Brain Freeze Page 4

  Annabelle sends me some flower emojis.

  Hope you’re okay, Vee.

  Bryan and Matty back me up with their messages.

  Don’t worry about them.

  This is whole thing will blow over . . . you know what I mean.

  I smile back at their faces.

  ‘Sorry, Vee, I won’t do it again,’ Mum says.

  ‘You owe me, Mum,’ I say.

  ‘Cinnamon croissants from the bakery?’ Mum says.

  ‘That’s a start.’

  Mum shows me her screen. ‘What do you think?’

  It’s a pic of me from above, glancing up with a curious look. The sun through the window hits my cheeks to give them a honey-glow. I give her a thumbs up.

  ‘Least it wasn’t all in vain . . .’ Mum says.

  ‘Just another day as a Quaranteen,’ I mutter.

  ‘Can I use that for a caption?’ Mum says.

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  ‘Yes, you do now.’ Mum squeezes my shoulder.

  I smile up at Mum. ‘Go for it.’

  Rover could see Mars from his space shuttle. It looked like a giant fireball, filling his whole vision. He scurried away from the window and yelped.

  ‘Get me out of here,’ he said, with a howl.

  The US space agency, NASA, was supposed to send an astronaut to Mars first. But no one had been brave enough. They weren’t sure if they would survive the deadly atmosphere. Also, astronauts were afraid of getting red dust all over their white space suits.

  So, NASA sent a dog instead.

  Rover already felt like he was the least qualified dog in their space program. He was a street dog and only went along with the Mars thing because NASA gave him a bed and free food, even if he threw it up during all the velocity and gravity tests. Whenever NASA scientists showed him pictures of Mars, he thought the room was on fire and would bark his head off.

  So out of the hundreds of dogs in the space program, why him? He wondered if it was because of his name, Rover, which he stole anyway, by pinching a random nametag from the NASA office.

  The first dog to Mars should have been one of the others, like Buster the Wonder Dog or Extraordo (which was short for Extraordinary. Rover was secretly glad that he didn’t steal that nametag).

  Or maybe it was because Rover had heard a fire alarm and ran away to hide. It just happened he’d hidden in the space shuttle’s hub. When he woke up, he found himself in a white space-dog suit with a clear bubble around his head.

  It was a case of mistaken identity. Rover was not a wonder dog or extraordinary. Rover was such a coward, that he was even afraid to admit it. He felt like a mouse trapped in a dog’s body. His stolen name was braver than he was.

  Rover had looked for a way out for weeks. He’d scratched at every corner of his spacecraft, searching for a child-lock latch. But he had to finally admit he was trapped. And the timer in the corner showed there were only two hours until they reached Mars.

  Rover howled until his voice got hoarse. ‘I never wanted to go to space,’ he yowled.

  The NASA scientists were smart enough to build a space shuttle that could make it to Mars, and had even invented clever feed, drink and sleep stations, but they didn’t really understand dogs. They watched Rover through their cameras and thought he was excited about being the first dog on Mars.

  ‘I’m not going outside,’ he howled. ‘They can’t make me.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ a tiny voice said.

  Rover scratched his ear.

  ‘Oi! Stop doing that, I already threw up once,’ said the voice.

  ‘You puked in my ear?’ Rover asked.

  ‘Sorry, it’s my first time in a space shuttle. I’m Antoine the flea, from the world famous Cirque du Flea.’

  ‘Never heard of it,’ Rover said.

  ‘Well, anyway, when I was told they were sending a dog instead of a human to Mars, I ran away from the circus to hitch a ride.’ Antoine twitched his tiny moustache. ‘Are we there yet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Rover said.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ Antoine said. ‘I’m going to be the first flea on Mars!’

  Rover shivered, shaking his coat. Antoine hung on tight to one of Rover’s hairs.

  ‘Mars is just a crummy planet that’s on fire all the time,’ Rover said. ‘I saw pictures.’

  ‘But don’t you want to be famous?’ Antoine said. ‘Our names will be in the history books.’

  ‘Rover isn’t my real name,’ Rover said. ‘It’s actually Raggy McRags.’

  Antoine’s moustache sagged. ‘Um, best to stick with Rover,’ he said. ‘They’ll call me Antoine the First!’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ squeaked a voice from Rover’s tail.

