Googol Boy and the peculiar incident of the Great Quiz Trophy

by John Michael

  Copyright © John Michael

  First published 2021

  Copyright remains the property of the authors and apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission.

  All inquiries should be made to the publishers.

  Big Sky Publishing Pty Ltd

  PO Box 303, Newport, NSW 2106, Australia

  Phone:1300 364 611

  Fax:(61 2) 9918 2396

  Email:info@bigskypublishing.com.au

  Web:www.bigskypublishing.com.au

  Cover design and typesetting: Think Productions

  Printed in China

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

  ISBN: 9781922387141

  ENDORSEMENTS

  "Googol Boy turned me into a giggle boy. John Michael knows how to make readers laugh and keep on reading!"

  Chris Grabenstein - New York Times bestselling author of the Mr Lemoncello series and other great books.

  "Milk-out-your-nose funny! Absolutely fantastic and truly hilarious. It's going to make for a great series. One can't compute just how hysterical this book is and every paragraph is a lightning strike of hilarity. Every kid's dream come true."

  M. P. Kozlowsky - Award winning author of Rose Coffin and Juniper Berry.

  "Reading Googol Boy is a romp, a riot, a rambling through everything that makes school wonderful and ridiculous at the same time. Read it! It will help you survive!"

  Gary D. Schmidt - Two-time winner of the Newbery Honor Award and a Printz Honor Award for Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy and The Wednesday Wars.

  "Googol Boy is a great read with a winning protagonist, hilarious jokes, clever wordplay, general insanity, and useful information such as the difference between brabbensacks and sackenbrabs!"

  J. A. White - Award winning author of the Shadow School series, the Thickety series and Nightbooks.

  "A refreshingly original, laugh-out-loud, action packed story. In the tradition of Roald Dahl, Googol Boy presents a deliciously vile line-up of teachers and a teen protagonist everyone will be cheering for. From the moment Howie becomes super-intelligent in a freak accident, every page sparkles with clever dialogue, hilarious twists, and fascinating facts. Kids will absolutely love it!"

  Poppy Gee - Author of literary thrillers Vanishing Falls and Bay of Fires. Poppy has worked as a journalist, editor and book reviewer and currently teaches journalism and creative writing.

  CONTENTS

  1 Toothless

  2 Pacman

  3 Brabbensack

  4 Sardines

  5 Doodackie

  6 Fairy Floss

  7 Snickerdoodle

  8 Controversion

  9 Fishpot

  10 Hobo Joe

  11 Splash

  12 Pancakes

  13 Crapaudine

  14 The great quiz

  Chapter 1

  toothless

  Miss Fremskey asked the question again. “Which famous battle took place in 1066?”

  The whole class froze. Not a soul roused, all eye-contact was averted and breathing was reduced to an imperceptible level. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse... but this wasn't the night before Christmas. No... far from it.

  There were some frightful teachers at Quockingpoll Flats High School but Miss Fremskey, you could say, took the cake − both figuratively and literally. Her sheer bulk was enough to instil terror into any high school student. There was a rumour that she had once tripped down the stairs and squished three junior students in one single bound. Miss Fremskey’s close-set lifeless eyes were like still pools of the blackest tar, her bent nose jutted out like a freckled gherkin and her mouth was twisted like a crooked pin. She had a habit of grinding her baked-bean teeth and her voice sounded like a grating squawk. If you ever had the misfortune of having her stoop down over you while you were sitting at your desk, you’d be hit in the face with the pong of mildewed coffee and rancid tobacco breath. She completely and utterly had no sense of humour and no one had never ever heard Miss Fremskey laugh. Not once.

  To top it off, she was one of those teachers who had many ways of intimidating and belittling her students. She loved to make individuals stand in the corner for no apparent reason, and would even use the dunce cap* when someone got an answer wrong, but her all-time favourite was the ol’ ask a question that nobody can answer trick. To make matters worse she would often target the more dim-witted members in the class. The usual suspects were Susie Skitter, who would get items wedged up her nose; Eugene Fumbase, who would chew gum other people had stuck under the desks; Betsy Arkle, who would often turn up to the wrong class; Freckles Magee, who once got lost in the school cafeteria and, of course, me... Howard Sootfell.

  Who would she pick this time?

  Miss Fremskey’s dark eyes darted around the room in a scurrying manner. She was like some humongous stout crow scouring the terrain for a quick morsel to devour. And then it happened!

  I coughed. It was a rather obscure cough and I did try to stifle it... but it was too late. She turned in my direction, like a Rottweiler that had detected the faint scent of blood.

  bellowed Miss Fremskey.

  She would always call me Footsmell even though she darn well knew that it was Sootfell.

  Still, I suppose Eugene Fumbase copped it much worse.

  “Which famous battle took place in 1066?” she repeated, with a big scowl etched on her face.

  I just sat there dumbstruck, like a simple-minded mule which had been asked to solve some algebra.

  “Well Einstein?” Miss Fremskey grunted in a condescending tone.

