Super Creepy Camp

by Barry Hutchinson

  “Malcolm McQuarrie,” he said, in a deep, Scottish-sounding accent. He didn’t move and I assumed the acrobatics display must be done, but then he fell forwards into a push-up position, flicked his legs up into the air and spun on his head.

  Round and round he went, spinning like a top. The eyes of everyone in the audience followed his dizzying twirl, then even our side applauded when he stopped spinning, placed a hand on the floor, and raised himself up into a single-arm handstand.

  “We’ll have to do something,” Wayne whispered. “We’re going to look rubbish if we just wave when our name’s called out.”

  “Do something? Like what?” asked Evie.

  “Gymnastics,” said Wayne. Across the stage, Malcolm was now balancing on three fingers as he pulled off an impressive mid-air splits. “Like that.”

  “Oh yeah, no problem,” muttered Theo.

  “Can you do that stuff, Wayne?” asked Chloe.

  Wayne looked flustered, like he always did when Chloe spoke to him. “What? Yeah. That? Deffo. Easy.”

  Chloe nodded, impressed. “Cool.”

  “Nah,” Wayne shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

  “You should show us, Wayne,” said Evie. She nudged me with her elbow. “We’d love to see it, wouldn’t we, Beaky?”

  “Yeah. I’d love to see it,” I agreed.

  The audience erupted in a standing ovation as Malcolm finished whatever acrobatic madness he was doing and took a bow. Mr Lawson stared at the Foxley Hill pupils in horrified disbelief until the clapping died away.

  I’ll be honest, Mr Lawson hadn’t looked particularly hopeful before the Foxley Hill mob had introduced themselves but now he looked like a broken man. He gestured vaguely towards our team and mumbled.

  “And for our school – Theo, Chloe, Dylan, Evie and Wayne.”

  At the mention of his name, Wayne shot Chloe an anxious glance, then ran forwards and launched himself into what would actually have been an almost impressive cartwheel, had he not completely misjudged where the end of the stage was.

  Rather than land on his feet as he had presumably hoped to, he hurtled off the stage, flipped once in the air, then face-planted with a thud on to the wooden floor. As one, everyone from my school stood up, trying to get a better view. They needn’t have bothered. Wayne jumped to his feet immediately, trying to look like everything had gone exactly as planned.

  “Ta-daa!” he said shakily. Then, accompanied by the sound of confused, muted applause, he limped back up to join us on the stage.

  “Impressive,” whispered Evie, and I had to jam my hand into my mouth to stop myself telling Wayne just what I thought of his performance.

  In the centre of the stage, Mr Lawson sighed, then made a valiant attempt at smiling. “Well,” he said. “May the best team win!”

  After assembly, both teams were taken through to the dining hall to get to know each other a bit before the first round got underway. The four teachers all gathered in one corner, leaving us kids milling about at the other end. The Foxley Hill pupils faced us in a perfect line, their hands behind their backs, vague sneers on their faces.

  Nobody was talking, so I decided to break the ice. “All right?” I said, holding a hand out to Malcolm, the boy who looked like he should be in sixth form. “I’m Dylan, but most people call me Beaky.”

  “No wonder,” snorted Malcolm. “Your nose is enormous.”

  “All the better to smell you with,” I said. Malcolm’s sneer became a scowl. “I have no idea why I said that,” I admitted. “I’m not going to smell you. And if I did, I’m sure you’d be very clean. Fragrant, even.”

  Theo put an arm round

  my shoulder. “He’s going to shut up now,” he said. “Aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m going to shut up now,” I agreed, letting him lead me away from Malcolm.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” said Malcolm. “We’re going to win the quiz. We’re going to win the debate. We’re going to win, full stop.”

  “Yeah? Well ... you might not,” said Wayne, in what was probably the weakest comeback of all time.

  The Foxley Hill kids sniggered. Malcolm’s face split into a smug grin. “Oh, and who’s going to beat us? Big Nose and Barbie here?” he said, gesturing to me and Chloe in turn.

  “Barbie?” said Chloe, looking up from her phone. “What, is that meant to be an insult?”

  One of the Foxley Hill girls – Felicity, I think – looked Chloe up and down. “No, just an honest assessment. Barbie doesn’t have anything between her ears, either.”

