Children's Fiction

Fasta Pasta

Dillon's mum was still in bed when the factory hooter sounded.

Dillon ran upstairs and shook her arm. 'Wake up, Mum!' he said. 'You'll be late for work!'

Mrs Dillon groaned. 'I think I've twisted my shoulder,' she said. 'I must have done it yesterday when we were putting all those twists in the pasta spirals. I don't think I'll be able to go to work today.'

Dillon wished he could twist something so that he didn't have to go to school. He never got the day off.

'I could stay at home and look after you,' said Dillon, hopefully.

Dillon had English on Wednesday afternoon with Mr Maguire. Dillon hated English. He failed all the spelling tests and his handwriting refused to stay in straight lines.

'I could cook your dinner and make you drinks,' said Dillon.

'Hmmm... I don't think so,' said his mum, remembering the last time Dillon had made toast and set the smoke alarm off. 'But you could pop into the factory on your way to school and tell them I won't be in.'

'Okay,' said Dillon.

The Fasta Pasta factory was enormous. It had four tall chimneys - one at each corner - which you could see from all over town, and it was built with shiny, pale yellow bricks so that it looked like a giant block of butter. A wide staircase led up to the revolving front door, and the words 'FASTA PASTA' were written right across the front in red lights which blinked and fizzled when it rained.

Dillon went up the steps and through the revolving doors.

There was nobody in the hall. The sign on the desk said 'Reception. Please ring the bell if you require assistance', but Dillon didn't bother to read it. He found a door which said 'Strictly No Admittance', and started to push it open...

(Opening of children's story, 'Fasta Pasta' - one of the ten winning stories in the Independent Story of the Year 3 competition, 1995, published in an anthology by Scholastic.)

The Boy From the Back of Beyond

( Lyall is on a caravan holiday, but it's not been going well. It's rained all week and now his parents have taken him to a run-down museum. There, Lyall bumps into Oran, a strange person he met earlier on the caravan site when Oran was walking up a wall... )

'This is Oran,' explained Lyall. 'I met him at the caravan site yesterday.'

'Lyall is my friend,' beamed Oran. 'He has been most helpful to me.' Oran held out his hand and Lyall's dad shook it.

Lyall's dad was very impressed with Oran's manners. 'Well, why don't we two go off and leave you together?' he said.

'Yes,' agreed Lyall's mum, who was happy that Lyall had made such a nice friend. 'There's no point in you trailing round with us. We'll see you later. Have fun!'

'Okay,' said Lyall, grinning at Oran. Now he wouldn't have to look at the boring fossils. Oran grinned back. He looked around at the bits of boats, and the curling posters on the wall, and the broken model lighthouse with a light that didn't work. A badly stuffed seagull with a broken beak dangled from the ceiling on a piece of blue washing-line.

'So this is where you go on holiday?' said Oran. 'To enjoy yourself?'

'Not really,' said Lyall. 'But we can't go on the beach until it stops raining. Holidays aren't much fun if the sun never shines.'

'Wait! I must write this down,' said Oran. He produced the notebook and pencil from his shorts pocket and turned over a page.

'Why do you want to know about holidays?' asked Lyall.

'It is my homework,' said Oran.

Lyall nodded. He had had to write about his holiday the year before.

'Tell me more,' said Oran.

Lyall tried to explain. 'Holiday is when you go and stay somewhere else. You have fun and games and you don't have to go to school or work. You can stay in bed in the mornings.'

'Bed? Where is your holiday bed?'

'In the caravan,' said Lyall. 'We sleep in sleeping bags.'

'So you sleep in a bag in the metal box on wheels?' said Oran. 'And in the day you come to museums?'

Lyall sighed. 'Only because of the rain. It's been raining cats and dogs all week.'

'Cats and dogs?' Oran looked up at the tall windows and frowned.

'Not real cats and dogs!' said Lyall. 'It's just a joke.'

'Oh,' said Oran, who didn't think it was a funny joke.

'I wish it was sunny,' said Lyall. 'I want to go on the beach. The beach is brilliant - sun and sea and tons of sand to play on.'

'I would like to see Beach,' said Oran. He stood up and put the notebook away. 'I must go now. There is much work to do. Thank you for your help.' He shook Lyall's hand. 'It will be sunny tomorrow and we will go to the beach.'

Lyall didn't believe him.

But it was sunny the next day. Suddenly the caravan site came to life. Bags full of grass mats and beach balls and windbreaks appeared outside each door. Picnics were packed and swimsuits put on. The shop ran out of suntan cream and size five flip-flops. By eleven o'clock the site was almost deserted as everybody made their way down the sandy cliff path to the beach.

Lyall was hardly surprised at all when he tripped over a small figure bending down to tie his shoelaces. It was Oran, or course...

( Extract from short story published in 'Aliens to Earth', Orion Children's Books, 1997 )

Cover illustration of 'Hot Lips Harrison' by Chris Swee / The Organisation

 

 

Hot Lips Harrison

( Dean Harrison is going out with Linsey Lee for the first time on Saturday. He's never kissed a girl before and he's nervous about it. To make matters worse, he's just had a brace fitted on this teeth which means he can only say 'Linshee', and he keeps slobbering. He's in the school canteen with his best friend, Gavin...)

 

I know Gavin isn't the best person in the world at noticing things. He goes round in a daze most of the time. But I felt quite miffed when he still hadn't noticed my brace by lunchtime.

 

'Have you noticed anything different about me?' I said.

 

I did this big grin so he was bound to see it.

 

'Yeah!' said Gaving. 'You've got a spot on the end of your nose!'

 

'What!' I grabbed my spoon and looked at myself in it. I wished I hadn't. My nose looked massive - and the spot looked about as big as a pumpkin! I once worked out (in a very boring maths lesson) that the average life span of a human being was about 25,000 days. Out of those 25,000 days, why had my very first spot chosen this one to crop up? I was cursed!

 

'Actually, I was talking about this,' I said, pointing to my teeth.

 

'What?' said Gavin. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how I put up with him.

 

'My brace!' I shouted. 'You know - this massive metal thing stuck to my teeth!'

 

'Oh, sorry - I didn't notice,' he said.

 

'How can you not notice?' I said. 'It's obvious!'

 

Gavin shrugged. 'You can hardly tell it's there,' he said. 'Anyway, it's not important. Loads of people have them.

 

''Not important!' I screeched. 'For one thing, I can hardly eat. I'm never going to get through this liver.' It was like trying to chew a car tyre. It tasted like one too. 'And what's Linsey going to make of it?'

 

'She probably won't notice either,' said Gavin. 'After all, it's dark in the pictures, isn't it? Can I have your jam tart?'

 

'Help yourself,' I said. I lowered my voice. 'Yes, but what about... you know...' I looked round to check that nobody was listening. 'What if I kiss her or something?' I whispered.

 

Gavin shrugged. 'I dunno,' he said. A hundred bits of pastry sprayed out over the table. 'Why? Are you going to?'

 

I went cross-eyed and looked at the spot. 'Probably not,' I said...

 

( Extract from 'Hot Lips Harrison', published by Ginn, 1997. )