Alex Sparrow and the Really Big Stink

by Jennifer Killick

  ‘All I ask is that you give us the chance you had. The chance to make mistakes, to be ourselves and to exceed your expectations. To infinity and beyond.’

  Time to seal the deal, ace the test, put one in the back of the net.

  ‘Many of you parents and “so-called” guardians have been signing a form giving Miss Smilie permission to turn your kids into PALS. I’m sure you’re all feeling pretty bad right now. Well, hold onto your pants because you’re about to feel a lot worse.

  ‘As Yoda probably said, after he signed up to be a Jedi and realised he’d never be allowed to party again: “The terms and conditions, always read you must.” Put your hand up if you read the terms and conditions on the back of the form.’

  A few people started to raise their hands.

  I looked at each of them. ‘It’s important that you tell the truth.’

  The hands went back down.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it, because if you had read them, you’d know what you were signing your kids up for. And I’d hate to think that any of you would agree to this.’

  Jess put an image on the big screen. It was a close-up of the PALS terms and conditions. It focused on these words:

  PALS:

  Pupil Automated Lobotomy Scheme

  Certain words have an OP effect: you only have to say them and you can whip people into an angry frenzy. With teachers, it’s ‘Ofsted’; with Star Wars fans, it’s ‘Jar Jar Binks’; for a bunch of parents who had just handed their kids over to an evil maniac, without reading the terms and conditions, it was ‘Pupil Automated Lobotomy Scheme’. Everyone was shouting and jumping out of their seats.

  But we had one last card to play.

  ‘Hey! Everyone! I have one more thing to show you before you take Miss Smilie down to Chinatown.’

  The noise died down. People actually wanted to hear what I had to say and I’m not going to lie, it made me feel Tony Stark powerful.

  ‘With a bit of help from a friend, my sidekick and I have discovered that the lobotomy sparking procedure has some side effects. I could describe them to you, but it’s better if you see them for yourselves. Here’s what happens to a PAL if they see or hear something that goes against Miss Smilie’s teachings.’

  I nodded at Jess and she clicked ‘play’ on the clip we’d been working on. It used the same images as the PALS ones, but we’d replaced disapproving Simon with smiling Simon. Jess had chosen the music to go with it. It was something called ‘Anarchy in the UK’ by an old band my dad liked. As she turned up the volume until the hall shook, what we hoped would happen started to happen.

  First the PALS went pale. Then they started to sway in their seats and scrape at their faces with their fingernails. Some of them cried; some of them screamed; some of them pulled out their own hair. Lots of them grabbed their stomachs. Then they turned green and began to retch and convulse, just a little bit at first but then really wildly. And then they puked. Loads and loads of puke. Lumpy, stinky puke. All over themselves, the floor, their parents.

  As everybody in the hall went nuts, I looked over to where Miss Smilie stood at the back of the hall, surrounded by pigeons and covered in poo and feathers. Her hair was a mess and her lipstick was smeared across her face. She wasn’t smiling anymore. For a second our eyes met, then she turned and made a run for it.

  ‘Stop her!’ Jess shouted, as Smilie reached the double doors.

  And that was when I had another one of my awesome ideas. ‘Hey, PALS,’ I tried to whistle, forgetting that I’m a really bad whistler. ‘HEY, PALS!’ I yelled as loudly as I could to be heard over the chaos. I had to hand it to Smilie, she’d done such a good job of training the PALS that even after wildly puking and being pulled into corners by their horrified parents, hundreds of pale faces turned my way. They just had to follow instructions.

  ‘Your good friend, Miss Smilie,’ I said as Smilie turned and looked at me over her shoulder, ‘is feeling very sad and very glum…’

  ‘We must hug our chum!’ the PALS said and ran towards her, arms outstretched. Miss Smilie disappeared under a pile of sick-covered children, screaming and yelling, ‘Get off me you stupid, mindless brats!’

  Mission accomplished.

  I looked at Jess and saluted.

  She rolled her eyes and mouthed back at me, ‘Idiot.’

  20

  The Aftermath

  Me and Jess had to give statements to the police. We’d decided that we would tell them the things they needed to know to put Miss Smilie in prison, but keep some stuff secret. We explained about sparking to freeze people’s brains and about the subliminal messages. We even told them the muffin analogy. But we didn’t say that it was possible to use the procedure in the opposite way. We didn’t tell them about our powers.

  Imagine what would happen if the world found out there was a way to get superpowers. Some people would do anything to be able to detect lies, or communicate with animals, or any of the other abilities that Miss Fortress knew how to spark into life. If The Professor’s knowledge fell into the wrong hands it would be bad, bad times for everyone.

  So we told a few lies. Because sometimes, not very often and only for the very best reasons, a lie can be a good thing.

