The Bravest Kid I've Ever Known and Other Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls

by Christopher Milne

  ‘OK, Mum,’ said Jimmy. ‘Sorry.’

  Jimmy knew that the best way to stop his mum’s lectures was to say sorry. And maybe give her a hug. It worked every time.

  Jimmy thought a lot that night about good points and bad points. What good points did he have? None, as far as he could work out. Sure, he made people laugh, but it was always at himself.

  And then it came to him! A way of going to the dance, a way of making people laugh, and yet not having to invite anybody!

  It was a trick, in a way.

  A perfect trick.

  Jimmy kept his idea a complete secret, until at last the big night came.

  The dance was held in the local hall, which was lucky because Jimmy lived right next door. It helped his trick. As Jimmy kissed his mum goodbye, she asked who he’d invited.

  ‘Oh, just someone,’ said Jimmy. ‘I’m meeting her there.’

  ‘Have a good time,’ said his mum. ‘And be home by nine.’

  ‘OK,’ said Jimmy.

  By the look on Jimmy’s face, his mum could tell he was up to something.

  Jimmy sneaked around the back of the hall and peeked through the window. The hall was crowded already, which was just what he wanted.

  Mrs Cleary was there, bossing everyone around. She’d worn one of those dresses ladies wear to dances where you can see some of their boobies. And Mrs Cleary had big boobies. Jimmy thought he might throw up.

  The music was going, too, but no-one was dancing. Everyone was too nervous. Boys stood in groups saying how ugly all the girls were, and girls stood in groups saying what a bunch of nerds the boys were.

  And suddenly there was someone on the dance floor. Someone with a most unusual-looking girl. A skinny girl whose legs were so thin they seemed to dangle in the air. And a stupid smile that never changed.

  But she danced well enough, because every move the boy made, she went with him, in perfect time. Who was it? Who were these first people on the dance floor? People crowded closer.

  It couldn’t be! It was!

  Jimmy Jones was out there, dancing as if he could never remember having such fun. With a life-size doll.

  ‘My, you dance well,’ shouted Jimmy above the music.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the doll.

  Jimmy had been secretly practising how to speak without his lips moving.

  ‘Knock, knock,’ said the doll.

  ‘Who’s there?’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Owen!’

  ‘Owen who?’

  ‘Oh, when are you going to kiss me?’ said the doll.

  ‘Not now,’ said Jimmy. ‘There are people watching.’

  ‘That’s not the reason,’ said the doll. ‘You think I’m ugly, don’t you? I heard you the other day. You said you’d seen better heads on a hammer.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’ve seen a lot of hammers,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Oh, I hate you!’ yelled the doll. And with that, Jimmy made it look as though the doll was trying to punch his lights out.

  Whack, bang, thump!

  So, Jimmy grabbed the doll in a headlock, wrestled her from side to side and dragged her screaming out of the room.

  Well, the crowd loved it. They clapped and cheered and yelled for more. But Jimmy didn’t come back with the doll. His dad had always taught him to quit while he was ahead.

  As well as being funny, Jimmy’s little act had made everyone relax. And suddenly, the music sounded good, the chatter started and people began to dance.

  Soon someone came back on to the floor to dance. Jimmy. With Alice Stephens, the best-looking girl in school. She had gone looking for Jimmy straight after his act and insisted he dance with her.

  She just loved his show, she said. She’d always wanted to know an actor and now she’d met a real live one. It was only a matter of time, thought Alice, before Jimmy would be a movie star.

  Jimmy couldn’t believe it. Talking to Alice Stephens was so cool, and she was being nice! He realised he did like girls after all.

  Jimmy had never really thought about being an actor before. Sure, he liked to muck around, but not seriously. But if Alice Stephens said he was good, then he must be.

  So, Jimmy started acting lessons two nights a week.

  These days, Jimmy’s quite a good little actor. He does stuff all the time with the local theatre group, and he’s even done a couple of bits in TV commercials. For money. And girls follow him everywhere.

  If that’s unlucky, I want my share.

