The Bravest Kid I've Ever Known and Other Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls

by Christopher Milne

  The Bravest Kid I’ve Ever Known

  and Other Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls

  published in 2010 by

  Hardie Grant Egmont

  Ground Floor, Building 1, 658 Church Street,

  Richmond Victoria 3121, Australia

  www.hardiegrantegmont.com.au

  EISBN 978 1 742733 86 9

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means without the prior permission of the publishers and copyright owner.

  A CiP record for this title is available from the National Library of Australia.

  Text copyright © 2010 Christopher Milne

  Illustration and design copyright © 2010 Hardie Grant Egmont

  Illustration and design by Simon Swingler

  Typesetting by Ektavo

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Bravest Kid I’ve Ever Known

  The Girl Who was never Wrong

  A very Unlucky Boy

  A very Nasty Girl

  The Worst Team in the World

  Father Christmas Crakes a Wobbly

  A very Naughty Boy

  Peter Mills is the bravest kid I’ve ever known. Peter Mills is my brother.

  Now I know it’s no use saying how brave Pete is unless I can prove it. And I will. I’ll tell you a story about him — an excellent story. But first I have to explain something.

  Our mum and dad have split up. Which is nothing unusual, I suppose, but unless it’s happened to you too, some of this might be hard to understand. So you’ll have to use your imagination, which isn’t so bad.

  When we were all still together, Mum and Dad used to fight really badly. All the time. And Pete and I would get this terrible feeling. Almost a sick feeling that this was it. That Mum might leave. Or Dad might. And then that worst feeling of all, that you might never see them again. Sometimes it’s hard for me to even talk about it.

  I wanted to scream out, ‘Please! Stop it! You’re such nice people and we love you — why do you fight all the time?’ But I didn’t. I would just cry and leave the room.

  Pete didn’t. He stayed. He wanted to cry, but he stuck it out as long as he could. Do you know what he did? He tried to make Mum and Dad laugh by telling jokes. If that didn’t work — and it usually didn’t — he’d make silly faces. One day he even pretended to hit his funny bone. Poor Pete. He thought if Mum and Dad laughed, they’d stop fighting.

  Later I’d hear Pete crying by himself in his room. Yep, Pete is the bravest kid I’ve ever known.

  After Mum and Dad split up, it wasn’t as bad as Pete and I thought. Not nearly as bad. Mum and Dad said they loved us so much that whatever happened, we would all stay close to each other. And we have. Mum and Dad’s houses are just ten minutes apart and we spend half our time with Dad and half with Mum.

  It’s not as good as it used to be but, as I say, it’s not bad either. Poor Dad still misses Mum, but he tries to be brave about it. Maybe that’s where Pete gets it from. Sometimes I think Mum misses Dad too. Maybe she’s the bravest of everybody.

  Which brings me to the real start of the story. I’ve taken a long time to get there, I know, but you have to know everything to understand.

  One day this new kid started at school. Straight away, I knew I didn’t like him. His mum and dad had suddenly changed jobs, so he didn’t start until halfway through first term. Bruce was his name. Big Bruce. And he was a fighter.

  Big Bruce could think of really smart things to say that made you feel stupid. And then he’d laugh and maybe spit on you. If you said anything back, he’d punch you out. And he never, ever stopped punching you until you cried. He reckoned that’s when you’d given in.

  You can understand why Bruce wasn’t exactly my best friend. One day he did a wee in my lunch box. I’ve had better days.

  Bruce used to get everybody. Everybody, that is, except Pete. Sure, he bashed Pete up. And made him cry, too. But he was never able to make Pete feel stupid. It was as if Pete was somehow strong inside. There was just nothing Bruce could say to get him.

  It was really strange. You could watch Bruce punch Pete out and see Pete cry and then hang around while Pete slowly got up off the ground, and somehow — don’t ask me why — you would get this feeling that Pete had won! Maybe it was this look Pete used to get. It was different from any look I’ve ever seen. It was a strong look — as though Pete knew something we didn’t. And did it get to Bruce! It drove him crazy.

