The End of the Road Extravaganza was going great and the crowd was jumping. There was music and lasers and indoor fireworks—all donated by friends and relatives of the Spitballers. The only sour note was the sight of Henry and Cory Tamworth-Blythe, Principal Winton, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and the rest of the wrecking crew on the finish line in the best seats in the house. Henry Tamworth-Blythe hadn’t been kidding about wanting to be the first to start smashing up Golden Blades. The guy really had brought his own sledgehammer.
I was down in the Spitballers pit in the center of the track along with a bunch of Spitballer coaches and physios. I scanned the crowd for Mom but couldn’t see her anywhere. Georgia was sitting in the front row with some of her school friends and their parents.
“Where’s Mom?” I mouthed. It was unlike her to miss an event like this.
Georgia shrugged.
The siren sounded to mark the end of the jam and the teams skated in toward their benches. As the music started, I moved away to let the team talk tactics. Kasey skated past and gave me a friendly shove with her shoulder pad.
“Is this awesome or what?!” she yelled.
“Fantastic!” I replied, rubbing my shoulder.
Kasey skated over to her team, looking as happy as I could remember seeing her. The Spitballers were truly MARMALIZING the Potts Point Pirates. If only this whole place wasn’t going to be marmalized at midnight by the Tamworth-Blythes.
I looked across at Cory. He patted the sledgehammer and smiled. Principal Winton shuffled uncomfortably on his special donut-shaped butt cushion and gave me a full-on laser death stare. Mrs. Fitzpatrick twirled her mustache aggressively. There wouldn’t be any last-minute reprieve coming from that bunch. There would be no cavalry, no thrilling escape. Golden Blades was doomed.
I swallowed hard and looked up at the stadium clock.
One hour to go.
THE HOUR RACED past in a blur of skates and shouts and music. The crowd was loving it, but it was hard not to feel the end coming closer with every passing second.
The final siren blew, the band blasted one last power cord, two jets of sparks erupted from funnels at either side of the track, and glittery confetti fell from the ceiling.
It was done. We’d tried our best, but Golden Blades was doomed.
Kasey skated across, her face flushed with excitement.
“Champ!” I said, grinning.
She pumped a fist to the sky in a sort of cool, ironic way. “Yay.”
It had been a great night, but we both knew there wouldn’t be any more. By tomorrow night, Golden Blades and our mural would be on their way to dust.
The Tamworth-Blythe crew were exchanging high fives.
“Those guys make me sick,” Kasey said, looking more like the Egg Girl I’d met a month or so back. “I’d love to kick those wowsers right in the breadbaskets, every last one of them.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what or where a breadbasket was, but it sounded painful.
“Here they come,” I said.
Cory and his perfect hair led the way into the middle of the track, closely followed by two of his most repulsive sidekicks and then the rest of the suit-wearing, smarmy bunch, with Henry TB bringing up the rear. He was trying on the sledgehammer for size.
The crowd started booing and whistling loud enough to raise the roof of the old place. Henry Tamworth-Blythe didn’t care. He strutted toward the microphone on the small stage as objects rained down.
It was one minute to midnight when Tamworth-Blythe spoke into the mic.
“Silence, ordinary no-hopers of Sydney!” he yelled. He raised the sledgehammer high above his head. “In exactly one minute, the process of ridding our city of this pile of filth and chaos will begin!” Henry paused as the boos increased in volume. When he could make himself heard, he spoke again. “Boo, all YOU losers! The stadium is ours! Soon it will be under ten feet of fine concrete and your little games and murals will be distant memories! There’s no place for this kind of unreg—”
“Hold it right there, buster!” a familiar voice yelled.
“Oh! Em! Gee!” Kasey elbowed me in the ribs.
Through my pain I turned to see my MOM skating through the crowd—yes, skating—straight at Tamworth-Blythe. For some completely unknown reason, she was dressed like one of the Potts Point Pirates. Then, with a shock, I realized that she WAS one of the Potts Point Pirates!
“MOM!” I YELPED. “Why are … what … I mean … eh?”
Okay, it wasn’t great, I admit. And Mom clearly didn’t think so either because she just waved me away impatiently.
