Head Spinners

First published in 2011

Copyright
©
Thalia Kalkipsakis, 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The
Australian Copyright Act 1968
(the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

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Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218

Email: [email protected]

Web:
www.allenandunwin.com

A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia www.trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 74237 345 4

Cover and text design by Design by Committee

Typeset and eBook production by
Midland Typesetters
, Australia

This book was printed in February 2011 at McPherson's Printing Group, 76 Nelson Street, Maryborough, VIC 3465, Australia

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Tick-Tock Time Machine

It Began with a Tingle

Alive Again

Face the Vortex

Night Sight

Evil Eye

‘Happy birthday, Squirt!'
said Uncle Owen.

‘Oh . . . thanks,' I said, trying to forcing a smile.

The package was wrapped in creased, white tissue paper and was about twenty times smaller than the surfboard I'd wanted. If I hadn't known Uncle Owen better, I would almost have thought it was a
book
.

‘Go on, Sam, open it!' Uncle Owen sat at the kitchen table, rubbing his hands together.

‘Do you want a quick coffee?' Mum asked him.

‘Nah thanks, Sis.'

Curiosity overtook my disappointment; I ripped the paper away, and frowned. ‘Oh . . . thanks,' I said again, not in disappointment this time but in confusion. In my hands was a metal box with a digital screen, a tangle of wires at the back and a series of switches sticking out from the side. It looked like a homemade bomb.

‘I know you asked for a surfboard,' said Uncle Owen, bouncing in his seat. ‘But this'll help you catch the good waves. Trust me.'

‘Right.' It was going to be pretty hard to catch any wave at all without a surfboard.

‘What
is
that?' asked Mum, peering over the cereal box. I could see her scanning the wires, assessing whether to chuck my present out the window before it went beep and blew us all up.

‘It's a clock, see?' Uncle Owen pushed a button and the display lit up with a faint humming sound. ‘It synchronises itself by satellite and get this . . .' He raised his eyebrows, leaning forward. ‘Each morning it reads data from the weather station at The Point. If conditions are good to catch a few waves then an alarm will go off.'

Mum rolled her eyes. ‘Oh my lordy,' she sighed.

‘If the weather's no good then there's no alarm and you get a bit more shut-eye!'

I cracked up laughing. Uncle Owen sure was out there, in a fun kind of way. He was famous for sleeping in and never seemed to have a proper job, but he was pretty smart too. ‘Did you make this yourself?'

‘Yeah.' Uncle Owen grinned and turned to Mum. ‘Not bad for a surfie bum, eh?' He picked up the clock. ‘It can do other things, too, like birthday reminders. And you can set the alarm to wake you up at a different time each day of the week.'

He pushed another button and TUE lit up on the display. ‘What time did you get up today, Squirt?'

‘Seven-thirty.'

Uncle Owen set the display to 07.30 and hit SET. ‘And what time do you have to get up tomorrow?'

I shrugged. ‘Ah . . . seven-thirty, I guess.'

Mum leaned forward. ‘You could get up early and do some homework.'

I just looked at her.

‘Oh well, never mind.' Uncle Owen laughed and put the clock back in front of me. ‘You get the idea.'

‘Get a move on, Sam, not long until the bus comes,' sighed Mum.

‘Have a good one on Saturday, Squirt!' Uncle Owen ruffled my hair. ‘Sorry again that I can't make it.'

‘Nah, that's okay. Thanks, Uncle Owen.' This time it was easier not to sound disappointed.

As it turned out, that visit from Uncle Owen was the highlight of my day. It all went downhill from there.

When I headed for the bus, I was feeling great. A birthday coming up seems to have that effect on me, especially my own. So I did an extra big leap up the bus steps – skipping the first one to land on the second.

At least, that was what I
meant
to do.

In reality, my foot slipped on the edge of the step and twisted beneath me as I landed half-in, half-out of the bus. Everyone in
and
out of the bus got to see it and have a good laugh.

‘Hey, kid, you alright?' asked the bus driver. He was out of his chair and grabbing at my arms, trying to help me up. ‘Never seen anyone fall
up
those steps before.'

It would have been humiliating if I hadn't been in so much pain. My ankle felt as if it had been through a spin cycle in a washing machine loaded with rocks. Already I could feel it swelling.

‘I'd better call your parents,' said the bus driver. ‘What's the number?'

This was just perfect.

Mum took me to the doctors then I was stuck at home for the rest of the day, staring at the calendar and grumbling about bad timing. My birthday was in four days! I wanted to be out there sucking up the excitement and revelling in all the attention. Instead I was at home with a sprained ankle.

A sprained ankle, and a crazy clock.

Beep, beep, beep.
It was seven-thirty.

I yawned, rolled over, and was surprised to find that the beeping was coming from my old clock. Where was the new one? I yawned again. Maybe Mum had got spooked by all the wires and taken it out of my room during the night.

Waking up slowly, I did my usual morning stuff. I was filling up my water bottle when I heard a knock at the back door, followed by the click and creak of it opening. Only one person comes in the back door.

‘Happy birthday, Squirt!' said Uncle Owen.

