Mr Butternut looked at Liam and groaned. ‘No, Liam. Not your pants. Now then, I want to introduce a new boy who is joining our class.’
We all peered round at the new boy. I was thinking how embarrassing it must be to have everyone staring at you. If everyone looked at me, I’d want to hide somewhere.
But the new boy didn’t look upset at all. He grinned back and waved, like the Queen. Well, not the same as the Queen, obviously, because he was a boy and a lot smaller and he wore big spectacles instead of a crown, but you know what I mean.
He grinned and said ‘Hi!’ in a loud voice.
‘This is Sam,’ Mr Butternut told us, and Sam grinned even more.
‘At my last school they called me Sci-Fi Sam,’ he declared. ‘That’s because I’m going to be a super-scientist when I grow up. I’m going to save the world.’
Mr Butternut smiled and showed all his teeth. (He’s got a lot of them. I’m sure he’s got twice as many teeth as most people.)
‘That’s terrific, Sam. I’m sure you will. In any case, we like superheroes in this class, and we are all going to need to be superheroes while the inspectors are here.’
‘I could de-materialize them with my anti-matter splatter gun,’ Sam piped up.
‘Really?’ said Mr Butternut.
‘Well, I haven’t actually made one yet, but I know what it does. It makes people vanish.’
‘That sounds very useful.’ Our teacher looked thoughtful and I knew exactly what he was thinking.
Sam sat at the next table and we soon discovered that he wasn’t just good at science. He was also good at talking. He went on and on! We sat there and listened and our eyes got bigger and bigger with the things he was telling us.
‘Nothing can travel faster than light. That’s because the faster anything goes, the slower it gets …’
‘Hang on,’ Pete interrupted. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’
‘It does,’ nodded Sam. ‘That’s because the faster you travel, the heavier you get, so you slow down. That’s why time machines can’t really exist.’
Pete turned to me and gave me a very superior kind of look. ‘I will have you know, my tiny ginger nutkin, that my brain won first prize at Britain’s Best and Brightest Brain Display only last week. So there.’
‘In that case,’ I returned, ‘you must have been the only contestant. So there back.’
Sam was puzzled. ‘Do you two always argue like that?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We’re best friends.’
‘You sound like best enemies,’ Sam observed.
Pete nodded and smiled. ‘Exactly. Same thing really.’
Erin tapped Sam’s arm. ‘Just ignore them. They’re crazy.’
We were just getting our books out when the door opened and in came the round inspector. He nodded at us all and told us to continue with whatever we were doing. So Tyson carried on picking his nose and I carried on falling off my chair. It wasn’t my fault. I had to lean back to see who was coming in, and then the legs slipped.
‘Oh dear,’ murmured the inspector. ‘Dear, oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’ And he scribbled something down on his notepad. I got back on my chair and we waited.
‘Pay no attention to me, class. My name is Mr Bannerjee. Just pretend I’m not here.’
Mr Bannerjee went and sat near Liam. We all looked at our teacher. His face was scrunched up in pain as if he was chewing a nettle or something.
Mr Bannerjee began talking to Liam and I could just about hear Liam’s answers.
‘Don’t know,’ he said.
Mr Bannerjee went mumble mumble again.
‘Don’t know,’ Liam replied.
More mumbling from the inspector.
‘Don’t know,’ Liam sighed, while Mr Bannerjee wrote on his notepad. He glanced up at our teacher. Mr Butternut smiled back and suggested that the inspector might like to speak to Sarah Sitterbout instead.
‘Why’s that?’ asked Mr Bannerjee.
‘Because she knows about everything,’ declared Hartley Tartly-Green. ‘Except trains. If you want to know about trains, ask me.’
Pete nudged me with his elbow and whispered in my ear. ‘I should have brought Uncle Boring along. He knows about trains, and buses, and fish and golf clubs. In fact, he knows about anything that’s utterly boring.’
We watched as Mr Bannerjee moved round the classroom. He would pick on someone and then go and ask them questions. Eventually he got to our table, which Pete and I share with Mia and Erin and Sam.