“No time to waste!” she said, breezing past.
Henry Tamworth-Blythe flinched as Mom skidded expertly to a stop with her nose about an inch from his.
“Not so fast, bud!” she hissed, holding up five or six sheets of paper.
Tamworth-Blythe took a step back and nervously brushed his perfectly manicured hand over his perfect hair. “What’s this nonsense?” he demanded.
“Aha!” Mom barked, and Tamworth-Blythe took another step back. “These,” Mom said, rattling the papers in the air, “are the deeds to the Golden Blades Stadium. As of eight o’clock tonight, the Sydney Spitballers own the Golden Blades, NOT you! So ditch the hammer and get out of this stadium. You’re trespassing!”
“What!” spat Tamworth-Blythe.
“What?” screeched Principal Winton.
“What?” I gasped.
“What?” the entire crowd said in unison. (Which was pretty impressive, tbh.)
“I like cake!” Mrs. Fitzpatrick declared, seeming to have difficulty concentrating.
“Impossible!” Tamworth-Blythe sputtered. He snatched the papers from Mom’s hand. “I have the best lawyers in the city right here! Let’s see what they have to say about this.”
Six of Tamworth-Blythe’s entourage stepped forward. They were all dressed in identical suits.
“This is the entire firm of Bloot, Koot, Newt, Spoot, Van Den Hauwe, and Smith,” Tamworth-Blythe smirked. He passed the papers to his lawyers, who gathered around in a tight huddle.
While they pointed and shrugged and talked, the rest of us waited in awkward silence.
“Loser,” Cory Tamworth-Blythe said.
“Dimwit,” I replied.
We both settled back into the awkward silence. In books and movies, there aren’t that many awkward silences, but in real life there are tons. And this one was a doozy. With six thousand spectators, this was one REALLY awkward silence.
Bloot, Koot, Newt, Spoot, Van Den Hauwe, and Smith eventually finished the inspection of Mom’s papers and whispered something in Henry Tamworth-Blythe’s ear.
He turned bright red. “What?” he spat. “THEY own this dump?”
“That’s correct, Mr. Tamworth-Blythe,” Koot said. “There’s no doubt.”
Tamworth-Blythe looked as if he was going to pass out, and what Mom said next did nothing to help.
“And another thing, Toejam-Blurt,” Mom said. “That painting you’re so proud of up in the Great Hall? The Big Spaghetti Splodgeamacallit? That is NOT an Olsen!”
“What?” Tamworth-Blythe reeled. “Not an Olsen? That’s impolsen! I mean, that’s impossible! Any art critic will tell you that is a genuine Olsen!”
Mom put two fingers to her mouth and whistled—see, right there was another thing I never knew about her—and Frost DeAndrews stepped out of the crowd. He flipped open a leather wallet and flashed a gold badge in Tamworth-Blythe’s astonished mush.
“My name is Frost DeAndrews, of the FBAAC—the Federal Bureau of Australian Art Critics,” he said. “I am the most famous and most respected art critic in all of Australia, and that big mess in St. Mungo’s I looked at today is just that—a big mess. It was, I suggest, probably painted by Grey Khatchadorian, which was likely the reason he’d been taken off the School Board by Principal Winton’s grandfather, who’d kept the fact that the painting was fake a secret ever since. If that’s an Olsen, my name is Susan.” DeAndrews
paused and narrowed his eyes. “And my name is not Susan.”
Tamworth-Blythe looked at him in horror. “But, but, but, but …”
“Keep doing that impression of a motor scooter and putt-putt back to East Fudge,” Mom said.
I was impressed. “Good line, Mom.”
Mom winked. “I’ve been practicing.”
BEFORE WE MOVE on to the next bit, I don’t think it’s right to carry on without doing some explaining.
I got all this info later, understand? But, since this is me telling you the story now, I thought I’d fill you in on some puzzling deets—like how my mom came to be a Potts Point Pirate. If this were a movie, there would be a real quick collection of short shots showing exactly what happened. So:
1. Mom took the Olsen painting to a dealer, where she found out it was worth half a mill, BUT
2. Uncle Grey had worked his reverse magic on us again. Mom found out there was some really, really small print in the will that meant, for some weird Australian reason, we could only sell the painting if we donated the money to a charity. We could NOT keep the money ourselves (no, I have no idea why, either), so
3. (and this was the really clever bit) Mom called Miss Bennett and they had the Spitballers registered as a youth charity that helps troubled local kids learn how to play roller derby.