  So Bruce started asking questions. Really sneaky questions. Trying to find something — anything — that would really fix Pete up. And he found it.

  Before I get to the next bit, which is the really good bit, I should tell you about Pete’s running. Pete was the fastest kid in school. In fact the fastest kid any of us had ever seen. You’ll know why I had to tell you that later.

  Anyway, one day we were playing a game of football at lunchtime and we stopped to get a drink. Bruce came over and bashed Pete on the back of the head so that he’d hit his teeth on the tap. But Pete saw him coming and stiffened his neck just in case.

  Bruce was really angry, and he must have thought to himself, This is it. This is the time. So he made sure everyone was listening, and he let Pete have it.

  ‘No wonder your stupid mum and dad split up,’ said Bruce. ‘I’ve heard they’re both dorks. And that they split up because of you.’

  Well, you could have heard a pin drop. Everyone waited. They knew how much Pete and I loved Mum and Dad. And they knew how much we wished they were together again. But Pete didn’t say anything. Nothing. It was as if Bruce were talking to someone else. Except for one little thing. Something that only I noticed. Pete had that look I told you about.

  Well, the footy game had only been going again for a couple of minutes when Pete disappeared. I thought he must have gone to the toilet.

  There’s one more thing I have to tell you. Pete used to watch the football replays on TV and the thing he liked best was what Dad called a ‘shirt-front’. That’s when a guy is running as fast as he can with his eyes on the ball, watching it come down from a high kick, and another guy running from the opposite direction crashes straight into his guts.

  It’s about the worst, bone-crunching, painful-looking thing you could ever see. The shirt-frontee is usually carried off on a stretcher. As I said, Pete loved them.

  Well, the game of footy kept going and Bruce was getting heaps of kicks. That’s because everyone else was scared to go near him. And then it happened.

  Bruce and Ali Fez were running side by side, trying to beat each other to a ball that had been kicked high over their heads. They were running as fast as they could and they were dangerously close to the trees along the boundary line. Ali got slightly in front, so Bruce grabbed him by the jumper and smashed him to the ground.

  That left Bruce free to take the mark of the year all by himself. Well, almost by himself. I was the first one to notice. A foot sticking out from behind a tree. Pete’s foot. And then Pete’s eyes. Gleaming eyes. Pete knew that this was his moment.

  Just as Bruce ran the last few strides to take his fantastic, brilliant mark of marks, a charging rhinoceros called Peter Mills came out from behind the tree. It was the fastest any of us had ever seen Pete run. And that’s fast.

  We could see what was going to happen, but Bruce couldn’t. His eyes were still on the ball. Poor Bruce. And do you know what? I had to force myself to
watch it. THE SHIRT-FRONT OF THE YEAR. SMACK!

  Not in a million years could Pete have done a better job. Bones rattled, teeth chattered, skin shivered and eyes rolled. The kids who hadn’t been able to watch said they wished they had, because listening to it was even worse. Something like an elephant being hit by a truck.

  As Bruce lay groaning on the ground, feeling as sick as he’d ever felt in his life, Pete walked over to say sorry. He put out his hand to help Bruce up, and then did a burp right in Bruce’s face. A burp that was all too obviously a result of Pete’s lunch of salami, onions and smelly cheese.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Pete.

  Bruce threw up.

  Now, I know hurting people is bad. Dad always says violence only breeds more violence. But to this day Pete reckons it was a fair bump. And Bruce wasn’t hurt that badly, although he still feels a bit pukey when he thinks about it. I’m sure that’s because of the belch, though. The kids who were nearby said it was Pete’s best ever. A real sickie burp.

  Bruce and Pete are friends these days, and do you know what? Bruce’s mum and dad hadn’t really changed jobs. Just his mum. You see, his parents had split up too. Poor Bruce. His way of hiding how sad it made him was to be nasty to everyone else.

