Just Doomed!

by Andy Griffiths

  Is this the right book for you?

  Take the DOOMED TEST and find out.

  YES NO

  Do you ignore health warnings and safety instructions whenever possible?

  Do you ever play kiss chasey with girls (if you are a boy) or with boys (if you are a girl)?

  Do you regularly engage in deadly battles with brothers, sisters and/or indestructible cyborg warriors?

  Do you live on a planet that will one day be incinerated by an expanding star called the Sun?

  Do you like fast-paced, high-action, high-body-count stories featuring mini-golf, lawn bowls and naked people in the nude?

  SCORE: One point for each ‘yes’ answer.

  3–5 You are doomed. You will love this book.

  1–2 You are doomed. You will love this book.

  0 You are obviously confused because if you live on planet Earth—and I’m pretty sure you do—you should have answered YES to the fourth question. You are doomed. You will love this book.

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Andy’s handbag

  101 ways to be doomed

  Lick

  Sleepover of doom

  I hate Jeremy Smart!

  All the things I learned on the museum excursion last Tuesday

  Romeo and Juliet and Danny and Lisa and me

  ANDY’S ACTION-PACKED MATHS PROGRAM!!!™

  Just nude!

  About Andy Griffiths and Terry Denton

  Also by Andy Griffiths and Terry Denton

  Copyright page

  Guess how I’m spending the first week of my Christmas holidays?

  At the circus? No! Way too exciting.

  At the zoo? No! Way too interesting.

  At the beach? No! Way too much fun.

  Give up?

  I’m at the post office.

  In a queue.

  With my mother.

  No chance of anything too exciting, too interesting or too much fun happening here.

  I guess that officially makes these holidays the most boring holidays anybody has ever had since the history of holidays began. I mean, if you can think of a more boring holiday activity than waiting in the queue at the post office with your mother, I’d sure like to know what it is.

  And to make it even worse, it’s a really slow-moving queue.

  It wouldn’t be so bad if the post office just sold stamps and envelopes like post offices are supposed to do, but they’re selling about a billion other things, like books, DVDs, moneyboxes, footballs, mobile phones, printers, diaries and foot massagers. It’s more like a two-dollar shop than a post office, except that most of their stuff costs a lot more than two dollars. Plus you get served a lot faster in two-dollar shops. The only good thing is that since we joined the queue three more people have lined up behind us. We haven’t moved, but at least we’re not last anymore.

  ‘Be quiet, Andy,’ whispers Mum.

  ‘I am being quiet,’ I say.

  ‘You’re not,’ she says. ‘You’re doing that weird narrating thing again, like you’re telling a story to somebody.’

  ‘I’m just trying to amuse myself!’ I say. ‘I mean, believe it or not, waiting in a post office queue is not exactly my idea of a great time.’

  ‘It’s not mine, either,’ says Mum, ‘but I’ve got a parcel to collect and I need you to help me carry it home.’

  ‘Oh, boy!’ I say. ‘This day just gets better and better!’

  Amazingly, incredibly, against all odds, the queue moves forward and now we’re one person closer to the counter.

  ‘What’s in the parcel anyway?’ I say.

  ‘I have no idea,’ says Mum. ‘So it is a bit exciting.’

  I roll my eyes at her to indicate just how unexciting I think it is.

  On the stand next to us is a book called Criminal Masterminds of the Twentieth Century. Now that’s what I call exciting. I pick it up and flip through it. Al Capone, ‘Lucky’ Luciano, Pablo Escobar, The Joker, The Penguin and Squizzy ‘Teaspoon’ Taylor, just to name a few … It’s very cool.

  ‘Can I have this book?’ I say.

  ‘No,’ says Mum.

  ‘But you’re always telling me I should read more,’ I plead.

  ‘Not about criminal masterminds,’ she says, reaching for a large colourful book. ‘How about The Magic Fairy Pony … that’s a lovely story! I used to love it when I was a little girl.’

  ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, Mum,’ I say, ‘I’m a boy. Boys don’t want to read about magic fairy ponies—we want to read about criminal masterminds. Please, Mum, please, please, please, please …’

  ‘Oh, all right then,’ sighs Mum. ‘Apart from your complaining you have been quite helpful today. But don’t blame me if you read that book and end up behind bars.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ I say. ‘I’m too clever to get caught. I promise.’

  Now it’s Mum’s turn to roll her eyes at me. Then she frowns.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I ask her.

  ‘My handbag …’ she says, looking all around her. ‘Where’s my handbag?’

  ‘The purple one?’ I say, as if there could be any other. Mum’s handbag is pretty hard to miss. It’s bright purple with a big sparkly buckle.

  ‘Yes,’ says Mum. ‘I definitely brought it out with me. Let me see … I had it at the chemist … and then the dry-cleaners … oh, how silly—I must have left it on the counter. Can you run back and get it for me, Andy?’

  ‘Me?’ I say, alarmed. ‘You want me to get your handbag?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Mum. ‘I’ll wait here.’

  ‘But it’s a handbag,’ I remind her.

  ‘Yes, and a very nice one,’ says Mum. ‘I’d hate to lose it. Hurry up!’

  ‘But I’m a boy!’ I say.

  ‘So you keep reminding me,’ says Mum.

  ‘But carrying your handbag will be embarrassing!’ I say. ‘What if someone sees me?’

  ‘They’ll just think, “There goes a boy with a very nice handbag,” says Mum.

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m worried about,’ I say. ‘Can’t I wait here while you go back?’

  ‘No,’ says Mum. ‘I need to sign for the parcel, and there’s no way I’m leaving my place in this queue and starting again.’

  ‘But the queue’s not moving anyway,’ I say.

  At that very moment, the queue moves forward.

  ‘Andy,’ says Mum, looking serious, ‘I’m not asking anymore … I’m telling: go and get my bag … or else.’

  ‘Or else what?’ I say. It’s important to look at all your options before you commit to a course of action … especially one as potentially embarrassing as carrying your mother’s purple handbag down the street.

  ‘Or else!’ says Mum.

  ‘All right, all right,’ I say, heading for the door.

  I’m halfway down the street before I realise I’m still holding the book.

  Oh no. I didn’t pay for it.

  Mum’s right.

  I will end up behind bars if I’m not careful.

  Yeah, I know, accidentally taking a book without paying for it isn’t exactly the crime of the century but I guess all criminal masterminds have to start somewhere.

  As I walk into the dry-cleaners the lady behind the counter recognises me and holds up Mum’s handbag.

  ‘Ah!’ she says. ‘Is this your handbag?’

  ‘Well, yes, but it’s not my handbag,’ I say. ‘It’s my mum’s.’

  ‘You should be more careful,’ she says. ‘There’s been a lot of handbags stolen lately. You’re lucky I saw it in time!’

  ‘Very lucky,’ I say. ‘But like I told you, it’s not my handbag—it’s my mum’s. She’s the one who should be mor
e careful.’

  She hands it to me very solemnly. ‘Don’t lose your handbag again,’ she says.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I won’t!’ I could try to make her understand that it’s not my handbag but at this rate it might take me the rest of the morning. I’d rather just get it back to its proper owner and pretend none of this ever happened.

  I carry the bag out of the dry-cleaners and walk as fast as I can back towards the post office. I’m on the main street now. Everybody’s looking at me. This is embarrassing. The only thing that could make it any worse is if I see someone I actually know.

  And then I do.

  Out the front of the supermarket.

  The very last person in the world I’d want to see me with a handbag.

  Lisa Mackney.

  She’s facing away from me, but if she turns around, I’ll be caught red-handed with a purple handbag with a big sparkly buckle!

  Uh-oh.

  She’s turning around!

  I quickly drop the bag onto a bench seat next to me.

  Lisa sees me and waves.

  I wave back and she starts walking towards me.

