Mrs Ratner gave Stanley a stern look. ‘Ruby is going to get straight back into bed and stay there until she’s well. Now, be off with you before I call your mother.’
Mrs Ratner pulled in her head and slammed the window shut.
Plan C. Desperate measures
Stanley trudged back to the street with a hangdog expression on his face. He’d almost succeeded that time. So near but yet so far.
He was just about to go to Allergic Alan’s house when he saw Soppy Sonia walking slowly down the road carrying her violin case. Stanley looked around for somewhere to hide. Sonia was the soppiest girl in the school. She was always saying things like, puppy-wuppy and kittikins. Stanley jumped back behind Mrs Ratner’s gate and bobbed down.
‘What are you doing down there, Stanley Stickle?’
Stanley looked up at Soppy Sonia. ‘I was, err, just tying my shoelace,’ he said.
‘But you don’t have any shoelaces, silly.’
Stanley slapped his forehead. ‘I forgot I was wearing these shoes and, err… no, I meant to say I thought I saw a 50p on the floor, but it was just a milk bottle top.’
Soppy Sonia giggled. ‘Oh you are funny, Stanley Stickle. Anyone would think you were hiding from someone.’
Stanley decided it was time to change the subject. ‘It’s Wednesday, Sonia, shouldn’t you be at after-school violin practice?’
‘I was, but I got sent home because I felt ill. I’m all hot and I keep sneezing. I think I’m going to be poorly.
Stanley stood back so Sonia could get by. ‘Well, don’t let me stop you, I…’ Stanley stopped suddenly as plan C shot into to his mind.
‘Sorry to hear you’re ill, Sonia. Any idea what you might have caught?’
‘It’ll be chickenpox,’ said Sonia. ‘My silly little brother had it last week.’
Stanley studied her face closely. ‘I can’t see any spots.’
‘They won’t come out yet, that will be next week. You have to have two weeks off school with chickenpox.’
Stanley whooped. ‘Two weeks! Two, whole weeks! Lucky you, Sonia, you’ll miss the big test and the extra homework.’
Sonia looked sad. ‘I’d rather do the big test and the homework than have rotten, chickenpox. The spots itch and if you scratch, it can leave a scar.’ Sonia began to cry. ‘I don’t want a nasty scar.’ she wailed.
Stanley rolled his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t mind a scar or two, pirates always have scars.’
‘But you’re not a horrible pirate,’ said Sonia. ‘You’re Stanley Stickle, my school friend.’
‘If you were really my friend you’d do me a big favour,’ said Stanley, slyly.
‘What do you want?’ asked Sonia, suspiciously. ‘I don’t have any money.’
‘I don’t want money, Sonia,’ said Stanley.
‘Then what do you want? You can’t have my violin.’
I don’t want your violin, Sonia. I just want you to do something for me.’
‘I’ll try my best,’ replied Sonia. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I want you to blow into my face,’ said Stanley.
Sonia shook her head. ‘No, I won’t.’
‘Please...’
Sonia was adamant. ‘No, it’s not nice, blowing into people’s faces. You can catch germs.’
‘I know,’ said Stanley. ‘That’s the point.’
Sonia shook her head. ‘I’m not going to do it.’
Stanley tried a different tack. ‘Well, could you just rub your hands over your face and then rub them all over mine?’
Sonia was puzzled again. ‘Whatever for, Stanley?’
‘I want your chickenpox, Sonia. I’ve never wanted anything so badly, not ever.’
‘Why do you want chickenpox, Stanley? It’s horrible. Anyway, I told you, I don’t have any spots yet.’
‘Come on, Sonia, the spots might be hiding just under your skin,’ said Stanley, desperately.
‘No, I won’t do it,’ said Sonia. ‘It’s not hygienic.’
Stanley gave up and turned to go. It was time to try his luck at Allergic Alan’s house.
‘There is another way I could give you my chickenpox,’ said Sonia, sweetly.
Stanley turned back. ‘How?’
‘I could give you a big kiss. How would that be?’
Stanley eyes popped wide open. A big kiss? from Soppy Sonia? He took a step back. He’d rather spend a night in a snake-infested pit.
