For my three girls:
Rosie, Connie and Louise
(SH)
For my brother, Charles … much xo
(BL)
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
My fingers were stiff, the muscles in my arms ached with tiredness, but I had to go on. I’d been holding up the HUGE, book, by Professor Wilberforce J. Pilkington, for over an hour. I couldn’t put it down – it was too exciting! My heart battered against my ribs. How was it going to end?
I turned to the last page of my new comic, which I’d sneakily hidden inside the book when nobody was looking.
Agent Q was in terrible danger. The Zygon leader, General Durg, had captured Q and strapped him into a machine that was sucking all the thoughts out of his brain, including vital secrets about the Earth’s defence shield.
I closed my comic and sighed. Why can’t I save the Earth from alien lizard-men and then go for a strawberry milkshake? Why can’t I be cool? Why can’t I be BRILLIANT?
The only BRILLIANT thing about me is my family:
My mum, Charlotte Pomeroy Templeton Tibbs, is a BRILLIANT brain surgeon. She saves people’s lives.
My dad, Granville Fitzwilliam Templeton Tibbs, is a BRILLIANT architect. He designs award-winning buildings.
My big twin sisters, Emma Letitia Templeton Tibbs, and Gemma Darcy Templeton Tibbs, are BRILLIANT dancers. They go to a top ballet school.
And my little brother, Algernon Montgomery Templeton Tibbs, is BRILLIANT maths. He’s only eight years old, but he already goes to university, and he’s the National Chess Champion.
Last (and least) there’s me,
I’m BRILLIANT at …
• sitting in my bedroom reading Agent Q comics, and …
• sitting at the back of a theatre while my sisters dance around in their tutus, and …
• sitting in the car while Algy is taken to a chess tournament.
Just then, I was being fantastically BRILLIANT at sitting in one corner of a big dusty room while my little brother played chess against ten people at the same time. All the players were thinking hard about their next moves. It was as quiet as the underground bunker in , when Agent Q knocks out the enemy agents with sleeping gas from a capsule in his shoe.
Now I’d finished my comic, I was bored, bored, bored, bored, bored!
I looked around the room, and began to wonder …
WHAT IF … Algy’s opponents were all alien swamp beasts in disguise, ready to take over the world he lost just one game?
WHAT IF … Algy’s chair was booby-trapped with a lethal alien STINK BOMB, set to go off if it looked as he’d beat them all?
WHAT IF … I was the only person who knew?
Dad crept over, interrupting me just as I was about to go into action. I slammed the big, BORING book closed so he wouldn’t see the comic inside. The sound boomed and echoed in the huge room, and about forty people all went, ‘Shhhhhhhhhh!’ at the same time (which is probably what a lethal alien STINK BOMB going off would sound like).
‘Are you enjoying Professor Pilkington’s book?’ he whispered.
I can’t put it down,’ I whispered back.
Dad beamed with pleasure. ‘Algy’s winning every match,’ he said.
‘Good,’ I replied. “The fate of the world depends on it.’
Dad frowned. ‘What?’
‘Er … never mind. Can I have a Snik-Snak chocolate bar from the machine?’
‘Look!’ said Dad. ‘Two more of his opponents have given up! Algy’s already won FOUR games! He’s amazing!’ Dad thrust some coins into my hand for the Snik-Snak, and tiptoed away to watch my BRILLIANT little brother.
I sighed, and placed the book on the seat next to me. Making me read was just Mum and Dad’s latest desperate attempt to find out what I’m actually good at. So far, I’ve had:
• golf lessons (I kept missing the ball)
• tennis lessons (I kept hitting the net)
• horse-riding lessons (I kept falling off – I even fell off a Shetland pony)
• drawing lessons (I couldn’t draw a wiggly line)
• piano lessons (I couldn’t even play ‘Chopsticks’) and
• singing lessons (I sounded like a donkey with bellyache).
I’ve been forced to read books about atomic physics, economics and computer programming, when all I really want to do is read comics.
