pulled a tissue from her shorts and held it out to Darcy, saying, ‘It’s used.’
‘Yuck!’ said Darcy, ignoring her outstretched hand. ‘I’m not sharing snot.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Clem shoved the tissue back in her pocket and kept walking. ‘But don’t say I never give you anything.’
In the alley was an old, abandoned Kombi van—The Van—their special place. It rested on bricks, its wheels long gone. Painted on its side were peace signs and sunsets and a bird that could’ve been a woodpecker but they weren’t too sure. The seats inside had gone, too, but no-one had stolen the curtains, faded yellow with rainbows. Someone—who knew who—had scrawled across the side, ‘Private Property. Keep Out.’
The kids had scavenged things to make it homey. Upturned milk crates to sit on. An old black and white TV, long dead, for a table. To the side was a decrepit cardboard suitcase that they used for storing stuff. Outside, the kids had threaded a long chain with a padlock through the rear bumper bar to secure their bikes.
Bryce settled himself onto a crate like a kingsurveying his kingdom. ‘You remember the food?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ said Darcy and Clem at the same time. From a backpack they pulled out a jar of marshmallow spread and another of peanut butter.
It was now Darcy’s turn to ask, ‘What about you?’
A loaf of bread appeared from under Bryce’s bulky jacket. ‘Do I ever forget?’ He pulled the plastic clip from the top of the bag and sniffed. ‘Yesterday’s. But it’ll still taste good.’
‘Sure will,’ said Darcy, taking the bread from Bryce’s hands and putting it on the table.
A song burst from Bryce, ‘Yum, yum, fluffernutter tum’
‘Idiot!’ said Clem, and she picked up the bread and chucked it at him.
Bryce ducked, saying, ‘Music is like food. I can’t live without it.’ Then he lobbed the bread back at Clem, laughing as it landed with a plop in her lap.
‘Why, you!’
‘You’ll squash it,’ scolded Mio, plucking the bag from Clem’s lap and plonking it on the table. Then she took a stack of paper plates from her backpack, removed four, and handed the rest to Bryce, saying, ‘Put these in the suitcase for next time.’
‘Sure.’
‘And grab a couple of knives.’
‘Okay.’
Mio handed out the plates, Darcy untwisted the lids and put the jars on the table, while Clem placed two slices of bread on each plate.
Bryce speared one plastic knife into the peanut butter but kept the other for himself. ‘Marshmallow fluff first,’ he said, scooping up a dollop of marshmallow and spreading it over one slice of bread before handing the knife to Darcy. The kids took it in turns till each had a slice of bread piled high with pink.
‘Mmmm, mmmm,’ said Bryce. ‘My favourite.’
‘Don’t start!’ Mio nudged him before he began on the song again.
Bryce grabbed the other knife and started coating his second slice of bread in a thick layer of peanut butter. A rich nutty aroma filled the air. Again he passed the knife to Darcy. Then, grabbing the two slices he glued them together and took a huge bite. ‘Yummmm.’ Peanut butter squirted between his teeth and marshmallow oozed over his lips. ‘This is so my favourite.’
Soon the only sound heard was the wet smacking of lips as the kids scoffed their fluffernutters.
‘More,’ said Darcy, reaching for the bread. He took two slices, then doled out the same to the others.
‘Shhhhh!’ Mio heard a noise and crept to thewindow to check it out. ‘There’s someone in our park.’
Darcy, Bryce and Clem snuck over and peeked through The Van’s windows. Bryce knocked a lid and it clattered to the floor, scoring a blistering look from Mio.
‘What?’ said Bryce.
This time, Mio looked daggers.
‘Okay, okay. Not another word.’ Bryce pretended to zip his lips.
A man stood in the middle of the park, fanning his face with his hand. Around his wrist was a lead and at the end of the lead was a
‘Yuck!’ said Darcy, ignoring her outstretched hand. ‘I’m not sharing snot.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Clem shoved the tissue back in her pocket and kept walking. ‘But don’t say I never give you anything.’
In the alley was an old, abandoned Kombi van—The Van—their special place. It rested on bricks, its wheels long gone. Painted on its side were peace signs and sunsets and a bird that could’ve been a woodpecker but they weren’t too sure. The seats inside had gone, too, but no-one had stolen the curtains, faded yellow with rainbows. Someone—who knew who—had scrawled across the side, ‘Private Property. Keep Out.’
The kids had scavenged things to make it homey. Upturned milk crates to sit on. An old black and white TV, long dead, for a table. To the side was a decrepit cardboard suitcase that they used for storing stuff. Outside, the kids had threaded a long chain with a padlock through the rear bumper bar to secure their bikes.
Bryce settled himself onto a crate like a kingsurveying his kingdom. ‘You remember the food?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ said Darcy and Clem at the same time. From a backpack they pulled out a jar of marshmallow spread and another of peanut butter.
It was now Darcy’s turn to ask, ‘What about you?’
A loaf of bread appeared from under Bryce’s bulky jacket. ‘Do I ever forget?’ He pulled the plastic clip from the top of the bag and sniffed. ‘Yesterday’s. But it’ll still taste good.’
‘Sure will,’ said Darcy, taking the bread from Bryce’s hands and putting it on the table.
A song burst from Bryce, ‘Yum, yum, fluffernutter tum’
‘Idiot!’ said Clem, and she picked up the bread and chucked it at him.
Bryce ducked, saying, ‘Music is like food. I can’t live without it.’ Then he lobbed the bread back at Clem, laughing as it landed with a plop in her lap.
‘Why, you!’
‘You’ll squash it,’ scolded Mio, plucking the bag from Clem’s lap and plonking it on the table. Then she took a stack of paper plates from her backpack, removed four, and handed the rest to Bryce, saying, ‘Put these in the suitcase for next time.’
‘Sure.’
‘And grab a couple of knives.’
‘Okay.’
Mio handed out the plates, Darcy untwisted the lids and put the jars on the table, while Clem placed two slices of bread on each plate.
Bryce speared one plastic knife into the peanut butter but kept the other for himself. ‘Marshmallow fluff first,’ he said, scooping up a dollop of marshmallow and spreading it over one slice of bread before handing the knife to Darcy. The kids took it in turns till each had a slice of bread piled high with pink.
‘Mmmm, mmmm,’ said Bryce. ‘My favourite.’
‘Don’t start!’ Mio nudged him before he began on the song again.
Bryce grabbed the other knife and started coating his second slice of bread in a thick layer of peanut butter. A rich nutty aroma filled the air. Again he passed the knife to Darcy. Then, grabbing the two slices he glued them together and took a huge bite. ‘Yummmm.’ Peanut butter squirted between his teeth and marshmallow oozed over his lips. ‘This is so my favourite.’
Soon the only sound heard was the wet smacking of lips as the kids scoffed their fluffernutters.
‘More,’ said Darcy, reaching for the bread. He took two slices, then doled out the same to the others.
‘Shhhhh!’ Mio heard a noise and crept to thewindow to check it out. ‘There’s someone in our park.’
Darcy, Bryce and Clem snuck over and peeked through The Van’s windows. Bryce knocked a lid and it clattered to the floor, scoring a blistering look from Mio.
‘What?’ said Bryce.
This time, Mio looked daggers.
‘Okay, okay. Not another word.’ Bryce pretended to zip his lips.
A man stood in the middle of the park, fanning his face with his hand. Around his wrist was a lead and at the end of the lead was a
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