  Over the last few weeks, my dad has been visiting Bruce’s mum a bit. I think he likes her. In fact I know he does. I saw them having cuddles.

  I’m going to tell Dad to take it slowly, though. No point in rushing in — he might get a shirt-front.

  Mandy Cripps stormed home from school, crashed open the front door and threw her bag against her bedroom wall. Then she pinched her little brother, marched into the kitchen and demanded, ‘What is there to eat?’

  ‘For a start, I will not have you speaking to me like that,’ replied her mum. ‘And secondly, the answer is nothing because dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. I’ve got school council tonight.’

  ‘But I’m hungry now!’ said Mandy.

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to wait,’ said her mum. ‘Did you eat all your lunch?’

  ‘What lunch?’ said Mandy. ‘Had to pick up papers and didn’t get time.’

  ‘Not another detention?’ asked her mum.

  ‘The idiot teacher said I was talking in class,’ said Mandy.

  ‘Oh really?’ said her mum. ‘And which “idiot” was it this time?’

  ‘Mr Tyres,’ said Mandy.

  ‘And were you talking?’ asked her mum.

  ‘No,’ replied Mandy. ‘All I did was ask Sandra for a loan of her rubber.’

  ‘Well,’ said her mum, ‘unless the whole world has switched over to sign language, asking for a rubber is talking!’

  ‘No, it’s not!’ said Mandy.

  ‘It seems to me, young girl,’ continued her mum, ‘that everyone is an idiot except you! Your teachers, your brother, your father and me…’

  ‘You can say that again,’ said Mandy.

  ‘Right!’ shouted her mum. ‘That’s it! Go to your room and I don’t want to even see you again until the morning. Is that clear? No dinner. Nothing!’

  ‘Idiot,’ said Mandy again, as she stormed off and slammed the door behind her.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mandy’s mum asked her dad later.

  ‘Got me beaten,’ said her dad. ‘We give her absolutely everything, yet she’s been a rude, grumpy little miss from the moment she was born. Perhaps we spoil her too much?’

  ‘I’m sure we do,’ said Mandy’s mum. ‘What was it first? The terrible twos? Then the shocking sixes, the evil eights and I can’t think of one to go with elevens, but how does bad-mannered, ill-tempered, stubborn and selfish sound?’

  ‘Spot on,’ said Dad. ‘And it’s time it stopped!’

  The trouble was, Mandy had heard this all before. And she knew that all she had to do was suck up to her parents for a couple of minutes and they would melt. Go to water.

  Just forty-seven minutes after being told to stay in her room for the rest of the night, Mandy Cripps strolled out of her room and said, ‘Hello, Daddy.’ Then she gave him a huge hug and, with the cheekiest of grins, added, ‘Something smells good.’

  Her parents looked at each other, shrugged and thought, What do you do?

  You see, Mandy’s parents were the sort of oldies — and there are an awful lot of them — who love their children so much, so desperately, that they can’t bear the thought of them being sad for one little minute. As if a little sadness might be the start of a long one, which might lead to a child feeling lost and abandoned and damaged and unloved and…

  Pathetic, isn’t it?

  So the parents give in to their kids at every turn. They know deep down that they’re suckers, that what is really needed is a bit of discipline, to say no every now and then, but they can’t help themselves.

  Sometimes it’s parents who need to grow up. Mandy had worked this all out, it seemed, about two hours after she was born. But getting away with everything, and being spoilt rotten, and thinking you’re right all the time and everyone else is wrong, is not a good thing.

  Unfortunately, kids sometimes need to work that out for themselves. Otherwise trouble can come along. And so it did for Mandy.

  Mandy had been arguing with her little brother at the beach one day, accusing him of stealing money from her bag. ‘You pinched it!’ she yelled. ‘I had two dollars and now it’s not there.’

  ‘I haven’t been near your stupid bag,’ replied her brother.

  ‘It must have been you,’ said Mandy. ‘No-one else…’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ interrupted her brother. ‘What’s that in the sand? Look, two dollars! So say you’re sorry!’

