The Crimes and Punishments of Miss Payne Read Free Page B

I'm overweight or anything. It's just that I seem to be saddled with a chest you could balance a tray on. As you can imagine, I'm a little self-conscious about this. Particularly in a Year 10 class filled with lads who are not exactly backward about making personal comments. I always wear baggy tops (uncomfortable, to say the least, in the heat of the tropics) but it still looks like I've got a couple of wombats tucked down there. If I turn quickly, I'm liable to knock someone unconscious. You can probablyimagine the kind of comments I've been getting. Not very original, of course. Things like “How many of those do you get to the pound?” and “Can I park my bike in there?” and that sort of stuff. I hate phys ed, of course. I wasn't built for sudden movements. When I run, my chest stops half an hour after everything else.
    Anyway, enough about my boobs. I just thought I should be honest about myself, and that's the thing about me that I'm most aware of. And everyone else, apparently. As for the rest of me, well, I'm reasonably normal to look at. Fairly attractive, I suppose. Long dark hair that comes halfway down my back. None on my head, just down my back. Joke! Shortsighted, so I wear glasses. I like glasses. I've got about five pairs. The ones I like best at the moment (I keep changing my mind) are bright blue, thick plastic things. They are so in-your-face. And on-your-face, I guess. They do stand out like a nun in a betting shop. Maybe I reckon that if everyone is staring at my glasses, then they won't be looking at my chest. Isn't psychology great?
    I'm a fairly hard worker at the subjects I enjoy, like English. Other stuff doesn't really interest me too much. Science is okay because it's quite beautiful and well worked out, like a poem. And some of the words are really cool. But phys ed sucks. I hate physical exercise and I can't see the point of it. And while we're on the subject of pointlessness, can anyone explain the value of drama lessons? Swaying like a tree or holding sweaty hands in a circle or pretending you're a bird. Call that adequate development of lifelong learning skills?
Q. And what makes you think you will be a good journalist/teacher/copywriter/politician/organized crime boss?
A. Well, even though I'm crap at reading and writing, I can do one hell of an impersonation of a sulfur-crested cockatoo in a cyclone.
    Look, I don't want to give the impression that I'm a rebel or anything. I tend to do what the teachers tell me to do because it's easier that way. I'm not like Kiffo in that sense. He seems to think that anything the teachers want you to do is a direct challenge to do the opposite. That's okay, though. We're all different. I just keep my head down and my chest in.
    That's probably enough for the time being. I'll get back to the story.
    Oh, hang on. There is one other thing you just might find interesting. Then again, maybe you won't. Who can tell? Anyway, here is another interesting/boring revelation about Calma Harrison: my mother is a Westinghouse refrigerator.
    So where was I?

Chapter 3
Enter the Pitbull
    “Creeping hell!” said Vanessa. “What in the name of God is that?”
    I was bent over my exercise book, putting the final touches on a character star sign entry—
    [Vanessa Aldrick—Scorpio.
You seem to labor under the delusion that wearing appalling 1960s clothing and affecting an air of considerable boredom makes you an interesting and mysterious character, whereas you are, in fact, a royal pain in the arse.]
    —when her hoarse whisper caught my attention. I looked up at her face. Her eyes were glazed with horror and her mouth turned down in an expression that seemed to indicate that something exceptionally smelly had just been thrust under her nose. Vanessa would have yawned if the Archangel Gabriel had materialized in front of her on a skateboard, so naturally I twisted my head to follow her line of sight. When I saw what she had seen, my jaw hit the desk….
    Imagine a