Stanley wanted to run, but he was frozen to the spot. Sonia pursed her lips and waited.
‘Look, err… are you sure you can’t just blow into my face or something. Kissing seems a bit over the top.’
Sonia shook her head again. ‘No, Stanley, it’s a big kiss or nothing.’ She pursed her lips again.
Stanley grimaced. This was his worst nightmare… but…kissing Soppy Sonia would be a good way to catch chickenpox, wouldn’t it?
‘Are you really poorly?’ he whispered.
‘Really poorly,’ Sonia replied.
‘Really, seriously, almost dead, poorly?’ he asked.
‘Really, dreadfully, poorly. I’m so hot I could almost faint,’ said Sonia.
Stanley took another close look. Sonia’s face was a bright red colour and she looked rather blotchy around the neck. He put his ear next to her mouth. Her breath was as hot as a volcano. ‘Okay,’ he said eventually, ‘but it would have to be a quick peck on the cheek.’
‘You silly thing,’ said Sonia. ‘You won’t catch chickenpox like that. It will have to be a big, long, kiss on the lips.’
Stanley shuddered. On the lips? He’d rather face a hoard of Zombies with nothing more than a banana for protection.
‘Just a quick peck then,’ he said.
‘It would have to last for at least twenty seconds to get the germs,’ said Sonia.
Stanley was shocked. Twenty seconds? That was forever.
Sonia tapped her foot. ‘So, what’s it to be, Stanley. I have to get home.’
Stanley made a decision.
‘Okay then, a twenty-second kiss it is.’ He looked up and down the road to make sure no one from school was going to catch them. Sonia pursed her lips again and leant forward.
Stanley had a final demand.
‘You have to promise not to tell anyone about this or I’ll…I’ll… tell everyone you went to the cinema with Pongy Pete.’ (Pete was the sweatiest boy in the school; he could sweat in a snowstorm.) ‘You wouldn’t,’ said Sonia.
‘I would, and I’ll tell them I saw you holding hands,’ he added.
Sonia’s mouth opened wide. ‘You can’t tell people I held hands with Pongy Pete, it isn’t fair.’
‘I can, and I will,’ said Stanley. ‘So you had better not tell anyone about this.’
‘I might not give you a kiss after all, Stanley Stickle. I might just go home and keep my chickenpox germs to myself.’
Stanley began to panic. ‘Don’t do that, Sonia. I won’t make things up about you, but let’s just keep this as our little secret eh?’
Sonia clapped her hands together and beamed at Stanley. ‘I’m good at keeping secrets. I didn’t tell anyone that I’d seen Martin Morris carrying Christy Cross’s bag home from school for at least two days.’
Stanley steadied himself and stood in front of Sonia. ‘Come on then, let’s get this over with,’ he said with a shaky voice.
Stanley pursed his lips and shut his eyes tight as he saw the enormous lips of Soppy Sonia heading towards him. After what seemed an eternity, he pulled away.
‘Right, that’s that then. Thanks Sonia, I really appreciate your help.’ Stanley wiped his mouth and looked at his watch. ‘Is that the time? Must rush.’
‘That was never twenty seconds,’ said Sonia. ‘I was counting, it was more like three.’
‘THREE! It was more than three,’ said Stanley. ‘It must have been. It seemed like ten minutes.’
‘It was three,’ said Sonia. ‘You owe me another seventeen.’
Stanley ga
sped. ‘Seventeen?’
‘Come on, I’ll tell you when to stop.’ Sonia pursed her lips again.
Stanley stepped forward, defeated. Sonia grabbed him round the back of his neck and held on tight while she pressed her lips onto his. After five seconds, Stanley tried to break away but Sonia held on. After ten seconds Stanley thought he was going to faint. He had no air left in his lungs and he felt light headed. It seemed that Sonia was sucking the life out of him. After fifteen seconds, Stanley’s toes curled up and he went limp, he had no fight left. A picture came into his mind of the daily paper with a big headline saying; ‘Schoolboy kissed to death in street.’