I think reading Agent Q comics is interesting, but no one else does. And when Monday mornings at school come round, that’s Very Bad News, because Monday mornings at school are SHOW AND TELL time (or, as I call it, time).
It was Monday morning, and Miss Wilkins began to go through the register. She called out Bobby Bragg’s name, and he stood up in front of the class. Here we go, I thought as my heart started to sink.
‘What did you do at the weekend, Bobby?’
‘I got my black belt in karate.’
‘How wonderful!’
Bobby then swivelled and jumped in the air, kicking, punching and chopping, making loud, ‘Aiyah!’, ‘Ho!’ and ‘Ha!’ noises as he demolished an army of invisible attackers.
Next, Miss Wilkins called up Hattie Hurley. I knew this would be good.
‘What did you do at the weekend, Hattie?’
‘I trounced the opposition at the Regional Spelling Bee Championships.’
‘How thrilling!’ said Miss Wilkins.
My best friend, Peaches Mazimba, pulled a dictionary out of her bag and looked up the word ‘trounced’.
‘It means she won easily,’ she whispered to me.
Then Hattie showed us how she did it. Miss Wilkins asked her to spell ‘claustrophobic’ and she got it right! (/ had to look it up to write it down just now).
As Melody Nightingale walked to the front of the class, my shoulders were drooping so much they nearly touched my knees.
‘And what did you do at the weekend, Melody?’
‘On Saturday, I sang the national anthem at the big football match.’
‘How fantastic!’
Melody then showed us all her amazing singing voice, warbling beautifully through the whole anthem once again, but this time without a massive marching band backing her, obviously.
Nearly everyone had done something interesting over the weekend. Even Peaches had taken part in the Mayor’s Parade, dressed up as a bedbug on the town council’s pest-extermination float. She showed us a photo. You couldn’t really see her properly because she was curled up underneath a duvet, and stuck behind a giant can of ‘ ’ bug killer, but I thought she looked awesome.
When Miss Wilkins finally called out my name, I sighed and dragged myself to the front of the class.
I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately searching my brain for something good to tell. ‘We had pizza for dinner on Saturday.’
An of deafening laughter from the rest of the class smashed into me. Miss Wilkins smiled as though I was an abandoned puppy that had been left tied to a lamppost in the rain.
‘How lovely!’ she said. ‘Was it a tasty pizza, Oliver?’
‘Yes, miss!’ I replied. ‘It had FOUR toppings! And the slices were so juicy and floppy I had to eat them like this …’
I showed the class my EXTREME PIZZA-EATING TECHNIQUE, putting my head back and pretending to dangle the imaginary wobbly slice over my open mouth.
The laughter rolled over me like a huge tsunami wave.
Miss Wilkins was trying not
to laugh too. ‘Well, well … four toppings …’ she said. ‘Fancy that …’
Peaches tried to help me out, like she always does, but it just made things worse. ‘What toppings did you have, Ollie?’ she asked.
‘Pepperoni, onions, green peppers and red peppers,’ I replied.
‘Pepperoni’s too hot for me,’ she said. ‘You’re very brave.’
‘He’s very BORING!’ shouted Bobby Bragg, doing a loud pretend yawn.
This time, the laughter seemed to pick me up and slam me hard against the whiteboard.
I bowed my head and scuttled back to my place, my face hot and my heart tapping out a rhythm inside my chest.
It’s the same every week: I don’t do anything exciting, so I never have anything good to talk about. A couple of months ago, I thought I’d finally got something interesting to SHOW AND TELL.
I told the class I’d been to the dentist and found a copy of Beasts from the Deep in the waiting room. I held up the comic to show everyone, and explained that the dentist had let me keep it.
Bobby Bragg shouted, ‘Nobody reads those stupid Agent Q comics any more. You’re a geek, Tibbs!’
I ignored him and carried on. I told the class that I’d collected 439 different comics, and when I found a copy of the incredibly rare , I’d have the full set.
Miss Wilkins said, ‘How interesting!’ and asked which was my favourite.
