About the Book
Have you ever done a runner from the dentist? Are you petrified of clowns? Have giant head lice tried to eat you? Have you ever been attacked by Library Ninjas when your book was five years overdue? And have you come up with a genius way to never do homework again? All of these things have happened to me.
I’m Tom Weekly. My life is an exploding chicken, and the book in your hands is my attempt to glue it back together again.
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Stella Holling and the Great Homework Scam
Dr Bent
Worst. Dentist. Ever.
Revenge of the Nits (Part One)
‘Don’t Sit Where You Knit’
Death by Clown
My Cat’s So Fat …
Fungus the Bogeyman
What Would You Rather Do?
When Socks Come Back
Scab Collection
Revenge of the Nits (Part Two): Lice-ensed to Kill
25 Reasons Why I Can’t Wait to Be in a Nursing Home
The Clappers
Ten Reasons Why You Should Not Read the Other Three My Life Books
Acknowledgements
About the Author and Illustrator
About Tristan Bancks and Room to Read
Books by Tristan Bancks
Copyright Notice
Hey,
I’m Tom Weekly, and this is my fourth book of weird, funny, sometimes gross stories. Within these pages you will discover the answers to life’s biggest questions. Stuff like:
1. How do I return a book that’s five years overdue to the library without being attacked by Ninja Librarians?
2. How awesome will it be when I’m in a nursing home and wearing those cool, old-guy nappies?
3. Where do all the missing, odd socks go?
4. How do I stop that freaky person in my class from trying to kiss me?
5. And what should I do if an evil clown is trying to kill me?
I always look on the bright side of life. When I come up with a genius idea, failure is not an option.
But sometimes my dreams and hopes hit the hen house of reality at 197 km/hour and erupt like an exploding chicken.
Let my life be a warning to you.
Tom
Disclaimer: No chickens were harmed in the making of this book.
All exploding chickens are metaphorical (which means symbolic, which means figurative, which means they were made up). All metaphorical exploding chickens were grass-fed and free-range.
Stella Holling and the Great Homework Scam
Homework is destroying my life. I think it should be banned. We do 30 hours of school each week, and then they want us to do more work at home? I don’t think so. The worst part is that Mum hassles me about it all week, so I pretend I left my assignment at school, or I tell her about new research that claims homework causes blindness, and then I don’t do it and I get detention.
Right now, though, at this very moment, I have the opportunity to never do homework again. Ever.
I’m standing under the fig tree near the front gate. Hundreds of kids stream past, heading for their buses. I am spying on Stella Holling, who is tucked into a narrow gap between the Year Four and Five portables. Almost every kid in my class walks by and hands their homework to her. They make it look so easy. They give it to her, say, ‘Thanks, Stella,’ then walk away. Stella will do their homework for them – in their own handwriting – and get them full marks, no matter the subject. No questions asked.
Stella says she loves homework, and she’s been offering this free service to her classmates for the past five weeks. (NB: For something big, like a model of the solar system or a family tree, she expects modest payment in the form of pink jelly beans or strawberry jelly crystals.)
I have not yet taken advantage of her offer because I smell a rat. Stella Holling has been in love with me since second grade. She has tricked, swindled and blackmailed me into kissing her so many times that I know there must be a catch. Stella is one of the most devious humans on the planet, especially when it comes to kissing me. There’s no way that she would just do my homework out of the goodness of her heart.
Leilani, Jonah, Brittany – they all hand over their homework sheets and head off to their buses, happy as anything. They’ll probably hang out with friends, kick balls, play video games and do bommies off Kings Bay wharf all afternoon, while I’m working my stinking guts out.
Stella is now cradling a large pile of papers, and she has an enormous smile on her face. She looks down at the pile like she wants to marry it. Maybe she really does just love homework.
The last few kids – Billy, Milo, Huxley and Jack – add their papers to Stella’s stack.
This cuts me deeply, knowing that Jack will have no homework and I will. He pulls a face at me and blows kisses to an imaginary crowd, as though he’s some kind of rock star for having found a loophole in the education system. He bows to his invisible fans, then walks right over to me.
‘You are one pathetic loser, Weekly.’
I growl.
‘Would any girl really do almost their entire class’s homework for five weeks just to kiss you? Most girls would do everyone’s homework for five weeks not to have to kiss you. Think about it. Are you really that special?’
I think about it for a moment. And I really don’t think I’m that special. It’s just –
‘I’ve gotta go,’ Jack says. ‘I might see if Lewis wants to go up to the oval.’
The thought of my two best friends free as birds while I sit at the kitchen table doing long division kills me. I don’t have a choice. I have to take the plunge, risk everything. I start towards Stella, pulling my homework out of my bag.
‘Yes!’ Jack says, pumping his fist, following me. ‘That’s awesome. Do you want to play soccer or footy? Or do you want to come over to my house and –’
‘Stella!’ I say.
She looks up.
I glance around, making sure that no teachers are watching.
I hold out my homework.
She looks at me for an uncomfortably long time. Then she smiles, just like she did with the others.
