by Nigel Smith
Still, Nat had to admit it wasn’t very good. It was all wonky and there were great big holes in it. She wouldn’t have wanted the Dog to sleep in it.
“Call this a hut?” said a familiar voice. It was Mr Bungee, and he was marking their school’s efforts.
“What’s wrong with it?” said Dad, who was on tiptoes, struggling to put a branch on the roof.
“One gust of wind and it’ll tip right over,” said Mr Bungee.
“Rubbish,” said Dad, turning round quickly and losing his balance. “Oh heck,” he said, and fell straight into the hut, which collapsed around him.
“Now, how about your traps?” said Mr Bungee. “Did you build any?”
“No one wanted to catch furry animals but we did dig up some worms,” said Miss Hunny.
“Worms? You can’t eat those,” said Mr Bungee.
“Wrong,” burped Darius in Nat’s ear, sucking on his stick.
“And your fire …” said the big New Zealander, moving over to Nat and Darius.
“It’s a good fire,” said Nat.
“Yeah, it is. Problem being, your fire was stolen from the other school.”
“But you were helping the other team!” said Nat, jumping to her feet in outrage. “I saw you.”
“No one’s gonna believe what YOU saw,” he laughed, taking her swiftly to one side. “You’re the girl who couldn’t see a great big noose on the ground.”
Because Nat’s class was judged to be the worst at survival skills, they had to wash up after dinner. Again. They were all tired and irritable, and small scuffles broke out every now and again.
“Marcus Milligan, are you holding Peaches Bleary’s head under the soapy water again?” said Miss Hunny, yet again. “Please stop it. You’re showing us all up.”
“Shall I organise a singalong tonight?” said Dad cheerfully.
Everyone groaned.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. “Now, if I can just find my ukulele …”
“What’s this at the bottom of the sink?” said Penny, dredging up a ukulele. “It looks like a guitar that’s been shrunk in the hot water.”
“Shush,” said Nat, pushing the ukulele back under the bubbles, “the day’s been horrible enough.”
“You’re using far too much washing-up liquid,” complained Miss Slippy, who was sticking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted.
Nat’s arms were covered in bubbles. She looked like a half-melted snowman.
“Our science lab helped create this,” said Dr Nobel smugly, holding up a tub of thick washing-up gloop. “It’s totally safe and biofriendly AND it still bubbles better than the other leading brands.”
Are you a teacher or a salesman? thought Nat grumpily.
Dad, of course, was terribly impressed. He peered at the label.
“Look at this, Nat. Super-duper Eco-Earth Hug-the-world washing-up liquid.”
“So what?”
Dr Nobel looked even smugger than usual, which wasn’t easy but he managed it. “It was in all the papers,” he said. “You know, the big papers, so you might not have noticed. The real newspapers, not the ones that just have pictures of footballers falling out of cars after a party.”
“Yes, I know the ones you mean,” said Dad, who read the ones with pictures of footballers in.
“We won a big cash prize. It’s given us the money to buy a new science block.”
“Wow,” said Dad, “your school is so amazing.”
Urgh, Dad the fan-boy, groaned Nat to herself. It’s revolting.
It was worrying too.
“Oi,” she interrupted, splashing the bubbles around, “we’re getting a new science block too, so there.”
“Hmm,” said Miss Hunny, walking past, “but that’s only because of the insurance money we got after Darius blew it up.”
“He didn’t blow ALL of it up, Miss,” said Nat quickly, “and it was really old and smelly anyway. The Head said he did us a favour. She’d been thinking of doing it herself, Mr Keane told me. He volunteered to do it himself, actually.”
“Where DO you send your daughter to school?” said Dr Nobel to Dad.
“Actually, can I talk to you about that?” said Dad, sending a chill through Nat.
The two of them walked off, chatting. Nat was HORRIFIED.
She wanted to follow and do some sneaky spying, but mean Miss Slippy said she’d have to stay and do the drying too.
She plunged her hands into the soapy water in fury. She just KNEW what Dad was talking about.
But what could she do about it?
“OW!” she yelled, as Penny turned the taps on full, almost scalding her with hot water. “Penny, you spanner, that’s nuclear hot!”