  Tracy was a nasty girl. A very nasty girl. Everyone hated her. Which just made her worse, of course.

  Don’t think the other kids hadn’t tried being nice to her. They had. Like the time Alice Johnson asked Tracy if she wanted to join in a game of lunchtime netball.

  ‘With you idiots?’ said Tracy. ‘Rather play with razor blades.’

  The next day, Alice saw Tracy hanging around by herself again, so she thought, I’ll try just one more time.

  ‘Want to play?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ said Tracy. She walked over, picked up the netball and kicked it over the school fence and onto the freeway.

  ‘Let’s play my game,’ said Tracy. ‘It’s called “get the ball without being hit by a truck”.’

  Some of the bigger kids had thought about giving Tracy a Chinese burn, or perhaps a wedgie. But Tracy was tough. And she fought dirty. So, for the time being, everyone decided just to wait and hope she got better.

  But she didn’t.

  Two weeks later was Alice’s birthday and she decided to have a party. She asked her best friends, Sally and Jasmine, but after that she couldn’t decide what to do — whether to ask just a few more girls, or the whole class.

  Deciding who to ask to a party is always hard. Especially if there’s a couple of girls who are halfway between being friends and jerks. Trouble was, if Alice asked the whole class, that meant inviting stinking Tracy. Alice was too nice to exclude anyone, even her. In the end, she decided to ask everybody.

  When I say everybody, I mean just the girls, of course. The boys were a pack of bogans.

  Everyone said yes, except guess who?

  ‘You can stick your stupid party up your jumper,’ said Tracy. ‘Hope you all choke on the cake.’

  And that wasn’t all Tracy said. As the day got closer, kids started to get excited. The party seemed to be the only thing they talked about. And that made Tracy angry. So, one afternoon, Tracy went over to Sally and Jasmine and said she was surprised they were still going to the party — especially after what Alice had said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ they asked.

  ‘Well,’ said Tracy, ‘I heard Alice whispering to some girls the other day that the only reason she asked the whole class is because her friends were so boring. “Imagine a party with just Sally and Jasmine,” she said. “Rather watch grass grow.”’

  Sally and Jasmine couldn’t believe it. Surely Alice would never say something like that? They decided to check.

  The trouble was, Tracy had already told Alice that Sally and Jasmine were complaining that it would be a real losers’ party, because the whole class was going.

  So, when Sally and Jasmine asked Alice why she’d asked everybody, things got really messed up and they had a terrible argument. All because of Tracy’s lies.

  In fact, Tracy had told some sort of lie to just about every kid in the school.

  Things got so bad that it eventually became the party that never was. Alice called the whole thing off with only a day to go. I can’t remember how long Alice cried for. Days. Tracy laughed for even longer.

  And so it was. For a whole year. Tracy became even nastier and Alice felt as if she didn’t have a single friend in the whole world. Ever since the messed-up party, she’d decided it was safer to keep to herself.

  Until one night, when Alice was walking home alone, and she saw three girls coming towards her.

  Oh, no! thought Alice. The Three Stooges.

  The Three Stooges were the Blacker Triplets — the toughest
girls Alice had ever known. They all went to Oakmoor School, and the one thing Oakmoor kids loved to do was bash up kids from Alice’s school, Chadstone.

  And here was Alice all by herself!

  ‘Oh, cool,’ said one of the Stooges. ‘A Chadstone suck. Let’s bash her.’

  ‘A Chadstone what?’ said a voice from behind. Alice turned and there, coming around the corner looking as nasty as she’d ever looked in her life, was Tracy.

  ‘I said a Chadstone suck,’ repeated one of the Stooges. ‘Make that two Chadstone sucks.’

  ‘Rather be a Chadstone suck than an Oakmoor jerk,’ said Tracy. ‘Look at you. Like three monkeys. Make that monkeys’ bums.’

  Oh, no! thought Alice.

  Well, the Blackers weren’t quite sure what to do. No-one had ever spoken to them like that before! They didn’t know whether to bash Tracy first, or last, or bash them both together.