Eventually, after thirty of the longest seconds on record, Sonia let him go. Stanley took a step backwards and collapsed onto his backside.
Sonia curtseyed. ‘You’re my boyfriend now, Stanley Stickle. You have to be now we’ve kissed properly.’
Soppy Sonia skipped off up the road singing a soppy song, leaving a dejected, defeated Stanley, sitting confused and alone on the pavement.
Stanley hates sick
When Stanley got home, his mother called him into the kitchen. ‘Where have you been, Stanley? It’s gone five o’clock. I was beginning to get worried.’
‘Oh I err, just called in on a couple of friends on the way home,’ he replied.
Mrs Stickle felt Stanley’s forehead and looked him over for signs of ill health. ‘Stacey came home from school sick this morning. The doctor thinks she’s got scarlet fever.’
Stanley laughed silently. Serves her right for being such a clever-clogs.
‘Scarlet fever is very infectious,’ continued Mrs Stickle. ‘We’ll have to keep a close eye on you in case you’ve got it too.’
Stanley thought about it for a second. ‘I do have a bit of a sore throat,’ he croaked ‘and I seem to be getting a headache.’ He coughed weakly. ‘I think I might have it, Mum.’
Mrs Stickle sighed. ‘No school for you tomorrow, Stanley. We’ll have to keep you away just in case.’ She ruffled his hair and smiled. ‘I don’t suppose you want any tea if you’re feeling poorly?’
Stanley breathed in the aroma of fish and chips coming from the kitchen. ‘I’m, err, not poorly enough to miss tea. I might be in an hour or two though.’
The next morning Stanley had a temperature of 102. Mrs Stickle was so worried she called the doctor. He diagnosed scarlet fever, immediately. He put Stanley on a five-day course of antibiotics. ‘You’ll need to stay off school for ten days after that, young man,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’ll be disappointed about that.’
Stanley reached for the bowl and was violently sick for the third time since he woke up. He wiped his face on a towel and leaned back into his pillows. Scarlet fever was awful, but it was better than the big test and homework, wasn’t it?
That afternoon, Dad came in to see him.
‘It’s a shame you’re ill, Stanley,’ he said. ‘I managed to get two tickets for the semi-final today. Arthur Andrews had to go home from work with the flu so he can’t go.’ Mr Stickle sighed, softly. ‘But we can’t go either, now. I think I’d better give them to Thomas’s dad so he can take him instead.’
‘Thomas is ill too,’ croaked Stanley. ‘He’s got mumps or gastric flu or something.’
‘No he hasn’t,’ said Mr Stickle. ‘I saw his mum today. He just ate something that disagreed with him. He was only ill for a few hours; he’s back at school today.’
Stanley groaned. This was the worst news yet. He only got the idea about getting ill to miss the big test and the homework after seeing Thomas throw up at school. Worse still, Thomas was a Rovers fan.
‘I hate being ill,’ he said.
Stanley threw himself back into his pillows and stared at the ceiling. Maybe homework wasn’t quite as bad as being ill after all. Homework didn’t make you miss football semi-finals. Homework didn’t make you be sick five times a day. Homework didn’t make you have to stay in bed on a Saturday…
Stanley crossed his fingers on both hands and promised any wish-giving genie who might be listening that he would give up every wish coming his way if Rangers made it through to the cup final. He would be better by then and maybe Dad could get tickets. Stanley began to look forward to going back to school; being sick was boring. At school he could have a laugh with George and Toby. At school they could play tricks on Soppy Sonia.
Stanley groaned as he remembered the promise he had made to Soppy Sonia. He needed to think up a plan quickly. If he didn’t become Sonia’s boyfriend she was likely to tell everyone that they had had a thirty-second kiss and he couldn’t allow that to happen. She hadn’t even given him chickenpox. It had all been for nothing.
Stanley lay back in the pillows with a big grin across his face. He had just thought up the cleverest plan anyone had ever thought up in the history of clever plans. Now he just had to get well so he could put it into practice. Stanley drifted off to sleep, still smiling.
The End
Stanley Stickle Hates Homework Page 6