  Okay, I tell myself. Just be cool. Be cool. There’s nothing wrong. You’re just standing here on the street. There’s a handbag on the seat next to you but it’s nothing to do with you. You’re the same normal non-handbag-holding tough guy you’ve always been.

  ‘Hi, Andy,’ says Lisa. ‘How are your holidays going?’

  ‘Great!’ I say. ‘Action-packed! What about you?’

  ‘Okay, I guess,’ she says. ‘I’ve just been hanging around, helping Mum, you know.’

  ‘Sounds terrible,’ I say.

  ‘Not really,’ says Lisa. ‘I like helping my mum. She works so hard, it’s good to be able to help out in the holidays.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, of course,’ I say. ‘I was just joking. I’ve been helping my mum a lot, too.’

  I flick a nervous glance at the handbag. So far so good. Lisa hasn’t noticed it. Once she’s gone I’ll be able to pick it up and get it back to Mum and this whole unpleasant business will be over.

  But Lisa is in no hurry to leave. ‘What are you reading?’ she says.

  I realise I’m clutching my stolen book to my chest, like a shield. ‘Oh, this?’ I say. ‘Just a book about criminal masterminds.’

  ‘Are you planning on becoming one?’ says Lisa.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Either that or a vet. Possibly both.’

  Lisa laughs.

  ‘Well, good luck with that,’ she says. ‘I guess I’ll be seeing you around.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so,’ I say.

  ‘Unless you’d like to hang out some time? This afternoon … if you’re not too busy?’

  I can’t believe it!

  Lisa is practically asking me out on a date.

  No, not practically …

  She is asking me out on a date.

  She must be attracted by the tough criminal mastermind aura this (temporarily) stolen book is giving me.

  ‘I don’t think I have any major crimes planned this afternoon,’ I say, ‘so, yes, that would be great!’

  ‘Okay!’ she says. ‘How about the park by the lake, after lunch … about two o’clock?’

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ I say.

  ‘See you then,’ says Lisa, smiling.

  Well, this has all gone about as well as it possibly could have. Thank goodness Mum forgot her handbag! And thank goodness I insisted on getting it for her!

  Lisa turns to leave, then stops.

  She looks at the bench.

  At the bag on the bench.

  Uh-oh.

  ‘Look,’ she says, ‘somebody’s left their handbag on the seat.’

  I can’t tell her the truth.

  I just can’t.

  Better just to pretend I know nothing about it.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘What should we do?’ says Lisa.

  I shrug, trying to act casual despite my pounding heart.

  ‘Just leave it there,’ I say. ‘The owner will come back looking for it sooner or later.’

  ‘But somebody could steal it before then,’ says Lisa.

  ‘Who would steal a crazy-looking purple handbag like that?’ I say.

  ‘I think it’s nice,’ says Lisa. ‘I mean, I’m not saying I would steal it, but there are plenty of dishonest people around who would. Perhaps we should open it, look inside and see who it belongs to. Maybe there’ll be a phone number we can call.’

  ‘No!’ I say quickly. Maybe a little too quickly.

  ‘Why not?’ says Lisa, looking puzzled.

  ‘Well … um … it could be dangerous,’ I say. ‘Like, we might open the bag and the owner might return and think we’re stealing stuff from it.’

  Lisa nods thoughtfully. ‘Good point,’ she says. ‘Maybe we should take it to the police station and let them deal with it. That would probably be the most responsible thing to do.’

  ‘But what if the owner returns and thinks somebody has stolen it?’ I say.

  ‘Well, it probably really will be stolen if we just leave it here,’ says Lisa. ‘And, besides, they would just go to the police station to report it and there it will be, waiting for them!’

  I can’t argue with her logic. Well, not without telling her the truth: that it’s kind of weird to hand your own mother’s handbag in at the police station and report it as lost when you know full well it’s your own mother’s handbag.

  But I can’t tell her that. It’s just too embarrassing. And her plan does have certain advantages.

  It means, for a start, that I won’t have to carry my mother’s handbag any more. I can just tell Mum it wasn’t at the dry-cleaners and must have been stolen and then suggest we go to the police station and there it will be. Perfect!

  ‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ I say. ‘Taking it to the police is a good idea.’

  ‘Okay,’ says Lisa, picking it up. ‘Let’s go.’

  Oh no! She wants me to come with her! That’s definitely not a good idea.

  ‘Oh,’ I say, striking my head as if suddenly remembering something. ‘I can’t. I promised I’d meet Mum at the post office. I have to help her carry a parcel.’

  ‘Andy,’ says Lisa, ‘I think this is more important, and it won’t take long.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘But you don’t know my mum—she gets really mad … and I did promise. Can’t you do it?’

  ‘I can,’ she says, ‘but we did both find it. I’d feel better if you were there.’

  I take a deep breath. How can I possibly say no to Lisa?

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I’ll walk you there, but then I really have to go.’

  ‘Thanks, Andy,’ says Lisa. ‘I knew I could count on you.’

  As we walk to the police station we pass the post office. Through the window I can see Mum still waiting in the queue. She’s not far from the front now. I turn my head away so she doesn’t see me.

  The police station is two blocks further up the road.

  As we reach the entrance I stop.

  There’s a WANTED poster in the window.

  ‘That looks a bit like you, Andy,’ says Lisa.

  ‘It’s not me!’ I say.

  ‘I know that,’ laughs Lisa. ‘I was just joking!’

  ‘Yeah, right, good one,’ I say, adding my best fake laugh. ‘Reckon you’ll be right to take it from here?’

  ‘I’d rather you came in with me,’ says Lisa, looking slightly daunted.

  But I can’t go in: the police will recognise me later when I come back with Mum to collect the handbag.

  ‘Well, I would,’ I say, ‘but police stations are not really my scene … you know, with me studying to be a criminal mastermind and all that.’

  Lisa laughs nervously. ‘Yeah, I guess so,’ she says. ‘Well, thanks for coming this far, anyway. See you this afternoon.’ She heads up the stairs towards the doors and I turn to run back to the post office when I’m startled by
a policeman and a policewoman coming up the steps towards me.

  The policeman is tall. He towers over me, studying me intently. ‘Everything all right?’ he says.

  ‘Y-y-yes,’ I stammer. ‘I’m f-fine, sir … er, Officer —’

  ‘Officer Collins,’ he says, pointing to his badge. ‘And this is my colleague, Officer Murphy.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ she says. ‘You seem a little … um … agitated.’

  I suddenly realise I’m still clutching my book about criminal masterminds to my chest. My stolen book about criminal masterminds. (Well, temporarily stolen, anyway.) With the title facing outwards.

  Stupid!

  Stupid!!

  Stupid!!!

  A real criminal mastermind wouldn’t make a stupid mistake like that.

  I’m so overcome with guilt I can’t speak.

  Luckily Lisa turns around and saves me. ‘We just came to hand in this handbag,’ she says. ‘We found it on a bench down the street.’

  Officer Murphy smiles at Lisa. ‘Well done,’ she says. ‘Come inside and we’ll take care of it.’

  Officer Collins, however, is not smiling. He just continues studying me suspiciously while Officer Murphy and Lisa enter the station.

  I reach deep inside for my voice.

  ‘Well,’ I whisper, ‘I guess I’ll be going then.’

  ‘What’s your hurry?’ says Officer Collins, looking at me through narrowed eyes.

  ‘I have to help my mum with a parcel,’ I say.

  ‘Aren’t you going to wait for your girlfriend?’

  ‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ I say.

  ‘We’re going to need your name and address,’ he says.

  ‘But why?’ I say. ‘I didn’t do anything!’

  ‘Nobody said you did,’ he says, studying me even closer. ‘But the owner of the bag might want to leave a reward for you.’

  I’m pretty certain that’s not going to happen. But, of course, I can’t tell him that.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I’m sure Lisa will give me half.’

  ‘I thought you said she wasn’t your girlfriend,’ he says.

  ‘She’s not,’ I say.