And then she had an idea.
“I’m going nuclear,” said Nat.
Penny snapped wide awake. They were in their sleeping bags. It was the dead of night. A barn owl hooted somewhere and a small, over-adventurous mouse found himself whisked off his feet and wished he hadn’t gone into the deep, dark, owl-filled wood.
“Not …?” said Penny, suddenly understanding. “You can’t mean …?”
“I can mean and I do mean.”
“No, Nat, it’s too dangerous. He’s like a doomsday weapon, anything might happen. We might get blowback.”
“Don’t care. It’s the only way,” said Nat. “I’m setting off … DARIUS.”
There was a horrid, deep silence. Both girls knew it could end horribly.
“If WE can’t WIN at anything – and, let’s be honest, we can’t – then THAT SCHOOL HAS TO LOSE. I don’t know how, but if anyone can ruin their lives, it’s Darius.”
“But you’ve been arguing with him since we got here,” said Penny. “Will he do it for you?” She spoke in a hushed tone.
“Don’t worry, I’ll ask him nicely,” said Nat.
“Get lost. You can’t have my cabin. Go away,” said Darius, early the next morning.
He was still in his sleeping bag and Nat had just kicked the cabin door open.
She started shouting at him as pale morning sunlight crept in through the open door and fell on his pasty face.
“Aaargh, too loud and too much light,” he said, ducking his face into the sleeping bag.
Quick as a flash, Nat zipped the top up completely and sat on him as he wriggled about like a fat green maggot.
“Gerroff, it smells in here,” said Darius, trapped and muffled.
“I know, that’s why I’m keeping the stink in,” said Nat. “Now listen, I need your help.”
“And this is definitely the best way to get it,” said squished Darius.
That just annoyed Nat. She jumped up and down on him.
“Too much stomping,” said Darius.
“WILL …”
STOMP.
“… YOU …”
STOMP.
“… DO …”
STOMP.
“… IT?”
“YES, I’LL DO IT,” said Darius eventually. “Do what?”
“You have to make that stuck-up school look even worse than ours so my dad doesn’t make me go there.”
Darius just laughed.
“Don’t be mad,” he said eventually.
“You’re an evil doom genius,” she argued.
“Yeah, but I’m not Voldemort.”
“Meaning?”
“It’s impossible. Have you seen them? They’re perfect. I heard their caretaker’s got ten GCSEs.”
“Oh heck. Our caretaker’s got a pet goat and a spider-web tattoo on his neck.”
“Right. So it can’t be done. Go away now, I’m sleepy.”
“Do something sneaky and evil to them, I don’t care what,” said Nat, shaking him. “Otherwise they’re going to make us look like the worst school ever on Saturday, in front of everybody, when they win the competition.”
“And?” said Darius.
“AND it’ll be me up there getting laughed at. AND my daft dad thinks they’re brilliant already and that’ll be th
e final straw and the next thing you know I’ll be sent there. AND you’ll be left with no friends.”
Darius looked at her big, stompy, friendly footmarks all over his sleeping bag.
“Stop looking at those,” said Nat.
“Why are you always so worried about friends?” asked Darius. “What’s the big deal?”
“You don’t understand because you’re a – well, I’m not quite sure WHAT you are – but for normal people friends are THE MOST IMPORTANT THING.”
“So why are you so rubbish at them then?” said Darius.
“I’m working with poor-quality materials,” snapped Nat. “Meaning 8H. Oh, come on, chimpy, help me out. Plus you like being sneaky and evil.”
“True,” said Darius. “I do like that. OK, lemme think.”
Nat stared at him.
“On my own,” he said, burrowing back into his sleeping bag.
That morning, it was Dr Nobel’s lesson. Nat really hoped it would be utterly rubbish and put Dad off.
But even as she walked into the classroom, she knew it was going to be AWESOME.
Pants, she thought, as she stared at a huge model of A VOLCANO.
It was over a metre high, a huge grey-brown cone that looked like it was made from solid rock. It was a perfect scale model; it even had a few tiny trees dotted around the base. And, best of all, there was even a wisp of smoke coming from the top!
