, Uncle Ned and Stuart all snoring up a storm. Then I sneak downstairs and slip out the front door. There's enough moonlight for me to see the path across the yard to the beehives.

There it is. The electric fence.

I've never touched one before, and I've never even seen anyone else touch one. But the thing is, I've never heard of anyone dying from touching an electric fence either, so touching one for a second shouldn't be all that bad.

I walk up to the wire, and right before touching it, I remember—I need something for my Box of Shocks! What could I bring back from this? A piece of the wire is out of the question. But what else is there? I can't think of anything right now, so, like last time, I'll go ahead with the stunt and hope that something comes to me.

I take a closer look at the fence. It sure doesn't look like much—just this skinny orange thing, but it must pack a wallop if it can keep a bear out of the beehives. Very slowly, I move my pointer finger toward the wire. I hesitate. Something is holding me back—probably the thought of a million volts shooting through my hand, up my arm and ending up who-knows-where. Maybe smoke will come out my ears. Maybe my hair will catch on fire.

On the other hand, touching a wire wouldn't be much of a stunt unless something happened to me. That's the point of doing this. If Uncle Ned thinks it's dangerous, what would my safety-freak Mom think? Plus, if my hair catches on fire, I can always cut a burnt chunk off and put it in my Box of Shocks!

Okay, here goes! I say to myself. One…two…three!

I jab my finger at the wire, but just before it makes contact, I pull back. I can't make myself touch it.

Okay. Enough of this. Stop being a chicken! I think. This time, you'll do it! One…two…That instant, I hear a noise! It's coming from behind me! I whirl around to see what it is. But as I spin around, I lose my balance. Waving my arms like a windmill, I try to stay upright, but it's no use. Over I go, landing right on the electric fence with my rear end.

The force of my fall pulls the fence to the ground, and there I sit, right on an orange electric fence wire with a gazillion volts of electricity running through it.

But something is wrong. There's no smoke coming out my ears, plus my hair isn't on fire. It doesn't feel like there's a gazillion volts of electricity zapping through my body. I don't feel anything at all.

I reach down and grab the orange wire with my hand. Nothing. There's no electricity running through it.

“What in the world are you doing out here?” a voice says. It's Uncle Ned.

“I'm…ah…er…checking to make sure the electric fence is working,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“I woke up and remembered I forgot to plug it in,” he says. “If I were you, I'd get up off that wire before I plug it back it in. Otherwise…well, let's just say it's the sort of thing you'll never do again.”

I climb up off the ground and back away from the electric fence. “Thanks for warning me, Uncle Ned,” I say as I head back to the house.

Two in a row! I can't believe it! It's like I've lost my knack for doing crazy stunts. First the cow, and now the electric fence. What's going on here?

But I don't give up easily. I'm determined to have at least one souvenir from my time here at the farm. And after two failures, I'd better do something really spectacular. I mean REALLY spectacular. But what?

I get my answer one hot day when Uncle Ned takes Stuart and me down to the river for a swim. Close to the beach is the Pegasus Valley Bridge. It's an old bridge made from rough wooden beams held together by bolts and cables. The sides of the bridge stretch up in a pattern of crisscrossing beams, and it's probably only about twenty feet up from the water. At each end of the bridge is a big sign with blood-red lettering:
NO JUMPING FROM
BRIDGE!

When I see the bridge and the sign, I know exactly what my next stunt has to be.

With Uncle Ned here, I can't jump off the bridge this time. But it gives me a chance to look it over before I actually take the plunge.

As it turns out, I'm not the first person to think of jumping off the bridge. The first day we're there, three kids jump off the bridge. I watch closely as they walk out to the middle of the bridge and crawl onto an outside beam. They stand there looking down at the river, too scared to jump. Their friends call them wimped-out, chicken-livered saps and some way worse names my mom definitely wouldn't approve of. But every one of those kids ends up jumping. No matter how scared they look, they all jump and make a big splash, disappearing under the water for a while before finally bobbing back up.

I'm not bragging when I say that I'm a pretty good swimmer. Mom's had me in swimming lessons since I was in diapers. Plus, I don't mind heights. The only thing I don't have is a group of friends shouting at me to jump. When I jump, all I'll have is Stuart, who's probably never called anyone a name in his life. Still, this is one crazy stunt I can actually pull off. There are no speedy cows or unplugged electric fences involved in this stunt—just a high bridge and a river.

If my parents ever saw a kid jumping off a bridge, they'd probably call the police. If they saw
me
jumping off, I know exactly how they'd react. That's why this will be the best stunt ever.