  ‘I hate you Blackers,’ said Tracy, ‘and I’ve been busting for a chance to thump the lot of you. But I’ll take you in order. Toughest first. Come on!’

  The Blackers looked at each other. Never in their lives had anyone actually asked them for a fight, and certainly no-one had asked for the toughest. Who was the toughest?

  While they decided, Tracy danced around practising karate kicks and cracking her knuckles.

  And all of a sudden it seemed the Blackers were having trouble deciding who should fight Tracy.

  Perhaps no-one was the toughest.

  ‘Boo!’ shouted Tracy, moving towards them.

  ‘Aaah!’ screamed the Blackers. And whoosh, they were gone. Off down the street like frightened rabbits.

  ‘Oh, Tracy,’ said Alice. ‘How can I ever thank you?’

  ‘No worries,’ said Tracy. ‘No-one speaks about my school like that.’

  ‘Where did you learn karate?’ asked Alice.

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Tracy. ‘It was all just a bluff. Thank goodness they ran.’

  The next day, which happened to be Alice’s birthday again, Alice told the whole school what a hero Tracy was and how she had saved her life.

  Secretly, Tracy loved it. Never before had people looked up to her. Sure, people were scared of her, but no-one had ever been nice before and really meant it. No-one had ever said hello with a smile in their eyes.

  It turned out the reason Tracy was so nasty all the time was that her parents were nasty to her. Up until now, it was the only way she’d ever known how to be. Why her parents were never very nice, poor Tracy didn’t know. Perhaps she’ll find out one day.

  That night after school, as Alice walked into her bedroom, she felt really happy. Sure, it was her birthday, but it was more than that. She had discovered something really important in life — that there’s good in everybody.

  She also discovered something else. Twenty-three people hiding in her bedroom. Including Tracy.

  ‘Surprise!’ they all screamed.

  A very happy birthday, indeed.

  Neerim West was the worst football team in the world. We hadn’t won a game for three years. And guess who was captain? Me.

  One night, I said to my dad, ‘If we could have just one win, I’d be happy for the rest of my life.’

  ‘You’ve got to be joking,’ said Dad. ‘You guys are useless.’

  The only reason I stayed captain all that time was that no-one else wanted to do it. Being captain was like being king of the losers. Loser Larry Larkin, they called me.

  I suppose what kept us all together was the friendship. For some reason, when you lose all the time, the ones who stick it out become really good mates. The guys who can’t hack it either go to other clubs or stop playing altogether. And suddenly they’re not friends anymore.

  Of course, the other reason for playing is the pie nights. That’s when the club pays for you to eat pies until you’re sick. One night, Billy Burke spewed in the coach’s car. That was the last pie night we had that year.

  Our worst game ever was against the top team, Nyora. By half-time, they’d kicked twenty-seven goals to our zero. We got the ball up to our forward line once, but instead of picking it up, Billy Burke tripped on it and bumped his head on the goal post.

  ‘What a pack of losers!’ yelled the Nyora guys. ‘What a bunch of dorks!’

  I hated Nyora. Not just because they were good. They were tough, too. One day, one of their really big players, Monkey Roberts, smashed my best mate Owen. Somehow I’ll get him back for Owen.

  At half-time of the Nyora game, our coach was so angry that he asked if we should just give up and play ring-a-ring-a-rosy instead. Stupid Terry Betts thought he was serious, and said, ‘Yeah. Cool!’

  Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, we were trudging off the ground after losing again by heaps, when my mate Alan said, ‘I’m sick of this.’

  Oh no, I thought, Alan’s not going to leave too, is he?

  ‘No way,’ said Alan, seeing the look on my face. ‘I’d never leave. Not until we have a win. A win against Nyora. And I’ve got an idea.’

  Alan got us all together after the game and said he was angry about losing all the time and that he’d had enough. He was ready to try anything. Even if it meant cheating. Well, not cheating, but maybe just bending the rules a little bit.

  Alan said he didn’t mind training every night of the week if that’s what it would take, but one thing was certain — he was never going to cop a beating like that again.

  ‘My dad says we should be proud to wear this jumper,’ said Alan, ‘and I am! Are you with me?’

