Brain Freeze Read online

  ‘Yes, sir, but –’

  ‘International Day should be a day about harmony and celebrating our actual cultures, I don’t want people to treat it as a wear-what-you-like day, you understand?’

  I nod. It’s a reflex whenever teachers ask me if I understand something, even if I really don’t.

  I walk away from Mr Chambers and Channy passes me my drink. ‘How did it go?’

  I let the iced tea wash across my dry throat before I tell Channy what Mr Chambers said.

  She slaps my arm, making me jump. ‘He probably gave the same speech to my sister.’ She finishes her drink and scoops the ice cubes into her mouth. ‘We wouldn’t want to mess with tradition . . . what a joke,’ she says, crushing the ice fiercely between her teeth.

  Back in class, I keep staring out the window. Mr Morphew casts a shadow behind me. ‘Earth to Remy,’ he says. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Why did you move to Singapore, sir?’ I ask.

  ‘I wanted an adventure,’ Mr Morphew says. ‘I’ve been to Dubai, Berlin and Bangkok so far, and I don’t want to stop.’

  I smile. ‘You’re either an international school teacher or a super spy.’

  ‘Or both.’ Mr Morphew pretends to hold his pen like it’s a pistol and shoots it, James Bond style. ‘Channy told me about your wacky idea for International Day. I would have dressed up in my Oktoberfest lederhosen outfit.’

  ‘You’re a teacher, you could dress up in whatever you’d like,’ I say. ‘Mr Chambers wouldn’t mind.’

  Mr Morphew laughs. ‘You’d be surprised. He does love tradition.’

  ‘Maybe you can help me with my idea,’ I say.

  ‘Will I get in trouble?’ Mr Morphew says with a smirk.

  ‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘But if you get fired, at least you can fall back on your spy work.’

  I tell Mr Morphew my plan and he gives me the thumbs up.

  Before home time, Mr Morphew brings me up the front. ‘Remy has given you some homework.’

  Everyone freezes on the spot and turns to gaze at me. I should be used to this by now, but I still feel the need to shield my eyes from their laser beam stares.

  ‘I want you to bring in something to wear this Friday morning,’ I say. ‘Choose a country that inspires you and wear something that represents that country for you.’

  Channy covers her mouth like she just ate a whole box of giggles.

  ‘Think of it as a Class International Day,’ Mr Morphew adds.

  The bell rings and I make my way to the Metro station to go home.

  Kai from my class walks past. ‘Pretty cool idea, Remy,’ he says. ‘I’m going to wear my football jersey now.’

  ‘Great,’ I say, waving goodbye. It’s the first time Kai’s ever spoken to me.

  Later that night, I tell Dad about my new International Day idea.

  Dad ruffles my hair. ‘You’ve only been there for a term and you’re already making a difference,’ he says. ‘Just like your old man.’

  ‘So you’re making your financial planners dress up in soccer jerseys and sombreros too?’ I say.

  Dad chuckles. ‘It would certainly be more comfortable to wear my old cricket jersey,’ he says. ‘Are you still making new friends?’

  ‘We’ll see, Dad,’ I say, thinking about Kai. ‘Hey, can we go to the mall tonight to get a sombrero?’ I ask.

  ‘Why not. We might as well make it a Mexican night and have some nachos while we’re there,’ Dad says.

  ‘All in the name of homework,’ I say.

  We get a taxi to one of the giant malls on Orchard Road. After an unsuccessful hour walking around the department stores, Dad and I search for a costume place in the street markets nearby. I finally find a bright yellow sombrero with red stripes. It looks like a giant taco shell.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ I say.

  Dad puts it on my head. ‘It fits well.’

  ‘A little too well,’ I say, as sweat works like superglue around my head. I take it off and then see a matching red and yellow poncho. I plead with Dad and he agrees to buy them both.

  ‘I think we’ve earnt ourselves some nachos,’ he says.

  I lick my lips. ‘Awesome!’

  I feel good now that I’ve at least got the easy part out of the way. I’ve still got to get it into my classroom without any seeing. I may have Mr Morphew’s permission, but will that be enough to get past Mr Chambers?

