‘What’s he saying, Grant?’ I said.
‘He wants a re-throw,’ said Grant, using his Super-ear to track their conversation.
‘On what grounds?’
‘On the grounds that Troy was distracted by Mr Brainfright’s banana-mascotting.’
The judges, however, appeared to have other ideas. They were shaking their heads.
Mr Constrictor began pounding the table and threatening them.
He did this so loudly that we could hear him without any help from Grant’s Super-ear. He appeared to be appealing the throw on the grounds that if they didn’t give Troy a re-throw then he would squeeze them in a variety of unpleasant ways until they popped.
42
Mr Constrictor’s top ten threats
1. I’m going to squeeze your head like a pimple until it pops.
2. I’m going to squeeze your head like a blister until it pops.
3. I’m going to squeeze your head like a boil until it pops.
4. I’m going to squeeze your head like a balloon until it pops.
5. I’m going to squeeze your head like a marshmallow until it pops.
6. I’m going to squeeze your head like a bubble-wrap bubble in a sheet of bubble wrap until it pops.
7. I’m going to squeeze your head like an empty plastic bag until it pops.
8. I’m going to squeeze your head like a tube of toothpaste until it pops.
9. I’m going to squeeze your head like a grapefruit until it pops.
10. I’m going to squeeze your head like an egg until it pops.
43
Pimple zapping
But it was to no avail. The judges weren’t scared of Mr Constrictor’s threats, so Gretel’s throw—and the new Northwest record—stood.
Jenny turned to me and grabbed my arm. ‘We can do this, Henry,’ she said, her eyes shining. ‘For the first time ever, I think we can really win!’
‘Of course we can really win,’ said Mr Grunt, who had come up behind us. ‘My cutting-edge training methods are so effective they’re even working on you clumsy clots! I really am the greatest coach in Northwest! I bet the Northwest All Stars are sorry now!’
Mr Grunt strutted off down to the field.
‘He really is a . . . very unpleasant man,’ said Jenny, immediately putting her hand over her mouth, ashamed of having said something nasty.
‘It’s okay, Jenny,’ I said, taking her hand away. ‘That’s putting it as nicely as it’s possible to put it.’
Jenny grabbed my arm. ‘Isn’t that Fred and Clive?’ she said.
‘Where?’ I said.
‘Down there in front of the Northwest West Academy grandstand,’ she said. ‘Talking to Mr Constrictor.’
Jenny was right. ‘Grant,’ I said, ‘point your Super-ear in that direction and tell us what they’re saying.’
‘Pimple cream,’ said Grant.
‘Pimple cream?’ said Jenny.
‘Yes,’ said Grant. ‘Apparently Fred is taking a girl out but he’s worried about his unsightly pimples.’
‘Fred is taking a girl out?’ said Jenny incredulously. ‘What sort of girl would go out with Fred? And why on earth would he be telling Mr Constrictor about it?’
‘Well, apparently Mr Constrictor knows a great new pimple-zapping cream called Pim-zap, which will zap all of Fred’s pimples once and for all.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Jenny. ‘You’re making it up!’
‘I’m not making it up!’ said Grant. ‘That’s what they’re saying!’
‘Give me that Super-ear,’ I said, grabbing it from him and putting it up to my ear.
‘That’s not them talking,’ I said. ‘The Super-ear is picking up interference. You were listening to a radio commercial.’
‘Well, that would explain it,’ said Grant. ‘I guess the Super-ear needs some adjustment. After all, it is only a prototype.’
‘The thing is,’ said Jenny, ‘if Fred and Clive are not talking about pimples with Mr Constrictor, then what are they talking about?’
‘Beats me,’ I said. ‘Maybe they’re getting his autograph.’
‘But he’s on the other side,’ said Jenny.
‘He was a pro wrestler, though,’ I reminded her. ‘And Fred and Clive and their dad are big fans.’
‘Hmmm . . .’ said Jenny unhappily. ‘They don’t look like they’re autograph-hunting. They don’t have pens or paper.’
