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CHAPTER ONE
He was about 50 meters away from the bus stop, but still, somehow, Julian managed to spot me.
“HEY, EARPLUGS!!” Yelled Julian from across the road.
Oh no.
Quickly, quickly.
I yanked by backpack haphazardly back onto my back and began running away as fast as I could.
Not fast enough.
“WHERE YA THINK YA GOIN?!”
Julian rammed a hand into my backpack, and before I could pull myself together to fall over properly, Julian and his goons were already rummaging through my stuff.
One of them pulled out my earplugs.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrgggghhhhh!
The noise, the sound, the yelling!
All streaming into my poor ears.
I clap my hands over them but it doesn’t work. My earplugs are the only thing that blocks it all out entirely.
“OOH! WOT’S DISS??” Squeals one of them.
They’ve found Grandpa’s muffin.
I bought it at a bakery for him just as I was leaving Art Club.
It was the house special and cost me a fortune.
I can’t let them have it.
I scramble to grab my earplugs and pop them back into my ears.
The noise falls away, but my head is still throbbing.
I make a lunge for the muffin, but Julian’s too fast.
I miss the muffin, but I clip his arm, and the muffin flies down and smashes into the dirty footpath.
Julian groans.
He sounds like a depressed cow.
“I was gunna eat dat fing!” He grumbles.
Julian picks up the crumbling muffin off the footpath. It’s covered in dirt. He sniffs it, grimaces, and chucks it at me.
I manage to duck, and it hits one of his friends square in the face.
“Nyaaaaaaah hahahahahaha!”
Laughs Julian in his dolphin-y like way.
“Honk honk honk honk!” Snort-laughs all his goons except the one that got hit in the face.
But then I notice that Julian’s goon, the muffin faced one, has long hair and glasses and is only a few centimetres taller than me. He wipes all the crumbs and bits of muffin covering his face. He is a she!
“Got a bit too much of a mouthful eh, saint sissy sis?” Taunts Julian.
More snort-laughing from Julian’s other goons.
Wait… This girl is Julian’s sister?!
Julian’s sister just stands there looking miserable. But I can tell she’s not just sympathetic to herself.
Julian spins on his heel and struts away, his oily, sweaty hair bobbing on top of his head with each step.
“I’m sorry.” Julian’s sister whispers to me as she follows her brother.
“I’m sorry I ducked.” I muttered.
“BOYE EARPLUGS!!” Whooped Julian.
CHAPTER TWO
Earplugs isn’t my name, by the way. It’s just a stupid nickname Julian made up by rubbing his last few brain cells together.
My real name’s Ari.
Julian is something like 13 years old and moved here about a week ago. He introduced himself with a number of wedgies and a threat:
“If you ever tattle on me to ANYONE, you’ll get it.”
I wasn’t sure what “it” was, and I wasn’t eager to find out.
After a few minutes on the bus, I finally got home and stepped through the door.
“Oranges.” Muttered Grandpa into his long, white beard as I walked in.
“Hi Grandpa!” I said sprightly as I plonked down next to him. He seemed to be very engrossed in the game of chess he was playing against himself.
“I’m winning… but i’m losing.” He mumbled with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“What’s wrong, Grandpa?” I asked.
“My rook. My rook got took.” He says.
Grandpa reached 89 years old last year. He is pretty ancient.
He spends most of his time in a cloudy, delusional state. Sometimes he gets so involved in his imaginary world that anyone who denies him this world, he sinks like a stone and starts shivering.
Most people find him difficult.
But not me.
I am the only person he knows who knows that to get through to Grandpa in his fantastical world, you have to join him in it.
“Who took your rook?” I asked in a declaring voice.
Grandpa pouted and jabbed a finger at a knight.
“The horse did!” He said, raising his voice and his posture.
“Well then.” I said.
“Punish the horse for his crimes!”
Grandpa’s facial expression swelled as he flicked the horse off the board with his queen.
I went to my room, leaving Grandpa cackling like an evil villain at the horse-shaped chess piece lying on the floor.
My room, unlike many of my friends, was neat and tidy.
Except for the odd t-shirt thrown somewhere, it was immaculate.
I checked my iPad for messages.
Jimmy had left a whole bunch of them for me to go through.
How nice of him.
JIMMY: Heyyyyy Ari! How was Scribble Club?
JIMMY: I mean Drawing Club.
JIMMY: Sorry, I know you don’t like it when I call it that.
JIMMY: Hang on, is it called Art Club?
JIMMY: Art Club or Drawing Club?
JIMMY: Answer me, Ari boy!
JIMMY: ANSWER MEEE!!
JIMMY: Where are you?
JIMMY: Ugh. You’re still on the bus, aren’t you?
JIMMY: Fine. I’ll text you later.
Compared to most days, Jimmy was really holding back.
I texted him.
ARI: I ran into his Royal Jugheadness at the bus stop. Total nightmare. They pulled out my earplugs and stole the muffin I bought for Grandpa.
