by Jim Smith
Gordon yelped. ‘B-but Lil Gordy - Queenie’s still got him!’
Queenie started to heave herself out of her chair, the shoebox tilting on her lap.
Darren’s mouth gaped open and his straw fell out, disappearing into the grass. ‘I-I can’t see it,’ he cried.
Stuart stepped forward. ‘I’ve got it!’ he whisper-cried.
‘The straw?’ whispered Gordon.
‘No, my number one skill,’ said Stuart. ‘Invisibility!’
He strode up to Queenie, his nostrils a millimetre away from her crusted-up old shnoz-holes, and reached his hand out to grab Lil Gordy from the box.
Queenie’s eyeballs creaked in their sockets as they zoomed in on Stuart’s face. ‘Waaahhh!!!’ she screamed, leaping out of her seat. ‘It’s a blooming kiddywinkle!’
‘Lil Gordy!’ cried Shazza, as the Crying Freakoid shot into the sky. She ran towards it, headering it by accident.
‘Look at him go!’ gasped Nancy, as the little ball rainbowed across the room, rebounded off a teapot and headed straight towards my hooter.
‘Not my prize-winning shnozzle!’ I screamed, Pain-au-Choc-ing round on the spot, and Lil Gordy boinged off my bum like it was a bouncy castle blown up by blow offs.
Bunky dived forward, stuck his foot out and caught the naughty little Freakoid before it fell into the long grass. ‘Check this out!’ he whisper-sniggled, keepy-uppy-ing Lil Gordy while twizzling round.
‘You lot are in serious trouble!’ screeched Queenie, swivelling her head like a dinosaur and knocking a packet of biscuits off the shelf with her enormous wrinkly hooter.
‘Heads up, Smugly!’ shouted Bunky, kicking Lil Gordy into the air, and Gordon forward-rolled across the floor, sprung to his feet, did a triple-reverse-upside-down salute to himself and caught the Crying Freakoid in his mouth.
‘I think we lost her!’ sniggled Shaz as we zoomed out of Mogden School and ran up the road, skidding to a stop round a corner.
Nancy patted Stuart on the back. ‘Looks like your skill is waking up dinner dames,’ she chuckled.
Gordon laughed. ‘Thanks for sucking all our Freakoids out of that shoe box, Darren,’ he said, wiping the spit off his one.
‘Don’t thank me,’ said Darren. ‘It was Bunky who saved Lil Gordy.’
Bunky pointed at me. ‘Bazza came up with the amazekeel plan,’ he smiled.
I patted the piece of paper in my pocket. ‘We all played our part,’ I said in my Chip Snyder voice.
‘Ooh, Mumma’s SO happy to see her little baby!’ squealed Sharonella, rocking Mini Shaz in her arms.
‘Sooo . . .’ said Nancy, trying to change the subject. ‘What are you lot up to for the rest of the day?’
A blow-off squeaked out of my bum and I gasped, which is never a good idea if you’ve just done a fart.
‘Oh my unkeelness, I comperleeterly forgot to cancel our game against the Green Giants!’ I cried.
Gordon looked at his watch. ‘What time did you say it was again?’ he asked, even though I hadn’t said it in the first place.
‘Half past eleven,’ I said, and every one of the Mogden Maniacs, Nancy Verkenwerken included, smiled at me.
‘Looks like we can still make it if we hurry,’ grinned Captain Bunky.
‘Maybe we’ll let Nancy look after the Freakoids this time,’ chuckled Bunky as we walked through the gates into Avocado Hill Stadium.
The crowd cheered and I spotted Jocelyn Twiggs sitting next to the rest of our class, along with Miss Spivak and Dolly the dinner dame too.
‘Did you hear?’ called Jocelyn. ‘Smeldovia won the World Cup!’
‘Oh my unkeelness!’ I smiled. We’d been so busy with our team building exercise, I’d comperleeterly forgotten about the World Cup final.