  On Friday, for our Class International Day, everyone in 6CB is walking around, carrying garbage bags. Yeah, nothing suss is going on here. Thankfully, nobody asks any questions and, after lunchtime, Mr Morphew lets us sneak into the change rooms to get into our costumes.

  I wear my poncho and sombrero and I feel like a burnt burrito outside in the heat.

  Channy dances circles around me, but this time she looks the part in her French outfit, which is a ballerina’s dress and a beret on her head. She hits me with her crusty baguette. ‘This is a great idea, Mr Nachos Man.’

  I tip the edge of my sombrero. ‘Thanks. I reckon my hat’s better than yours.’

  ‘Ah, but my hat game is stronger than both of yours,’ Kai says, swinging the corks at me from his cork hat.

  ‘Whoa,’ I say with a laugh, checking out his Aussie singlet hanging loose from his hips over Billabong board shorts. ‘Where did you get the great hat from?’

  ‘Brodie lent it to me,’ Kai says.

  ‘So why do you love Australia all of a sudden?’ Channy says.

  ‘Because Remy’s cool and he’s from Australia,’ Kai says.

  ‘No really, why?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m serious, you’ve inspired me to think outside the square,’ Kai says. ‘Only a crazy Aussie like you would think of a weird thing like this.’

  I laugh. ‘You can put me beside the Hills Hoist and the bionic ear as great Aussie inventions.’

  ‘The Hills what?’ Kai says.

  ‘Google it,’ I say.

  Kai kicks his thongs in the air. ‘Ai-yah, I wish we could wear flip-flops . . . I mean, thongs to school.’

  Channy, Kai and I walk into the Year Six building. A few kids from other classes stick their heads out to gawk at us.

  ‘Stop!’ Mr Chambers yells from the end of the corridor.

  ‘Run!’ I say.

  Channy and I bolt and turn the corner. Kai’s trailing behind us. ‘Wait up, I can’t run in these flip-floppy thongs.’

  ‘Just take them off and run with us,’ I yell back.

  We all head downstairs and run past the gym. Now we’re copping stares from every direction. I take off my sombero. ‘Have you ever run away from a principal before?’

  ‘No,’ Kai says, catching his breath. ‘If I get in trouble, I’m just going to say it’s an Aussie tradition.’

  ‘Maybe we should just head back,’ Channy says. ‘I mean, it’s not like we can hide from the principal.’

  ‘We can for the next few hours,’ Kai says.

  I sigh. ‘Let’s go back, you can just blame me.’

  Kai and Channy high five each other and we all walk to class, where Mr Chambers is standing by the door. His beard makes it hard to tell if he’s frowning or just straight out furious.

  ‘Remy Pai, I heard this was your idea,’ Mr Chambers says, with his hands on his hips. ‘Do you care to explain yourself?’

  I look at Kai’s dorky cork hat and think about him saying I was cool – and crazy. An idea leaps into my head.

  ‘This is our class Inspiration Nation Day,’ I say. ‘We may not have come from these countries, but they still inspire us.’

  I walk over to Brodie who is wearing a Vietnamese hat. ‘Why are you wearing that, Brodie?’

  ‘We went to Halong Bay over the summer break,’ he says. ‘I love how the people there are so kind and humble.’

  I swing over to another girl, Puta, who is dressed in a sari. ‘How about you?’ I ask.

  ‘I am dressed in a South Indian sari,’ Puta says.

  ‘But you’re Indian anyway,’ Channy blurts
out.

  I hold up my hand. ‘No, it’s perfectly fine to dress in a costume from the same country you’re from. Traditional stuff is A-OK!’

  Puta laughs. ‘But this is different for me. I’m Singaporean-Indian,’ she says. ‘My grandma is from Mumbai, and she brought me this sari from there. She inspires us with her stories about growing up in that city.’

  Mr Chambers glances at Mr Morphew. ‘You were right, Chris, this boy is one to watch,’ he says.

  I gulp and feel like a nachos chip, growing soggy in the hot cheese and beans.

  Mr Chambers smiles. ‘Okay, Remy, we’re going ahead with your Inspiration Nation Day idea,’ he says. ‘But only if you speak at our special assembly.’

  ‘Deal,’ I say, shaking his hand.

