‘What’s the rash?’ she said as I dashed past her and zoomed down the corridor towards the library.
I crashed through the door and headed straight for the shredder. A small plastic carrier bag sat on top of Peaches’ desk, right next to the machine. Gasping for breath, I opened the bag and saw bits of on some of the long strips of paper staged inside.
The comic was hamster-bedding.
‘Nooooooooooooooo!’
The library door burst open and Zoot charged in, his gold first-place medal swinging round his neck.
‘Did he shred it?’ he asked, breathing heavily.
I held out the bag towards him, and nodded.
Zoot took it from me. ‘I didn’t think he’d actually do it. I didn’t realize how much he wanted to win.’
‘We told you: Bobby always has to win,’ I said. ‘Shall we tell Miss Wilkins?’
‘What’s the point?’ replied Zoot, running his fingers through the pile of shredded paper. ‘We can’t prove it was him. It’s our word against his.’
The library door opened again, and Peaches breezed in.
‘Did I miss the Big Race?’ she asked. ‘Who won?’
‘I won the race,’ replied Zoot, holding up the bag of shreddings. ‘But I lost my comic.’
We quickly told Peaches what had happened while she’d been away.
‘Bobby must have overheard me telling you where I was going to hide it,’ she said, ‘then sneaked in and stolen it when I wasn’t there.’
‘So that’s why we found the big book in the D section,’ I said. ‘Bobby must have thought it went in D for David.’
Peaches went behind the desk and pulled out a large brown envelope from the bottom of a drawer. ‘Just before I left for the Porkney Isles, I made a copy of the comic.’ She handed it to Zoot. ‘I was going to ask you if it was OK to give the copy to Ollie as a surprise present after you’d gone, but I think you should have it now. I know it’s not the same, but . . .’
Zoot pulled from the envelope and his mouth dropped open. It was an amazing copy.
‘It’s as good as the real thing!’ I said.
‘I know. I couldn’t tell the difference,’ admitted Peaches. ‘I even bought the same kind of paper . . .’ She stopped and frowned at Zoot. ‘Why are you sniffing it?’
‘Page nine smells of strawberries!’ he said, a massive grin spreading across his face. ‘Last year, I dribbled a bit of strawberry milkshake on it, and the smell never went away.’
‘The copier’s good,’ said Peaches, ‘but it’s not that good.’ ‘Which means . . .’ I said. ‘It’s the real comic!’ we cried together.
‘Which means . . .’ I repeated.
‘Bobby shredded the fake!’
Zoot decided to borrow David Cameroon’s big boring book to keep the comic in, so Peaches stamped it and we headed back to the classroom. Our classmates let out a huge cheer when Zoot walked through the door. He smiled and took a deep bow.
Bobby Bragg scowled at him, but then the comer of his mouth turned up in a slight smile when he sow the plastic bag of shredded paper in Zoot’s hand.
‘Well done, Peaches,’ said Miss Wilkins when she saw my friend was back. ‘You escaped from the stormy island.’
Millie Dangerfield tugged at my sleeve. ‘Bobby Bragg just told me that Captain Common Sense really had been turned into soup, and that the Show-off had escaped and was going to make an army of to destroy the world. Is it true?’
I was just about to answer, when Miss Wilkins said, ‘We’ve got ten minutes until home-time, Oliver. Why don’t you tell everyone the end of your fib – I mean your story.’
‘But it’s not time, miss,’ I said.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she replied. ‘I think we’d all like you to tell us what finally happened.’
As everyone settled down in their seats, I thought about all the twists and surprises that had happened today. There was no way I could make up a better story than that! But then I had an idea. . . .
I grabbed the plastic bag of shredded comic from Zoot’s hand.
‘The Show-off was safely locked up behind bars,’ I began.
I glanced over at Bobby Bragg, and saw him frown and lean forward as what I was saying sank into his brain.
‘So don’t worry, Millie,’ I said. ‘The Show-off has been beaten again. He lost the Battle of the Bots, and only destroyed a fake Captain Common Sense, not the real one. It was a close call, but the have saved the world again!’
Millie and Leon cheered.
‘And the Show-off knows that whatever happens,’ I continued, ‘the Megabot will always be there . . . watching him night and day!’
‘How reassuring!’ laughed Miss Wilkins, who obviously had no idea what my story was really about.
Bobby knew though. His eyes boiled with anger when I strolled past him on my way back to join Zoot and Peaches, and casually dropped the bag containing the shredded comic in his lap. As he glowered at us, Zoot held up the real comic for him to see.
The bell rang for home-time, and the classroom was filled with the sound of scraping chairs and chattering kids. Bobby flung the plastic bag in the bin, and stormed out of the door.
Peaches, Zoot and I grinned at each other, and high-fived.
‘Go, Go!’
Filming had finished on Mr Zipparolli’s film, and he invited me, Peaches and both our families to the end-of-shoot party. It was also an engagement party, as George and Ritzy had announced to the world at last that they were getting married.
To get in the house, we had to walk through a scrum of noisy, photographers, held back by a handful of policemen on each side of the door. They pushed and shoved and shouted, and their cameras went flash-flash-flash-flash-flash as we hurried past. I was glad to get inside.
