I flexed my fingers. “Right then,” I grimaced. “Looks like we’ll just have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
“Be through in a minute, just washing my hands,” I called from the bathroom, plunging my hands into a sink full of hot, soapy water.
“Hurry up, your cereal’s getting all soggy,” said Mum.
The cereal could get as soggy as it liked. I took a full five minutes to scrub every millimetre of my hands clean, then dried them off and headed through to join the rest of the family.
Mum, Dad and Jodie were all sitting at the table. Mum and Jodie were both dressed for work and school. Dad, on the other hand, was still in his pyjamas. The radio was playing and Dad was tapping his feet along with the music. Because Dad worked from home, he’d quite often still be in his pyjamas when we all got back to the house in the afternoon. Some people had all the luck.
“How was the dog walk?” Dad asked as I sat down.
“Squidgy,” I said. I reached for a slice of toast, stared at my hand for a few seconds, then thought better of it and picked up my cereal spoon instead.
“I want you to be on your best behaviour today, Dylan,” Mum warned. “I’ve promised your teachers you won’t get up to any mischief.”
“That’ll probably backfire,” I told her.
“It had better not!” Mum said. “Best behaviour.”
“I’ll try,” I said.
“You’d better try hard. And I don’t want you telling any lies today, either. Promise me.”
I glanced at Jodie. “That I definitely can promise,” I said. “I’ll do nothing but tell the truth all day.”
Mum’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t I believe you?” she asked, but before I could answer, Dad jumped up from the table and made a grab for the radio.
“Ooh, this is my new one,” he announced. He cranked up the volume and an annoyingly catchy guitar solo blared out. Dad was equal parts embarrassed and proud of every jingle he wrote. He knew they were a bit rubbish but he loved them anyway.
Dad stood in front of the radio, playing air guitar and singing along to the advert’s lyrics in a high-pitched heavy metal screech.
“You got an itch on your toes like nobody knows,” he sang, thrashing his head to the music. “The skin’s blistered and red and sore. It hurts when you walk, but get ready to rock and let Tootsie-Blast settle the score!”
He finished with a frantic bit of imaginary fret-bashing as the jingle reached a screeching crescendo, then turned the volume down and took a bow. “I thank you,” he said.
“That was … nice,” said Mum, taking a sip of her tea. “What was it advertising?”
“Tootsie-Blast,” said Dad, sitting down. “Fungal cream for people with manky feet.”
“Just what you want to hear someone singing about at breakfast,” Mum muttered.
She glanced at the clock, then at me. “You’d better go and get your uniform on, Dylan. And remember – best behaviour.”
I hurried upstairs, grabbed my tie off the floor and was just wrestling my arms into my school jumper when Jodie’s head appeared round the door. “Come here a minute,” she said. “I want to show you something.”
“Can’t it wait?” I asked. “I’m going to be late.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” Jodie said. “Come on. You’ll want to see this.”
I yanked the jumper over my head and hesitated. “You’re not going to beat me up, are you?”
Jodie gave me a look and headed for her room. Fearing a trap, I followed behind at a safe distance. She waited for me to catch up and then pointed to her laptop, which was sitting open on the bed. The moment I saw the image on screen, I felt my heart skip a beat. It was a shop. A shop with a window full of pickled onion crisps.
“Madame Shirley’s Marvellous Emporium of Peculiarities,” I said in a whisper. “You found it.” I touched the screen as if I could somehow reach right inside the picture. “You actually found it!”
“That’s the good news,” Jodie said.
“What’s the bad news?” I asked, getting a nasty sinking feeling.
“Where I found it,” Jodie said. She clicked and the image was replaced by a city map. I scanned the street names, but didn’t recognize any of them. “It’s Warsaw,” she said.
“I have no idea where that is,” I confessed.
“Poland,” Jodie said. “It’s in Poland.”
I stared at the map, then up at Jodie. “Poland? How can the shop be in Poland?”
“Not just in Poland,” Jodie said. She leaned past me and flicked through several more images. They all showed the same shop, but with different buildings on either side. “Chicago. Melbourne. Oslo. I even found a reference to it showing up in Pyongyang!”
I looked at her blankly. “Pong-where?”
“The capital of North Korea,” Jodie said.
“North Korea?” I stared at the screen, a thousand thoughts racing through my head. “Do they even have pickled onion crisps in North Korea?”
Jodie shrugged. “I guess they do now.”
I sat on her bed, my mind reeling. “So … what does this mean?”
“It means she moves around a lot,” Jodie said. “I’ve found five or six pictures of the shop, even seen it mentioned a couple of times in comments. People saying it was there one day, gone the next. Nothing about the truth-telling machine, though.” She opened her mouth to say something else, then closed it again.
“What?” I asked. “What were you about to say?”
Jodie closed her laptop. “Like I say, it looks like she travels around a lot. But the thing is…”
“Yes?” I asked, when her voice trailed off.
She took a deep breath. “The thing is, once she’s been somewhere, I can’t find anything to suggest that she ever goes back.”
My jaw dropped. I stared at her, then at the laptop.