  We tried to tell the police about Montgomery McMonaghan and SPARC, but they said there was no evidence to prove Miss Smilie was following his orders. Miss Fortress thinks McMonaghan has moles (not actual giant mutant moles – that would be stupid, apparently – moles are like dirty cops) helping him in the police force. It was pretty scary to think about him getting away with his evil schemes and being untouchable.

  The next morning, Miss Fortress had the job of changing all the blueberries back, starting with our friend.

  As I walked to the Friendship Bench at first break, I heard a giggle behind me and felt a sharp shove in my back. Normally I’d be annoyed, but it was good to know that things were getting back to normal. Jess and Darth Daver were sitting on the bench, laughing, as Pushatron ran off. Dave didn’t look quite his old self, because while Miss Fortress can apparently do a lot of cool things, she cannot ‘magically grow back hair’. Jess looked a bit different too. She looked happy.

  ‘Darth Daver and Jessticles, sitting in a tree, K.I.S.S … I mean … discussing which outfits they want to be buried in when they die.’

  ‘Shut up, stink-boy.’

  ‘Just telling it like it is, Jessticles, no need for the abuse.’

  ‘So have you decided yet?’

  Miss Fortress had offered to take my power away. Apparently it would involve another spark and a short, sharp pain, and then I’d be rid of it for good. She was even 89.4 percent sure she could do it without leaving me with any permanent brain damage.

  I’d thought about it for a minute or two. There was a time when I’d have done almost anything to ditch the lie detector and get back to my old life. But things had changed. I had better control of it now, so I only stunk about half the time. I’d also got pretty good at using it to find out what I wanted to know; other secret agents would kill to have that kind of power. And most of all, if I changed back to normo-Alex, I’d miss working with Jess. It had been the most fun time of my life.

  ‘Yep, I’m keeping it. Miss Fortress has a worrying lack of concern for child welfare. If I let her near me with another electric shock, I’ll probably end up with an even worse side effect, like a really annoying laugh, or not being able to eat sausages anymore.’

  Jess smiled and nudged me in the ribs with her bony elbow. ‘I’m glad,’ she said.

  I smiled back.

  ‘Besides, it’s only a matter of time until Agent Alex and The Ballbruiser have another case to crack. Emerging from the debris of their battle with the Lobotomiser comes a new foe for the heroic squad to defeat. Bigger. Badder. Less lipsticky…’

  Jess didn’t even bother telling me to stop, she just sighed. Dave laughed and squeezed her hand.

  ‘Come on, Ballbruiser,’ I said, ‘you can hum our theme tune in the background wh
ile I narrate.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What song did you settle on for the theme tune?’ Darth Daver asked.

  ‘Don’t encourage him, Dave!’

  ‘Just ignore Jessticles,’ I said, ‘I always do. Anyway, I’m still deciding between a few. I could use your help, actually. Ooh, and I need to think of a codename for you. How about Cybershadow?’

  After Bob’s heroic act of self-sacrifice in the PALS suite, me and Jess had assumed he was lost. I knew from my previous, erm, experiment that too much Red Bull could be lethal to a goldfish. That and him being out of water for so long should have killed him. And if that hadn’t, being down Smilie’s top would have finished anyone off. But Bob was no ordinary fish.

  After we escaped, Dexter and one of his associates managed to pick Bob up and drop him in the PALS aquarium. He was badly bruised and we had to keep him in a dark room for a few days while the effects of the Red Bull wore off, but Bob was a tough little dude and eventually he made a full recovery.

  Jess and me wanted to do something to say thanks, so we brought him a very special present. We got back from school and placed a jar next to his tank. Inside it was a white and orange fish, with large, ruffled fins and amber eyes.

  ‘Bob,’ Jess said, ‘you remember Elle.’

  Bob stopped swimming his circuits and stared, which I guess was his version of being speechless.

  ‘She’s come to live with us,’ I said. I uncovered a tank, more colourful and with more stuff in it than Bob’s, and gently tipped Elle into her new home. Jess and I slid the tank across the breakfast bar so they were next to each other.

  ‘We thought you guys should have your own space, until you get to know each other better.’ One step at a time, after all.

  ‘What do you think?’ Jess asked; but instead of answering, Bob did a back flip.

  ‘I think he’s happy,’ I said. ‘And more importantly we might be able to get out of Friday night Scrabble now. You’ve got to be pretty messed up if you have to resort to blackmailing people into playing word games with you.’

  ‘Alex!’

  ‘Come on, Jess. I love the little dude but we both know he has some issues.’

  ‘Oh. My. God!’

  ‘I don’t mean it in a horrible way – it’s just he needs to loosen up a bit.’

  ‘Alex! HE CAN HEAR YOU!’

  Oops. Bob, Elle and Jess just stared at me with the same expression on their faces, which I wouldn’t have thought was possible considering two of them were fish.

  ‘Sorry, Bob.’

  Jess rolled her eyes. ‘Have you learnt nothing over the past few weeks?’