  Chloe was already looking back at her phone. She tore her eyes away again when she realized Felicity was still speaking to her. “Hmm? Did you say something?”

  Malcolm sniggered. “So, if she’s Barbie, which of you lot is Ken?”

  “Raaargh!” Wayne roared as he hurled himself at Malcolm, his fists flying. Theo and I both jumped back in shock. We’d seen Wayne dishing out plenty of beatings, but he’d always made a point of doing it when there were no adults around to see him.

  Now, though, he didn’t

  seem to care that there were four teachers standing at the other end of the hall. He slammed his shoulder into Malcolm’s stomach, sending him staggering.

  “Take that back!” Wayne hissed. “She’s way smarter than Barbie!”

  “Wayne Lawson!” bellowed Mr Heft. His voice was just as big as the rest of him and seemed to expand to fill the whole hall.

  Mr Mann, the Foxley Hill PE teacher, hurtled towards us like an Olympic sprinter. He caught Wayne by the back of his jumper and pulled him away from Malcolm. Mr Heft and Miss Garden, the Foxley Hill English teacher, were next, with Mrs Moir wheezing and panting along behind.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Mr Heft demanded, in a voice that shook plaster dust from the ceiling.

  “He started it, sir!” said Wayne. “He was insulting –” Wayne glanced back at Chloe – “our team.”

  “So you thought you’d beat him up?” said Mr Heft.

  “Ha! I’d like to see him try,” said Malcolm.

  “That’s enough from you, Malcolm,” said Miss Garden.

  “Yes, Miss,” said Malcolm, like a trained dog responding to a command.

  “I’m very ... disappointed,” panted Mrs Moir, leaning on Mr Heft for support. She looked like she was about to pass out from the effort of running the length of the hall.

  “He must be punished, yes?” said Mr Mann. He punched a fist into the opposite palm. “Punished good.”

  Mr Heft and Mrs Moir exchanged a glance. “Well, I don’t know if that’s strictly necessary.”

  “He assaulted me!” Malcolm pointed out. “He should be disqualified.”

  Panic flashed across our teachers’ faces. “Now, I don’t think we need go that far,” said Mr Heft. “How about he misses the first part of the competition?”

  “What!” Wayne spluttered. “But that’s the quiz. I’m supposed to be doing the spelling. I’m the best speller we’ve got.”

  “Beaky could do it,” suggested Evie. “You’re pretty good at spelling, aren’t you, Beaky?”

  “Um ... compared to who?” I asked.

  Evie shrugged. “Dunno, I just sort of thought you’d be good at that stuff.”

  Mrs Moir shot Mr Mann a pleading look. “Would that do? If we exclude Wayne from the spelling round?”

  “He really is our best speller,” said Mr Heft. “By quite some distance. I think losing him for the round would be punishment enough.”

  Mr Mann considered the suggestion for a few agonizing moments, then shrugged. “Very well. This will do.”

  “Great!” said Mr Heft. “Great news. And Wayne, we’ll have a serious chat about this later, understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Wayne muttered, then we all looked round as the dining-hall door opened and Mr Lawson popped his head in.

  “Ready?” he said.

  The Foxley Hill pupils all formed a circle and stretched their hands into the middle. E
veryone watched as they performed some elaborate gesture, which involved a lot of hand-slapping, knuckle-bumping and the odd bit of finger-waggling. Once all that was out of the way, they raised their outstretched arms over their heads.

  “Foxley Hill ready!” they all cheered in note-perfect unison.

  Mr Lawson tried very hard to keep his smile on his face. “Right. Good,” he said, then he looked at us. “Ready?”

  I looked at the others. We all shrugged. “Not really,” I admitted. “But I suppose we’ll give it a go.”

  Twenty minutes later, things weren’t exactly going great but we were in better shape than pretty much anyone had been expecting. Especially me.

  Theo and Chloe had done the general knowledge round for our team and we’d hit an amazing lucky streak by getting four different questions related to bus and coach design of the late twentieth century. Theo – secret bus-spotter that he was – had buzzed in with the correct answers before Mr Lawson had even finished asking the questions, and while we finished the round a few points behind Foxley Hill, we’d come pretty close to holding our own.