“You disappointed?” Jodie asked.
“Disappointed?” I said. I grinned. “I couldn’t be happier!”
Jodie frowned. “What?”
“She exists! She’s real!” I cheered. “I was starting to think she was some sort of shared hallucination, but if her shop exists, then Madame Shirley must exist, too!”
“Right,” said Jodie, dragging the word out slowly. “But what about the ‘never comes back’ bit?”
I waved the concern away. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll figure that bit out.” I grabbed Jodie by the arms, surprising her. “But she’s real, Jodie! And if she’s real then we can find her, and if we can find her then we can change me back!”
I gave Jodie a hug, surprising her even more. Then I spun on the spot and practically skipped out of her bedroom.
We had some leads on Madame Shirley and I was going on the school trip! Yes, I’d started the morning wrist-deep in dog poo, but this was shaping up to be a pretty great day!
Unfortunately it didn’t stay that way for long.
As soon as registration was over, everyone in my year swarmed out to the waiting coaches.
Theo and I clambered on to the first one and made our way to the middle – not too near the front to be mixed in with the nerds, but far enough from the back that we wouldn’t be noticed by the hard nuts sitting up there.
Wayne was sitting a couple of rows in front of us, keeping up his nice-guy act for the benefit of the teachers and parent volunteers on the bus. Duncan was sitting beside him, looking like a frightened mouse, squashed in between Wayne and the window. It was odd to see Wayne in the middle of the coach. He wasn’t really a middle-of-the-coach guy and should rightfully have been up the back with the hard kids.
Mind you, I couldn’t really say anything. If I were being completely honest, Theo and I probably belonged down the front with the nerds. Especially Theo, who was revealing a side to himself I hadn’t known existed.
“It’s a good coach this,” he said.
“Is it?” I asked, glancing around. It looked like any other coach to me.
“Yeah. It’s a Journeym
an 8228,” he said. “You can tell by the shape of the windows.”
I looked up at the windows just as the coach pulled away from the school. “They’re rectangular. All bus windows are rectangular.”
Theo pointed to the back corner of the window beside us. “Nah, see how it curves in there at the edge? That’s how you can tell it’s an 8228 and not—”
“That,” I said, cutting him off, “is the single dullest sentence I’ve ever heard you say. In fact,” I went on, “it’s probably the single dullest sentence I’ve ever heard anyone say. And considering I’ve heard my dad read his book out loud, that’s really saying something.”
“What? It’s interesting,” Theo protested.
“It really isn’t. Why have you never mentioned your interest in buses before?” I wondered.
“It’s not a bus, it’s a coach,” said Theo, lowering his voice. “And, I dunno. I just kept it secret in case anyone made fun of me.”
“Theo has a secret interest in buses!” I loudly declared. “He’s a closet bus spotter.” Around us, some of the other kids began to giggle.
“Thanks for that,” Theo said.
“Sorry,” I said. “Just slipped out. But keep talking about the windows. With any luck, it might bore me to sleep.”
To reduce the risk of my big mouth getting me into trouble, I had decided to try and sleep my way through the journey so I wriggled down low in my seat with my knees on the back of the seat in front.
I spent the next forty minutes trying to nod off. Falling asleep wasn’t proving easy though – and not just because of Theo’s coach-design insights.
Four different kids were playing four different songs on four different phones, all roughly the same distance away from where Theo and I were sitting. It was like being stuck in the middle of some sort of musical gang war, where the only real losers were Theo and me.
“That’s weird.”
I opened one eye and looked at Theo. He was gazing out of the window at the countryside whizzing by. “What’s weird?” I asked. “If it’s about the shape of the windows, I don’t care.”
“I’m pretty sure we’re going in circles,” Theo said. “That’s the third time we’ve passed those wind turbines.”
I peered past him through the glass. On a hillside a few miles to our right stood several tall windmills with their blades spinning in lazy circles. “They all look the same, though, don’t they?” I said.
Theo shrugged. “Suppose,” he admitted.
“I doubt we’re going in circles,” I said. “I’m sure the driver knows where he’s going.”
“Maybe,” Theo said. “But I think something’s up.”
“There won’t be,” I assured him. “It’ll be fine.”
From the front of the bus, there came the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat. I leaned into the aisle to see Mrs Rose, the deputy head, standing up.
“Attention, everyone. Attention,” she said, her shrill voice easily carrying all the way to the back of the coach. “I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a mix-up.”
“I knew it,” Theo whispered. “We’re not going to Thrillworld.”
“Of course we are,” I said.
“I’m afraid we won’t be going to Thrillworld,” Mrs Rose announced.
A chorus of gasps and groans and why nots rose up from the seats around us. Theo shot me a smug look. “See,” he said. “Told you.”
“I’ve just had word that there’s been some confusion with our booking for this coach,” said Mrs Rose. “Someone at the school office – I won’t name any names – didn’t book us tickets for Thrillworld. The good news is,” she continued, raising her voice to be heard over the uproar, “they did book us tickets for another theme park.”