  The whole class cheers. I sit down at my desk with a giant grin on my face. It’s the first time I’ve felt like I belong here.

  When the actual International Day comes around, I’m having a double celebration because it means I’ve been at Langfield for three months.

  I still don’t belong to any particular group. Sometimes I play card games with Kai and his friends. Or I play cricket with the Indian kids. Other times, I just like to read books with Channy in the library. And even though it’s my second time wearing my Mexican outfit, the sombrero feels like a feather as I lift my head high.

  Lucinda stops me in the corridor. She’s decked out in a long trench coat and a top hat. ‘Hello, Remy.’

  ‘You like England?’ I say.

  ‘I love Jane Eyre,’ Lucinda says. ‘I didn’t want to wear one of those old dresses, but this is still pretty cool.’ She taps my sombrero. ‘I expect big things from you next year on our International Day Committee.’

  I nod. ‘Way ahead of you.’

  ‘Howdy, partner.’ Seng bumps into me, balancing his giant ten-gallon hat on his head. ‘Maybe we can combine our loves and have beef ribs on nachos.’

  I lick my lips. ‘Stop it, you’re making me hungry and jealous.’

  ‘Hunlous?’ Seng says. ‘Maybe we can hang out sometime on the weekend.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. That’d be great.’

  Seng and I check out the teachers, who have also mixed things up. Some Australian teachers are wearing Singaporean and Thai outfits. Mr Morphew stands tall in a Middle Eastern robe.

  ‘I got this when I was in Abu Dhabi,’ he says. ‘One of my favourite places in the world. Plus, I thought it might be a bit cooler than my Oktoberfest lederhosen outfit!’

  The bell rings and we make our way into the school auditorium. Thankfully, Mr Chambers decided to mix things around too. No singing on the field. Instead, we’re having a special assembly, where we get to check out each other’s costumes.

  I head to the stage, my speech in my hand. It’s only short because everyone already knows who I am now. They call me the Inspiration Nation guy.

  Mr Chambers says a few words before he brings me on. The view is great from up here because I can see everybody’s costumes. People of all cultures dressed in a crazy variety of other cultures. I hear Mr Chambers say my name and I move to the microphone. The eyes of the whole school are on me.

  ‘When I first came to Langfield, I felt tiny,’ I say. ‘Even coming from Australia, which is a pretty big country, I soon realised just how huge the world is, and I was just a speck on the globe. Yet, at the same time, being here makes the world feel smaller because so many people from so many countries are here together, all celebrating other places in the world that inspire them. I finally get it. This is why they call this place an international school.’

  Most kids want toys or bikes on their birthday.

  Not Abigail.

  All she wanted was a double bed.

  Abigail announced it one morning over breakfast at the dining table. Abigail’s parents were confused.

  ‘Do you mean a toy bed for your dolls?’ her dad asked.

  Abigail shook her head. ‘No, I want a real double bed.’

  ‘Why a double bed?’ her mum said. ‘You’re only eight years old.’

  ‘Even your sisters don’t have double beds,’ her dad added, reaching for his newspaper. ‘And Claire and Rebecca are both taller than you.’

  Abigail laid two pieces of toast together side by side. ‘I just want a double bed.’

  Her mum frowned. ‘But your room is so small, the bed would hardly fit,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve already measured it,’ Abigail said. ‘It will.’

  Abigail’s measurements weren’t a hundred per cent accurate because she used a piece of string to measure the width of her own single bed, and just doubled the amount of string. But it was close enough.

  ‘Stop being silly,’ her dad said, not looking up from his paper. ‘You’re getting a toy or a doll and that’s final.’

  Abigail stomped back to her room. Being the youngest in her family, she never seemed to get what she wanted. Everything Abigail got was a hand-me-down, from her clothes to food. (In case you wanted to know, half-eaten slices of hand-me-down pizza are disgusting.)

  Her two older sisters were both in high school, but they might as well have been on another planet. Abigail was their little sister, but they made her feel even tinier than she was.

  Abigail closed the door to her room and laid on her bed, which was Claire’s old bed, and before that, lucky Rebecca’s new bed. Abigail wondered if she should tell her parents the reason why she really wanted a double bed.

