#8 - Leo and the Magic Lunchbox

 

Digging through his gran's overgrown tropical garden was not exactly how Leo Mitchell wanted to spend his Saturday arvo. Still, Gran had promised him a fiver if he helped clear out the banana palm jungle she called a backyard. The January heat was brutal, and sweat trickled down his back as he hacked away at the undergrowth with Gran's ancient secateurs.

 

That's when he spotted it - half-buried beneath a tangle of bird's nest ferns and morning glory vines. An old metal lunchbox, its red paint peeling but somehow still gleaming despite being covered in dirt. As Leo pulled it free, he could have sworn it hummed slightly in his hands.

"Strewth!" he exclaimed, turning it over in his hands. "What's this doing here?"

 

Gran, who was busy wrestling with an enormous monstera plant, looked over. "Oh, that old thing? It's been in the family forever. Why don't you keep it, love? Might come in handy."

 

Her eyes twinkled mysteriously as she said this, but Leo was too hot and bothered to notice. He tucked the lunchbox under his arm and continued hacking at the jungle of plants. By sunset, they'd managed to tame most of the garden, though Leo reckoned it would all grow back within a week. That was the thing about Gran's garden – it seemed to have a mind of its own.

 

Sunday passed without incident, though Leo could have sworn he heard faint humming coming from his backpack where he'd stashed the lunchbox. He dismissed it as his imagination playing tricks, but Monday morning was when everything started going bonkers. He'd packed his usual lunch into the old lunchbox - two supremely uninspiring tomato sandwiches (Mum's specialty, complete with soggy bread) and a bruised apple. But his real drama started when he reached his desk at Wattle Creek Primary and realised he'd left his maths homework sitting on his bedroom desk.

 

"I'm dead meat," he muttered, knowing Mr. Peterson would give him detention faster than a kangaroo on a sugar rush. That's when the lunchbox started vibrating on his desk, its lid popping open to reveal... a phone? But not any normal phone - it looked like it was made of sandwich bread and vegemite!

 

Without thinking twice (because when you're about to cop detention, you'll try anything), Leo picked up the bread-phone and whispered, "Rex? Boy, if you can hear me, I need my maths homework. It's on my desk. Help a mate out?"

 

To his utter amazement, he heard a familiar bark through the receiver. Ten minutes later, just as Mr. Peterson was doing the homework rounds, Leo nearly fell off his chair when Rex, his scruffy cattle dog, trotted silently through the classroom door, homework firmly in his mouth. The clever dog dropped it perfectly on Leo's desk and disappeared before anyone noticed, leaving Leo grinning like a possum in a peach tree.

 

But his luck nearly ran out when he had to sneak out to ensure Rex had left the school grounds. Mrs. Wilkinson caught him red-handed in the corridor.

 

"Thomas Mitchell! Where's your toilet pass, young man?"

 

Leo's heart sank faster than a lead sinker, but then he felt the lunchbox growing warm in his hands. He opened it, and there, sitting pretty as you please, was a bright yellow toilet pass, signed and dated.

 

"Right here, Mrs. Wilkinson," he said, trying to keep a straight face as she examined it with narrowed eyes before waving him on.

 

By lunchtime, Leo was starving and dreading his soggy tomato sandwiches. But when he opened his lunchbox, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. Instead of the sad sandwiches, there was a perfectly warm sausage roll, still steaming like it had just come from the tuck shop. Next to it sat a slice of his Gran's famous peppermint slice (the one she only made at Christmas), and an ice-cold chocolate Big M that somehow hadn't made everything else soggy.

 

"You little ripper!" Leo whispered to the lunchbox, drawing curious looks from his mates.

 

"What've you got there, mate?" his best friend Tommy leaned over, eyeing the sausage roll hungrily.

 

"Just... lunch," Leo said carefully, but broke off half the sausage roll to share. As Tommy bit into it, his eyes went wide.

 

"Strewth, Leo! This is better than the tuckshop ones!"

 

The lunchbox saved his bacon one last time that day. As the final bell rang, the sky turned dark as a mob of grey clouds rolled in. Kids ran screaming through the sudden downpour, but Leo's lunchbox started glowing again. He opened it to find a compact umbrella that expanded into a giant red shield against the rain.

 

Walking home dry as a bone, while other kids looked like drowned rats, Leo patted his magical lunchbox affectionately. "Gran," he chuckled to himself, "I reckon you knew exactly what you were doing when you gave me this beauty."

 

That evening, as Leo sat at his desk doing his homework (which he definitely wouldn't forget tomorrow), he couldn't help but grin at the mysterious lunchbox sitting on his bedside table. It might have been old and a bit rough around the edges, but it was turning out to be the best mate a kid could ask for.

 

The next morning, as he packed his lunch, he noticed something etched into the bottom of the box that he hadn't seen before. In delicate cursive writing were the words: "In times of need, a helping deed, a light to guide, a friend indeed." Leo smiled, understanding now why Gran had given him that knowing look. Sure, it was bonkers having a magical lunchbox - but then again, sometimes the craziest things in life are the most fun. Besides, who wouldn't want a lunchbox that could turn soggy tomato sandwiches into sausage rolls? In Leo's book, that was about as good as magic could get.

 

That night at dinner, Leo noticed Gran watching him with that same twinkle in her eye. "How's that old lunchbox working out for you, love?" she asked innocently.

 

Leo just grinned and winked back. Some things, he reckoned, were better left as family secrets.