I nodded. She was right. ‘Maybe they just want to say they’ve been able to talk to him.’
‘Talk?’ said Jenny. ‘You mean get shouted at. He looks very upset.’
‘He always looks upset,’ I said. ‘Too much scowling.’
‘That’s quite possible,’ said Jenny. ‘My mother says that if you’re making a face when the wind changes you’ll be stuck with that face forever.’
At that moment Flip Johnson cut in over the top of us. ‘And now we come to the four-hundred-metre race, an event traditionally dominated by Northwest West Academy—but with Newton Hooton on a winning streak hotter than a razor blade in a pot of boiling alligators, who can tell what’s going to happen out there today?’
44
Where’s Newton?
At that moment, Mr Grunt came running up to us. ‘Where’s Newton Hooton?’ he said. ‘The race is about to start and he’s our best runner!’
We looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen.
‘He was here a minute ago,’ I said.
‘I hope he’s all right,’ said Jenny.
‘Maybe the pressure was too much for him,’ I said.
‘Too much pressure?’ said Mr Grunt. ‘I’ll give him too much pressure if he doesn’t present himself at the starting line in five minutes’ time!’
‘I’ll check under the benches,’ said Gretel.
‘I’ll check outside the stadium,’ said Jenny, ‘in case he’s decided to make a run for it.’
‘I’ll check inside Chomp’s stomach,’ said Jack. ‘Just in case.’
‘That’s not funny,’ I said.
Jack and I searched everywhere. Well, everywhere except inside Chomp’s stomach. We were on the far side of the stadium, where nobody was sitting, when we walked past a rubbish bin.
‘Henry,’ said Jack, ‘can I ask you a question?’
‘What is it?’
‘Do rubbish bins have eyes?’
‘Not usually,’ I said.
‘Then I think we’ve found Newton.’ Jack pointed to a bin with two eyeballs visible through the holes near the top.
‘Newton?’ I said. ‘What are you doing in there?’
‘Hiding,’ he replied.
‘Well we’ve found you now,’ said Jack, ‘so you’d better come out. Your next race is about to start.’
‘That’s why I’m hiding,’ said Newton. ‘I can’t run in that race.’
‘Why not?’ I said.
‘Because I’m scared.’
‘Scared of losing?’ I said.
‘No,’ said Newton. ‘Scared of winning!’
‘But you don’t have to be scared of winning,’ said Jack. ‘You’ve already stood on top of the winners’ podium a few times today and you didn’t fall off.’
‘I’m not scared of that anymore,’ said Newton.
‘Then what?’ I said.
‘Fred and Clive Durkin,’ said Newton. ‘I was going to the changing rooms and they grabbed me and told me they would squeeze my head until it popped if I won the race.’
‘But why would they do that?’ said Jack. ‘They’re on our side!’
‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘And then again, perhaps not.’
Suddenly I realised the truth.
There was no time to lose!
‘Jack,’ I said, ‘I need you and Gretel and Jenny to form a guard around Newton and protect him when he finishes the race. Don’t let anybody hurt him. Okay?’
‘Got it,’ said Jack, frowning. ‘But Henry . . . you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?’
‘I’
ll try not to,’ I said, running off to find Fred and Clive.
But I was.
I was going to do the stupidest and most dangerous thing possible.
I was going to have a little talk with Fred and Clive Durkin.
Alone.
45
Henry vs Fred, round 1
It didn’t take me long to find them.
They had Penny and Gina bailed up against a wall, and although I couldn’t hear what they were saying, I could see that Penny and Gina were frightened.
I came up behind Fred and Clive. ‘Let them go!’ I said. ‘And their horses, too.’
Fred and Clive turned around and stared at me in surprise.
Penny and Gina sensibly took the opportunity to jump on their imaginary horses and gallop off.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Fred, an evil smile on his face. ‘If it isn’t my old friend Henry McThrottle.’
‘I’m not your old friend, Fred,’ I said.