  You see, while some people can’t remember their dreams the next day, Abigail had an amazing skill. Not only could she remember her dreams, she could actually store them safely in her dream land. Every single creature. Every single scenario. Every fantasy food. Abigail kept them all.

  One of her oldest dreams was of a Unicorncob, a unicorn with a piece of corn cob on his forehead instead of a horn. Abigail often went to bed on a full stomach, which is why her creature and food dreams were often mashed together.

  In her dream that night, the Unicorncob trotted over to Abigail. ‘The rainbow cats and straw monster are fighting again,’ he said.

  Abigail wandered over to the edge of her dream land, where there was a herd of furry, rainbow-coloured cats facing off against a huge straw monster. It was a monster made out of paper straws with one leg that was squashed and soggy, so it leaned on its good leg.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Abigail asked.

  One of the rainbow cats purred. ‘This silly giant scarecrow thingy is hogging all the room around here, and he keeps limping wildly up and down, destroying our homes.’

  ‘I need my exercise,’ the straw monster said. ‘It’s good for my bones.’

  ‘You don’t have any, you’re made out of paper,’ one of the cats hissed. ‘Now don’t make me throw milk on you again and make your other leg soggy.’

  ‘Stop it!’ the Unicorncob shouted. ‘Straw monster, you can exercise over in my field.’

  The herd of cats slithered away, but not before they snarled at the straw monster. Abigail looked up at her tall friend. She remembered how she had dreamt him up, after she had been playing with a jar of straws in a cafe while her sisters were busy on their phones. Her straw monster in real life had only been as tall as a milkshake glass.

  ‘I’m sorry, straw monster,’ Abigail said. ‘I’m working on a way to get you, and all my dreams, some more room.’

  The straw monster smiled with its jagged stripy teeth. ‘It’s okay, my little child,’ he said.

  ‘Are you sure your double bed plan will work?’ the Unicorncob asked. ‘Will our dream land really be double the size?’

  ‘Of course,’ Abigail said. ‘I just need to convince my parents to buy me one for my birthday.’

  ‘Then you better not have any more dreams until then,’ the Unicorncob said. ‘Otherwise, there will be even less room and more fights and trouble.’

  The next morning, Abigail decided to ask her parents for a double bed again, this time with a reason. Abigail’s older sisters were experts at giving reasons t
o do everything they wanted, like going to a friend’s party or buying some expensive make-up. Now it was Abigail’s turn.

  She was having breakfast with her mum at the kitchen bench. ‘Please, Mum, I can’t fit all my toys in my bed anymore,’ she said.

  Abigail’s mum sipped her coffee. ‘You never sleep with all your toys.’

  ‘I do now,’ Abigail said.

  Mum tapped her chin. ‘You can make a roster,’ she said. ‘Then some toys can sleep in the bed on different nights.’

  Abigail couldn’t argue with that. She finished her cereal and went back to her room to get dressed for school.

  By the time her dad got home that night, Abigail had come up with another reason. She cornered him on the couch in the living room ‘Dad, I need a double bed because I need to stretch out.’

  ‘Huh?’ he said.

  ‘I do sleep . . . aerobics,’ Abigail said. ‘Last night in my sleep, I did a full spin and flipped off the bed.’

  ‘Abigail, you are the best sleeper I know,’ Abigail’s dad said. ‘Just last week you fell asleep in the car when we were just coming back from the shops – with your ice cream still in your hand.’

  Abigail couldn’t argue with that. She did stay very still because she was a deep sleeper. She’d once listed ‘sleeping’ as one of her hobbies in a school essay.

  Every day, Abigail pestered her parents, coming up with different reasons to have a double bed. She wanted to practise swimming on the mattress. She wanted to learn how to knit a massive quilt. She wanted to learn a survival skill, in case she was lost in the forest and needed to build a shelter, with pillows.

  But her parents kept knocking her back. Abigail wondered if she should tell her parents the truth. One morning, she asked her parents a question over breakfast. ‘Mum and Dad, do you dream?’ she said.

  Dad nodded, chomping on some toast. ‘I dreamt that I did a great presentation in my sales meeting.’

  Abigail rolled her eyes. ‘You dream about work?’

  Dad shrugged. ‘It’s always on my mind.’