Stanley Stickle Hates Homework

by Trevor Forest

  Stanley presents…The homework quiz

  When Stanley got to school the next day, he received the dreadful news that the school’s big test was due. Stanley and his classmates were to be given extra homework every night until the big test to help them prepare for it.

  ‘This just isn’t fair,’ said Stanley to his best friend George at morning break. ‘We should go on strike. I’m sure it’s against our human rights or something.’ Stanley had seen a news item about human rights on TV.

  George agreed. ‘We won’t have time to play Battlefield Blast much will we?’

  ‘Stanley shook his head, sadly. ‘We’ll be miles behind on points by the time we get back online. We’ll never catch your brother’s team up if we can’t get on to play.’ George’s brother, Jamie, was at a different school and they had already had their big test.

  Stanley’s mood didn’t improve when he found out that he had lost his place in the school football team to Thomas Timms. Stanley was the better player but the games teacher had caught him and George taking a short cut on the cross-country run and banned then both for two matches.

  That evening at tea, Stanley’s conversation returned to a familiar theme.

  ‘I hate homework.’

  ‘We know,’ said Stacey.

  ‘I don’t know why it’s even called homework; it’s schoolwork really.’

  ‘They call it homework because you do it at home,’ said Mum, helpfully.

  ‘But they give it us at school, so it’s schoolwork really,’ argued Stanley.

  ‘I’m not going to argue with you, Stanley.’ Mum shook her head and returned to spreading butter onto thin slices of wholemeal bread.

  Stanley carried on regardless. ‘And seeing as is should be called schoolwork, it should be done at school, shouldn’t it?’

  Mum bit her lip and said nothing.

  ‘I’m going to write a letter to the Prime Minister about it,’ said Stanley. He reached into his schoolbag and pulled out his jotter.

  ‘Dear Mr…’ Stanley racked his brains but couldn’t remember the Prime Minister’s name so he scratched out Dear Mr and started again on the next line. ‘Dear Prime Minister…’

  ‘What a good idea,’ said Mum who had checked Stanley’s homework sheet before he went to school that morning. ‘You have to write a letter for English this week, you can kill two birds with one stone.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Stanley was puzzled.

  ‘Well,’ said Mum. ‘When you write your letter, you’ll be doing your homework and putting your grievance in to the Prime Minister at the same time.’

  Stanley put his book back into his bag and screwed the top back on his pen. This wasn’t right. Homework had to be put off as long as possible, and anyway, English homework wasn’t due in until Friday.

  Mum put a tray of pies into the oven and turned to Stanley. ‘Not bothering just yet then? Perhaps it’s just as well. You have Geography homework to hand in tomorrow. Don’t forget you have to finish it.’

  Stanley pulled a face. He’d forgotten about Jogga homework. He was about to make an excuse when Stacey came into the kitchen. Stanley started to throw an insult at her but bit his tongue as he had a brilliant idea; one of his best ever. He pulled out his jotter and pen and hid them on his knee under the table.

  ‘Bet you don’t know what the capital of Austria is,’ he said.

  ‘Bet I do,’ said Stacey with a grin.

  ‘Don’t don’t, don’t,’ said Stanley.

  ‘Do,’ said Stacey. ‘I could name every capital city in the world, easy.’

  ‘You’re bluffing,’ said Stanley.

  ‘VIENNA,’ shouted Stacey.

  ‘HA! That was just a test,’ said Stanley. ‘Bet you can’t do five out of five.’

  ‘Bet I can,’ said Stacey.

  Stanley jotted down Vienna on his pad then switched on the spotlight over the kitchen table and adjusted the light so that it shone onto Stacey.

  ‘You have decided to take the challenge,’ said Stanley the quizmaster. ‘I must remind you that your first answer is the only one I can accept.’

  Stacey looked smug. ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘Your prize, should you win…’ (Stanley looked around the room seeking out a prize,) ‘…is this beautiful, plastic salt pot. Good luck. Here is your first question.’

  Stacey placed both hands on her lap and waited.

  ‘What is the capital city of…Russia?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘Easy Peasy, it’s Moscow,’ said Stacey.