I just stared at him. He was holding out a package that looked exactly the same as the one from yesterday, wrapped in the same creased, white tissue paper.

‘Oh . . . ah . . . thanks,' I said, and looked over at Mum. She smiled as if nothing weird was happening.

‘Go on, Sam, open it!' said Uncle Owen, sitting at the kitchen table and rubbing his hands together.

‘Do you want a quick coffee?' Mum asked.

‘Nah thanks, Sis.'

This was really weird. I pulled at the tissue paper, pausing at a crooked bit of sticky tape that I remembered tugging at the day before. But that was just
crazy
. It couldn't be the same. Could it?

I tore again and my mouth dropped open . . . it was the
exact same clock
.

‘I know you asked for a surfboard,' said Uncle Owen. ‘But this'll help you catch the good waves. Trust me.'

I searched his face for the hint of a smile, a twinkle in his eye, anything to give the game away.

‘What
is
that?' asked Mum.

It was the most bizarre feeling. I knew exactly what Uncle Owen was about to say:
It's a clock, see.

‘It's a clock, see?' he said and pushed a button. ‘But you don't have to worry about setting the time. This clock'll . . .'

As they kept chatting, I looked from Mum to Uncle Owen then back to Mum again. It couldn't be yesterday again, surely. That simply wasn't possible. Yesterday, Uncle Owen had given me the present and I'd gone to catch the bus . . .

I froze for a second then breathed in.
My sprained ankle wasn't hurting.

Not. One. Bit.

It wasn't puffy or even slightly tender. The bandage was gone.

I took another breath, as Uncle Owen's familiar words drifted to me. ‘What time did you get up today, Squirt?'

I swallowed then whispered, ‘Seven-thirty.'

Uncle Owen changed the display to 07.30 and hit SET. ‘And tomorrow?'

But I couldn't say it. Dumbly, I shook my head.

Mum leaned forward. ‘You could get up early and do some homework.'

In a daze, I just looked at her.

‘Oh well, never mind.' Uncle Owen put the clock in front of me. ‘You get the idea.'

‘Get a move on, Sam, not long until the bus comes,' sighed Mum.

It was the strangest feeling – watching the world happen around me and knowing what was going to happen next. Walking out to the bus there were a lot of things that I hadn't noticed the first time round, of course, but also lots that I had.
A car goes toot, then in the distance there is the sound of a siren.
Just like the day before, I saw an old lady almost pulled over by a puppy on a lead. The puppy chose the exact same spot to squat. I
knew
it was going to do that, but seeing it happen for real made my head spin.

One thing was different from yesterday, though.

Me.

I was completely freaked out. I could barely think straight, let alone remember my thoughts from the day before. And I must have been walking slightly faster because I caught a set of pedestrian lights, crossing straight away, when yesterday I'd had to wait. When the bus door opened, I frowned at the step and bit my lip. I lifted my leg carefully and stepped up without anything going wrong. The bus driver didn't even glance at me as I passed. Feeling weird in a whole new way, I walked down the aisle. I'd made it, escaped from my sprained ankle, broken through to the other side . . . It was a relief to suddenly
not
know what was going to happen next.

When my friend Rodney slipped into the seat next to me, I summoned up the courage to ask, ‘What day is it?'

He laughed. ‘Feels like Thursday at least, doesn't it?'

He'll say Wednesday
, I thought.
It has to be Wednesday
.

‘Sorry, Sam, it's only Tuesday,' sighed Rodney.

After that I just looked out the window – watching a world happen around me that had happened before. I'd made it onto the bus, at least, so I wasn't stuck at home. But this was another Tuesday alright.

Tuesday Take Two.

For the rest of the morning I was in a daze, staring at the people doing stuff around me but not really joining in. I was in shock, I guess. I couldn't stop thinking how close I'd come to
not
being there . . . to being at home with a sore ankle.

In some ways it felt more like a second chance than time travel. After all, it was only one day. Even though I'd managed to escape my accident on the bus, I failed a maths test because I was so spaced out. That evened things up, I figured.

But, as Tuesday went by, and the morning drifted further into memory, I started thinking that maybe I'd imagined it. It had just been a weird kind of extended déjà vu where I'd
thought
everything had happened before. It was a relief to go to bed that night with the promise of a fresh new day. Wednesday was waiting just on the other side of sleep. I rested my head on my pillow. Soon, everything would be okay.

Except, the next morning . . .

No, scrub that. The
next time I woke up
it was Tuesday all over again.

I didn't have to ask anyone what day it was. By then I knew the script by heart. It would almost have been boring if a churning sense of panic hadn't begun to grow inside me. To repeat a day once was strange, but I was living through Tuesday for
the third time
.

They say tomorrow never comes, but this was ridiculous. What if it kept happening forever? Would I start to look older while everyone else stayed the same age?

I still didn't know what was causing it, but I did have an idea. As soon as Uncle Owen turned up, I was ready.

‘What time did you get up today, Squirt?' he asked.

‘Seven-thirty.'

I watched over his shoulder, eyes glued to every move he made as if my life depended on it. Maybe it did. When he hit alarm set I noticed a small 22 aug in the corner of the display.