Winona Debford and the Fight for the Chocolate Zucchini Pie

It was early afternoon by the time we stumbled back into the old barn-turned-classroom near the back of the Sevcik's farm.

According to the three-minute census taken by Mrs. Long at the start of the fourth period (Australian History, or, judging by the wrinkles on Mrs. Long's forehead, her autobiography), only eight of the twenty-five of us had grown up locally here in Widdintin.

Only twelve of our families owned more than fifteen hectares of land, and only ten of us grew both pumpkins, oranges, and zucchinis.

Only one of us - me, didn't have any siblings. But I was also the only one who had more than seven horses in our paddock, so I was okay with that.

'Now listen carefully, everyone,' said Mrs. Long, tapping a piece of green chalk to the blackboard. 'The first Widdintin tourism fair is next Tuesday, and the Widdintin Natural Learning Primary School' - that's us - 'is going to do a little stall showcasing all of your talents.'

'Today is Tuesday. I want to have a stall set up and all ready by Sunday so your families can come by and have a look. So, you have five whole days. And remember that there are twenty-five of you. You have to work together to make just one stall.'

We looked at each other and nodded. All in all, that's a lot of numbers. Which I'm good with, so I was okay with that too.

The first thing we had to do was to sort ourselves into little committees to come up with some ideas for the stall. Mrs. Long wanted to sort us herself, but we're all very stubborn, even for a group of five-to-twelve years olds stuck together in a barn on a very hot afternoon.

Besides, most of our parents were on the Widdintin Town Council already, which had weekly meetings every Friday night. Some of us had been taken along, so we knew how to divide ourselves, yell loudly, give speeches, take a vote about everything, and, all in all, not do a whole lot.

Soon enough, with Mrs. Long watching anxiously from her rickety desk at the front of the barn, Pippa Lester started screaming at Tom Cumberland.

'GET AWAY FROM US! WE'RE doing the decorations.' I couldn't see any decorations on their table, either - just a messy pile of cut up ribbons.

Tom turned to my committee - which is to say, me and Billy Guo and little five-year-old Yvette Pillen.

'What are you doing, Winnie?'

'I think we should do a chocolate zucchini pie.' He wrinkled his nose at me. 'What? We have nice zucchinis here.' It was true - there was a restaurant owner in Allambee who drove over two hundred kilometres in his Jeep every week to buy Widdintin zucchinis. He used them to make gazpacho with fresh cold cream, served with hot Ciabatta bread.

Tom still didn't look convinced. 'Well, what's your idea then?' The summer sun landing on my back through the window was making me cross.

He stroked his chin. I thought it looked a little stupid. 'I like pies,' he said after half a minute, 'but I think we should do a chocolate cherry pie instead. Zucchinis are gross.'

'Are not!'

'Are so!'

'Are so not!'

'Winona Debford!' squawked Mrs. Long from her desk, where she had been doing the daily Widdintin Paper crossword. 'What are you doing?'

I glared at her. Mrs. Long was old, sure, and she wore glasses that looked like they were made two hundred years ago, but I was pretty sure that her ears weren't that bad yet. She always heard everything I whispered to Teresa Sevcik at the back of the barn. I also knew that she liked chocolate zucchini pies, because she'd stopped by our farm and bought one twice in the last week.

She just wasn't willing to stand up for my heroic cause.

Fine. I was going to fight for this chocolate zucchini pie all by myself.

I marched stiffly up to her desk and turned around to face the class. Everybody was staring at me.

'Students of Widdintin!' I screeched. Little Yvette Pillen covered her ears. Teresa Sevcik giggled.

'We have been deciding what to do for our stall at the fair for over twenty minutes now, and some of us have come up with a very good idea.' I stopped for dramatic effect and looked at every kid in the room.

'Well, I have. Presenting' - I whirled my hands in the air - 'the Widdintin Zucchini Chocolate Pie!'

'NO!' Tom Cumberland marched up next to me and glared. He whirled his hands a little too. Copycat.

'The CHERRY Chocolate pie!'

'Well!' I said. 'Which one do you vote for, Widdintin?'

'CHERRY PIE! CHERRY PIE! CHERRY PIE!'

Tom Cumberland smirked at me.

I just nodded. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me lose. I knew my chocolate zucchini pie was worth far more

It didn't matter, though. Outside, the sky was grinning dark grey. I grinned. Time for a little mud pie fight instead.