‘Just ignore me,’ said Mr Bannerjee as he leaned over Erin’s work to see what she was doing. ‘Ah, I see you’re drawing a jungle.’
Erin stopped dead and stared at the inspector. ‘No, I’m not!’ she said, pulling a disgusted face. ‘I’m writing a story!’
Mr Bannerjee bent closer over Erin’s book. ‘That’s handwriting?’ he asked.
‘Of course it is! Are you wearing the right glasses?’
Why did the inspector keep picking on the things some of us weren’t good at?
Then Sam asked a question.
‘Are you wearing bifocals or varifocals?’ Sam pointed at the inspector’s glasses.
‘Varifocals,’ Mr Bannerjee told him.
‘I think that’s the problem,’ Sam advised. ‘With varifocals, there’s a place on the lens where what you see is a bit blurry. Erin’s handwriting is a bit scruffy, but it is possible to read it.’
Mr Bannerjee had taken off his spectacles and was staring at Sam in wonder. ‘How do you know so much about reading glasses?’
‘I’m a scientist and I wear glasses,’ Sam pointed out. ‘Scientists have to know about things like that.’
‘Yes, I think they do,’ smiled Mr Bannerjee, popping his glasses back on.
Sam continued. ‘Also, my dad wears varifocals. He’s always getting things wrong too. He fell over nothing yesterday.’
Mr Bannerjee’s smile disappeared as quickly as if Sam had just shot it with his anti-matter splatter gun. ‘Hmmph. I’m an inspector. I don’t get things wrong,’ he grunted, and he said goodbye to everyone and left. We all heaved a sigh of relief, even Mr Butternut.
It didn’t last long. We went outside for break and Trouble came out to play as well. Trouble came in the shape of Masher McNee and his Monster Mob. Their class had just been learning about the Ancient Egyptians.
Now Masher wanted to make mummies in the playground. He and his gang had grabbed all the toilet rolls they could find from the lavatories. They were rounding up the younger children and mummifying them with toilet-roll bandages. Soon the playground was half full of small mummies lurching about all over the place.
That was when the inspectors happened to cross the playground. There was no escape. Miss Short, Mr Bannerjee and Mr Potato Head tried to stop Masher and the Mob, but they showed no mercy. They were soon overwhelmed with toilet rolls from head to toe. All they could do was stagger about like zombies.
I had just decided it was time to go when Miss Scratchitt and ALL the teachers came piling out of school like fighter jets on a rescue mission.
Were they cross? You bet they were. It was like watching sticks of dynamite explode all over the playground.
Pete and I looked at each other. I don’t know whose eyes were the biggest, his or mine. We watched as Masher and his Mob were marched back into the school surrounded by a squadron of jets.
Oh dear, as Mr Bannerjee might well have said. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
Meanwhile, a dozen or so mummies of all sizes were slowly unwinding themselves and each other.
When we went back to class after break, Mr Horrible Hairy Face (Mr Butternut, in other words) was waiting.
‘There’s been trouble in the playground,’ he began, but of course we already knew, and Hartley Tartly-Green began squealing. Sometimes he sounds like a mouse who’s just had all his cheese stolen.
‘It was Masher and his gang and they tied everyone up with toilet roll and Miss Short almost fell over and –�
�
Mr Horrible Hairy Face held up a hand. ‘Thank you, Hartley, we know what happened. The inspectors are NOT impressed and it will be the whole school that gets into trouble.’
‘Put Masher in prison!’ squeaked Hartley.
‘Um, the school doesn’t actually have its own dungeon, Hartley,’ Mr Butternut explained.
Sam was waving his hand around. ‘We could cryogenically suspend them in a state of inanimation,’ he suggested.
Even Mr Butternut’s beard looked surprised. ‘Cryo-what?’ he asked.
‘Cryogenically – it means we freeze them,’ Sam said cheerfully. ‘It’s like putting them into a deep freeze.’
‘I see. I don’t think we’d better do that either, Sam.’
‘Oh.’ Sam was disappointed, but he hadn’t finished. ‘Maybe we should try and build a time machine? Then we could go back and put everything right?’