  I thought about how much things had changed since that pop-up appeared on my computer. I’d gained a power and a stink which led to me losing my super-cool reputation and the people who I thought were my friends. But when I found myself at the bottom of the deepest, darkest, loneliest hole I could ever have imagined, it gave me the chance to stop and look around me. What did I see? I saw unexpected people willing to help me climb out. I saw Jess: ferocious, honest and loyal. I saw Darth Daver – Dave: kind, compassionate and clever. I saw Bob: strange, sly and determined. Most of all I saw me, Alex Sparrow: smart, brave and a little bit weird. We all have things about us that are awesome, and other things that we don’t like so much – things that make us feel like we don’t fit in. We are all unique, every single one of us, and there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, I preferred my new friends and my new life. And I liked the new Alex much better than the old Alex. I wasn’t about to tell Jess that though.

  I smiled. ‘Nope, nothing, Jessticles. Nothing at all.’

  Alex and Jess face an unexpected enemy and a whole host of animals with attitude in their next adventure:

  Alex Sparrow and the Furry Fury

  About the Author

  Jennifer Killick always wanted to be a writer, but really started when she applied for a Creative Writing MA at Brunel University, which is where she first got the idea for Alex Sparrow. She lives in London, in a house full of children, animals and Lego. When she isn’t busy mothering or step-mothering (which isn’t often) she loves to read, write and run, as fast as she can. Jennifer’s favourite things are books, trees and fluffy slippers, and her favourite place in the world is her home, where she can sit in her pyjamas with tea and cake, coming up with story ideas.

  www.jenniferkillick.com

  Acknowledgements

  I feel like the luckiest girl in the world to be writing the acknowledgements for my very own novel. But that’s the thing – this novel isn’t just mine – it belongs to all of the people who helped me along the way.

  I was lost when I met Imogen Cooper. Not only did she guide me through turning my manuscript from a muddle into a publishable story; she filled me with confidence and helped me to fall in love with writing again. For that I will always be grateful.

  I would also like to thank my brilliant agent, Kirsty McLachlan. From the moment I met her, I knew I wouldn’t find a better person to hand my story to.

  Enormous thanks to the team at Firefly: Penny Thomas, Janet Thomas and Meg Farr. I can’t imagine a lovelier group of people to work with – passionate, committed and kind. I’m so proud to be a Firefly.

  I am in love with my awesome cover. Thank you, Alex Dimond, for your perfect design and thank you, Heath McKenzie, for your brilliant illustrations.

  Thanks, also, to Jane Carter at Waterstones, Sarah Penny at Brunel University, and to Jo Clarke and MG Leonard. Your support means so much.

  I have been extremely fortunate to have made some amazing friends while on my writing journey. Vashti Hardy: you inspire me every day with your unwavering kindness and your incredible talent. And Lorraine Gregory: you help me to laugh through the anxiety, and you have the answers to all questions. I don’t know what I’d do without you both.

  To my friends at The Golden Egg Academy, especially Kay Vallely, James Nicol, Lisa Sorrell, Rus Madon, Anthony Burt, Andrew Wright and Alex Campbell: you showed me that you should never underestimate the importance of a kind word at the right moment. I’m grateful to every Egg who has offered me their support. You are a generous and talented bunch.

  Thank you to my oldest friends: Laura Endersby, Nicola Wareing, Emma Savin and Sarah Hill, for all the years of support and love and for always being on my side.

  Thanks to my mum, Trish, my dad, Dave and my sister, Julie, for never telling me I was stupid to try, and for helping in so many ways. And to Alfie, who is never afraid to say what he thinks. I look forward to hearing your review of The Stink… Thanks, also, to the aunts, uncles and cousins who have been cheering me on.

  To Stanley: this book is full of you. Without you, Alex Sparrow would probably never have existed, or if he did, he’d be very different. You fill my life with sunshine, swag dance moves and laughter. And to Teddy: having you proved to me that dreams can come true if we refuse to give up. You are a delight and watching you grow every day is such a joy.

  My stepchildren swept into my life midway through writing The Stink, and have made a huge impact. To Mia, who is brave and kind and one of my favourite people to be around; to Helena, the clever little dreamer who so often reminds me of myself; and to Luis, who is sweet and spirited and makes me laugh so hard I cry: thank you all so much.

  And finally, to Dean, who took on more than he should so that I could be free to dream-chase. I couldn’t have done this without you.

  First published in 2017

  by Firefly Press

  25 Gabalfa Road, Llandaff North, Cardiff, CF14 2JJ

  www.fireflypress.co.uk

  © Jennifer Killick 2017

  The author asserts her moral right to be identified as author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form,
binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.

  print ISBN: 9781910080566

  ebook ISBN 9781910080573

  This book has been published with the support of the Welsh Books Council.

  Original cover art by Heath McKenzie