4. Mom sold the painting to the dealer and then donated the money from the painting to the Spitballers, who
5. then bought the Golden Blades Stadium. Ta-da!
6. Oh, and Mom had been training with the Pirates since we’d arrived. She was already a really good skater, but I’d never bothered to find out. She had chosen the Pirates because she didn’t want to spoil my fun hanging out with Kasey. That was pretty nice of her because it would’ve been kinda screwy to have Mom there every time we’d gone to Golden Blades. And that was when …
7. Miss Bennett got her bro, Frost DeAndrews, to take a look at the Big Spaghetti Splodge.
Everyone got that? It’s a lot to take in, right? I STILL don’t understand most of it, but just go with it, otherwise it’ll make your brain hurt. Sometimes stuff isn’t simple, sometimes stuff isn’t all neatly wrapped up like a TV cop show. Sometimes stuff is messy.
Okay, back to the action …
FOR PROBABLY THE first time in his rich, perfect, easy life, Henry Tamworth-Blythe didn’t know what to say.
He’d been outmaneuvered, outplayed, and out-thought by a secret roller-skating mom from Hills Village, USA. And he had absolutely no idea how. In Henry Tamworth-Blythe’s world, things like this simply did not happen. Henry Tamworth-Blythe had people whose sole job was to stop things like this from happening. Lawyers, accountants, parents, teachers, you name it—everyone around Henry Tamworth-Blythe had only one aim: to keep Henry happy.
Unfortunately, no one inside the Golden Blades Stadium except Henry Tamworth-Blythe’s little entourage could care less about keeping Henry Tamworth-Blythe happy.
With a howl of pure joy, the crowd chased Henry Tamworth-Blythe and his entourage out of the stadium. Someone must have found the stock of spare paint from the mural because the last thing I saw was all the Henry Tamworth-Blythe people covered in multicolored paint and running straight back to East Fudge.
It was another glorious, great big Australian mess.
SO WE’RE BACK HOME.
Back in Hills Village. Back at school and back to reality.
We’re exactly ZERO dollars richer, but, hey, did you ever seriously think the Khatchadorians would come out of this with a bean?
Didn’t think so. Things like that—being given great big dollops of money—just doesn’t happen to our kind of people.
But as I sat on my old bed, with Junior sniffing at the last stubborn scraps of Golden Blades mural paint in my hair, listening to Georgia and Grandma Dotty sing along to some dumb warbler on the TV, and smelling the celebration homecoming take-out Mom had brought back from the Hills Village Tandoori Temple, I’ll tell you this: I wouldn’t swap places with the Cory Tamworth-Blythes of this world for a million dollars.
Okay, maybe a million.
Let’s call it half a mill.
“RAFE!” Mom called from downstairs. “CURRY!”
I headed for the stairs, passing three of Uncle Grey’s paintings (remember we’d shipped ’em out?).
Fifty grand and a ticket back to Australia. I can’t say fairer than that.
Okay, ten gees.
Six? Five hundred? Eight bucks and a strawberry milkshake?
“RAFE!”
1. Please note, for non-Australian readers, all spiders in Australia fit this description.
2. A titter is a small laugh used by idiots. Not to be confused with a chortle, chuckle, snicker, or guffaw.
3. Only kidding! It didn’t smell of polish.
4. Roller derby term. Google it, it’ll be quicker.
JAMES PATTERSON is the internationally bestselling author of the highly praised Middle School books, Homeroom Diaries, Kenny Wright: Superhero, Jacky Ha-Ha, and the I Funny, Treasure Hunters, House of Robots, Maximum Ride, Confessions, Witch & Wizard, and Daniel X series. James Patterson has been the most borrowed author in UK libraries for the past nine years in a row and his books have sold more than 325 million copies worldwide, making him one of the biggest-selling authors of all time. He lives in Florida.