  Stanley looked down as if he was checking his question sheet and scribbled Russia, Moscow, on his pad. ‘Correct answer,’ he said.

  Stacey looked even smugger.

  Stanley looked Stacey in the eye for a few seconds then asked. ‘What is the capital city of Egypt?’

  ‘Cairo,’ said Stacey.

  ‘Correct answer,’ said Stanley and scribbled Cairo in his jotter.

  Stanley looked at his pad, then at Stacey. ‘You’re doing very well.’

  ‘Just get on with it,’ hissed Stacey.

  Stanley looked up from his pad. ‘What is the capital city of…India?’

  Stacey thought for a moment.

  ‘Would you like to phone a friend?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘No, it’s…err.’

  Stanley looked at his watch. ‘Ten seconds, nine…’

  ‘Delhi,’ screamed Stacey.

  ‘Is that your final answer?’ said Stanley.

  ‘Delhi,’ repeated Stacey. ‘Final answer.’

  Stanley jotted the answer down on his pad. ‘You’ll never get the last one,’ he said.

  ‘Bet I do.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Stanley, trying to look as though he was thinking up a really hard question. He looked at his list then narrowed his eyes.

  ‘Australia,’ he whispered.

  Stacey was quiet for a moment.

  ‘Didn’t think you’d get that one,’ said Stanley.

  ‘It’s Sydney. No, Canberra!’ yelled Stacey, triumphantly.

  ‘Well, which one is it?’ asked Stanley.

  ‘Canberra,’ said Stacey. ‘Definitely Canberra.’

  Stanley jotted Canberra down on his pad, took the salt pot and put it back with the other condiments. ‘I’m sorry, your first answer is the only one I can accept. You should have phoned a friend while you had the chance.’

  ‘But I was just thinking out loud. I said Canberra,’ shouted Stacey.

  ‘You said Sydney first,’ Stanley reminded her. ‘Four out of five isn’t bad, but it isn’t quite good enough.’

  ‘MUM! TELL HIM!’ screamed Stacey.

  ‘He’s just teasing you, dear, you knew the answers.’

  Stacey turned back to Stanley but he had already left the table to copy the answers onto his homework map.

  Stanley skipped up the stairs smirking to himself; it wasn’t often he got the better of Stacey, she was too clever. Stanley copied the names of the cities onto his homework map in his best writing. ‘Top marks this week,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Homework is easy.’

  Piles of sick and a master plan

  At school on Wednesday, Mr Globe, the Geography teacher was amazed to find that the first piece of homework placed on his desk belonged to Stanley Stickle. He remarked on it during the class.

  ‘I’ve just been outside to see if there are any prize porkers floating around in the sky, but there aren’t. This surprises me somewhat because I distinctly remember saying that pigs might fly before a certain class member got his homework in on time.’

  Stanley laughed along with the rest of the class. It was a good job Mr Globe didn’t know how he got his answers or he would have been in big trouble.

  Mr Globe was obviously pleased with Stanley. He didn’t tell him off for whispering in class and even let him off when he caught him drawing an ink tattoo of a pirate’s cutlass on his arm when he should have been taking notes.

  At the end of the lesson, Mr Globe picked up the pile of ha
nded in maps and set the next week’s homework.

  ‘This week I want you to draw me a map of Africa naming all the different countries. It will be handed in before the lesson next Wednesday. That’s Wednesday, next week, Stanley Stickle, not Christmas week.’

  Stanley tried to think of a funny answer but Mr Globe spoke again before he had time.

  ‘You will all be pleased to hear that next week I’ll be setting extra homework in preparation for the big test. Isn’t that kind of me?’

  Stanley grumbled about it in the playground.

  ‘It’s not fair; we get too much homework as it is.’

  ‘It’s only an extra hour’s work and you’ve got a whole week to do it, said Gemma the Gerbil. She was called The Gerbil because she was the teacher’s pet.

  ‘It’s only an extra hour,’ mimicked Stanley. He turned to George. ‘It’s an hour we’ll be wasting doing homework when we could be playing Battlefield Blast on the X-Box.’

