Attack of the Alien Brain

by Steve Hartley

  Bobby showed off a few karate moves, doing a spin-kick and four or five lightning-fast punches, then dived head-first into the dark mouth of the slide.

  I thought, WHAT IF … the tube was actually a black hole that sucked him into another dimension, where he had to spend the rest of his life fighting real ten-eyed, eight-bottomed, twelve-legged ALIENS from the planet Biggadiggaboomboom? That would serve him right.

  I looked around the playground …

  And WHAT IF … the climbing frame really was a rocket-ship, and the slide coming off the side was an escape chute?

  And WHAT IF … the roundabout was a SOLAR SYSTEM, with planets and comets orbiting the sun?

  And WHAT IF … the picnic tables were actually the control panels of a spaceship?

  And WHAT IF … the soccer goal was the mouth of a from the moons of Jupiter?

  I dumped the banana skin into the rubbish bin at my side.

  WHAT IF … the bin was the atomic fuel cell of a Zygon battle-cruiser?

  I jumped up from my seat.

  WHAT IF … it was really a meteorite shaped like a bench?

  ‘Pea, I’ve got it!’ I said. ‘I’ve got an idea for the playground!’

  She took her notebook and pen out of her bag. ‘OK, shoot!’

  ‘Aliens!’ I said. ‘We can transform the stuff that’s already here into rocket ships, and comets, and planets and … aliens!

  ‘That’s not just an idea, that’s a Big Idea,’ said Peaches. ‘In fact, it’s a Whopper!’

  ‘We’ll draw our plans on a big piece of paper, and colour it all in,’ I said, ‘with pictures of things like the spaceship climbing frame, so that they know what it’ll look like.’

  Yikes! I thought. I’d better stop pretending to read The Complicated Scale Drawings of Nineteenth-Century Engineers, and really start reading it.

  ‘The trouble is, I’m useless at drawing,’ I admitted.

  ‘Let’s get the ideas down first,’ said Peaches. I’ll do some doodles in my notebook.’

  The bell went for the start of afternoon lessons, but we were having so much we didn’t notice. Bobby Bragg swaggered past, and glanced at the notebook. Peaches snapped it shut.

  ‘I told you, it’s private,’ she said.

  ‘I just wanted a good laugh,’ sneered Bobby.

  Constanza came to pick me up after school. She was nine minutes late today, and shouted, ‘Mamma mia! Il telephono! Brrr-brrr! Brrr-brrr! Brrr-brrr!’

  She talked to Miss Wilkins for ages. They kept glancing at me and whispering. I heard the occasional word: evil … sad … weird and chocolate buttons, but Constanza didn’t look worried about me ; in fact, she was laughing and smiling.

  When Mum came home from work later on, she and Constanza spoke to each other in Italian. I thought Constanza would tell Mum about my latest fib, but she seemed to be talking about cats again. Anyway, I didn’t get grounded, and I was allowed to read my Agent Q comics, so it was back to normal at home.

  In fact, it was more boring at home than usual.

  The twins were dancing in Swan Lake all week (no outbreaks of Bothersome Itchy Foot Rot disease).

  Algy played chess against his computer every evening, practising for the European Championship Finals at the weekend.

  Mum and Dad just got on with their work.

  The most exciting thing that happened was when I cut my finger peeling a potato. Mum gave me a tetanus jab, and stuck an Agent Q plaster on the cut.

  Back at school, I worked hard with Peaches every lunch and playtime, listing our playground plans.

  Peaches suggested painting alien bodies on the walls below the Year 4 classroom windows.

  ‘I get it!’ I laughed. ‘Then when the kids sit at their desks, their heads will match up with the bodies!’

  She nodded. ‘Year Four aren’t human beings, anyway.’

  I suggested turning the whole surface of the playground into a universe by painting it with comets and galaxies and planets and stars, and making a huge hold up the basketball hoop.

  As each day passed, I began to think maybe we did have a chance of winning after all.

  On Friday morning, Peaches said, ‘Is it finished?’

  ‘Is what finished?’ I replied.

  ‘The drawing of our playground plan.’

  ‘I thought you were going to do it.’

  ‘No! I thought you were going to do it!’

  ‘I told you, I can’t draw a straight line,’ I said.

  ‘Neither can I,’ said Peaches.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ I cried. ‘The entries have to be handed in at playtime. We don’t have time to do it.’