  Rover swung his tail like a whip. ‘Hey, who said that?’

  ‘It’s me, Zappo,’ he said. ‘And please, don’t give me any more whiplash, I already threw up twice!’

  ‘Will you both please stop puking on me?’ Rover said.

  ‘Zappo . . . mmm,’ Antoine said. ‘Are you the one from the famous Moscow Flea Circus?’

  ‘The one and only,’ Zappo said. ‘And it is my destiny to be the first flea on Mars.’

  ‘Keep dreaming, buddy,’ Antoine said. ‘I was here first.’

  ‘I’ve been on this dog since he joined the space program,’ Zappo said, hopping up onto Rover’s head. ‘We’ve trained together. We’ve puked together.’

  ‘Who cares,’ Antoine said. ‘I’m the fastest flea in the west.’

  ‘I’m the fastest flea in the east,’ Zappo said. ‘And the north.’

  ‘I bags the south then . . .’

  Rover growled. ‘Nobody is landing on Mars because I’m not leaving this ship,’ Rover said. ‘You can both jump off me from here.’

  ‘Come on, Rover, buddy, we can’t do it without you – literally, because we left our space suits back on Earth,’ Antoine said in a pleading voice. ‘You’ve already travelled millions of kilometres to get here, why not take a quick look?’

  ‘I hate to agree with him, but Antoine is right,’ Zappo said. ‘You’ll get to explore a whole new world.’

  ‘But what if there are Martians?’ Rover asked. ‘NASA warned us about Martians on that video – they had green slimy skin and tentacles that ooze pus.’

  ‘I think the scientists were just watching a sci-fi movie that night,’ Zappo said.

  ‘Anyway, if anyone attacks us, I’ll protect you,’ Antoine said. ‘I can lift a hundred times my weight.’

  Rover whimpered. ‘But what if the Martians have ray guns or laser eyes or both?’ he said, his tail between his legs. ‘What if they’re riding giant lizards with toxic purple tongues?’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ Antoine said. ‘Why would their tongues be purple?’

  ‘Yeah, you must have eaten something nasty last night,’ Zappo added. ‘My friend Georgie bit down on a skunk once and it gave her nightmares for a week.’

  The shuttle started to rumble and shake. Rover scurried to his seat and a harness automatically lowered over him. Both Antoine and Zappo held on tight to Rover’s fur. The space shuttle whizzed through Mars’ atmosphere like a bullet through the clouds that looked like fairy floss. Rover could see the craters and canyons below through a window.

  The shuttle touched down with a thud and skidded down the centre of a huge canyon. When the shuttle stopped moving, Rover’s harness released and the hatch opened. Rover looked out through the hatch. All he saw were craters and more canyons in the distance. And it was all red as fire.

  ‘Are you ready to make history?’ Antoine said.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Zappo said. ‘Don’t worry, a few people will remember you as being the second flea on Mars.’

  ‘I was talking to Rover,’ Antoine said. ‘Come on, buddy. It’s time for some fresh air.’

  ‘There are toxic fumes out there,’ Rover said.

  Antoine sighed. ‘You know what I mean. Think of all the exciting things we can do outside after being cooped up
in here all this time.’

  Rover’s ears perked up. ‘Like what?’

  ‘I dunno, that’s why I asked you to think about it,’ Antoine said. ‘Tell me what you see out there.’

  Rover stared out the hatch. ‘There’s dust, rocks and more rocks.’

  ‘Come on, use your imagination,’ Antoine said.

  ‘Um, there’s probably Martians hiding behind those mountains.’

  ‘Not like that,’ Antoine said. ‘Help me out here, Zappo.’

  Zappo hopped onto Rover’s other ear. ‘Look at those canyon walls,’ he said. ‘What can you do there?’

  ‘I could roll down them for hours,’ Rover said, as he started wagging his tail.

  ‘And do you see that old satellite sticking out of the dirt?’ Antoine said.

  ‘That could be a frisbee,’ Rover said. ‘Maybe you could throw it for me, since you’re so strong.’

  ‘Um, yeah sure, I’ll try,’ Antoine muttered.

  Rover stared out at the vast desert landscape, which reminded him of the gloomy streets and abandoned buildings back when he was homeless. Rover’s eyes became dark and stormy. ‘But I’ll be all alone again,’ Rover said. ‘I hated living on the streets. I missed being looked after.’