  ‘Yeah,’ screamed the other kids.

  Later, in the showers, I said to Alan it was great the way he’d spoken and that maybe he should be captain.

  ‘OK, but just for one week,’ said Alan. ‘I’ve got a few ideas that are a bit naughty. In fact, really naughty.’

  Alan said that after that one week, I should be captain again because I was ‘fair and honest’. Which suddenly sounded a bit wussy, to be truthful.

  So, Alan got us all around to his place after Thursday training because another Nyora game was coming up the very next week. How we could possibly improve enough to beat the top team, though, I had no idea.

  Well, Alan really did have some cool ideas. ‘I’m talking about tricks,’ said Alan. ‘Really naughty tricks. Nyora will hate our guts for it so they’ll bash us. Can you take it? Are you with me?’

  ‘Yeah!’ we all screamed again.

  The week went by in a flash, and suddenly it was Saturday again. In the rooms before the Nyora game, I’ve never seen kids so fired up. If I had one nervous wee, I reckon I had twenty. Kids chattered and shivered and fidgeted and laughed and felt sick. At last it was time to run out onto the ground.

  It was a cold day. Freezing, in fact. And the ground was muddy, which was just what Alan wanted. Alan had asked us to spend the first three quarters trying our guts out to stop Nyora from scoring. And the best way to do that was to keep the ball in the mud.

  Every single one of us did just that. Kids threw themselves at the ball as if their lives depended on it. My dad said he’d never seen such courage. A pack would form and each time the whole team would run in and jump on top. Stacks on the mill.

  It would take the umpire so long to drag us off that unbelievably, by the end of the third quarter, Nyora had scored just two goals. And then it was time for Alan’s really naughty tricks.

  As soon as the ball was bounced for the start of the last quarter, Alan screamed out, ‘Monkey Roberts is such a sook that he still takes his teddy to bed and gets his mum to help him have a pee!’

  Monkey stopped dead. He couldn’t believe his ears.

  ‘And,’ said Alan, ‘the rest of you Nyora wussies are about as tough as a bag of fairy floss.’

  With that, Alan ran. For his life. Straight off the ground and into the club rooms. Of course the Nyora guys ran too, chasing Alan. Trouble was, every one of us secretly had one foot sticking out, and all eighteen Nyora players tripped over and fell flat on their faces in the mud!


  Straight away, little Danny Biggs grabbed the ball, raced down the ground — dodging all the fallen Nyora players — and bang!

  One goal to Neerim West.

  ‘Yes!’ screamed the crowd.

  By the time the Nyora team had picked themselves up from the ground, their coach was screaming at them to stay where they were. He didn’t want us kicking another goal!

  The ball was bounced again and suddenly Alan was running back onto the ground. ‘Now!’ he screamed.

  And with that, every one of our team ran behind a Nyora player, grabbed his shorts and pulled them to the ground. Dacked the lot of them, we did. Undies as well. And every one of the Nyora players just stood there in shock.

  What a sight it must have been from the boundary line — mud and slush and eighteen white bottoms. White, cold bottoms.

  ‘Oh, look!’ screamed Alan, pointing at Monkey. ‘His willie’s turned blue!’

  Well, we didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or grab the ball and kick another goal. Thank goodness, we kicked another goal.

  Bang! Two goals all.

  The sight of all those Nyora players trying to chase us with their dacks down around their ankles was classic. Like eighteen penguins.

  Well, you can imagine what the Nyora guys were like after that. They were so angry you could see the whites of their eyes.

  The umpire bounced the ball.

  Whack!

  Monkey jumped right into Alan’s back. Free kick.

  Thump!

  Six players ran straight into Danny Biggs. Another free kick.

  Boof!

  Another free kick. Guess who to? Me. Only fifteen metres out from goal.

  And then the siren!

  Oh no. I felt sick. I lined up the goals and the crowd went quiet.

  The sight of that ball sailing through the middle of the goals is something we will never forget. We’d won for the first time in three years!

  If anyone says it was a lucky goal, agree with them — I kicked it with my eyes closed.