  “The battle... um... well...”

  “You don’t know the answer, do you?”

  “Actually I do.”

  “Not only are you a bonehead but you’re a liar as well!”

  “Am not!”

  “Are too!”

  “Am not!”

  “Are too!”

  “Am not!”

  “Are too!”

  I could have kept going on like this until the end of the lesson but Miss Fremskey, always a bit of a party pooper, decided she didn’t want to play anymore. Her eyes started to bulge and then, somewhat predictably, she snapped.

  “Answer the damn question, you worthless little worm!”

  I could tell by the way the veins in her temples were throbbing that she wasn’t mucking about.

  Suddenly, the cogs in my head started to whir and I responded.

  “The battle which you are referring to would be the Battle of Hastings, which was fought between the English, led by King Harold II, and the French Normans, led by Duke William II. It occurred on the 14th October near the town of Hastings and ended with King Harold being killed with an arrow to the eye and William the Conqueror defeating the English. The battle was forever immortalised in the Bayeux Tapestry.”

  Miss Fremskey stumbled back, attempted to say something but swallowed her own words and ended up sounding like a choked chicken. We all giggled and at that very moment Fremskey’s face turned a maroon shade of red. If this had been a cartoon, steam would have whistled out of her ears. She looked like one big simmering pimple ready to pop as she let out a loud grunt and thumped the nearest desk with all her might. It just happened to be poor Arnie Borstein’s desk (or Goggle Eyes as we called him because of his thick glasses). Miss Fremskey’s fist had caught the corner of Arnie’s weighty History book and it rebounded up into the air, knocking off his glasses in th
e process. All eyes turned towards the book (except for Arnie who couldn’t see a thing without his spectacles).

  Time seemed to slow down as the book ascended in slow motion, spinning and spiralling like a plump ballerina pulling off a perfect pirouette. Arnie was squinting, looking around trying to figure out where his glasses had gone. He looked left, then right, around on the floor and then... upwards. At that very moment, the book came hurtling down and splatted him right in the kisser.

  As everybody in the class winced, I could only think of one word − onomatopoeia.

  “Why onomatopoeia?” I hear you ask.

  Well, because the sounds made as the book squished Arnie’s face were all onomatopoeic. There was a a bit of a some sound, there was a a noticeable and I’m pretty sure that I even heard a

  Although it did look (and sound) particularly bad, apart from the two knocked out front teeth, Arnie did make a full recovery within a couple of weeks (and the lucky duck didn’t even have to go to school). He even managed to earn himself a new nickname − The Toothless Terror! If you ask me, Goggle Eyes had more of an intellectual ring to it but Arnie believed that his new moniker made him sound tough − so, all in all, I reckon he came out ahead.

  With Miss Fremskey’s lust for vengeance satisfied with Arnie’s knocked out teeth, I got off rather lightly.

  “That’ll be all Footsmell,” she hissed begrudgingly through clenched teeth.

  Yep, I had answered the question... but it wasn’t always like this. No... once upon a time, things had been different. Very different indeed!

  chapter two

  pacman

  Before the ‘night of cognisance,’ I was your regular average kid. Actually, to be honest, I was your regular below-average kid. I was in the Maths class where students weren’t allowed to use compasses because they would accidently jab themselves. I’m sure you’ve heard of remedial reading class, well... I was in the class below that one. And in English? Even Zaambwi, the exchange student from Kenya (who couldn’t speak a word of English), was getting better grades than me. With sports, it was much worse. I was as coordinated as an orangutan on skates and as agile as a geriatric sloth. And you know how your parents, well-meaning relatives and neighbours say stuff to make you feel better? Comments like:

  “You’ve got what they can’t teach in school – natural smarts,” from Grandma Bertha.

  “You’ll make lots of friends because you make other people feel intelligent,” from Uncle Wilbur.

  “Never mind − you’re just dumber than you look!” from the guy who packs the groceries at the supermarket.

  Well none of those words made me feel better; actually, come to think of it, some of those remarks made me feel pretty darn rotten! I did, however, often daydream about how it would feel to be smart. Knowing how to spell words. Knowing how to count to twenty without having to take my shoes off. Knowing my times-tables. Knowing the capital cities. Knowing all the answers. But this was all ‘pie in the sky’ stuff. Well, it was until the night of cognisance.

  “And what does cognisance mean?” I hear you ask.

  Don’t worry... I didn’t know the answer before either. But now I know lots of stuff, so let me tell you, “Cognisance means having knowledge... lots of knowledge... more knowledge than you can poke a stick at!”

  It all started one seemingly mundane night while I was struggling with my homework. Ah homework! The cause of misery of every kid’s existence − and I was no exception. I had to complete a speech for Science and, as usual, I had left it to the last minute. Everybody in the classroom had a different topic and my one was on something called photosynthesis. At first, I thought that this involved taking photos of plants but boy, was I wrong. So I fired up the ol’ computer and started working on my big photosynthesis speech. Actually, to be honest, Mum thought I was working on my speech but in reality, I was playing Pacman. And I’ll be frank − playing Pacman made much more sense to me than membranes, chlorophyll, and thylakoids.