  Thomas Timms agreed with Gemma the Gerbil. ‘What’s an hour? I’ll do mine before church on Sunday.’

  Stanley looked at him in horror. Going to church was worse than doing homework. He was glad his parents weren’t regular churchgoers.

  ‘Do you get any time to have fun, Thomas?’ asked Stanley. ‘You always seem to be in church or going to choir practice. On top of that you’re a Rovers fan, that can’t be any fun at all.’

  ‘The Rovers are the best team in the world and church and choir practice are fun.’ Thomas made a strange, ‘OooOOooooOo,’ sort of noise and put his hands on his stomach.

  ‘Pardon?’ Stanley looked at Thomas closely. His face had turned white. He bent over, still holding his stomach. ‘I feel ill,’ he said.

  Stanley backed off. He didn’t like the look of Thomas.

  Thomas made the, ‘OooOOooooOo,’ noise again and a jet of vomit shot from his mouth. It missed Stanley by inches and splattered all over the playground fence. The twins, Mandy and Sandy held their hands in front of their mouths to stop themselves being sick at the sight of Thomas’s sick.

  Mrs Baker, the cookery teacher hurried across to Thomas. She felt his forehead; it was really hot. Thomas made the, ‘OooOOooooOo’ noise again and threw up on Mrs Baker’s shoes. That was too much for Mandy; she made a gurgling sound and was sick on Thomas’s school bag.

  Mrs Baker half dragged the whimpering Thomas to the school office and asked Ms Clark, the receptionist, to ring Thomas’s mother. By the time she got back to the playground there were four piles of sick on the floor and by the looks of the green faces on one or two of the children standing nearby, that total was about to be added to. She despatched Stanley to fetch Mr Handy, the caretaker. ‘Tell him to bring a mop and bucket,’ she ordered.

  Stanley protested. ‘Why me? I didn’t throw up.’ Then he saw the look in Mrs Baker’s eye. ‘Yes, Miss,’ he said.

  Stanley found the caretaker in the boiler house tapping some of the heating pipes with a spanner.

  ‘Mrs Baker says can you take a mop and bucket to the playground. There’s a mountain of sick to clean up so you might need a shovel too.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll be there in a minute,’ said Mr Handy. He tapped another pipe and listened closely. ‘Can you hear an echo when I tap?’ he asked.

  Stanley shook his head. ‘No, but I’d hurry if I were you. You might have to dig someone out if it isn’t moved soon.’

  By the time Stanley got back, Mrs Baker had cleaned her shoes and gathered the children into a circle in the playground.

  ‘Is anyone else feeling unwell?’ she asked.

  Ruby Ratner put up her hand. ‘I feel all hot miss. I think I’ve got the flu.’

  ‘I feel funny too,’ said Allergy Alan. He scratched at a red blotch on his face. Alan was allergic to everything.

  Kieran Kyte held up his hand. ‘I feel ill too, Miss. I feel really sick and hot. My sister had the flu last week, so I bet I’ve got it now.’

  ‘I bet you get it worse than her,’ whispered Stanley, who didn’t get on with Kieran. ‘The bug must be really strong by now; I bet you get it worse than anyone…’

  ‘Stanley Stickle, shut up this minute,’ said Mrs Baker, angrily.

  Stanley looked at her with his best innocent face. ‘I was just saying…’

  Mrs Baker wasn’t taken in. ‘Well stop just saying before I make you clean up Thomas’s sick yourself.’ She thought for a moment before adding, ‘or maybe you’d prefer a role in the school play?’

  Stanley shut up immediately. He knew when he was beaten. The school was putting on a performance of Oliver and he would rather do 100,000 hours of Maths homework than stand in front of the school singing, ‘You’ve got to pick a pocket or two.’

  By the time the afternoon was over, nine children had gone home sick. Stanley wasn’t amused. ‘It’s not fair,’ he said to George. ‘They’ll probably miss all the extra homework and the big test…’ Stanley paused as the most brilliant idea he had ever had in his life hit him like a thunderbolt. If he could catch something, hopefully something minor, he would miss all the extra work too. Stanley said a hurried goodbye to George and rushed off to put his big plan into action.