by Tim Harris
‘You’re right, Oli,’ I said. ‘I’ve got my whole life ahead of me.’
Suddenly, the sound of several people running filled the alleyway.
‘Vex!’
My classmates had tracked me down.
Vex sat at the back of room 12B, glowing. He chomped into a piece of bacon and winked at Mr Bambuckle, who was singing a rare Mongolian welcome song.
Vex had told his tale several times over the past few weeks. He wrote about it in class, told his friends in the playground and, most importantly, told his parents. They were mortified by his actions, but also regretful that they had contributed to the cause. His father vowed to be a better man and, in the days following Vex’s return, sold one of his car yards to free up more time to spend with his son.
Vex himself realised that happiness wasn’t found in playing copycat. His reignited love of cars – thanks to a superbly executed engine repair of a Datsun 1600 – on top of his friendlier, more generous persona, enabled him to make a real go of life. He was happier than he’d ever been.
Mr Bambuckle finished the welcome song and rode his unicycle around the room, offering a second round of bacon to those who were still hungry.
Grace noticed a baton box poking out of one of Mr Bambuckle’s pockets, though he tucked it in before she had a chance to spot the blue jay painted on the lid.
‘Can Vex tell his story again?’ asked Harold McHagil. ‘I want to hear the part about how he fixed that engine in the lady’s garage.’
Mr Bambuckle returned to his desk and held up a pile of white envelopes. ‘Inside are your school reports. I should think your parents will find the results more than satisfactory.’
‘Awesome,’ said Gabby Wu.
Grace gave her sister a high five.
‘Come in, dear Mr Principal,’ said Mr Bambuckle, who had noticed Mr Sternblast loitering outside the room.
The principal stepped inside, glancing around the room suspiciously. ‘Do I smell bacon?’
‘Fried to perfection,’ said the teacher.
Mr Sternblast’s personal mission to fire Mr Bambuckle had taken a blow. From behind a tree – watching the class of room 12B leave the school grounds on a bus – the principal had taken a phone call from a local member of parliament. Mr Bambuckle would be receiving the highest teaching award in the country. If he fired him now, the school council would challenge the decision and quite possibly his leadership.
‘No cooking in class!’ snapped Mr Sternblast, and he turned and left as quickly as he had arrived.
Truth be told, Mr Sternblast had a spring in his step that morning. Rumour was spreading that Blue Valley Grammar was in dire financial trouble. Due to a lack of enrolments at the school, word had it they were considering drastic action. There was talk of a merger with Blue Valley School. If the two schools combined, perhaps the principal would get his long-awaited promotion after all.
‘Dear Scarlett Geeves,’ said Mr Bambuckle, ‘would you like some more bacon? It’s so good to have you back.’
‘No, thanks,’ said Scarlett, happily taking notes from the board. ‘I’m still getting over the fact Miss Frost personally endorsed my return. What happened to her?’
There was a knock at the door.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Miss Frost walked into the room, wearing a smart white outfit that included a notable new addition: a purple brooch, which the class recognised as a snow crocus. Her silver hair – held up with a diamond bobby pin – was streaked with golden amber. ‘Mr Bambuckle is what happened to me.’ She attempted to wink at the teacher.
‘Oh, there’s something in your eye again,’ said Slugger.
‘Miss Frost!’ squealed Evie Nightingale. ‘Are you here to help us learn?’
‘I most certainly am, dear Evie,’ said the teacher.
The students worked hard that morning, filling their books with wonderful ideas.
Carrot and Slugger designed a machine to help chefs peel carrots.
Vex drew up the plans to build a motorised unicycle.
Miffy and Sammy explored the science behind elite athleticism.
Albert researched time travel.
Vinnie and Ren wrote an investigative news piece for the local paper.
Scarlett experimented with images in PhotoCrop.
Damon worked on a way to get Victoria to go to the movies with him. She said yes, then went back to perfecting her immaculate handwriting.
Myra chipped away at another app idea, donating all of the profits to charity.
Gabby and Grace took turns writing each other difficult maths problems.
Evie and Miss Frost created a board game to help children develop confidence.
And Harold researched the history of Scotland.
Peter was absent, but that goes without saying.
Towards the end of the lesson, Evie asked Miss Frost something that silenced the entire room. ‘You never did tell us the story about your diamond bobby pin.’
The students listened eagerly as Miss Frost cleared her throat. ‘You’re quite right, Evie … I never did tell you about it.’
Mr Bambuckle leaned forward.
‘My great-grandmother was given this hairpin deep in the heart of India,’ said Miss Frost. ‘The stone came from an ancient diamond mine that has since disappeared from all records. It’s one of a kind.’
‘It must be very special to you,’ said Victoria.
‘It most certainly is,’ said Miss Frost. ‘I guard it with my life. It’s the only heirloom in the Frost family.’