  Every time Mum came to check on me, I would minimise my Pacman game and open up the photosynthesis website and pretend to understand what was on the screen. A few timely remarks such as “Oh, yes,” “Ah ha,” “I get it,” coupled with some contemplative head-nodding would do the trick. Mum would see this and give me the typical mum-type encouragement: “Good boy,” “Well done pumpkin,” “Good stuff Howie.” She even brought me cookies and milk so that I could maintain my energy and concentration.

  It was all going smoothly... Mum was happy, I was happy — there was harmony in the universe (and I even had cookies). Then suddenly, I got busted! I minimised the science website by accident and Pacman came up − flashing in all its vibrancy and glory for all the world to see. I wanted to be mad at Pacman for betraying me but I just couldn’t − how could I be angry at that gulping head? All the hours of fun and excitement that little yellow guy had given me.

  Mum, on the other hand, had no trouble being mad at Pacman; she also had no trouble being mad at me as well. In fact, she went a bit berserk and started screaming at me to shut down the game. I couldn’t believe it − I was so close to my all-time high score... another five minutes and I would’ve had it! That wasn’t even the worst of it! As punishment, she said I would have to stay up all night until I had finished my speech. Bummer! She looked at me with eyes like daggers and then, without a word, stormed out of the room, slamming the door as she left. I heard her feet stomping down the corridor.

  I just sat there − dumbstruck.

  Then I heard Mum’s stomping feet again, this time she was coming back.

  She had realised the error of her ways, her over-reaction, her crazy disciplinary measures. I was ready for her apology. She came in, looked around and took the bowl of cookies and left the room again without saying a word. Double bummer!

  Then, right on cue, it started to rain... it was like the weather was reflecting my miserable mood. I felt sorry for myself and just wanted to sit there and sulk. Sulk away like I had never sulked before, so I focused really hard and put all my concentration into sulking. To be honest, I think I was doing rather well: I had the pout down pat, my brow was quite furrowed and I was angry how the whole world was against me. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I have to say, the sulky look really suited me... but what was the point if there was no-one around to see you sulk and to take pity on you? I mean, sure I was feeling sorry for myself, but that wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

  After five minutes I got bored of sulking... and there was still that speech to do. So I quit pouting, got up and sat at my desk and turned on my computer. Finally, after a while, the Googol site flickered to life on the screen. It wasn’t the best internet provider in the world, but it was the only one we had in Quockingpoll Flats. The creator, Archie Googol, invented the very first search engine but never patented any of his ideas and his garage operation was soon surpassed by the multi-billion dollar Silicon Valley high-tech corporations which used his technology. Not one to shy away from a bit of competition, Archie never gave up and kept his operation chugging along, using nothing more than a stack of motherboards, a couple of dozen 5¼ floppy drives and some rubber bands and lots of duct tape.

  I was about to type in my topic but then I remembered that it was the computer that got me in trouble in the first place. Mum had blamed ME for not having done the stupid, boring, dumb speech − somehow it was all my fault! Can you believe that? Just because I partook in a little ‘rest and recreation’ to get away from the pressures of homework. Any kid out there, in the history of the universe, who has ever had parents, knows that there is only one adequate response to such injustice − to blame someone else of course!

  Let me tell you, I was pretty good at shifting the blame. Just last week, Dad forced me to mow the lawn − apparently, we had this crazy strict rule in our house where you can’t get your allowance for the chores that you DON’T do. So there I was, mowing away in the blazing sun with a grumpy frown on my face when, out of the blue, I stubbed m
y toe on a stupid old rock. I started to hop around on one foot and bellow like grandpa at Christmas, after he had too much eggnog. And who did I blame? Well, I looked around and the nearest thing approaching a person was the garden gnome* who was just standing there like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  To add insult to injury, he had a big fat grin on his smug face! I immediately attempted to kick the pudgy little fellow into the bushes, forgetting that the gnome was made out of concrete. I let out another bawling howl as I rolled around on the grass holding onto both of my feet... I now had two stubbed toes... one on each foot. Dad came running out and instead of pity, I got parental advice. “You need to be more careful! When you lose your toes, don’t come running to me!”

  So, just as I was able to point the finger of blame at that smirking little gnome last week, I was able to conveniently blame the computer this week. I thumbed my nose at that glorified calculator and decided to do my work the old fashioned way... like in the Dark Ages. I grabbed a pencil, a sheet of paper and I started to scribble and before I knew it, the speech was writing itself:

  Photosynthesis is made up of two words: ‘Photos’ and ‘Ynthesis’. It is very impotant to have photosynthesis becuase without it we would be flunged pitched into a world of darkness and scaryness. Trolls and Munsters would take over the Earth and we would be their there they’re slaves. But plants can save us with their weapons − they have madgic magick mamibranes, cool khlorofill, and terrific thighlakoids. That is why plants are our freinds.