‘Sure,’ she says. She takes the paper from my hand.
‘Thanks,’ I say, then Jack and I turn and walk away.
And that’s it. I can’t believe how easy it was.
I walk slightly faster than usual, putting as much space between Stella and me as possible, just in case, but I can’t help grinning so wide my jaw aches. Jack puts his hand out and I give him five. ‘You should have done that weeks ago,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you get off at my stop and –’
‘Oh, To-om!’ says a voice from behind us.
My smile wilts. I pretend not to hear. We continue towards the front gate, picking up speed.
‘Tommyyy!’ Stella says, louder this time.
Up ahead I can see Mrs Hamilton standing next to my bus, talking to the driver. She looks my way.
‘TOM!’ Stella calls and, this time, her voice cuts through everything. There’s no way that I could not have heard her. She’s only about 20 metres behind us. I don’t want her getting weird, so I stop. I turn. I look at her. I am reminded of a spider that I once saw catching a fly in the window frame above my bed. I can feel the sticky web beneath my feet. She creeps out from between the classrooms. I wait for her to start wrapping me up before sinking her fangs in. Every organ in my body screams RUN!
‘My bus is about to go,’ I call out. ‘I’ve gotta –’
‘Uh-uh-uh!’ she says, shaking her head and waggling her finger.
I start to worry that she might do
something bad to my homework, like put lipstick kisses in the margin, or answer ‘1 + 1= Us’, or dob me in. I move slowly back towards her. I stop a couple of metres away, just out of kissing range. The grin on her face is truly terrifying.
‘I just have one incy-wincy little request,’ she says.
‘What?’ I ask, but I already know.
‘One ickle kissy for Stella?’ she says, fluttering her eyelashes. ‘In exchange for doing your homework.’
I take a long, slow breath, trying to swallow the nuclear explosion happening inside me.
‘No one else has to kiss you,’ I say through gritted teeth.
She shrugs. ‘I don’t want to kiss anyone else.’
‘That’s not fair,’ I say.
‘Fair schmair,’ she says.
‘I’ve told you a hundred times that my heart belongs to Sasha.’
Stella scrunches her fists at the mention of my true love. ‘And I’ve told you a hundred and one times that your heart belongs to me.’ She says this in a way that makes me feel she may actually have plans to remove my heart at some stage.
‘That’s it. Give me back my homework.’
‘Nope.’
‘Whaddya mean “nope”?’ I reach to grab my sheet from the top of the pile, but she pulls it away.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ says a booming voice from behind me. I look around and up. It’s Brent Bunder, the biggest kid in our school, looming over me. Just what I need. He smells like a sickening mix of fish from Bunder’s Fish Shop and body odour. Brent is taller than most of the teachers. He’s had a moustache since before he was born. He also wants me dead, ever since Jack and I tricked him into giving us free hot chips from his parents’ shop.
‘Nothing,’ I say.
Brent hands his homework to Stella and says, ‘Thanks, Holling.’
‘If you don’t kiss me, Tom,’ Stella says, ‘I not only won’t do your homework – I won’t do anyone’s.’
‘What?’ I look at Jack, then up at Brent, hoping for backup. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘One kiss every Monday afternoon and everything will continue to run smoothly,’ she says.
‘No way! I’ll just get Sasha to help me with my homework.’
The liquid in her eyeballs starts to boil. I’m sure I can hear a faint whistle coming from her ears. I’ve got her now.
‘I’d hate to have to tell the rest of the class who ruined the sweet homework deal, Husband,’ she says.
‘I’m not your husband!’
‘You will be one day.’ She winks and turns my spine to ice. She hands Brent his homework. ‘Sorry, Brent. You’ll have to do it yourself.’
A very large hand grabs the back of my shirt. ‘Kiss her,’ Brent says.
‘But –’
‘Pucker up,’ he says, close to my ear now, low and menacing.
Stella finds Jack’s homework. ‘There you go,’ she says, handing it to him. ‘I guess I’ll give the others their blank sheets back tomorrow, after it’s due. Oh, well, it was good while it lasted.’
Jack glares samurai swords at me.
Stella smiles.
Brent’s grip on my shirt tightens, making breathing slightly difficult.
‘Alright, I’ll kiss her,’ I wheeze.
Brent releases his grip.
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to magic myself back over behind the tree, before Jack wrecked my life by telling me that Stella meant no harm.
I open my eyes. I am staring at Stella Holling’s smooshed-out lips. She’s waiting.
Brent shoves me in the back and I move in towards her. I promised myself that I would never kiss her again and yet, somehow, here I am, centimetres from her face. I have goosebumps on my skin and it’s the middle of summer. My heart does a drum roll. A pool of acid burns a hole in my stomach.
Stella’s lips are all dry and flaky. And she has red stuff glistening at the corners of her mouth – red frog residue. She’s been eating frogs from the canteen again. Stella goes cuckoo when she eats sugar, and red food colouring makes it nine times worse.