  ‘We’ll just have to hand in my notebook, and hope all my silly doodles are good enough,’ said Peaches, with tears in her eyes. ‘It won’t be the same though,’ she added, stomping away to get her bag.

  At playtime, I went to see our headteacher, Mrs Broadside. I told her what had happened, and asked if we could put our plans in on Monday morning, in time for the final judging.

  ‘I’m sorry, Oliver,’ she replied, ‘but there has to be a deadline. If I give you more time, it wouldn’t be fair on the others.’

  At lunch, I looked at all the other entries displayed in the hall, and realized how I was to think we stood a chance even if we had drawn pictures of our ideas. There were lots of amazing ones. Some kids had stuck pictures from magazines on their plans, while others had used glitter paint.

  But the SASKIDS were the only team who had made a 3-D model. It even had moving parts: the swings swung, the see-saw seesawed and the roundabout went roundabout. You could even slide little cardboard children down the curling helter-skelter slide.

  ‘It’s awesome,’ I whispered to Peaches. ‘I’d love to have a playground like that.’

  ‘It’s OK, but it hasn’t got a Big Idea like ours has,’ she said sulkily, moving her notebook round to somehow try to make it look more impressive.

  I felt as droopy as a balloon all weekend. I couldn’t even be bothered to read .

  Then on Sunday Mum, Dad and I all went to the European Championship Chess Finals to watch Algy. Constanza had taken the twins to ballet, of course, to practise their battlement fondus, or something like that.

  I tried to cheer myself up – you can’t be miserable when you’re a mascot. Algy was really , so I gave him my last red jelly baby and told him it was my extra-lucky lucky charm, and that it would be like I was sitting in his pocket while he played each game.

  ‘Thanks, Ollie,’ he whispered, staring at the sweet just like Professor Lucy Tipping did in , when she discovered the magical golden bracelet of Pacari-Tampu.

  In the hall, I made sure I sat where Algy could see me when he was playing each game. It was kind of BORING, but kind of exciting at the same time. I didn’t read a comic – I wanted to be sure my lucky-mascot-ivity was fully focused on my little brother.

  It worked! He won! Algy is now the European Junior Chessmaster Champion. How totally is that? It beats breaking a brick in hall with your bare hands any day.

  At SHOW AND TELL the next morning, Bobby Bragg told us he could do a backflip, and then showed us. Then he showed us again … and again … and again.

  Millie Dangerfield had been to the premier of the new blockbuster film, , and showed us a photo of her standing next to the star of the movie: her idol, Ritzy Savoy. She even showed us Ritzy’s autograph.

  Hattie Hurley told us she had come second in the National Spelling Bee Finals, and would have come first, but she had a bit of a brain-fail and spelt ‘legend’ with a j. She showed us her silver medal, and we all clapped.

  When it got to my turn, I was going to tell everyone about Algy, and how I’d helped him win, but then Millie Dangerfield put her hand in the air.

  ‘Miss,’ she said, ‘can Ollie tell us if DABMAN defeated the SHOW-OFF?’

  Miss Wilkins smiled. ‘Hands up who would like to hear more of Oliver’s story.’

  A forest of hands shot up. Bobby Bragg f
olded his arms across his chest defiantly. Toby and Hattie copied him.

  ‘Very well, Oliver,’ said Miss Wilkins. ‘But I hope this is the end of your adventure – I don’t think I can stand any more excitement.’

  I jumped up and went to the front of the class. All eyes were on me. This was my FINAL FIB.

  ‘On Sunday, I was ambushed in the kitchen by the SHOW-OFF and his army of alien brains,’ I began. ‘I went for my potato peeler – which is also a hypnotizing ray gun – but before I could press the ON button …’

  ‘That’s how I got this,’ I said. I held up my hand to show the Agent Q plaster on my finger.

  ‘I was lucky,’ I went on. ‘The energy beam from the SHOW-OFF’s blaster had bounced off the ray gun, and hit the SECRET rocket activation button on my special D.O.P.E.S. pen.’

  I heard Toby Hadron snort with laughter.

  ‘The Mamba Venom Mark 3 zoomed out of the sky,’ I said, ‘and stopped outside the kitchen window …’

  ‘I couldn’t shake them off,’ I told the class. ‘One more shot from the alien ship and I could be blown to bits. Then I had an idea. At that moment, my brother, Algy, was busy winning the European Chess Championships: he was my only chance!’