‘ ’ I replied. ‘I’ve read that one twenty-nine times.’
‘You’re a DABKID, Tibbs,’ shouted Bobby. ‘Dull And Boring. In fact, if you were in a comic book, you’d be DABMAN!’
The class ROARED with laughter, and some of them began to chant, ‘DABMAN! DABMAN!’ over and over again.
Miss Wilkins gave Bobby a playtime detention and docked three SHINE TIME points from his score for name-calling, but it made no difference to me – the new name stuck.
You see, everyone in my class knows it; everyone in my school knows it; I bet even Rambo, the Year 6 hamster, knows it …
It’s OK if you’re one of the SAS KIDS – the ones – you have amazing things to SHOW AND TELL. The SAS KIDS have special meetings after school. They go on their own special trips to science museums and have special days out to visit universities. They probably even sleep in a way.
But what about the rest of us, the DAB KIDS? What have we got to talk about?
Zip. Zero. Nothing.
At least I’m not alone – there are others in my class who are almost as Dull And Boring as I am.
Peaches would love to climb mountains with her dad and big brother, but she gets if she stands on a chair.
Leon Curley would love to be a world-champion wrestler like his hero Steel Kong, but Leon’s so small and quiet he’d have to compete in the division.
Millie Dangerfield would love to be a Hollywood film star like her big idol Ritzy Savoy, but Millie’s so nervous she got stage fright playing a sheep in the school nativity play.
Being ordinary doesn’t bother Peaches. ‘Why do you want to be a SAS KID?’ she once asked me.
‘I don’t,’ I replied. ‘It’s my mum and dad. They want me to be BRILLIANT at something, like the rest of my family.’
‘But then you’d have to sit with Bobby Bragg,’ she said, wrinkling up her nose as though she’d got a whiff of a BAD SMELL. ‘Why would they want you to do that?’
Peaches heaved her Eco Warrior shoulder bag on to her lap, and undid the straps. As she flung the bag open, I peeked inside at all her neatly arranged stuff. There were pockets and zipped-up compartments, Velcro straps holding pens, and clips with keys and lucky charms hanging from them.
She caught me staring, and raised one eyebrow. ‘A place for everything, and everything in its place, my mum says. If I need something, I know exactly where it is.’
‘What have you got in there?’
She began to list some of the items:
✔ a pen-torch, in case there’s a power cut
✔ a compass, in case I get lost
✔ a stopwatch, in case I need to time something
✔ a spare pen, in case I lose my best one
✔ a notebook, in case I need to make notes – obviously
✔ a pound coin, in case I need money …
✔ a first-aid kit, in case anyone needs first aid
✔ a stapler and staples
✔ paper clips
✔ rubber bands
✔ emergency supplies of fruity Yummy-Gum Drops
✔ big sunglasses, in case I need a disguise
She went to close the flap, but I saw something else in the bag. ‘Why have you got a pair of socks in there?’
‘They’re spares,’ Peaches replied. ‘Just in case.’ She stuck her chin out defiantly. ‘I’m not , but I’m ready for anything.’
I sighed. ‘I’m not , and I’m ready for nothing.’
On the following Friday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk doing a tricky long-division sum, when our headteacher, Mrs Broadside, rushed into the classroom and whispered something to Miss Wilkins.
‘Oliver, pack your bag and get your coat,’ said Mrs Broadside. ‘Your mother has been called into hospital to do an emergency operation. She’s going to pick you up on the way and take you with her.’
Now THIS was exciting! I hardly ever got to go to the hospital with my mum. I could see everyone was really interested as I grabbed my bag and dashed out of the classroom behind Mrs Broadside. Bobby Bragg definitely looked jealous. Luckily, school’s quite close to the hospital, and a minute later Mum pulled up at the gates. I noticed Bobby Bragg staring out of the window, so I my bag into the back of the car, in next to Mum and we off down the road, just like Agent Q when he was after the robbers in GOLD BULLION BANK RAIDERS.