The Green Giants were warming up on the side of the pitch. ‘Ready for a whipping, Mogden Midgets?’ smiled Tarquin, stretching his leg against a dinner dame, I mean a bollard.
‘I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you,’ said Nancy, giving Mini Shaz and Lil Gordy a cuddle. ‘Anything Chip Snyder can do, Coach Loser can do better!’
‘Listen team,’ I said, getting the Maniacs into a huddle and staring them in the eyes, Chip Snyder-style. ‘I know we’ve been through a lot these past few days . . .’
Sharonella’s eyeballs welled up. ‘Don’t go all mushy on us now, Baz,’ she warbled, whipping a football card out of her hand and passing it to me. ‘Here, you look after Ronaldio for me while I’m out there.’
I took the card and slotted it into my pocket. ‘Fair enough, Shaz,’ I said. ‘Just enjoy yourselves, okay?’
Bunky nodded. ‘Sure thing, Coach,’ he smiled, as the whistle blew.
‘Come on you Maniacs!’ screamed Nancy nineteen minutes later. There was a minute left in the game and the score was five all.
‘Blimey Nance, you’ve changed your tune!’ I chuckled, looking across at her.
She was standing on the sidelines cuddling all six of the Crying Freakoids, jumping up and down like Chip Snyder except without the moustache.
‘Ooh, foul!’ she shouted, and I Pain-au-Choc’ed my head back round to the pitch. Stuart Shmendrix was lying on the grass, his face scrunched up like Barry Junior when he needs his bum wiped.
Bunky glanced up at me and frowned. ‘Doesn’t look good, Coach,’ he mouthed.
‘Darren, you stay centre!’ I boomed. ‘Shazza, keep your eye on Tarquin.’
Gordon, who was in goal, shook his head. ‘We can’t play with four,’ he said.
I ran onto the pitch, straight up to Stuart. ‘How you doing, little Stuey?’ I asked.
‘Don’t . . . think . . . I’m . . . gonna . . . make . . . it . . .’ croaked Stuart.
‘Okay let’s take you off,’ I said, heaving him up with Bunky and carrying him to the edge of the pitch.
We lowered him down next to Nancy. ‘Verkenwerken, you’re up,’ I said.
‘Huh?’ said Nancy. ‘Oh-ho-no! I’ve got these little fellas to look after. Besides, I’m still not THAT into football.’
The Crying Freakoids wailed and Bunky ruffled my hair. ‘Come on Baz,’ he said, nodding at the pitch. ‘There’s only a minute left . . .’
‘Hurry up, you midgets!’ cried Tarquin, as I shook my head.
‘You’ve got to be kidding, Bunk,’ I warbled. ‘I can’t even kick a ball straight!’
Bunky shrugged. ‘Who cares,’ he said. ‘It’s only football. Besides, you might surprise yourself !’
‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ I said, bending down to tie up my shoelaces. I patted my pockets and pulled out Sharonella’s card.
Ronaldio Donaldio’s face smiled out of it and I glanced down at his Top Tip for how to be a keel player:
‘Don’t overthink it!’
I looked up at Bunky, who was standing in the middle of the pitch waiting for his best friend to join him.
His eyes were focused on the bit of air in front of his nostrils and his tongue was half hanging out of his mouth, sort of like a dog’s.
‘Oh my unkeelness,’ I gasped to myself, suddenkeely realising why he was so good at football. ‘It’s his tiny little brain - he isn’t thinking about anything else at all!’
I passed the football card to Nancy and jogged onto the grass. ‘One minute left, fellas,’ called the referee, and he blew his whistle.
Jim Smith is the keelest kids’ book author and drawer in the whole wide world amen.
He graduated from art school with first-class honours (the best you can get) and went on to create the branding for a keel little chain of coffee shops.
He’s also designed cards and gifts under the name Waldo Pancake.
Nothing else has ever happened to him.
iends