  “Well, then,” said Mr Lawson. “That was exciting, wasn’t it?”

  The Foxley Hill pupils certainly seemed to think so, breaking into thrilled applause as the victorious Christopher and Jessica stood and took a bow, then left the stage. On the other side of the hall, our Year Sevens and Eights barely seemed to be paying any attention at all. Mr Lawson raised his voice and changed his tone to make it clear that they should start listening pretty sharpish.

  “And now, the spelling segment of the quiz round,” he announced. “Felicity and Wayne will be going head to head.”

  Mr Heft leaned in from the wings. “Actually, Mr Lawson, Dylan will be taking Wayne’s place.”

  An expression of absolute horror spread across Mr Lawson’s face like a rash. “What? Why?”

  “Long story. I’ll explain later,” said Mr Heft.

  Mr Lawson sighed, then glanced towards the wings and gestured for me to come on to the stage. “Good luck, Beaky,” said Evie, patting my shoulder.

  “Don’t let the fact that there are hundreds of people watching and silently judging you put you off,” added Theo, as I shuffled past him and Chloe on to the stage and took my place behind the buzzer.

  “Thanks for that,” I groaned.

  Wayne didn’t say anything – he just glared.

  Felicity from Foxley Hill stood behind the buzzer on their side of the stage, her back straight and her head held high. She looked way more confident than I felt. Then again, if she’d been hugging herself on the floor and crying, she’d probably still have looked more confident than I felt.

  I’m not the worst speller in Year Seven but I’m far from the best. I’ve pretty much got the hang of the “i before e” thing but that’s about all I’ve got the hang of and everything else is just sort of guesswork. I had a feeling Felicity wouldn’t need to guess at all.

  “OK, so this is a quick-fire round,” said Mr Lawson. “I’ll state the word, then whoever buzzes in first gets a chance to answer. If they get it wrong, it’ll be passed over to the other team to answer. Understood?”

  “Understood,” said Felicity.

  “Yep. Got it,” I said.

  “Then here we go. Good luck, both,” said Mr Lawson. He lifted a card and read from it. “Can you spell onomatopoeia?”

  I slammed my hand down on the buzzer.

  Mr Lawson looked at Felicity first, then turned to me in amazement when he realized I’d been the one to buzz in. “Dylan?”

  “No,” I said.

  Mr Lawson frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  “No, I can’t spell onomatopoeia.”

  The head blinked slowly. “Oh. Um. Right. Well, why did you buzz in?”

  I shifted uncomfortably on the spot. “Because you asked if I could spell it, and I felt like I should give you an honest answer.”

  The fact I’d buzzed in had taken even me by surprise. I knew I had no idea how to spell the word but when Mr Lawson had asked if I could, the urge to tell the truth had been too strong to fight.

  Mr Lawson looked at me for what felt like quite a long time, then turned to Felicity. “Foxley Hill?”

  “O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-O-E-I-A,” said Felicity. She gave a curt little nod at the end, like she knew it was right before Mr Lawson had even confirmed it.

  “Correct!” said Mr Lawson. “Now, next question, fingers on buzzers. Can you spell bureaucracy?”

  BZZT! My hand slammed down on the button again all by itself.

  “No.”

  Mr Lawson’s face darkened. Behind him, our half of the audience began to snigger and giggle. “I’m not being cheeky, sir,” I insisted. “I’m just answering the question.”

  “Well don’t!” said Mr Lawson. “If you don’t know how to spell it, don’t buzz in!”

  I kept my mouth shut while Mr Lawson passed the word over to Felicity. She, of course, got it right. Mr Lawson flicked to the next card and shot me a warning look. “Right. Next one. Remember, only buzz in if you know it. Understood?”

  “Understood,” I said. I could feel Wayne’s gaze burning into me from the wings and I didn’t dare turn round to look.

  Mr Lawson cleared his throat.

  I held my breath.

  The audience waited.

  “Can you spell...” He glanced my way. His eyes narrowed. “Dodecahedron?”

  BZZZZZZZZT!

  I stared at my hand in horror. It was pressing down on the button, making the buzzer ring. I yanked it away and the sound faded into an expectant silence.