Mum explained that there was no one at home to look after me. Our Italian nanny, Constanza, had gone to see ace rapper that night, Dad was away at a bank-designing conference, my sisters were rehearsing for a big performance of Swan Lake and Algy was at a training camp with the National Junior Genius Squad, so Mum only had me to worry about.
THIS was cool. I began to wonder …
WHAT IF … Mum’s patient is the world’s leading expert on alien invasion?
Actually, her patient was a plumber from the Mr Fixit Building Company. Mum said she’d asked him to put a new toilet in our bathroom when he was feeling better.
‘I brought for you to read while I’m working,’ she said. ‘Your dad told me you were really enjoying it. Maybe you’re going to be a world-famous engineer some day, Oliver.’
I was totally BRILLIANT at sitting for hours in the hospital waiting room that afternoon. Luckily, my comic was still hidden inside the book. I managed to read for the second time, and it was just as good, if not better, than the first time.
When I finished, I ate a Snik-Snak and a satsuma. Then I stared out of the waiting-room window for a while and counted the vehicles in the car park. There were:
WHAT IF … the Mamba Venom Mark 3 sports car could transform into a spaceship?
I waited … and waited … and waited … I went to the toilet twice (not while I was staring out of the window, obviously!). The first time, I went into the girls’ toilet by mistake. There was a lady in there washing her hands.
WHAT IF … the woman was Madam Sula, the famous , come to stop Mum from doing the operation?
‘Eek!’ shouted the lady.
‘Sorry!’ I shouted, and ran out.
Definitely not an Intergalactic Space Spy.
I bumped into one of the hospital cleaners as I raced back into the corridor. I remembered her from the last time Mum left me hanging around at the hospital.
‘Hi, Betty,’ I said. ‘Wrong toilet.’
She laughed and offered me a jelly baby. I chose a red one, because they’re my favourite.
‘Do you want to help me tidy my store cupboard while you’re waiting for your mum to finish?’ asked Betty.
WHAT IF … Betty was a secret agent looking for Madam Sula, and th
e cupboard was full of government files and alien weapons?
But when Betty opened the door the room was just full of cleaning stuff: bottles of disinfectant, boxes of rubber gloves and towers of toilet rolls. She noticed that a mop and bucket were missing – we searched everywhere, and I eventually found them behind the door in the gents’ loos.
When we’d finished, Betty said I could have all the red jelly babies as a reward for helping.
Eventually, Mum finished the operation and took me home for supper.
‘How did it go?’ I asked as we left the hospital. ‘Did you have to cut great big lumps of his brain out?’
‘Oliver! Please …’
‘Did you have to do a total brain transplant?’
‘Oliver! I really don’t think …’
‘Did you have to do a total head transplant – cut his head off and sew on a completely new one?’
‘Oliver, you can be quite disgusting sometimes.’
I gave up, folded my arms and sighed. ‘What’s for supper?’
Mum grinned. ‘Brains on toast!
Next Monday, it was the same as ever: the SAS KIDS had all had exciting weeks and weekends, and the DAB KIDS hadn’t.
Bobby Bragg had climbed Mount Badrock with the Cub Scouts.
Jamie Ryder had broken his thumb flying off his BMX bike on the final bend in the County Finals.
Toby Hadron told us how he had invented a mega-powerful . He’d brought it with him, and as he switched it on dozens of metal objects like paper clips, drawing pins and the spoon in Miss Wilkins’s coffee cup began flying across the room. Millie Dangerfield’s glasses shot off her nose and clattered into the metal end of the magnet too!
The had all done zip. Zero. Nothing.
Miss Wilkins called out my name. ‘Now, we all know that Oliver had an exciting trip to the hospital with his mum on Friday, don’t we, class?’ She smiled at me. ‘Why don’t you tell everyone what happened, Oliver?’
I stood up and faced the class. ‘My mum had to do an emergency operation,’ I said.
Miss Wilkins nodded enthusiastically. ‘Now that’s interesting, Oliver! What did do while you were there?’
Attack of the Alien Brain Page 1