‘Let’s all just get on with our work,’ muttered Mr Butternut.
So we did.
Lunchtime brought even more problems. It was Chip Day.
It’s the best day of the week. Yum yum! I like chips. We all love them, even Noella Niblet, who is always moaning about everything. (Like I said, Pete and I call her The Incredible Sulk!) She happened to be sitting with us at lunch.
‘My chips are shorter than yours,’ she complained. ‘And your chips are fatter. My chips aren’t chippy at all.’
But before Noella could carry on, a big rumpus broke out several tables away from ours. We all turned to look. I might have known! It was Gory and Tory, the Vampire Twins.
‘Hey! Those are my chips! Give them back!’ someone yelled.
‘You’ve got my chips, you chip robber!’ roared someone else.
It made no difference. The Vampire Twins were flying about the lunch hall stealing chips right off people’s plates. Yelling children were chasing after them. Other tables defended themselves by flicking bits of lunch at the twins. Pieces of broccoli spun through the air. Carrots rained down like crazy orange darts. Food was soon flying in all directions.
The dinner ladies stood in the middle, barking at everyone. One of them received a direct hit from a broccoli floret. WHOPP! It jammed in her mouth just as she was bellowing ‘STO–!!’
At that moment the inspectors arrived. They stared in shocked amazement with their eyeballs on stalks. It was definitely time for
If only that was what really happened. But it didn’t. Mr Potato Head began bellowing, and, boy, could he bark! That Mr Potato Head could be pretty scary, if you ask me! Everyone froze. Miss Scratchitt got sent for and WE got bawled out, even though it was all the fault of the Vampire Twins. Typical.
Every class had to work in silence for the whole afternoon. It was utterly, gutterly BORING. Plus, Mr Horrible Hairy Face was in a bad mood all afternoon. When we went home, he stood at the classroom door looking grim. He gave us a strange message.
‘Tomorrow morning, I want you to bring in as many cardboard boxes as you can.’
Was that mysterious? Yes, it was.
What a strange sight! The following morning all you could see were boxes marching into school.
Some were being pushed, some pulled and some were over people’s heads. There were so many piled up in the classroom that we could barely move.
‘My box is the best,’ boasted Hartley Tartly-Green. ‘Because my box had a super deluxe seventy- inch flat screen Blu-ray TV with integrated DVD, CD player and everything in it.’
Mr Butternut laughed. ‘Hey, I’d love a TV that made toast! Brilliant!’
Well, he seemed to have cheered up a bit since yesterday! Maybe it was because this would be the last day with the inspectors hanging around us like hungry zombies.
As soon as we had settled down, Mr Butternut stood up by his desk and addressed us. (I don’t mean he stuck labels on us with our addresses; I mean he gave a little speech.)
‘Today we are going to show the inspectors that we are a BRILLIANT class. We are going to do something very special.’
‘Blow up the school?’ suggested Tyson from the back, and everyone laughed.
‘No, Tyson, not that. We are going to find out all about the Vikings. In fact, we are going TO BE Vikings.’
‘But, Mr Butternut,’ said Sarah Sitterbout, ‘the Vikings lived a thousand years ago. They’re all dead.’
Mr Butternut just smiled. ‘We are going to build a time machine and go back in time to meet them.’
Sam was overjoyed. ‘That was MY idea! Boop-a-loopa, super-doopa!’
That teacher of ours is pretty clever, if you ask me. I never knew you could make a time machine out of cardboard boxes, but you can – AND WE DID! It took us most of the morning and it was MUCHO JUMBO! Mr Butternut told us we all had to go through the machine and when we came out the other side we would have travelled back one thousand years in time.
You’ll never guess what we found when we came out the other side. There was a ginormous pile of Viking clothes, and we all dressed up. It was FANTABULOSO! (Except my helmet was too big and kept slipping to one side.)
Pete sniggered. ‘You look about as dangerous as a hamster with a lolly, my ginger Viking pal.’
‘And you will look very stupid with my lolly stuck up your nose,’ I threatened. ‘So there.’