Albert put his hand up. ‘Mr Bambuckle, your Indian spark-maker beetle is from India too, isn’t it?’
‘Correct you are,’ said Mr Bambuckle. He reached into one of the inside pockets of his jacket. ‘Would you like to see it?’
‘Yes, please!’ chorused the class.
Mr Bambuckle opened his hand and showed the students a tiny black insect. It looked a little like an ant, but it had a round body like a Christmas beetle.
‘Is that all?’ said Slugger. ‘I was hoping it would incinerate something.’
Mr Bambuckle pointed to Miss Frost’s bobby pin. ‘Would you be so kind?’
Miss Frost was surprising the students every day with her changing behaviour. She reached up and pulled the pin from her hair, handing it to the teacher. Her silvery-golden locks rolled over her shoulders and down her back.
Mr Bambuckle placed the beetle and bobby pin on his desk and instructed the students to stand back. ‘This can be a dangerous process,’ he said.
The beetle crawled around the desk for a moment, then scurried towards the bobby pin. It inspected the diamond with its antennae and then leapt on top of it, clutching it tightly with its tiny legs.
A flash of light suddenly exploded across the room.
The students gasped.
The spark-maker beetle was turning as bright as the sun. It morphed and melted and dazzled, disappearing inside the jewel. The diamond glowed hotly for a moment, then resumed its regular white shine, though it was clearly bigger in size.
‘The beetle!’ exclaimed Scarlett. ‘It’s gone!’
‘Not gone …’ said Mr Bambuckle, ‘transformed.’
Miss Frost picked up the bobby pin, her grey-blue eyes wide with wonder.
‘Indian spark-maker beetles are diamonds waiting to be made,’ said Mr Bambuckle. ‘Much like each of you.’
‘Remarkable,’ said Grace Wu.
Coming soon …
An exciting new series from Tim Harris
Get ready to meet Chegwin Toffle, a boy with an imagination almost as wild as his curly blond hair. Chegwin loves to daydream, but what sets him apart is the intensity of his thoughts. When a single idea takes over, the entire world around him starts to fade away …
Read on for a sneak peek!
When Chegwin arrived home from school the front door was wide open – which it never was – and his parents sat on the edge of the sofa as though they had been waiting for him. Judging by their faces,
he couldn’t tell if someone had died or they had won the lottery. In the end, it turned out to be a bit of both.
‘Take a seat,’ said Mr Toffle, tapping the sofa next to him. Over the years, he had learned the best way to get through to his son was by being direct. Chegwin had always appreciated this, so he gave his mother the tulip he’d picked from the garden and sat down.
Mr Toffle exchanged a look with his wife, then held up an envelope. ‘Some important mail arrived for you today, son …’
Chegwin suddenly imagined himself being delivered by letter. If the envelope was large enough – and with lots of soft padding – it could be quite a comfortable ride. It would also be a lot cheaper to post yourself to a holiday destination than pay for a regular flight. There was a business idea in something like this. He could test it out on himself next school holidays by using an old mattress and –
‘Chegwin, honey, are you listening?’ said his mother. Her sweet tone brought the boy back. Though she never raised it, there was something about her soft voice that more often than not got through to her son.
‘As I was saying,’ said Mr Toffle patiently, ‘although this is an enormous decision, your mother and I think we should honour the letter and let you choose …’
Chegwin spotted afternoon tea on the kitchen bench: an apple and a muesli bar. He wondered what it would taste like if he ate them both at the same time. Probably quite nice. He’d have to cut the apple into tiny pieces and –
‘So, what do you think, son?’ said Mr Toffle.
‘Sorry, what were you saying?’ said Chegwin.
Mrs Toffle ran her hand through Chegwin’s blond hair. It was the same colour as hers and her husband’s, though much curlier. ‘Were you thinking about something else, sweetie?’
The boy nodded.
‘Now, pay close attention,’ said Mr Toffle. He leaned over and gently held his son’s head between his hands. ‘Something important has happened … A letter arrived for you, and a big decision must be made … It’s taken your mother and me by surprise, but we trust you will make the right choice.’
‘What’s going on?’ said Chegwin, who was now focused and utterly intrigued.
Mr Toffle blinked once, then delivered the news that would change his son’s life. ‘You just inherited a hotel.’
To find out what happens next, grab a copy of the first book in the Toffle Towers series, available August 2019.
Books by Tim Harris
Mr Bambuckle’s Remarkables
Mr Bambuckle’s Remarkables Fight Back
Mr Bambuckle’s Remarkables Go Wild
Mr Bambuckle’s Remarkables On the Lookout
PUFFIN BOOKS
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Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published by Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd, 2019
Text copyright © Tim Harris 2019
Illustration copyright © James Hart 2019
The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Cover and internal illustration by James Hart
Cover and internal design by Christabella Designs
ISBN: 9780143793151
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