  Hattie Hurley guessed what was coming next. Her hands flew to her ears (they didn’t actually fly – she’s not that !). She screwed her face up, and began to make little squeaky noises – like a mouse with hiccups – so she wouldn’t hear.

  ‘There were bits of brains everywhere,’ I said. ‘It was like an explosion in a and custard factory.’

  ‘EUGHHHHH!’ went the class.

  ‘Algy had absorbed all their power and knowledge,’ I said. ‘He knew their attack plans – the Earth was saved!’

  ‘What about the SHOW-OFF?’ asked Millie Dangerfield.

  ‘He was so shocked at seeing the brains explode,’ I replied, ‘that he didn’t see me sneak up on him. I knocked the blaster from his hand and …’

  Miss Wilkins stood up and said, ‘Hooray! We can all sleep safe in our beds thanks to Oliver Tibbs – or should I say ’

  Everyone cheered and clapped, except Bobby Bragg, of course.

  ‘And don’t forget,’ she said, ‘the teachers will be judging the playground competition at lunchtime. There will be a special assembly straight after lunch to announce the winners.’

  A buzz of excitement buzzed around the class. Who would go to the zoo, and who would get the pencil sharpener?

  At lunchtime, everyone went to the hall to check that their entries looked as good as possible before the judging began. Peaches and I just needed to make sure that the notebook was open at the right page.

  There was an empty space on the table where it should have been.

  ‘Where is it?’ I cried as we searched desperately around the display board, under the tables and behind all the other entries.

  ‘It’s been stolen!’ cried Peaches.

  Bobby Bragg stood with the SASKIDS around their fantastic model. He raised one eyebrow and smirked at us.

  ‘So you decided to take your entry out of the competition,’ he said. ‘Good to see you know when you’re beaten.’ He laughed, and nudged Hattie Hurley. ‘Or maybe the aliens took it!’

  ‘Pea, maybe it’s for the best,’ I said. ‘It was a rubbish entry.’

  ‘I’m not giving up that easily,’ said Peaches, looking daggers at Bobby.

  She opened her bag and began to rummage inside. ‘I had a feeling something like this might happen,’ she said, taking out another 100 per cent recycled paper notebook, identical to the first. ‘So it’s a good job I made a copy.’

  ‘Pea!’ I cried. ‘You’re so … sensible!’

  ‘I make copies of everything – just in case.’

  Bobby Bragg scowled at her as she opened the book and placed it on the table. ‘You still won’t win,’ he spat. ‘Ours is a trillion times better than yours.’

  ‘OK, everyone out!’ shouted Mrs Broadside. ‘Let the judging begin!’

  I couldn’t eat anything at lunchtime, not even the chocolate pudding. My stomach felt as though it was full of the that infected Agent Q in .

  At the special assembly straight after lunch, Mrs Broadside kept us waiting while she made some other announcements about the library, and litter, and a lost sock.

  ‘Well,’ she said eventually, ‘I suppose you all want to know which entry the teachers have picked as the best design for our new playground.’

  ‘Yes!’ we all shouted.

  The headteacher smiled, then said some stuff about how hard it had been to choose, and how the entries were all very different, but all very good, and then she said, ‘One was really outstanding, and that was the excellent model by Year Six pupils Bobby Bragg, Hattie Hurley and Toby Hadron.’

  Everyone began to clap. My heart seemed to drop to my feet.

  ‘Yessssss!’ hissed Bobby, and shuffled along the line of kids with the other two to get his prize. As he passed me, he gave me a nudge in the back with his knee.

  What if the D.O.P.E.S. Command Spaceship beamed me up at that moment, so I wouldn’t have to listen to him crowing about winning?

  Mrs Broadside shook their hands, then gave them each a pencil sharpener.

  Bobby Bragg realized what was happening at the same time I did, and I saw his grin fade instantly: the pencil sharpener was the second prize!

  ‘Well done, you three,’ said Mrs Broadside. ‘Your ideas were excellent, your model was BRILLIANT your design had modern, state-of-the-art equipment, however …’

  She turned to the rest of us.

  ‘There was one entry that was especially clever,’ she said. ‘It has an amazing, original theme of space travel. The children who did it obviously put a great deal of hard work and imagination into coming up with some fantastic ideas, and illustrated them with oodles of doodles. In this playground, every playtime will be an adventure: you’ll be able to hop across galaxies when you play hopscotch, feed the gaping mouths of hungry litter-aliens with your rubbish, and take the controls of an INTERGALACTIC SPACE cruiser after your lunch!’

