Just Stupid! Page 3

  ‘Punch you in the mouth?’ says Danny. ‘But why? You’re my best friend.’

  ‘No, don’t really do it,’ I say. ‘Just pretend.’

  ‘Why?’ he says.

  ‘So that we get into trouble for fighting. I’m going to bite down on some blood capsules and make it look really bad.’

  ‘But I’m not sure I want to get expelled any more,’ says Danny.

  ‘What about our deal?’ I say.

  ‘But our new teacher is just so cool,’ he says. ‘She’s so interesting.’

  ‘I pity you,’ I say. ‘She’s not interesting. She’s a fake. A phoney. She hasn’t even eaten her husband.’

  ‘How do you know?’ says Danny.

  ‘Because she’s wearing a wedding ring for a start,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe she only ate a bit of him and then they were rescued,’ says Danny.

  ‘What—she ate part of him while he was still alive?’ I say.

  ‘Yes,’ says Danny. ‘Maybe they just ate his toes or something he didn’t really need.’

  ‘Suit yourself, Dan,’ I say. ‘Believe what you want—but if you don’t want to get expelled, I’ll just tell her that you hit me because I provoked you.’

  ‘Okay,’ says Danny. ‘If you insist.’

  ‘I insist,’ I say.

  WHAM!

  Danny punches me in the jaw. Hard. I fall to the floor.

  I said to pretend to hit me, you moron,’ I mumble.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I was trying to make it look real.’

  I bite down on the capsules. They’ve got an awful taste. But I can feel the fake blood flowing out of my mouth and down my neck. I roll around, groaning.

  ‘AAAAGGGHHHH . . .’ I say. ‘Aaaagggghhhhh. . .’

  Ms Livingstone comes over and looks down at me.

  She shakes her head.

  ‘You’re not really hurt, are you, Andy?’ she says.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ I say. ‘Danny hit me. But it was all my fault. I asked for it and if anybody should be sent to the principal’s office I think it should be me.’

  Ms Livingstone leans down and sniffs my breath.

  ‘Blood capsules,’ she says, screwing up her face. ‘There’s no mistaking that smell.’

  She is sharp. I’ll give her that. ‘They’re mine,’ I say. ‘And I don’t blame you for being angry. They are against the rules.’

  ‘No, I’m not angry,’ she says. ‘I’d just hoped never to see another blood capsule as long as I lived. When I worked as a stunt double for Natasha Teasedale I had to chew about fifty a day.’

  ‘You worked as a stunt double for Natasha Teasedale?’ I say. ‘Which movie?’

  ‘All of them,’ says Ms Livingstone.

  ‘Wow,’ I say. Oops. I didn’t mean to say that. I just meant to think it. ‘I mean, sure you were a stunt double . . . sure, sure.’

  ‘It’s true,’ she says. ‘I grew up in a circus and then I got into martial arts. I was spotted by Natasha Teasedale’s director at a tae kwon do exhibition in Tokyo, and that’s how I got into the movies. Falling out of buildings, fighting wild tigers, jumping out of speeding cars . . . you name it, I’ve done it.’

  That’s amazing. I’d love to stay around and hear more about her movie career, and especially about working with Natasha Teasedale, but I can’t. I have to be expelled. I don’t want to spend my life sitting around listening to stories about somebody else’s adventures—I want to get out there and have my own.

  ‘That’s all very interesting, I’m sure,’ I say, ‘but the classroom is no place for stunt work. You should punish me.’

  ‘Stunt work?’ she guffaws. ‘You call that stunt work? I’ll show you stunt work.’

  She climbs onto my table. ‘Andy,’ she says, ‘get up here!’

  ‘Me?’ I say. ‘Up there?’

  She nods. She’s serious. She means business.

  I climb up on the table. That’s another rule broken.

  ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Now punch me.’

  ‘You mean pretend to punch you?’ I say.

  ‘No,’ she says. ‘I mean really punch me.’

  Punch a teacher? That’s guaranteed to get me expelled. And not only expelled, either. I’m a pretty hard hitter. I could really hurt her. I could end up in jail. I’d rather stay in school.