By “Royal Jugheadness” I mean Julian.
JIMMY: Grrrr! Everything would be better if Julian never moved here! How are your ears, by the way? Is your… um… whatsit sensory disorder getting better?
ARI: My Auditory Hypersensitory disorder? Yeah, it hasn’t really changed. Just like the last time you asked, and the time before that…
Now would be a good time to tell you about my disorder. It means that my ears are super-dooper sensitive and everything I hear sounds painfully loud, so I have to wear earplugs or ear deadeners.
JIMMY: Fine, how was Drawing Club?
ARI: For the last time, it’s called ART CLUB. We did a few collages, and a bit of still life. Not the most exciting one we’ve had.
Jimmy got bored of this conversation, and brought up Julian again.
JIMMY: What happened with Julian Jughead?
ARI: He beat me up, stole my muffin, dropped it, and threw it at me.
JIMMY: You get hit?
ARI: No, I ducked and it hit Julian’s sister.
JIMMY: Hahaha! Serves her right!
ARI: No! She was really upset about her brother and she even apologised as she walked away.
JIMMY: Really?
ARI: Yes really!!
JIMMY: Mmmm… I don’t think so…I highly doubt the two siblings would be polar opposites…
ARI: Think about it! Julian was being a jerk, and his sister felt sorry for the victims!
JIMMY: What you’re saying makes no sense.
ARI: I’m telling you, it was real!
JIMMY: Oops. Got to go, Mum wants me to brush my teeth.
I sighed. So much for support for Julian’s sister.
She’s obviously feeling trapped by her brother. He probably threatened her as well, something like “Grrr, help us bully these little kids and we won’t bully you”.
I stepped outside to get some fresh air.
The street I lived on was a pretty average street. Two rows of houses separated by a thin, potholed road, with the odd tree or two.
Next to our house was a small, brick house. I shuddered to think what was going on in there.
For it was Julian’s house.
There were nerf bullets scattered around it, and sometimes, late at night, shouts and arguments erupt from the house. Julian is always shouting at somebody who I now know is his sister. I could hear the sister sobbing even over the shouting of her brother.
POP!
Something whizzes past my head.
POP! POP! POP! A bombardment of nerf bullets rains down on me. Julian and some of his cronies, including his sister, are rushing at me, nerf guns in hand.
“WHATCHA DOIN’ LOOKIN’ AT MAH HOUSE?!” Julian bellows.
Not willing to stick around for any of it, I rush back into my house and slam the door, the image of the sister’s sorrowful face flickering like a flame in my mind.
He was about 50 meters away from the bus stop, but still, somehow, Julian managed to spot me.
“HEY, EARPLUGS!!” Yelled Julian from across the road.
Oh no.
Quickly, quickly.
I yanked by backpack haphazardly back onto my back and began running away as fast as I could.
Not fast enough.
“WHERE YA THINK YA GOIN?!”
Julian rammed a hand into my backpack, and before I could pull myself together to fall over properly, Julian and his goons were already rummaging through my stuff.
One of them pulled out my earplugs.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrgggghhhhh!
The noise, the sound, the yelling!
All streaming into my poor ears.
I clap my hands over them but it doesn’t work. My earplugs are the only thing that blocks it all out entirely.
“OOH! WOT’S DISS??” Squeals one of them.
They’ve found Grandpa’s muffin.
I bought it at a bakery for him just as I was leaving Art Club.
It was the house special and cost me a fortune.
I can’t let them have it.
I scramble to grab my earplugs and pop them back into my ears.
The noise falls away, but my head is still throbbing.
I make a lunge for the muffin, but Julian’s too fast.
I miss the muffin, but I clip his arm, and the muffin flies down and smashes into the dirty footpath.
Julian groans.
He sounds like a depressed cow.
“I was gunna eat dat fing!” He grumbles.
Julian picks up the crumbling muffin off the footpath. It’s covered in dirt. He sniffs it, grimaces, and chucks it at me.
I manage to duck, and it hits one of his friends square in the face.
“Nyaaaaaaah hahahahahaha!”
Laughs Julian in his dolphin-y like way.
“Honk honk honk honk!” Snort-laughs all his goons except the one that got hit in the face.
But then I notice that Julian’s goon, the muffin faced one, has long hair and glasses and is only a few centimetres taller than me. He wipes all the crumbs and bits of muffin covering his face. He is a she!
“Got a bit too much of a mouthful eh, saint sissy sis?” Taunts Julian.
More snort-laughing from Julian’s other goons.
Wait… This girl is Julian’s sister?!
Julian’s sister just stands there looking miserable. But I can tell she’s not just sympathetic to herself.
Julian spins on his heel and struts away, his oily, sweaty hair bobbing on top of his head with each step.
“I’m sorry.” Julian’s sister whispers to me as she follows her brother.
“I’m sorry I ducked.” I muttered.
“BOYE EARPLUGS!!” Whooped Julian.
CHAPTER TWO
Earplugs isn’t my name, by the way. It’s just a stupid nickname Julian made up by rubbing his last few brain cells together.
