Belly Flop by Morris Gleitzman

your department.
    So I just want to say that if there is a heap of extra interdepartmental paperwork involved, I’ll help you with it.
    I can do really neat writing if I have to.
    If Matthew Conn’s not flicking dust balls at me.
    So if you’re bogged down with forms and reports, get some of them to me somehow, OK?
    Also, you might be having doubts about whether it’s OK to change the weather pattern of an entire district just cause one kid asks you to.
    Don’t worry.
    Everyone round here wants the drought to end.
    They’re desperate for it.
    I’ll give you an example.
    When Sergeant Crean chucked me out of the pool just now I tried to explain why he had to let me back in.
    â€˜My guardian angel supplied the water,’ said, ‘but he’s busy now on an even bigger project so I’ve got to help him out and keep an eye on people and make sure they don’t drown.’
    Sergeant Crean wasn’t convinced.
    â€˜Cathy Saxby’s right,’ he said. ‘You are mental.’
    He went back in.
    I was about to follow him and tell him about my training programme and how once I’ve won lots of gold diving trophies it’ll be his responsibility to guard them at our place and he’ll probably get promoted to inspector.
    Then something hit me on the back of the head.
    I felt it splatter against the top of my neck and when I looked down there were red bits on my shoulders.
    It was a tomato.
    I turned round.
    Carla was standing there scowling at me.
    â€˜That’s for Enid,’ she said.
    Or something like that.
    It was a bit hard to understand because she had a can opener in her mouth.
    Before I could ask her to speak more clearly she chucked another one.
    â€˜And this is for Roald.’
    That’s what it sounded like.
    The tomato hit me in the chest.
    Bits of it splashed up under my chin and the rest slid down my front.
    I was numb with shock.
    â€˜Fair go,’ I said. ‘I don’t even know these people.’
    Carla glared at me through her curls and suddenly I realised why her eyes were glinting so much.
    They had tears in them.
    She took another tomato from the can she was holding and got ready to chuck it.
    My T-shirt was sodden and I could feel tomato juice soaking into my swimmers. I hate canned tomatoes. That’s the trouble with living in a drought-affected area, fresh vegies are so expensive.
    I had to get the can away from Carla.
    Before I could move, Carla’s mum pulled up in their ute.
    â€˜Carla,’ said Mrs Fiami sharply, ‘get in the car and stop wasting food.’
    Then she saw me.
    Her eyes narrowed.
    â€˜Sorry,’ she said to Carla, ‘I thought you were wasting it. I didn’t realise you were putting it to good use.’
    Carla threw the whole can of tomatoes at me.
    I ducked and they splattered against the side of the pool kiosk.
    That’s for Paul, Judy, Gillian, R.L., Emily, A.A., Lewis, Anna and Louisa May,’ shouted Carla tearfully.
    I think those were the names.
    I stared at her, desperately trying to think of a big family that had been chucked off their land lately.
    They’re all gunna die,’ yelled Carla, ‘thanks to your dad.’
    Mrs Fiami revved the ute and as they drove off I caught a glimpse of a big box of ammo in the back.
    For a gut-churning sec I thought that Carla had persuaded a whole lot of her rellies to help the Malleys shoot Dad, then turn their guns on themselves.
    Dopey, I know, but the shock I was feeling must have been stopping the blood getting to my brain.
    Then the blood must have started flowing again because I suddenly remembered something I’d heard about Carla.
    How she gives names to all the sheep at her place.
    Then I understood.
    My guts stopped churning and just lay there, still and sad.
    There’s something farmers have to do in droughts, Doug, when they can’t afford feed for their animals. It saves the animals suffering hunger and