  The kids in the hall laughed and began to chatter excitedly.

  ‘But what’s really great about this idea,’ Mrs Broadside went on, ‘is that it uses everything that’s already in the playground, and makes it even better. Well be saving the planet in two ways: recycling the old equipment, and fighting children-chomping alien invaders!’

  Then Mrs Broadside held up Peaches’ notebook.

  ‘So the teachers and I have decided that the first prize goes to this wonderfully imaginative and ingenious entry Prom Peaches Mazimba and Oliver Tibbs!’

  Everyone cheered and clapped as the two of us made our way to the front of the hall.

  WHAT IF … this was all just a dream, and I suddenly woke up to find Bobby Bragg in top place, as usual?

  As I stood in front of the assembly, looking at the First Prize certificate, and the vouchers saying , I realized it was true: we’d won the competition. Our alien adventure idea was going to be turned into a real playground.

  Back in class, Miss Wilkins said that we should have a special SHOW AND TELL – just me and Peaches telling the class how we came up with our design.

  Bobby Bragg’s hand shot into the air. ‘Miss, I want to show everyone how I can chop through a brick.’

  ‘You showed us that two weeks ago, Bobby,’ said Miss Wilkins. ‘Come to the front, please, competition winners.’

  Peaches and I told the class about our Big ldea, holding open the notebook and pointing to the pages as we talked. When we finished, the class cheered and clapped again.

  ‘I’m going to award Oliver and Peaches ten SHINE TIME points each,’ said Miss Wilkins.

  That rocketed me from -3 to +7. My highest score ever! I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Mum, Dad and Algy – there was no way even Emma and Gemma would think I was after this.

  ‘Cool idea!’ said Jamie Ryder, and held up his hand to high-five me as I walked back to m
y desk.

  Bobby Bragg tossed his second-prize pencil sharpener in the air, and stared at me with cold, fierce eyes. Lucky for us he didn’t have a Zygon Super Neutrino Ray Blaster ZX5 at that moment, or he’d have zapped me and Peaches into a trillion zillion atoms.

  I couldn’t wait to get home and tell my mum and dad what I’d done, but Constanza was twenty minutes late picking me up. ‘’ she cried, kicking the front tyre of the car before she got in it. ‘’ she yelled, throwing her hands in the air to demonstrate a tyre bursting.

  When I showed Constanza the certificate and voucher, she threw her hands in the air again, shouted, ‘Bravo! Magnifico!’ and gave me big sloppy kisses on both cheeks.

  I climbed into the front seat of the car. The twins were discussing their new (Slime-free) ballet slippers.

  ‘I’ve won a trip to the ZOO!’ I said.

  ‘Well, we’re going to the National Ballet,’ said Emma.

  ‘To see Dame Elizabeth De Ath in Swan Lake,’ added Gemma.

  When I told Algy, though, he was incredibly jealous. ‘Can I come too?’ he asked. ‘I want to see the platypussies.’

  ‘Sorry, Algy, the prize is for me and Peaches only,’ I replied. ‘But I promise I’ll buy you a wind-up platypus from the gift shop.’

  Mum and Dad were overjoyed at my news.

  ‘Maybe you are going to be a BRILLIANT engineer after all, Oliver,’ said Mum.

  ‘Or an architect, like me,’ beamed Dad.

  ‘I didn’t engineer the playground – I just had a Big Idea,’ I told them, but they weren’t listening.

  ‘I’ve got some tremendously interesting books on building design that you can read, Oliver,’ said Dad.

  ‘Are they really big books?’ I asked.

  ‘Huge,’ he answered, running into his office and coming back with a volume of Fundamental Principles of Architecture: How to make sure your building doesn’t fall down.

  ‘Fantastic,’ I said, realizing that it was so big I could easily hide an Agent Q comic inside. In fact, it was so humongous I could hide two comics inside, maybe even THREE!

  At lunchtime the next day, Peaches and I bought chocolate-chip muffins to celebrate our win.

  ‘Would you like to be in my next story, Pea?’ I asked her. ‘Fighting monsters, discovering SECRET treasure, spying on evil scientists …’ An idea flashed into my mind. ‘WHAT IF … the two of us were a pair of TOP-TOP-SECRET D.O.P.E.S.?’