  ‘You’re not alone, you’ve got us,’ Zappo said.

  ‘Yeah, but I wish the other dogs were here,’ Rover said. ‘I miss Extraordo, even if he was a bit annoying.’

  Meanwhile, back at the control centre, the scientists had gone from cheering and high-fiving to fingernail-biting and forehead-slapping. Maybe they should have installed a droid to throw a stick outside so Rover would follow it.

  ‘This is taking too long,’ Zappo said. He slid down Rover’s back to a bald patch on the space dog’s butt and bit hard.

  Rover yelped and tumbled out of the shuttle’s hatch. He did a few somersaults down the ladder and finally landed with a thud on the ground.

  ‘Antoine and Zappo, please tell me you guys didn’t throw up,’ Rover said.

  ‘Too late,’ they both said.

  ‘Hey,’ Antoine said, leaping up and down. ‘I’m the first flea.’

  ‘No way,’ Zappo said. ‘I was the first –’

  Rover barked. ‘You both landed with me at the same time, so you’re both equal first.’

  ‘Antoine and Zappo, the first fleas on Mars,’ Antoine said. ‘I can live with that.’

  ‘Zappo and Antoine sounds better,’ Zappo said.

  ‘And I’m the first dog on Mars,’ Rover said, rolling the idea around in his head. ‘Because of me, other dogs can come as well.’

  The scientists did all their scans and were pleased to see Rover so happy. They had thought Rover might be lonely up there. But they didn’t know that Rover wasn’t alone.

  Astronauts all around the world watched Rover leaping around. Now they wanted to join in on the fun and rang up NASA to volunteer to be on the next shuttle to Mars.

  ‘Thanks, Antoine and Zappo,’ Rover said. ‘Let’s go explore Mars.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ Antoine said. He swung on one of Rover’s hairs like a sail on a mast.

  Rover’s paws were busy. He dug a few holes, chased his tail then fetched some rocks and some robotic parts from an older space craft (and remembering some of his training, put them back into the space shuttle).

  Rover didn’t care so much about the fame or making history. He was just glad that Mars wasn’t on fire after all.

  Whenever I go to Yum Cha with my family, Grandpa’s always talking about the good old days, like all old people seem to do. He’s almost lived in Australia longer than he did in China, so I guess he knows a thing or three about life back then.

  ‘I remember when Chinese food was the most popular takeaway in Australia,’ he says, picking at some chicken feet with his chopsticks.

  ‘More popular than Thai food?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes, Joanna,’ Grandpa says. ‘Your friend may think his Thai-riffic! restaurant is the best, but I remember when every Australian town used to have a Chinese restaurant.’

  I don’t want to remind Grandpa that my friend Lengy doesn’t run Thai-riffic! and he definitely doesn’t think it’s the best restaurant, despite what the flyers and his parents say.

  ‘Ai-yah,’ Mum says. ‘Always going on about this. It’s not a competition.’

  ‘It is to me,’ Grandpa says. ‘Aussies think pad thai is the best takeaway food now, but back in my day, everyone was lining up for sweet and sour pork.’

  I stab the last dim sim with my chopsticks and dip it into the soy sauce. ‘That’s what I’ll be bringing for our school’s cultural day next week.’

  ‘You mean, what Dad and I are bringing?’ Mum says.

  ‘That’s what I meant,’ I add.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Dad says. ‘We’ll order the best sweet and sour pork in Fairfield.’

  ‘Huh, what?’ I drop my dim sim in the soy sauce and it makes a belly flop splash, splattering soy sauce everywhere. ‘You’re not going to cook?’

  ‘Honey, we haven’t got time,’ Mum says.

  ‘Why cook when you can get it delivered?’ Dad adds.

  I fold my arms. Dad’s got a point. Half the kids will bring in something from the shops. But I don’t want to be like them.

  ‘Can’t you make something?’ I ask.

  My family may not be professional chefs like Lengy’s but they definitely have at least one cooking bone in their body. And no, it can’t be in the finger that dials the number for takeaway.

  I have to try a different tack. ‘You know, this is an assignment.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Mum says.

  Hook, line, and sinker! Grades are the perfect Mum bait. I reel her in. ‘Yep, Mr Winfree says he’ll be grading us on our dish.’

