BOOOM! by Alan MacDonald Page A

rocks.
    â€˜You can do it, Iggy!’ shouted Hubba.
    Easy for you to say , thought Iggy. You’re not standing where I am . His palms were sticky with sweat and his heart beat madly like a drum. The green pool below didn’t look much to aim at. What if he didn’t jump out far enough and bounced off the jagged rocks? What if he forgot to hold his breath when he hit the water? He should never have let Snark talk him into this.
    â€˜Get on with it! JUMP!’ yelled Snark.
    The others began to chant, their voices growing louder and faster.
    â€˜JUMP! JUMP! JUMP! JUMP! ’
    Iggy knew it was now or never. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the drop or the rocks or the possibility of drowning. Blowing out his cheeks, he ran at the edge. At the last moment he made the mistake of opening his eyes and looking down. Help! For a moment he tottered on the edge, one foot in mid-air and the other on the rock, his arms whirling furiously. Then . . . ‘WAAAARGHHHHHHHHHHHH!’
    SPLASH!
    Everything went dark green. Iggy glimpsed bubbles, clouds of weed and people’s legs – which looked funny underwater. Then his head broke the surface and he was gasping for breath.
    Snark was doubled up laughing.
    â€˜HA HA! That were so funny! Your face!’
    Iggy ignored him. He swam a few ungainly strokes towards the bank, then waded the rest of the way before flopping down on the grass. He caught sight of some of the younger Urks doing impressions of how he hit the water – like a two-ton mammoth doing a bellyflop. No doubt Snark would enjoy telling the story around the fire tonight. Iggy lay down, dripping wet, waiting to get his breath back. At least he hadn’t chickened out in front of everyone. It was funny, he thought, the way you sort of shot back to the surface. Hubba joined him on the bank.
    â€˜Great bellyflop,’ he said. ‘Deadly.’
    â€˜Thanks.’
    They were silent for a while, watching the river drift by.
    â€˜Hubba, you ever wondered why things float?’ asked Iggy.
    Hubba wrinkled his nose. ‘Nope.’
    â€˜We float. And fishes – you never see a fish sink.’
    â€˜S’pose not.’
    â€˜But why not?’ said Iggy. He picked up a small rock and tossed it into the river. It vanished with a loud plop !
    â€˜See? A rock sinks.’

    â€˜Can’t swim,’ grunted Hubba. ‘Rocks never learned.’
    Iggy shook his head. ‘It’s nothing to do with swimming. Some things float and some don’t. There must be a reason.’
    Hubba shrugged and lay down. Thinking always gave him a headache. But Iggy went on gazing at the river, making a list in his head.
    Wouldn’t it be something , thought Iggy, if you could float downriver on a leaf? Obviously a leaf couldn’t carry you, but a log would. Logs floated – as Iggy had once discovered when he was escaping from a tribe of angry Nonecks. But a log wasn’t safe. You had to hold on for dear life while it bobbed and rolled and threatened to tip you off. What he needed was something you could sit in – or on. A floater or boater or something. He shivered. Looking up, he saw someone standing over him casting a dark shadow. Snark. Why couldn’t the big blathermouth leave him alone? Iggy had never noticed before how thick and hairy his legs were – much like his head.
    â€˜Not drowned then?’ said Snark. ‘Pity.’
    Snark plonked himself down beside Iggy, uninvited. Evidently he had something on his mind.
    â€˜I hear he’s making his mind up,’ he said. ‘At long last.’
    â€˜Who?’ said Iggy.
    â€˜Hammerhead, of course. Hasn’t you heard? He’s choosing the next Chief tonight – at the Naming Ceremony.’
    Iggy sat up. This was news to him. He knew that his Uncle Ham had been grumbling lately that he was getting too old to be Chief, but he was always grumbling about something. Iggy had no idea