  I could feel all eyes in the hall on me. Watching. Waiting. Mr Lawson exhaled slowly through his nose. “Dylan,” he said, in a way that made my name sound like a bad word. “Do you know how to spell dodecahedron?”

  I glanced back at my teammates in the wings. Theo and Evie nodded encouragingly. Wayne glared at me, his face a sort of reddish-purple with rage. Chloe was taking a photo of me on her phone, probably to stick on Instagram – hashtag spellingfail.

  “Um,” I began, turning back to Mr Lawson. “I know it’s got a d in it. Does that get me half a point?”

  When the spelling bit finished, I walked off the stage to the sound of stunned silence, then had to listen to the roar of applause for Felicity. Felicity hadn’t just won, she’d completely destroyed me. There had been ten words in all and I’d buzzed in first on all ten, only to confirm that I had no idea how to spell any of them.

  Mr Lawson had grown increasingly annoyed by my performance but with everyone watching he’d had to keep his temper under control. His face was a dark purple by the time we reached question six, and when I buzzed in for the tenth time, I’m sure I saw him crying.

  “Well,” I said, joining my teammates. “That could’ve gone better.”

  “Could’ve gone better?” Wayne hissed. “That’s an understatement! How could it possibly have gone any worse?”

  I had to admit, ten–nil was pretty much as bad as it could’ve got, points-wise. Still, there were other ways it could have been worse.

  “I suppose ... a lion could’ve jumped on stage,” I said.

  Wayne, Chloe and Evie all blinked at the same time. Only Theo didn’t seem surprised by the remark.

  “What?” said Wayne.

  “That would’ve been worse,” I said. “If we’d all been eaten by a lion. Or if the floor had turned to lava. Or if monkeys had—”

  Wayne slammed a hand into my chest and grabbed me by my school tie. His face was suddenly right in mine, his teeth bared. “You think this is a joke, Beaky?”

  I frantically shook my head. Theo stepped up beside me. “Hey, leave him alone, Wayne.”

  “Yeah, he tried his best,” said Evie, appearing at my other side. “Why do you even care?”

  “I don’t,” Wayne said. “They can win every round, I don’t care.”

  “He’s lying,” I wheezed. “You can see it in his eyes.”

  Wayne’s grip tightened.
His fist drew back.

  Behind him, Chloe giggled. “It was pretty funny, though. Bzzt. ‘No.’ Bzzt. ‘No.’ I was like, OMG, this is hilarious!”

  Confusion swept across Wayne’s face. He released his grip and forced a laugh. “What? I mean, yeah. Yeah, it was pretty funny.” His teeth ground together. “Nice one, Beaky,” he growled.

  I straightened the front of my shirt and had just begun to relax when Mr Heft came clomping up the steps into the wings. “What on Earth was that about?” he demanded, his massive eyes glaring out at me from the centre of his enormous face. “You’ve probably just lost us the competition!”

  “To be fair, sir, we were already behind,” said Theo.

  “And that girl was amazing at spelling,” added Evie.

  “And it’s Wayne’s fault for trying to punch Malcolm,” I said. “Also, we’re rubbish and were pretty much guaranteed to lose, anyway,” I concluded, which didn’t really help matters.

  “Still, I thought we’d taught you better than that, Dylan,” Mr Heft said. “I mean, some of those words you should’ve known in Year Five!”

  “Yeah, I know, sir, that’s what I told him,” said Theo. I stared at him in shock. Was my best friend about to betray me? “We’ve been standing here arguing about how to spell ‘onomatopoeia’, and he refuses to accept he’s wrong. Can you spell it for us now, sir?”

  Mr Heft swallowed. “Hmm?”

  Evie smirked. “Yeah, sir,” she said, joining in. “Can you spell ‘onomatopoeia’ so we can settle the argument once and for all?”

  Mr Heft nodded his massive head. “Yep. Definitely. No problem,” he said. He opened his mouth to start, then frowned. He reached into his pocket and took out his mobile. “Sorry, I’d better get this,” he said, pointing to the completely silent phone. Then he hurried back down the steps, jumped the last two, and ducked through the door at the bottom.

  “Thanks,” I said.