That was when Mr Butternut climbed on to his desk. He waved his arms and yelled at us. Unfortunately, he had his back to our classroom door, so he didn’t see Miss Short and Mr Potato Head creep inside. They stood at the back, almost out of sight.
Meanwhile, we were cheering our excited teacher.
‘My mighty warriors! We must hold a Thing!’
What was he going on about? What thing? The only thing he was holding was a plastic sword.
‘The Vikings had special meetings called Things. They would settle problems and deal with criminals. Today we are holding a Thing to decide what to do with the criminals Masher McNee and the Vampire Twins. WE MUST STOP THEM! Stand on your chairs if you’re with me!’
Erik Bloodnut waved his sword angrily while we all yelled and cheered and climbed on to our chairs.
‘Yeah! Get the inspectors! Make them walk the plank!’ shouted Noella.
‘That’s what pirates did, not the Vikings,’ Cameron told her.
‘What would Vikings do, then, clever clogs?’ she demanded, and Cameron shrugged.
Erik Bloodnut came to his rescue.
‘The Vikings would make you walk across a room holding a red-hot piece of metal. Then they would bandage your hand.
‘After a week the bandage would be taken off, and if your hand was healing you would be declared innocent, and if it wasn’t you’d be guilty,’ explained Erik Bloodnut.
‘Sounds good to me,’ shouted Tyson.
‘It’s a bit harsh,’ Erik Bloodnut suggested. ‘Especially for the inspectors. Anyhow, we are here to learn about Vikings. They would often send out raiding parties, so this is what I think we should do.’
At the back of the room the two inspectors had made for the door. They looked a bit worried. I think they thought we might suddenly give them red-hot metal rods to hold.
Erik Bloodnut divided us into two raiding parties, and with Bloodnut in the lead we crept out of the room and headed towards our targets.
The first raiding party went to the Vampire Twins’ class. They burst in, shouting like crazy, and dragged them out, kicking and screaming.
The second raiding party, which included Pete Lolly-Nose and myself, went to Masher McNee’s classroom. We smashed our way in, roaring furiously, and captured Masher AND his gang.
We took all the prisoners back to our classroom and stood over them with our swords at the ready. We made them scrub our classroom floor as a punishment, and wash our windows too. Unfortunately, the buckets of water kept getting knocked and our prisoners got pretty wet. I just can’t imagine how that happened – ha ha!
That afternoon, everyone had to go to a special assembly to hear what the inspectors had to say about ou
r school. Miss Short stood at the front.
‘Things got off to a pretty bad start,’ she told us. ‘We were not at all impressed. But today one class showed us what this school is capable of. Mr Butternut and his children had a very inspiring history lesson. They made history come alive by time-travelling and turning their class into a group of Vikings. It was a brilliant way to learn about the past.’
To tell you the truth, Miss Short droned on and on until half the reception children were falling asleep, and my friend Pete was doing such big yawns I thought he might swallow a hippo. Good thing there wasn’t a hippo wandering around in the hall.
So everything was all right in the end.
Was that stupendo? It certainly was!
That is the noise my dad makes when he’s painting and he’s just splattered a large dollop of paint on his shoe, or the floor, or the table, or the lampshade, or the TV, or his head, or the cat (good thing we don’t have one!), or really anywhere at all.
That’s because my dad is MR SLOPPY-MESS when he’s doing the decorating. In fact, last year he was painting the bathroom and he actually managed to put his WHOLE FOOT in the paint tub. He might as well fill the bath with paint, jump in and get the job done properly.
Dad is decorating Abbie’s bedroom, and that means there’s a BIG PROBLEMO! Where is Abbie sleeping while her bedroom (and my dad) are covered in wet paint? I will tell you. She’s sleeping on a folding bed in my room! Is that AAAAAARGH! or not? It is definitely double, triple, quadruple
Would you like to share your bedroom with your fourteen-year-old big sis? I DON’T THINK SO! She is a pea-brained stinky pimple. So, as you can tell, basically we are AT WAR, and now the stinky pimple is sleeping IN MY BEDROOM! How bad is that? It’s
Cartoon Kid--Zombies! Page 2