‘Kissy, kissy!’ she singsongs, making a smooching sound with her lips. Brent pokes me in the back with one of his gigantic fingers, and I am so close to Stella’s face I can see myself reflected in her wild, glassy eyes.
All this, just to get out of doing long division. Now that I have to kiss Stella every Monday for the rest of my school life, homework doesn’t seem that bad. What was I so worried about? It only takes me half an hour a week, but I might need years of therapy to get over kissing Stella 256 times between now and high school graduation. Not to mention the lip transplant. I’d be happy to do everyone in the class’s homework not to have to do this.
I run that line through my head one more time. I’d be happy to do everyone in the class’s homework not to have to do this.
I really would.
With a millimetre to go before my lips touch the most radioactive substance known to humankind – Stella’s saliva – I pull back and snatch the pile of papers from her warm, sweaty little hands. I turn and grab Jack’s and Brent’s homework from them and I run.
‘Oi!’ Brent calls.
‘What’re you doing?’ Jack shouts.
‘Where’s my kiss?’ Stella screams.
I keep running and I don’t turn back. ‘I’ll do the homework. Ha! How you like them apples? You’re out of a job, Holling! I’m never kissing you again.’
I run all the way to the bus, fly past Mrs Hamilton and leap on, just as the door is closing. I slide into the front seat and the bus moves off. I peer out through the dirty window at the three angry, twisted faces of Jack, Brent and Stella, and I am happier than I’ve ever been in my life. For once, the good guy won. I outsmarted Stella Holling. I am a legend.
I wave to Stella, Brent and Jack. The bus turns and they are gone.
I look around to see if anyone else saw what just happened. No one seems that interested, which is a bit disappointing.
I look down at the heavy pile of homework in my lap. I flick through the 20 or 25 homework sheets. Oh, well, at least I don’t have to kiss Stella.
In the past seven minutes I have gone from complaining about my homework to having no homework to having 25 people’s homework to do from now until the end of time.
This makes me feel like not such a legend. Twenty-five homework sheets. What was I thinking?
Cars and houses and shops stream by outside the window. My throat clamps up and my face feels a bit tingly. What have I done?
I mean, Stella’s not that bad.
And the red frog residue actually did smell quite nice.
If I hurry back, I wonder if she’ll still be there? I wonder if she’ll still kiss me.
The bus pulls up at the first stop and, without thinking, I jump off and start walking quickly back towards school.
‘Hey, Tom. What are you doing?’ a voice calls.
‘Huh?’ I turn. It’s Sasha, the cutest and smartest girl in Australia. She has jumped off the bus behind me. She looks so beautiful in the orangey glow of afternoon sun that I can’t speak.
‘I’m going to my mum’s work. Where are you going?’ she asks.
‘Um …’ I try to think of a polite way to tell my future wife that I’m heading back to school to kiss another girl who I despise so that she’ll do my homework.
It’s a tricky situation.
I look down at the pile of papers in my hand. ‘Just … home,’ I say, ‘to do a bit of homework.’
‘Oh, cool. I’m doing homework, too! I’m so glad you haven’t been tempted to get involved in Stella’s homework scam. I mean, what kind of idiot would fall for something like that?’
Dr Bent
Ripping out five of my teeth seemed like such a good idea at the time, back when all that tooth fairy cash was rolling in. Jack and I were rich beyond our wildest dreams. We had rainbow Paddle Pops every lunchtime for two months.
Now, as I stand in the rain in front of a broken, molar-shaped, flicker
ing-fluoro sign that reads ‘Budget Dentistry’, I’m not so sure. It seems that my mother will stop at nothing to save money. I thought pulling into a McDonald’s car park on our trip to Sydney and feeding us egg-and-lettuce sandwiches was bad. Now she’s risking the health and welfare of her own child.
I look down the cracked, moss-covered concrete path. It slithers through a dark forest to a timber house of peeling paint the colour of hot English mustard.
‘C’mon,’ Mum says. ‘We’re late.’ She charges down the path, her high heels slipping from beneath her. She shoots out her hand and just manages to grab the rusty railing and save herself.
I hear the high-pitched zzzzzzzzzz of the drill, and ice-cold fear whistles through me.
‘Mum, please!’
‘Don’t be a sook, Tom. If you hadn’t …’ She starts on another rave about the stupidity of ripping out my own teeth. I mean, how was I supposed to know which were my baby teeth and which were my adult teeth?
‘Come. Now.’ She turns and slips on the mossy path again, falling right on her backside this time, scrambling to her feet and glaring at me through the gloom.
I follow – walking and sliding, slipping and skating – along the steep, winding concrete snake. As I reach the bottom of the path there’s a bloodcurdling shriek from inside the surgery, and I stop dead in my tracks.
The house looms over me. It looks even more run-down than it did from the top gate. The windows are boarded up and the gutters are overflowing with leaves.
Mum knocks on the front door and waits.
‘This place looks haunted,’ I whisper, walking slowly up the rotting front stairs. ‘Maybe he’s not a dentist. Maybe he’s a psycho. Maybe he eats kids. Maybe–’
My Life and Other Exploding Chickens Page 1