All the kids were impressed.
“Careful,” said Dr Nobel, as they crowded around excitedly, “it’s an active volcano!”
“Aren’t volcanoes a bit like flowers?” said Penny. “Don’t they die when you cut them down?”
“This isn’t a real volcano,” said Dr Nobel, “and, no, they’re not like flowers. I thought you lot were all supposed to be good at geography?”
“She was only joking,” said Nat hastily.
She thought fast. Too fast.
“We’re a brilliant geography school really, but we’re also … a centre for comedy.”
“What?”
“You know,” said Nat, “some schools are good at maths or science or English. We’re good at jokes.”
Miss Slippy whispered, “That explains her father.”
“I heard that,” said Nat. “Take it back. My dad is not a joke. In fact, he’s never been funny in his life, ever.”
“Hang on, love,” said Dad, listening nearby. “I am top funny.” He put his Green Bogey hat on. “I AM funny, aren’t I, kids?”
They laughed.
Nat gave up and sat down.
When everyone was ready, Dr Nobel stood in front of the smoking model and said, “I heard that yesterday you looked at something old, dead, and useless – that was Mr Keane.”
Everyone laughed except Nat, Darius, and Dad. And Mr Keane.
“Oh, sorry,” said Dr Nobel, who wasn’t sorry at all. “Slip of the tongue. What I meant was, WITH Mr Keane. I was talking about his fossil.”
“But he meant Mr Keane too, that’s why it’s funny,” explained Miss Austen to Miss Eyre.
“Anyway, today we’re looking at VOLCANOES. And I’d like to thank our art teacher, Mr Painter, for lending us this model of Mount Etna, which he built for the horror film The Volcano Monster versus Sharktopus Rex.”
“Could your school get any more amazing?” said Dad.
Nat wanted to be sick. Properly sick. Hopefully on suck-up Dad, she thought.
“Please, Sir, what’s making it smoke?” said Rufus.
“Lava, dummy,” said Penny, who wanted to make up for her previous dumb remark – by unwisely making another dumb remark.
Everyone laughed at her. Including Nat.
“Sorry,” said Nat, as Penny glared at her. “OMG, chill.”
“Just a basic fogger,” Darius muttered in Nat’s ear. “A mixture of propane and glycol.”
“It’s a very clever mixture of two liquids called propane and glycol,” said Dr Nobel slowly, “but you don’t need to worry about that until you do your GCSE chemistry.”
Nat looked at Darius. “Lucky guess,” she said. “And never mind procol or glycane or whatever it is, how’s the evil plan of doom going?”
Before Darius could say anything, Dr Nobel raised his voice. “If I could have EVERYONE’S attention,” he said, meaning Darius and Nat, “I can begin unravelling the mysteries of the smoking mountains.”
And unravel the mysteries they did. In thirty minutes Nat was forced to admit she’d already learned more than she had in a month of Mr Keane’s rubbish lessons.
This is not going well, she thought, looking at Dad’s face. He was ENTRANCED.
Mr Keane just looked faintly embarrassed. You’ve just been owned, thought Nat.
Towards the end of the lesson, Dr Nobel announced, “And now … the big finish. Stand back, she’s going to blow!”
There was a great rumbling from the model. Thick smoke poured out, rolling down the slope.
Then there was a horrible grinding of gears, a nasty BOINK sound, an apologetic cough, and the smoky mountain fell silent. And not smoky.
“Oh,” said Dr Nobel, “something’s gone wrong.”
Ha, thought Nat, you’re not perfect after all.
Dr Nobel peered into the cone.
“Sorry,” he said, “technical hitch.” He turned to the audience and said half-jokingly, “I don’t suppose there are any young engineers here as well as young geographers?”
Darius walked forward. “Me,” he said.
Nat was amazed. She knew Darius was a whizz with engines – he was always fixing Dad’s rotten old camper van, the Atomic Dustbin. BUT HE NEVER EVER VOLUNTEERED TO HELP. EVER. What was he up to?
It didn’t seem to matter because Dr Nobel didn’t believe him anyway.
Dr Nobel laughed. “Be serious,” he sneered.