  ‘No way,’ said Mandy. ‘You must have stolen it and then hidden it in the sand.’

  ‘Mum!’ yelled her brother. ‘Mandy is calling me a liar.’

  But Mandy was already stomping her way towards the water.

  ‘Watch out for the undertow!’ yelled her mother. ‘And stay between the flags. It’s rough out there.’

  ‘No, it’s not, idiot,’ said Mandy under her breath.

  It was rough. Very rough.

  But Mandy was in such a foul mood that she didn’t care. And suddenly she found herself in trouble. A wave had knocked her down and as she struggled to regain her footing, the undertow grabbed her and swept her out of her depth. Then another wave. Over her head. Down she went, thrashing, then up. Quick!

  Gasp for breath!

  But at that very moment, water flicked up and splashed into her mouth. The gasp for breath had become a terrified sucking in of water. Into her lungs. Now choking, unable to touch the bottom, panicking.

  Going under again.

  ‘Mummy!’

  The next thing Mandy remembered was coughing and spluttering on the beach. One of those fantastic, heroic people called lifesavers had swum out and brought her in. But something else was wrong. Very wrong!

  Although Mandy was now clearly out of danger, her mother was still crying and hysterical. Crazy with panic.

  And why did she keep going back and forth from Mandy to the edge of the water?

  Then Mandy realised. Her little brother had swum out to save her! The mad, brave little idiot. He’d gone under a huge wave and now no-one could see him.

  That’s the trouble with not having the courage to admit that you’re wrong once in a while. Just like the guy who drinks too much and says he’s OK to drive. Or the girl who gets out of a losing argument by saying something really cruel. Other people get hurt.

  And do you know what’s crazy? It’s actually all right to be wrong sometimes. It’s natural. It’s human. It’s likeable.

  Well, Mandy’s little brother did get rescued. Eventually. But he’s never been the same since. And neither has Mandy.

  Seems all wrong, doesn’t it?

  Little Jimmy Jones was never going to be the most popular kid at school. With girls, anyway. He had elephant ears, sticky-out hair and a face like a bucket full of bums.

  And when i
t came to sport, he was useless. And schoolwork as well. I guess you could say Jimmy was an all-round loser. Probably the unluckiest kid I’ve ever known.

  Except for one thing, I suppose. He did have a sense of humour. And most of his jokes made fun of himself. Which was good because it saved everyone else from having to do it.

  So when a new teacher suggested a school dance, Jimmy had a problem. A big problem. He had to ask a girl to go with him. And what girl was going to say yes to dorky Jimmy Jones?

  The whole idea made Jimmy angry. Not just because he knew nobody would want to go with him — he didn’t even like dancing! In fact, if he thought about it, he didn’t even like girls! And Jimmy wasn’t alone. None of the boys he’d spoken to thought a dance was a good idea.

  ‘Useless,’ said Nathan Smith.

  ‘Rather stay home and punch out my little brother,’ said Roger Downey.

  The girls had their doubts, too. ‘What if that stupid Kevin Bennetts asks me?’ said Maria Faldo. ‘He wouldn’t know how to dance if he practised for a million years. And I bet his big fat butt sticks out.’

  The new teacher, Mrs Cleary, said the dance was going ahead and that was that. Mrs Cleary was one of those really bossy types of teachers, and she gave heaps of homework. Everyone hated her. But she was old, so there was always a chance she would die or something.

  Jimmy’s mum asked who he was going to invite to the dance.

  ‘Not sure,’ said Jimmy. ‘Might invite myself. At least I’d say yes. I’m the only one who wouldn’t have to look at my dopey face.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said his mum. ‘You’ve got a lovely little face! Why don’t you ask Karen Murphy?’

  ‘Her?’ said Jimmy. ‘She’s a dog!’

  ‘Jimmy Jones!’ yelled his mum. ‘Don’t let me ever hear you using that word again. No-one’s a dog. We all have our good points and our bad points. But mostly good. And don’t you forget it!’