Squishy Taylor and the Bonus Sisters (5 page)

We watch Vee climb and then it’s my turn.

This time climbing doesn’t feel quite so easy, but I also don’t freeze when I get to the top.

By the time it’s over, my arms hurt and my fingers hurt, but I have a new favourite thing. I also realise that I’ve totally forgotten to talk with Vee about John.

Luckily, Alice makes it easy. She grins at us. ‘How about this for a plan: you two catch your own tram home and I meet you there with lunch.’

‘Really?’ Vee asks.

‘Give me a climb to myself and a
cheeky
hour in the office. You’ll be fine. You catch the tram to school without me, don’t you?’

This is true. But Jessie is usually with us and she’s the responsible one.

I guess Alice thinks we’re responsible enough without Jessie. And anyway, Jessie isn’t
always
responsible. I think about her squeaky,
snorting
laugh into her pillow after we’d been told to be quiet.

Finally, the tram door closes and I’ve got Vee to myself.

‘Do you reckon we should tell Jessie about John?’ I ask.

I press B for ‘basement’ on the lift button, which means we aren’t going to the park, and Jessie notices straight away.

‘Where are we going?’ she asks.

‘We’ll show you,’ Vee grins. It’s after lunch. We’re taking Baby for his nap in the pram. He likes
walking-naps
and he’s already asleep by the time we get to the lift, so this is going to be easy.

‘What are we doing? Is it the HRC?’ Jessie asks.

‘What?’ Vee doesn’t get it.

‘She means the
Hinkenbushel Revenge Club
,’ I say to Vee. Then to Jessie, I add, ‘No, it’s not that. It’s something just as important.’

We already checked with John on our way in and he said we could tell Jessie.

When we reach the car park, Vee is about to head straight for John’s storeroom, but the scowly man from the tram stop is here. I grip Vee’s arm. ‘Hang on,’ I say.

We watch as the man gets in the car from apartment 503 – the car under the secret exit. That would be why he looked familiar at the tram stop. I must have seen him in the lift. As he pulls out, I glimpse a dirty footprint on his bonnet. It makes me smile. The roller-door beeps down.

‘All clear,’ I say.

Vee pulls Jessie and I push Baby over to John Smith’s storeroom door. I knock my special
tappety-tap-tap-tap
.

When John opens it, Jessie stares at him. He suddenly seems shorter when face to face with Jessie (which is weird because she’s the same height as Vee). He looks a bit frightened.

‘Who are you?’ Jessie asks.

‘His name’s John Smith and he stole a tram and now he’s in hiding from the police,’ I say quickly.

‘We’re protecting him with our lives,’ Vee explains.

The lift dings, announcing that someone else is arriving in the car park. We tumble into the storeroom before anyone sees us. Vee donks the pram on the doorframe, but Baby stays asleep.

‘Your name’s not John Smith,’ Jessie pronounces.

The boy goes even whiter. ‘How did you know?’ he stutters.

‘I know
now
,’ Jessie says smugly.

We all stare at her. I realise she tricked him by
pretending
to know.

‘Why did you choose John Smith anyway?’ Jessie asks. ‘It’s the most obvious fake name in history.’

‘Is it?’ Not-John-Smith asks. ‘I saw it on a TV show and I thought it was a good fake name.’

I’m a little bit angry. ‘You lied! We brought you so much food and you lied to us.’ I glare at him and Jessie. I’m annoyed that Jessie figured it out so quickly and I didn’t.

‘I bet you didn’t even steal a tram either,’ I say.

‘Yeah!’ Vee chimes in.

I’m just saying it because I want to make him feel bad, but his eyes go wide and I realise that was a lie too.

‘You didn’t steal a tram,’ I say. ‘You totally lied to us!’

He’s biting his lip. ‘I saw a story about it on the news. A boy did it and I wished it was me.’

I can tell Jessie feels sorry for him. ‘It’s part of the job of runaways to lie,’ Jessie says. ‘They have to hide the real story to protect themselves. I bet the real story’s even worse, isn’t it?’

Not-John-Smith is looking teary and trying not to. Worse than stealing a tram and hiding from the police?

‘What’s your name then, Not-John?’ I ask.

‘If I tell you, you’ll google me,’ Not-John says.

Jessie grins and I realise she’s probably going to google him anyway.

‘Not-John is a good name,’ I say.