‘No wonder George and Ritzy didn’t want the secret to get out!’ said Peaches as we escaped into the hallway.
I looked back through the door, and saw Emma and Gemma posing for the photographers.
‘We’re at the Royal Ballet School,’ said Emma.
‘You spell my name with a “G”,’ said Gemma, making sure they got her name right.
I saw Bobby Bragg in the crowd of people at the party, but he hadn’t bothered us since the day of the race, and kept out of our way all evening.
When I introduced the twins to George Looney, they went as red as the villainous Strawberry Sisters in , and made tiny, strangled squeaking sounds. In fact, the place was stuffed with film stars, all there to celebrate the engagement, and Emma and Gemma just sat and stared at celebrities all night, and barely said a word. It was awesome!
Algy found out that Ritzy Savoy was a chess champion when she was at school, so he challenged her to a game on the giant chess board in the garden. (Algy lost, but I think he was just being polite.)
Constanza prattled away in Italian all night with Mr Zipparolli’s Italian chef, and swapped special meatball recipes with him. I kept hearing words like, ‘Bellisima!’, ‘Magnifico!’, ‘Mama mia!’ and ‘gas mark six’.
After talking to Peaches’ mum and dad, Mr Zipparolli decided he was going to make a film about the Sheep Counters of Porkney: ‘A tale of romance, danger and woolly jumpers.’
Mum and Dad were overjoyed, because Zoot’s mum asked my dad to design their new house in Bermuda! How cool is that?
‘Well done, Ollie,’ whispered Dad. ‘You’ve made some very important friends.’
At the end of the party, we made ourselves comfortable in the soft chairs of Mr Zipparolli’s private cinema, and watched a rough version of the new film. It was awesome, with car chases, and fantastic spy gadgets and explosions. When it was over, Zoot’s dad said, ‘It still needs a lot of work and music and so on, but what do you think?’
‘It makes the James Pond movies look like Mary Bobbins!’ I said, and everyone laughed.
‘That’s what I’m gonna put on all the posters!’ laughed Mr Zipparolli.
Mum whispered in my ear. ‘Well done, Oliver,’ sh
e said. (TWO ‘well dones’ in one day! That’s almost !). ‘Maybe you’re going to be a film critic,’ she added.
Zoot’s mum leaned over. ‘Actually, Ollie is a very good storyteller,’ she said seriously.‘I think he might be a author one day.’
‘Really?’ said Mum and Dad together.
They wouldn’t have been more surprised if Mrs Zipparolli had told them I wasn’t their son but an alien from the planet Blooporia-trumbob 5. They stored at me for ages with looks of flabbergast all over their faces. (It wasn’t pretty.) I shuffled my feet, looked away and couched nervously. I felt like a bug under a microscope.
‘Maybe we should send you on a writing course?’ said Mum.
‘And get you some books on creative writing,’ added Dad.
‘Big ones, please,’ I said,
‘Big enough to hide your comics in, I hope,’ whispered Zoot.
When it was time to leave, Zoot took me and Peaches to one side. He handed me a copy of
‘Pea, you made another one for me,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’
‘No, Ollie,’ she replied. ‘I made another copy for Zoot.’
Zoot smiled. ‘This is the one that smells of strawberries,’ he said. ‘Ollie, you’re the best pal I’ve ever had. I want you to have the real one.’
‘I . . . But . . . What . . .’ I stammered. ‘Are you sure?’
He nodded. ‘It’s yours. Now you’ve got the full set.’
‘Wow, thanks.’
‘Promise you’ll stay in touch, Zoot?’ asked Peaches.
‘Are you kidding?’ he replied. ‘You’ve not seen the last of me. After all, I’m a ’
As we turned to leave, I bumped into Bobby Bragg. He looked at the comic, and then at me. I knew what he was thinking:
Steve Hartley is many things: author, astronaut, spy, racing-car driver, trapeze-artist and vampire-hunter. His hobbies include puddle-diving and hamster-wrestling and he was voted ‘Coolest Dude of the Year’ for five years running by Seriously Cool magazine. Steve is 493 years old, lives in a golden palace on top of a dormant volcano in Lancashire and never, EVER, tells fibs. You can find out more about Steve on his extremely silly website: www.stevehartley.net
Books by Steve Hartley
The DANNY BAKER RECORD BREAKER series
The World’s Biggest Bogey
The World’s Awesomest Air-Barf
The World’s Loudest Armpit Fart
The World’s Stickiest Earwax
The World’s Itchiest Pants
The World’s Windiest Baby
The Wibbly Wobbly Jelly Belly Flop
The OLIVER FIBBS series
Oliver Fibbs: Attack of the Alien Brain
Oliver Fibbs and the Giant Boy-Munching Bugs
Oliver Fibbs and the Abominable Snow Penguin
Oliver Fibbs and the Clash of the Mega Robots
www.stevehartley.net
First published 2014 by Macmillan Children’s Books
This electronic edition published 2014 by Macmillan Children’s Books
a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Basingstoke and Oxford
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-4472-2033-6
Text copyright © Steve Hartley 2014
Illustrations copyright © Bernice Lum 2014
The right of Steve Hartley and Bernice Lum to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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Oliver Fibbs and the Clash of the Mega Robots Page 6