Miss Hunny rushed over, her long cardigan sleeves flapping about like wings. She put a protective arm around the boy.
“Ooh, stop being so undermining,” she said. “That’s not what I call good teaching.”
Dr Nobel just cleared his throat. “Hmm,” he said.
“I made Darius our team leader, don’t forget,” she said. “I’ve got every faith in him, even if you haven’t.” She put her hand on the very top of his head; it was the safest part of him to touch because it was the least likely to be sticky.
Nat watched as Darius went a bit cross-eyed. She sighed. Darius always went funny around Miss H; she had NO IDEA why.
But Nat quite liked her form teacher – she’d have liked her a whole lot more if she hadn’t been Dad’s oldest friend – and she liked the fact that she always stuck up for Darius.
“All right,” Dr Nobel finally agreed. “Then the volcano is all yours, young man. There’s a hatch at the back where you can get into the – oh.”
Darius just popped down the big hole at the top of the model.
“Will he be all right in there?” asked Dr Nobel.
“Oh yes,” said Miss Hunny, “he really likes small dark spaces. It’s everyone else at school that’s scared of them – well, we are now that we know Darius might be lurking in one.”
Dr Nobel shook his head.
“You know,” said Miss Hunny, trying to make conversation as they heard banging and rude words coming from the volcano, “there’s been a vacancy at our school for a new chemistry teacher ever since the, erm …” she pointed towards the volcano and Darius, “… ever since THE INCIDENT. You could do worse than apply.”
“No, I couldn’t do worse,” said Dr Nobel. “I really couldn’t.”
He peeked down the hole.
“Don’t surprise Darius,” said Miss Hunny, dragging him away. “We’ve learned not to do that – he doesn’t like it.”
“Is it time for the Green Bogey to entertain everyone?” said Dad. “I mean, if you’re having trouble finishing your lesson …”
Dr Nobel looked angry. “I don’t need your help in my lesson,” he said.
“It’s just that your class look
s distracted,” said Dad helpfully.
It was true. All the kids were now chatting and laughing, except for a couple of the bigger boys who were having a quiet scrap at the back.
“This is YOUR bad influence,” said Dr Nobel, surveying the chaos. “My pupils would never even talk in lessons, let alone – oh dear! Stop doing that, Tarquin.”
He ran over to stop Tarquin doing whatever it was he needed to stop doing. But by now the St Scrofula’s children were enjoying this new fun thing they’d just discovered – MESSING ABOUT IN CLASS.
Dr Nobel looked thoroughly confused. His perfect lesson was falling apart at the seams.
He hurried back to the volcano and shouted down the cone, “You can come out now. You’ve caused enough trouble.”
But Darius wasn’t going anywhere.
“Get lost. I’ve always wanted to live in a volcano,” he said.
“He has, Sir,” said Nat. “To be fair to him, he HAS always wanted to live in a volcano. He’s been making plans for a lair of doom for ages, and there’s always been a volcano in them.”
“Is everyone at your school totally insane?” said Dr Nobel.
“Nathalia, get Darius out,” said Miss Hunny. She turned to the good doctor. “And, by the way, WE’RE the normal school, not you,” she said primly.
Suddenly Nat felt oddly proud of her soppy teacher.
“Do as you’re told, Nathalia. Hurry, don’t show me up like this,” said Miss Hunny sternly.
Nat scowled and felt less proud.
Miss Hunny turned back to Dr Nobel. The noise from the restless children was growing. Little beads of sweat were bubbling on his bald head. A stressed-out red vein throbbed alarmingly.
“Nathalia has a special way with Darius,” said Miss Hunny. “At our school we like to cater to pupils’ needs individually. Everyone is unique to us; everyone gets special care and attention.”
“GET OUT, YOU MASSIVE CHIMP, OR YOU’RE DEAD,” yelled Nat down the hole. “I’ll drop hot sick on you in a minute.”
“Hey, guess what?” said Darius.
Nat stuck her head over the hole. “What?” she said.
“I found out how to make it do this,” said Darius.
And a MASSIVE blast of oily smoke belched out of the volcano, hitting Nat square in the face.