Sticky Beak by Morris Gleitzman

 
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    First Piper edition published 1993 by Pan Macmillan Publishers Australia
    This Pan edition published 2000 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited
1 Market Street, Sydney
    Reprinted 2000, 2001, 2002, 2004, 2009, 2010
    Copyright © Gleitzman McCaul Pty Ltd 1993
    The moral right of the author has been asserted.
    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
    National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication data:
    Gleitzman, Morris, 1953-.
Sticky beak.
    ISBN 978 0 330 27406 7.
    1. Title
    A823.3
    Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group.
    Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

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    These electronic editions published in 2010 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney 2000
    The moral right of the author has been asserted.
    All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
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    Sticky Beak
    Morris Gleitzman
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For Chris, Sophie and Ben

 
    I reckon there’s something wrong with me.
    There must be.
    Normal people don’t do what I’ve just done— spoil a wonderful evening and upset half the town and ruin a perfectly good Jelly Custard Surprise.
    Perhaps the heat’s affected my brain.
    Perhaps I’ve caught some mysterious disease that makes things slip out of my hands.
    Perhaps I’m in the power of creatures from another planet who own a lot of dry-cleaning shops.
    All I know is ten minutes ago my life was totally and completely happy.
    Now here I am, standing in the principal’s office, covered in raspberry jelly and lemon custard, waiting to be yelled at and probably expelled and maybe even arrested.
    I reckon it was the heat.
    It was incredibly hot in that school hall with so many people dancing and talking in loud voices and reaching across each other for the party pies.
    And I was running around nonstop, keeping an eye on the ice supply and mopping up spilt drinks and helping Amanda put out the desserts and reminding Dad to play a few waltz records in between the country stuff.
    I had to sprint up onto the stage several times to stop the ‘Farewell Ms Dunning’ banner from drooping.
    Plus, whenever I saw kids gazing at Ms Dunning and starting to look sad, I’d dash over and stick an apple fritter in their hands to cheer them up.
    Every few minutes I went and stood in front of the big fan that Vic from the hardware store had lent for the night, but I still felt like the Murray-Darling river system had decided to give South Australia a miss and run down my back instead.
    Amanda was great.
    How a person with hair that thick and curly can stay cool on a night like this beats me.
    Every time she saw me in front of the fan she gave me a grin.
    Don’t worry, the grin said, everything’s under control and