A hush fell as everyone waited to hear where we were going. The staff at the school office always seemed pretty clueless, so it could have been anywhere. Thorpe Park. Legoland Windsor. Disneyland Paris. There was no saying where they’d got us tickets for.
“So hold on to your hats,” said Mrs Rose, trying to sound enthusiastic but failing miserably. “We’re off to Learning Land!”
That did it. Almost all of the fifty or so kids on the coach erupted and began to shout at the same time. “Learning Land’s for eight-year-olds!” cried one.
“The rides are pathetic,” complained another.
“And they’ve got that stupid clown mascot,” Theo chipped in.
My eyes went wide. Of course! Clumso the Clued-up Clown. How could I forget about him? He’d come to my primary school once and – like most clowns – I’d found him a bit on the creepy side. My reaction was nothing compared to someone else’s, though…
I straightened up and looked over the top of the seats in front of us. Wayne was sitting bolt upright, completely rigid. It was possible he was trembling, but I was too far away to be sure. It took every bit of my willpower to stop myself laughing.
Wayne had a history with Clumso the Clued-up Clown. Only a handful of my old classmates were likely to remember, and I was sure Wayne would never ever want it shared. I’d kept the secret for years, knowing full well he’d kill me if I told anyone.
Unfortunately keeping secrets was no longer my strong point.
“Clumso the Clued-up Clown came to our primary school once, and Wayne got so scared he wet himself,” I announced in a loud voice. “Right in the middle of the class!”
There was a moment of absolute silence. Even the drone of the diesel engine seemed to fade away until you could have heard a pin drop.
And then the roar of laughter rushed along the coach like a tidal wave, sweeping from the back all the way down to the front.
“Oh no,” I whispered, as Wayne turned in his seat and threw me a glare so furious it could have shattered concrete. “What have I done?”
“We were in Year One,” Wayne growled.
“We were in Year Six,” I replied, despite trying very hard not to. “As soon as Clumso came into the class you stood up, burst into tears and peed your pants.”
The laughter rose to tsunami levels. Mrs Rose was shouting angrily from the front, but the sound was too loud for even her fingernails-on-blackboard voice to cut through it. I slunk down in my seat, avoiding Wayne’s glare.
“That was probably a mistake,” Theo said.
“Does he look angry?” I whispered.
Theo shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t say that.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“’Angry’ isn’t a strong enough word for it,” Theo said. “Furious, maybe. Enraged. You know that face the Incredible Hulk does when he’s smashing a tank over someone’s head? It’s a bit like that. But worse.”
I buried my face in my hands. “I’m so dead. I am so dead. What’s he doing now?”
“He’s just sort of glaring at everyone else,” Theo said.
As he said it, the laughter began to die away. First, the nerdy kids down the front fell silent, and I could imagine Wayne turning his sneer on them.
The silence rushed along the bus as Wayne fixed all those laughing with his dead-eyed stare. In moments, the uproar had been replaced by a frightened silence.
“Thank you,” screeched Mrs Rose. “Dylan Malone, stand up!”
“He can’t stand up. Health and safety,” said the bus driver. “You shouldn’t even be standing up.”
Mrs Rose scowled at him and almost said something, then decided against it. “Fine, don’t stand up, Dylan, but listen very carefully,” she said. “I will not tolerate bullying on this trip.”
“Oh, thank God for that,” I whispered to Theo. “Wayne might not get a chance to beat me up.”
“So I want you to apologize for bullying poor Wayne,” Mrs Rose continued.
I jerked upright, poking my head above the seats. “What?” I spluttered. “Me? Bully him?”
“It’s completely unacceptable,” Mrs Rose snapped. “Wayne was sitting minding his own business, only for you to humiliate him with your nonsense stories. I wi
ll not allow it.”
She turned to Wayne. He was kneeling on his seat with his back to her, his eyes locked on me like a military targeting system preparing to fire. “Are you OK, Wayne?” Mrs Rose asked.
“I’ll b-be fine, Miss,” Wayne whimpered, still staring at me. He was scowling so hard his eyebrows had become a single hairy strip, but his mouth was slowly twisting into a grin. “I know Dylan and I could be the best of friends, Miss. If only we had the chance,” he said.
Wayne finally turned away from me and looked imploringly at Mrs Rose. “Perhaps we could be partners on the trip.”
I felt my blood turn to ice. “No!” I yelped. “That’s a terrible idea.”
Wayne let his shoulders droop. “Oh well,” he said. “If Dylan really hates me that much, then I suppose…” His voice cracked and he dabbed at the corner of his eye with a sleeve. Even I couldn’t help but be impressed by his act.
Mrs Rose fell for it hook, line and sinker. “I think that’s an excellent idea, Wayne. It’ll give you boys a chance to get to know each other better. It’s decided,” she announced. “Wayne will partner up with Dylan. Theo can go with Duncan.”
Duncan’s head popped up beside Wayne, like a meerkat looking for danger. A broad smile was plastered across his face and his eyes were little circles of excitement. He gave Theo an overly enthusiastic wave and almost sobbed with relief.
Worst Ever School Trip Page 4