‘I think you need to learn some manners, Henry. Don’t you think so, Clive?’
‘Definitely,’ said Clive. ‘He can be very rude.’
‘I don’t need a manners lesson,’ I said. ‘And if I did, you’d be the last person I’d come to!’
The smile disappeared from Fred’s face. ‘Have you got a problem, McThrottle?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a big problem.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Clive.
‘Shut up, Clive,’ said Fred. ‘Henry’s trying to tell us his problem.’
‘What did you say to Newton?’ I asked.
Fred looked blank. ‘Nothing.’
‘Then why was he hiding in a rubbish bin?’ I said.
‘I don’t know,’ said Fred, unable to resist a smirk. ‘Maybe because that’s where he belongs!’
‘Good one, Fred!’ said Clive.
‘Or maybe you told him that if he won his next race you’d squeeze his head until it popped—just like your hero, The Boa.’
‘What are you getting at?’ said Fred.
‘I know you’re working for Mr Constrictor. I saw you talking to him.’
‘We were just getting his autograph, weren’t we, Clive?’
Clive nodded.
‘You didn’t have pens or paper,’ I said. ‘And how come you’ve never been hit by any of the bus attacks in the schoolyard? Because you knew they were coming! And how did Mr Constrictor know to train Chomp to attack bananas? You told him about Mr Brainfright, that’s how! And now that we’re winning for the first time ever, Mr Constrictor has told you to go around threatening everybody in our team. Well, you’re not getting away with it. Because I’m going to tell Principal Greenbeard. You’re going down, Durkin—you and your stupid brother!’
‘Hey!’ said Clive. ‘I’m not stupid!’
‘Yes, you are,’ Fred said to Clive. Then he turned to me. ‘Are you quite finished, McThrottle?’
My heart was thumping.
I was panting.
I was sweating.
But I wasn’t finished. Not quite.
‘Wait until everybody finds out,’ I said. ‘You won’t be Fred “Goody-two-shoes” Durkin anymore. Finally, everybody will know what you’re really like.’
Fred smiled. ‘Have you finished now, McThrottle?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Any last words before Fred and I squeeze your head until it pops?’ said Clive, advancing towards me, his hands outstretched.
‘No, no, no, little brother,’ said Fred, putting his arm out to stop Clive. ‘No squeezing.’
‘No squeezing?’ said Clive. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Fred. ‘Never felt better. Henry, if you think you must tell Principal Greenbeard what you think you know, then that’s what you must do. Despite what you might think of me, I respect your honesty. In fact, I’m inspired. If you tell Principal Greenbeard everything you know, then I’m going to tell him—and the Northwest Police—everything I know about you.’
‘You don’t have anything on me!’ I said.
‘Are you so sure, Henry?’ he said. ‘After all, I do know something about that banana suit . . .’
I felt sick. My mouth went dry, but I acted as if what Fred had just said didn’t worry me.
‘Banana suit?’ I said. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just bluffing.’
‘Am I?’ said Fred.
‘Are you?’ said Clive.
‘If you’ve got something to tell me, then spit it out,’ I said.
‘Remember the tanker that ran off the road and crashed into the Banana Emporium?’ said Fred.
My heart started pounding again. My sweat started sweating. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ I said, but I was lying. I knew exactly what he was talking about. The question was, how much did he know?
‘Ah, but I think you do,’ said Fred. ‘Care to tell me the real reason that tanker ran off the road?’
‘It was an accident,’ I said.
‘It was no accident,’ said Fred. ‘I saw the whole thing!’
‘Me too,’ said Clive.
‘You weren’t even there,’ said Fred.
‘Oh,’ said Clive.
‘You’re lying, Fred,’ I said.
But for once Fred was definitely not lying. He knew everything. The whole sorry story.
‘You won’t tell anybody, will you?’ I said.
‘Of course not,’ said Fred. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it—unless you do something silly, of course . . . so, do we have an understanding?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We have an understanding.’
‘Understanding is good,’ said Fred. ‘It’s good when friends understand each other. Now get out of my sight, McThrottle.’