MARTIN CHATTERTON was born in Liverpool, England, and has been successfully writing and illustrating books for almost thirty years. He has written dozens of children’s books and illustrated many more for other writers, including several British Children’s Laureates. His work has been published in fourteen languages and has won and been shortlisted in numerous awards in the UK, US, and Australia. Alongside writing for children, Martin writes crime fiction (as Ed Chatterton), continues to work as a graphic designer, and is currently working on his PhD. After time spent in the US, Martin now divides his time between Australia and the UK.
Also by James Patterson
I Funny series
I Funny (with Chris Grabenstein)
I Even Funnier (with Chris Grabenstein)
I Totally Funniest (with Chris Grabenstein)
I Funny TV (with Chris Grabenstein)
Treasure Hunters series
Treasure Hunters (with Chris Grabenstein)
Danger Down the Nile (with Chris Grabenstein)
Secret of the Forbidden City (with Chris Grabenstein)
Peril at the Top of the World (with Chris Grabenstein)
House of Robots series
House of Robots (with Chris Grabenstein)
Robots Go Wild! (with Chris Grabenstein)
Robot Revolution (with Chris Grabenstein)
Other illustrated novels
Kenny Wright: Superhero (with Chris Grabenstein)
Jacky Ha-Ha (with Chris Grabenstein)
Word of Mouse (with Chris Grabenstein)
Daniel X series
The Dangerous Days of Daniel X (with Michael Ledwidge)
Watch the Skies (with Ned Rust)
Demons and Druids (with Adam Sadler)
Game Over (with Ned Rust)
Armageddon (with Chris Grabenstein)
Lights Out (with Chris Grabenstein)
For more information about James Patterson’s novels, visit
www.jamespatterson.co.uk
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THE MIDDLE SCHOOL SERIES
THE WORST YEARS OF MY LIFE
(with Chris Tebbetts)
This is the insane story of my first year at middle school, when I, Rafe Khatchadorian, took on a real-life bear (sort of), sold my soul to the school bully, and fell for the most popular girl in school. Come join me, if you dare …
GET ME OUT OF HERE!
(with Chris Tebbetts)
We’ve moved to the big city, where I’m going to a super-fancy art school. The first project is to create something based on our exciting lives. But I have a BIG problem: my life is TOTALLY BORING. It’s time for Operation Get a
Life.
MY BROTHER IS A BIG, FAT LIAR
(with Lisa Papademetriou)
So you’ve heard all about my big brother, Rafe, and now it’s time to set the record straight. I’m NOTHING like my brother. (Almost) EVERYTHING he says is a Big Fat Lie. And my book is 100 times better than Rafe’s. I’m Georgia, and it’s time for some payback … Khatchadorian style.
HOW I SURVIVED BULLIES, BROCCOLI, AND SNAKE HILL
(with Chris Tebbetts)
I’m excited for a fun summer at camp—until I find out it’s a summer school camp. There’s no fun and games here, I have a bunk mate called Booger Eater (it’s pretty self-explanatory), and we’re up against the kids from the “Cool Cabin” … there’s gonna be a whole lotta trouble!
ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN
(with Julia Bergen)
Who would have thought that we—Rafe and Georgia—would ever agree on anything? That’s right—we’re writing a book together. Discover: Who has the best advice on BULLIES? Who’s got all the right DANCE MOVES? Who’s the cleverest Khatchadorian in town? And the best part? We want you to be part of the fun too!
SAVE RAFE!
(with Chris Tebbetts)
I’m in worse trouble than ever! I need to survive a gut-bustingly impossible outdoor excursion so I can return to school next year. Watch me as I become “buddies” with the scariest girl on the planet, raft down the rapids on a deadly river, and ultimately learn the most important lesson of my life.
JUST MY ROTTEN LUCK
(with Chris Tebbetts)
I’m heading back to the place where it all began: Hills Village Middle School, but only if I take “special” classes … If that wasn’t bad enough, when I somehow land a place on the school football team, I find myself playing alongside none other than the biggest bully in school, Miller the Killer!
Million-Dollar Mess Down Under Page 10