My real name’s Ari.
Julian is something like 13 years old and moved here about a week ago. He introduced himself with a number of wedgies and a threat:
“If you ever tattle on me to ANYONE, you’ll get it.”
I wasn’t sure what “it” was, and I wasn’t eager to find out.
After a few minutes on the bus, I finally got home and stepped through the door.
“Oranges.” Muttered Grandpa into his long, white beard as I walked in.
“Hi Grandpa!” I said sprightly as I plonked down next to him. He seemed to be very engrossed in the game of chess he was playing against himself.
“I’m winning… but i’m losing.” He mumbled with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“What’s wrong, Grandpa?” I asked.
“My rook. My rook got took.” He says.
Grandpa reached 89 years old last year. He is pretty ancient.
He spends most of his time in a cloudy, delusional state. Sometimes he gets so involved in his imaginary world that anyone who denies him this world, he sinks like a stone and starts shivering.
Most people find him difficult.
But not me.
I am the only person he knows who knows that to get through to Grandpa in his fantastical world, you have to join him in it.
“Who took your rook?” I asked in a declaring voice.
Grandpa pouted and jabbed a finger at a knight.
“The horse did!” He said, raising his voice and his posture.
“Well then.” I said.
“Punish the horse for his crimes!”
Grandpa’s facial expression swelled as he flicked the horse off the board with his queen.
I went to my room, leaving Grandpa cackling like an evil villain at the horse-shaped chess piece lying on the floor.
My room, unlike many of my friends, was neat and tidy.
Except for the odd t-shirt thrown somewhere, it was immaculate.
I checked my iPad for messages.
Jimmy had left a whole bunch of them for me to go through.
How nice of him.
JIMMY: Heyyyyy Ari! How was Scribble Club?
JIMMY: I mean Drawing Club.
JIMMY: Sorry, I know you don’t like it when I call it that.
JIMMY: Hang on, is it called Art Club?
JIMMY: Art Club or Drawing Club?
JIMMY: Answer me, Ari boy!
JIMMY: ANSWER MEEE!!
JIMMY: Where are you?
JIMMY: Ugh. You’re still on the bus, aren’t you?
JIMMY: Fine. I’ll text you later.
Compared to most days, Jimmy was really holding back.
I texted him.
ARI: I ran into his Royal Jugheadness at the bus stop. Total nightmare. They pulled out my earplugs and stole the muffin I bought for Grandpa.
By “Royal Jugheadness” I mean Julian.
JIMMY: Grrrr! Everything would be better if Julian never moved here! How are your ears, by the way? Is your… um… whatsit sensory disorder getting better?
ARI: My Auditory Hypersensitory disorder? Yeah, it hasn’t really changed. Just like the last time you asked, and the time before that…
Now would be a good time to tell you about my disorder. It means that my ears are super-dooper sensitive and everything I hear sounds painfully loud, so I have to wear earplugs or ear deadeners.
JIMMY: Fine, how was Drawing Club?
ARI: For the last time, it’s called ART CLUB. We did a few collages, and a bit of still life. Not the most exciting one we’ve had.
Jimmy got bored of this conversation, and brought up Julian again.
JIMMY: What happened with Julian Jughead?
ARI: He beat me up, stole my muffin, dropped it, and threw it at me.
JIMMY: You get hit?
ARI: No, I ducked and it hit Julian’s sister.
JIMMY: Hahaha! Serves her right!
ARI: No! She was really upset about her brother and she even apologised as she walked away.
JIMMY: Really?
ARI: Yes really!!
JIMMY: Mmmm… I don’t think so…I highly doubt the two siblings would be polar opposites…
ARI: Think about it! Julian was being a jerk, and his sister felt sorry for the victims!
JIMMY: What you’re saying makes no sense.
ARI: I’m telling you, it was real!
JIMMY: Oops. Got to go, Mum wants me to brush my teeth.
I sighed. So much for support for Julian’s sister.
She’s obviously feeling trapped by her brother. He probably threatened her as well, something like “Grrr, help us bully these little kids and we won’t bully you”.
I stepped outside to get some fresh air.
The street I lived on was a pretty average street. Two rows of houses separated by a thin, potholed road, with the odd tree or two.
Next to our house was a small, brick house. I shuddered to think what was going on in there.
For it was Julian’s house.
There were nerf bullets scattered around it, and sometimes, late at night, shouts and arguments erupt from the house. Julian is always shouting at somebody who I now know is his sister. I could hear the sister sobbing even over the shouting of her brother.
POP!
Something whizzes past my head.
POP! POP! POP! A bombardment of nerf bullets rains down on me. Julian and some of his cronies, including his sister, are rushing at me, nerf guns in hand.
“WHATCHA DOIN’ LOOKIN’ AT MAH HOUSE?!” Julian bellows.
Not willing to stick around for any of it, I rush back into my house and slam the door, the image of the sister’s sorrowful face flickering like a flame in my mind.