Cool School (6 page)

omehow you get through the day, even though you feel like sticking chewing gum up your nostrils to suffocate yourself. Or taking an overdose of chocolate. Or putting your head in the toilet and pressing the flush button.

It's the end of the school day at last. The bell rings. You can't wait to get out of the place. You grab your bag and head for the gate.

You decide not to catch the bus: you don't want to risk being laughed at like that again. You walk off down the road. It's a long walk but you don't mind.

About a k from the school you hear a panting noise behind you. You're scared to turn around in case it's a mad serial killer, red in the face, spit dribbling down his chin, with the axe raised above his head.

But you summon your courage and turn round anyway. There's no serial killer. In fact there's no one there at all. It's quite a shock. Then you look down, and at your feet is a little terrier dog. He's a cute scruffy little thing, wagging his tail enthusiastically. He seems to be grinning up at you as he pants away. He's so happy to have found you. You bend down and pick him up, holding him in your arms as you scratch behind his ear.

Around his neck is a collar, and as you look at it you see a name tag attached. You manage to pull it out and read it. It says: ‘If you find me please return me to 26 Blundstone Drive, West Mitchell.'

ou race to the fire alarm. The sign says: ‘In the event of fire, break glass and press button.' You draw back your fist and punch the glass hard. Ouch! Unfortunately the glass hasn't broken, but your hand probably has. You look around and see a good weapon: a library book that's lying on the floor nearby. You pick it up and look at it. It's called
Tomorrow, When the War Began
and it doesn't look too bad. You think, Gee, I might read this.

There's a photo of the author on the back jacket flap. He's not going to win any beauty competitions but, hey, looks aren't everything: it still might be a good book.

or once in your life you time something perfectly. You race to the cleaner's cupboard, sliding the last five metres to the door, and turn the handle smoothly, throwing the door open with a huge push. You step over the body of the cleaner who had been eating his lunch just inside the door.

You grab the bucket from the sink, tip out the tea that the cleaner had been brewing in it, and fill it with water. You leap over the cleaner and rush back to the lockers, which are now blazing furiously.

You pour the water over the flames but to your horror the flames flare up even more brightly. Where did you go wrong? You suddenly realise!

It was
hot
water that you tipped on the fire! Oh no! How could you have been so stupid? You rush back to the cleaner's cupboard and trip over the body of the cleaner. You jump up and fill the bucket with cold water. You head out the door. The cleaner's coming back to life and staggering to his feet. Unfortunately the bucket catches him on the side of his head and he goes down again.

Back at the lockers you realise that things are getting serious. The corridor's full of smoke and flames are leaping up to the ceiling. You pour the water over it again and this time it seems to help a bit. Back to the cupboard again, and there's the cleaner, on his feet now.

‘What do you think you're doing with that bucket?' he asks.

‘Putting out a fire,' you answer.

‘You put it down,' he says angrily. ‘It's against rules for students to touch those buckets.'

‘Well, you do it then,' you say, getting angry.

‘None of your cheek,' he says. ‘Now where'd I put my Marmite sandwich?'

‘Is this it?' you ask, picking up what looks like a dirty bit of rag from the floor. You've trodden on it a few times as you ran backwards and forwards, so it's lost a bit of its freshness. The cleaner goes purple in the face.

‘Get out of here!' he yells. ‘Get out!'

‘But what about the fire?' you ask.

‘Never mind the fire! Just get out!'

orld peace!! World peace!!! Don't give me any of that crud. What do you
really
want?'

You think again. It's a tough choice. You'd really like your favourite football team to win a premiership, for one thing. And you'd like to get better marks at school. Then there's the Cosmic Criminal computer game, which is meant to be so difficult that no one in the world can solve it. Hmm. Choosing will definitely not be easy. But can this weird little guy really give you what you want?

ell I am a bit of a chocolate junkie,' you admit.

‘Chocolate!' the kid says. ‘That's really original. Chocolate! That's what everyone says.'

‘Yes but I'm not just a chocolate junkie. I live on it—well, when I can get it. My perfect day is Coco Pops for breakfast, a Kit Kat for morning tea, Nutella sandwiches and a Choc Wedge for lunch, a Mars Bar and a chocolate milk shake for afternoon tea . . .'

‘Stop, stop!' the kid yells. He is starting to look a little green. ‘I believe you, but you're making me sick. You are an addict. You could be the most severe case I've ever seen.'

‘Well thank you,' you say.

‘OK,' he says. ‘As it happens I do have a few connections in the chocolate industry. Keep an eye on your locker. You might get a surprise in a day or two.'

A day or two go by and you forget about what he says. You're mainly grateful for the fact that the big guy, Cedric the bully, seems to be keeping out of your way. But on the third day, at lunchtime, you open your locker and stagger back in astonishment. It looks like a milk bar in there. There's a stack of Caramellos, Bounties, Fantales, Snacks. There are Aero bars, Toscas, Chokitos and Cherry Ripes. There are Scorched Peanut Bars, Whispas, Nudges, Snickers and Flakes. There's no room for any books. It's solid chocolate, wall to wall.

You reel back in shock and slam the door shut. It's too much to cope with. You decide to leave it there and come back after school with a wheelbarrow.