46
Newton’s bodyguards
As I walked back to our grandstand I wasn’t sure what I’d achieved—if anything—by going to visit Fred and Clive.
I had wanted to find out if they were working for Mr Constrictor, and if so, to make them stop.
Now I knew for sure that they were working for Mr Constrictor, and they knew that I knew, but I couldn’t stop them because Fred knew too much about me. And even worse, he now knew that I knew that he knew too much.
Confused? It wasn’t that difficult, really.
What it boiled down to was that if I spilled the beans on Fred, he would spill the beans on me, and I couldn’t risk that. So I was under Fred’s thumb. And one thing I didn’t like being was under anybody’s thumb, especially Fred’s.
As I took my seat back in the grandstand, I was in such a state of shock I barely even noticed that down on the field Newton was coming up the home straight of his four-hundred-metre sprint.
The crowd was roaring.
So was Flip Johnson. ‘And Newton Hooton is dominating this race!’ he said with excitement. ‘He’s running faster than a dandelion in a pink dress! Go, Newton, go!’
I was worried about Newton, but to tell you the truth, I was even more worried about myself. If Newton won this race, Fred and Clive would hold me responsible.
But it was too late. Newton went shooting across the finish line, a full three seconds ahead of the nearest Northwest West Academy runner.
As he did, Jack, Gretel and Jenny closed in around him and escorted him safely to the winners’ podium in preparation for yet another climb to the top.
The crowd went wild.
Flip Johnson went wild.
Mr Brainfright went wild.
And Mr Constrictor went wild, too. But Mr Constrictor didn’t go good-wild. He went wild-wild.
He’d clearly been counting on Fred and Clive’s threats to stop our winning streak dead in its tracks. But, like his bus attacks, his banana-hating dog, and his attempts to intimidate the judges, it hadn’t worked.
As Mr Brainfright started up a victory chant in front of our grandstand, Mr Constrictor came surging across the field towards him.
He was flanked by Troy Gurgling
on one side and the slavering, teeth-gnashing Chomp on the other.
I wasn’t sure what he was up to exactly, but I did know one thing—he hadn’t come to shake Mr Brainfright’s hand.
47
Constrictor vs Brainfright
‘Hey, Brainfright!’ snarled Mr Constrictor. ‘Turn around and fight like a man!’
Mr Brainfright stopped dancing and turned around. ‘Fight? Whatever for? And fight like a man? Why, that’s impossible—I’m a banana!’
‘Are you trying to be funny?’ said Mr Constrictor, moving his face menacingly close to Mr Brainfright’s banana head.
‘No,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘My job is to inspire my school.’
‘Is it really?’ said Mr Constrictor. ‘I could have sworn your intention was to distract and confuse my school with your stupid antics.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘But every team has a right to have a mascot. And your dog is no angel. You may not realise this, but he’s actually very frightening to some of our students.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Mr Constrictor, whose upper lip was curling in a very frightening way . . . much like Chomp’s.
‘Well, the way he snarls and slavers,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘He looks quite . . . dangerous—like those teeth of his would really hurt . . .’
‘Are you saying my dog’s aggressive?’ said Mr Constrictor, as Chomp made yet another lunge for Mr Brainfright’s legs.
‘Not at all!’ said Mr Brainfright, stepping backwards. ‘I’m just saying . . .’
‘If you insult my dog, you insult me!’ said Mr Constrictor.
‘If you’ll just let me finish,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘It’s just that—’
But Mr Constrictor was in no mood to let Mr Brainfright finish. He handed Chomp’s leash to Troy, and opened his arms wide.
At first I thought he was embracing Mr Brainfright, but when I heard the high-pitched gurgling noise coming from Mr Brainfright’s throat I realised the truth.
Mr Brainfright was being squeezed!
‘I’ll give your brain a fright all right, Mr Brainfright!’ roared Mr Constrictor. ‘I’m going to squeeze your brain till it pops!’
Mascot Madness! Page 8