  ‘Well, that’s not fair,’ Dad says. ‘We’ll definitely have to buy –’

  ‘No, it has to be homemade.’

  ‘How could he tell?’ Mum asks, squinting at me.

  ‘Oh, trust me,’ I say, pouring some tea into Grandpa’s cup. ‘He can spot a parent’s fingerprints all over a kid’s homework.’ Okay, so it was not Mr Winfree, but his teddy friend, Grumpy Bear who spotted it, and that was only because Lengy’s dad spilled some satay sauce all over the page. Lengy still reckons he would have gotten away with it if it hadn’t been for that pesky bear.

  ‘Hang on, do you want us to help or not?’ Mum asks.

  ‘That one of Lengy’s was an individual assignment,’ I say. ‘Mr Winfree wants this cultural day dish to be a family assignment.’

  Dad growls. ‘Are we getting graded for this too?’

  Mum gives him a sharp look. ‘I’m sure we’d be happy to help,’ she says.

  ‘Yes, cooking can’t be that hard,’ Dad says.

  Grandpa chuckles to himself but he doesn’t say a word.

  After Yum Cha, we go to a supermarket and Dad goes straight to the Asian Cuisine section. He pulls out a jar of WokTong. ‘Here you go, sweet and sour cooking sauce.’

  I groan. ‘We have to do better than that.’

  Mum looks at a few ‘meal in a packet’ boxes. ‘How about these instead?’

  ‘Can’t we use real ingredients?’ I say.

  Dad taps the lid of the jar. ‘You can’t get more real than that,’ he says. ‘Plus, we can make it in twenty minutes.’

  I look at the jars of Chinese food. My parents aren’t interested in taste. They just want short cuts.

  Grandpa takes my hand. ‘Don’t worry, I can help you, Joanna.’

  ‘Thanks, Yeye,’ I say. ‘Do you know how to cook?’

  ‘I might not be an expert, but your Uncle Leo is. Did you know he runs a Chinese restaurant called Lucky Leo’s?’ Grandpa says. ‘Your grandma and I used to take you there all the time when you were little.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I remember Nainai . . .’ Well, a little bit of her, anyway. She passed away when I was five, so I only have flashes of memory – her soft hands, her warm bony cheeks. But I don’t remember my uncle
or his restaurant at all.

  ‘We need some inspiration,’ Grandpa says. ‘We should pay Uncle Leo a visit.’

  It turns out Uncle Leo’s restaurant is in Fairfield Heights. The following night, we drive there for dinner.

  ‘Ai-yah, I feel so ashamed, being so busy and not seeing him in forever,’ Dad says, ‘I hope he will forgive us.’

  We park outside and I look up at Lucky Leo’s. The old red tiled roof reminds me of Chinatown, its curved lines turning up at the corners like a wave. A rusty dragon glares down, guarding the restaurant.

  Grandpa grins. ‘It hasn’t changed a bit.’

  I shrug. Maybe it looked run-down back then too, with its faded red sign and cloudy windows. We step inside and there are large round tables everywhere. It’s so empty, we could have a table each.

  A man with a big round belly comes out of the kitchen to greet us.

  ‘Hello, welcome to . . . whua! The Luong family!’ He bows in front of us. ‘It has been too long.’

  ‘Ah, you remember us then,’ Grandpa says with a laugh.

  ‘Why, of course, lah,’ Uncle Leo says with a wink, ‘Even if it has been quite a while since you have brought your family to eat at my restaurant!’

  He bustles us to the table nearest the kitchen. He hands us a menu, which is a stack of laminated papers stapled together.

  Dad flicks through the menu like it’s one of his business reports at work. ‘You have over 200 dishes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Uncle Leo says. ‘We have everything.’

  Grandpa raises his hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll order our food.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Dad asks.

  ‘Yes, yes, I know exactly what to order,’ Grandpa says, winking at me. ‘I used to order this all the time with your Nainai.’

  Dad zips his lips and Mum folds her napkin into a tiny square, as Grandpa points to the menu. All I hear is numbers like he’s playing bingo: ‘33, 45, 67, 99 and 117, please.’

  Uncle Leo smiles and goes back to the kitchen.

  ‘This was one of the first Chinese restaurants back in Fairfield. So many Aussies would come here,’ Grandpa says, turning to Dad. ‘Remember, son?’