who hated water as much as he did, this was a real problem.
Once Coach Newhart had finally stopped barking, Twinford’s very own chief lifeguard, the implausibly named Slicker Dawn, gave a little briefing about bay safety. Slicker delivered all information at top volume, probably because he had spent much of his time shouting instructions at swimmers; he liked to repeat things too, so his five-minute briefing took a good half-hour.
‘Anyway,’ concluded the lifeguard, ‘Twinford Bay is one of the safest in the county. I repeat, one of the safest in the county. So long as you stay between the flags, you will not get sucked out to sea by the riptides and you will not get dragged down by the undertow.’
‘Oh boy,’ muttered Clancy under his breath. ‘I don’t stand a chance.’
‘Just to reassure you,’ shouted Slicker Dawn, ‘we haven’t had one mayday call or rescue in three weeks, not one! That’s a record right there.’
To Clancy this just made it all the more likely that there would be one soon – according to probability, a rescue was surely due.
The announcement over, Clancy tried to go back to concentrating on class, but however much he tried to engage with the subject at hand, he found that right now the life cycle of the Peruvian tree frog didn’t really have too much to do with the life prospects of a shrimpy boy from Twinford City.
When the bell rang, he slowly pushed his chair away from the desk, picked up his bag and walked out into the corridor. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t see his long-time enemy lumbering towards him.
‘Crew, you look like you’re about to pee your pants,’ sneered Bugwart, blocking his path.
‘No, I’m about to throw up actually so if you don’t want to get puked on, I’d get outta the way.’ As soon as he had uttered these words, he realised that he was indeed about to throw up. Looking at him, Vapona could also see that this was in fact more than likely and immediately stepped to one side as Clancy made a dash for the restroom.
When Clancy finally made it to music class, everyone else was already in their places. Ruby, who was on xylophone, was sitting on the other side of the room from Clancy who was to be on kettledrum. She could see his face, all scrunched up with anxiety, and it was pretty obvious what he was thinking about.
Ruby tapped out a message in Morse code*:
-.-. .-.. .- -. -.-. -.-- --..-- / -.-. .... .. .-.. .-.. / --- ..- - / -- .- -. --..-- /
-.-- --- ..- / .-.. --- --- -.- / .-.. .. -.- . / -.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / .- -... --- ..- - /
- --- / -.. .. .
Clancy looked up. He knew right away what she was saying and his reply was this:
- .... .- - .----. ... / -.-. --- ... / .. / .- -- / .- -... --- ..- - / - --- / -.. .. . --..-- /
- .... .. ... / ... .- - ..- .-. -.. .- -.-- / -- --- .-. -. .. -. --.
So Ruby tapped out another which went:
- .... . .-. . / .- .-. . / -. --- / ... .... .- .-. -.- ... / .. -. / - .-- .. -. ..-. --- .-. -.. /
-... .- -.--
And in return got this back from Clancy:
.--. .-. --- ...- . / .. -
Boy, was he ever the most stubborn kid she had ever met.
Mrs Courtenay-Clack rapped her conductor’s baton crossly on the side of her music stand.
‘When you are quite ready Ruby, Clancy – we are all waiting.’
Ruby looked around the room – it was true: everyone was waiting for her to lead into this rather modern piece by Fenton Schrieber.
She picked up her stick and banged out what were meant to be the first few notes of Elastic Movement in G, but was in fact another message for Clancy.
--. . . --.. --..-- / - .... . -.-- / -.-. .- .-.. .-.. / - .... .. ... / -- ..- ... .. -.-. ..--..
He smiled.
The teacher rapped her baton again.
‘Ms Redfort, will you please get with the programme!’
‘Sorry Mrs Courtenay-Clack,’ said Ruby, pretending to leaf through her music score. ‘I think I skipped a page.’
THAT TUESDAY AFTERNOON WAS MARKED by another Twinford Junior High swimming-related event. It seemed someone (probably Dillon Flannagon) had thought it would be amusing to dress a mannequin in the school mascot costume (a squirrel suit) and place it in the pool. The janitor got quite a shock when he saw a giant squirrel in the Twinford Junior High strip floating face-down in the water.
On a board drifting next to this unusual scene, the culprit (surely Dillon Flannagon, it really looked like his handwriting) had written in huge letters, ‘another Twinford Bay casualty’. To make matters worse, the blue paint (believed to be toxic) that the giant sign was written in was dissolving into the pool water – this made it a health and safety concern and therefore the pool would have to be drained.
Principal Levine had not seen the funny side. Whoever it was, was really for it. When Ruby passed Dillon in the corridor, she whispered, ‘Run Flannagon, run.’
After class, Ruby and Clancy fetched their bikes and wheeled them out of the gates and along the sidewalk. Clancy didn’t have the energy to cycle – he was too depressed.
‘Oh brother! What am I going to do now? There’s no way I’m getting in that bay, no way.’
‘I’ll look out for you Clance,’ said Ruby.
‘Oh yeah?’ said Clancy. ‘There are gonna be like a hundred kids all swimming out there in the bay. No way you can keep an eye on me the whole time.’
Ruby looked at him hard. ‘You can do this Clance. It’s just mind over matter is all.’
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ grumbled Clancy. ‘The water doesn’t bother you – nothing bothers you.’
This wasn’t true of course – it was just that Ruby had spent a whole lot more time thinking about this stuff. She had a notebook full of rules and one of them was RULE 12: ADJUST YOUR THINKING AND YOUR CHANCES IMPROVE. She had learned this from Mrs Digby, a wise old buzzard if ever there was one.
‘All I’m saying Clance is your chances are better if you go into it in the right frame of mind.’
‘Don’t you get it Rube? My chances are a whole lot better if I never get in that ocean in the first place. My chances of having a heart attack are greatly reduced if I don’t even get my feet wet.’
Ruby gave him a reassuring pat on the back. ‘Your chances of suffering a lifetime of grief from Coach Newhart increase by about a thousand per