Vee pulls the
jelly snakes
from on top of Baby. Baby makes his cutest noise and stays asleep.

‘Why is there a baby?’ Not-John asks.

‘We stole him from a tram driver,’ Vee replies and we all giggle.

There’s something about the sound of the jelly-snakes wrapper opening that makes me feel happy inside. We slide down to sitting on the floor, with the pram in between. Jessie passes the jelly snakes across the wheels to each of us.

‘It’s because of my dad,’ Not-John says, biting the head off a
green
snake. ‘We had a fight …’

He looks angry and sad at the same time and his face nearly reminds me of something, but I’m not sure what.

‘I want him to know I’m serious,’ Not-John says. He looks serious.

‘But you can’t stay here forever,’ Jessie says.

‘Why not?’ asks Not-John. ‘I’ve got a bathroom.’ He waves vaguely in the direction of the public toilet. ‘Squishy Taylor feeds me. What’s the problem?’

I imagine Not-John growing up, shaving in the green toilet and going to work every morning by climbing out the grate. I suddenly think of something. ‘How did you even know to come here?’ I ask. ‘How did you know about the vent and the storeroom?’

Not-John looks down at his feet.

Jessie’s mouth twitches. ‘Did you run away from home to your own basement?’ she asks.

Not-John doesn’t say anything.

‘
You totally did!
’ Jessie says, sounding pleased with herself.

Baby rolls over and the pram squeaks.

I have a tingling feeling of dread and excitement. I bet I know who Not-John’s dad is. I bet his dad is Mr Hinkenbushel.

Baby starts to cry.

‘Your dad,’ I start to say. ‘Is he –’

Baby’s wails get louder.

‘Come on, Squishy,’ Jessie says.

‘But, Not-John’s dad –’

‘Squishy, we have to get out of here. The next person in the car park is going to hear screaming and wonder who’s chained up in the storeroom.’

I stare at Jessie. She’s right. And she’s made me think of something.

‘OK,’ I say and let her pull us out.

‘There’s absolutely, one hundred per cent no way his dad is Mr Hinkenbushel,’ Jessie says. ‘That would mean there’s been a kid living next door to us and we didn’t notice. For years. No way.’

We are pushing Baby down to the playground because it’s not time for his nap to finish yet. He likes the feel of his pram wheels rolling and he’s already closed his eyes again.

‘But what if,’ I say excitedly, ‘what if that’s exactly why he ran away? What if Mr Hinkenbushel keeps him
chained up
in the cupboard?’

Vee looks nervous but Jessie snorts. ‘He’s got a schoolbag. And sunburn.’

‘But Mr Hinkenbushel is so mean. That’s exactly what he would do. It’s probably why he’s even meaner this week. Because his prisoner got away. And maybe it’s not sunburn, it’s a
skin disease
.’

Vee giggles and even I realise that’s a bit silly.

‘Well, whether he is or not, we still have to do revenge on him,’ I say.

Jessie nods. ‘He still hates us, and he shouted at Mum.’

At the playground, Vee and I shove the pram over to the monkey bars. Jessie sees another kid from school who’s sitting in the corner-cubby with an iPad and joins her.

I show Vee my new monkey-bar moves. There’s one really cool trick, where I swing
upside-down
from my knees and brush the pram with my hair. It’s hard, because if you get it wrong, you either don’t touch the pram or you bash your face on it.

Vee’s impressed. ‘You should do some bunk-bed tricks with me,’ she says.

‘OK,’ I say, a bit surprised because of how much she hated me doing the same
bunk-bed acrobatics
before.

Baby wakes up screaming and we have to run to get him home. Well, not run exactly, because we aren’t allowed to run with Baby when we’re next to the road. We just walk really, really fast. Kind of jog-walk.

As we get closer to home, we pass a massive dog out for a walk. I see the owner clutching a swinging plastic bag with a
squoogy-looking
weight in the bottom of it. And I have the best Hinkenbushel Revenge Club idea ever.

‘Wait a sec,’ I say to the others, as we pull up at our front door.

I trail the big dog and its owner until they reach the bin at the corner. As I suspected, the
squoogy
plastic bag is placed in the bin and the owner keeps walking.

I loiter beside the bin until the traffic lights change and the big dog crosses the road. Then I
snatch
the bag from the bin and run back to where Jessie and Vee are waiting for me. I wave the bag like a trophy. ‘It’s for the HRC!’ I yell.