  ‘I don’t think I should do this, Ms Livingstone,’ I say.

  ‘Come on!’ she says, pointing to her chin. ‘Hit me.’

  ‘Okay,’ I shrug, ‘you asked for it.’

  I swing at her chin. But before my fist can connect with her face she cracks her head back, teeters on the edge of the table for a moment, wobbles, and then, without warning, does a back flip and crashes onto the floor.

  The class cheers.

  ‘Now jump down and strangle me!’ she says.

  ‘But, Ms Livingstone,’ I say.

  ‘Just do it!’ she says.

  I jump down. I put my hands around her neck. But I don’t even get to squeeze it before she lets out a bloodcurdling scream and begins writhing and gasping as if I’m really strangling her. It is very realistic. Not that I’ve ever strangled anybody, but I’m sure this is what they’d look like if I did.

  The door opens and the principal walks in.

  I’m gone now.

  He looks at the scene—the blackboard graffiti, the broken projector, Ms Livingstone struggling on the floor, and the worst thing of all: me sitting on top of her, my hands around her throat.

  ‘What is the meaning of all this?’ he bellows.

  I scramble to my feet.

  Ms Livingstone stops her act and gets up.

  ‘Oh, hello, Mr Stanley,’ she says. ‘I was just showing the children some of the tricks of the stunt trade.’

  The principal nods.

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘That’s all right. I thought something was wrong.’

  ‘No, everything’s fine,’ she says. ‘We’ve covered falling backwards off a table and now Andy is helping me to demonstrate strangulation.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to hear it,’ he says. ‘However, I’ve always felt, and this is just my opinion, that strangulation can be more convincingly simulated if the victim doesn’t make any sound. It should all be suggested by the movement of the limbs. Here, let me show you.’

  He gets down on the floor, on his back, and starts waving his arms and kicking his legs in the air—like a dying fly.

  I can’t believe what’s happening here. For the first time in my life I am actually learning something interesting and useful at school.

  I can’t get expelled now. Not until the stunt lesson is over, anyway. And then I want to find out exactly what happened to Ms Livingstone in the Andes. And what it was like growing up in a circus. And I’ve got a million questions to ask about Natasha Teasedale.

  I think I’ll get expelled next week instead.

  ’m cramped.

  I’m cold.

  I can hardly breathe.

  I’ve been lying underneath my sister’s bed for more than an hour now. Where is she? The clock near the front door has just chimed midnight and she told Mum and Dad she would be home by eleven.

  It’s not exactly a lot of fun down here.

  The bed is really low. Every time I take a breath my chest presses against the bottom of the bed. I can’t even turn my head without grazing my nose.

  So why am I here?

  I’ll tell you why.

  Revenge.

  I’m doing it to pay Jen back for laughing at me because I wet my bed. Not that I really did wet my bed—well I did, but it happened because I was trying to put out a fire . . . but it’s kind of hard to explain the difference to people like Jen. Especially when they’re rolling around on the floor laughing at you.

  Well two can play that game. Jen might not have wet her bed recently, but she is still scared of the bogeyman. I know this because I overheard her confessing it to her boyfriend. She’s convinced the bogeyman lives under her bed and is just waiting for a chanc
e to grab her leg and pull her under. Well, tonight her nightmare is going to come true. When she comes home, I’m going to reach out and grab her ankle. She’ll die.

  She’s out on a date with Craig Bennett. They’ve been going out together since the school social. I can’t imagine what she sees in him. He’s got no sense of humour. He tried to punch my head in at the social because I tricked him into thinking I was a girl. How was I to know he’d fall in love with me? Serves him right for being such a sleaze.

  For all I know, they probably got home ages ago and have been standing out in the driveway smooching all this time. Maybe I should go and check. I could be wasting an even better opportunity to get revenge on Jen. I could throw a bucket of water over her and Craig. I could ring the police and tell them two suspicious-looking teenagers are hanging around outside. I could get a cardboard tube, stand on the roof of the house and provide a running commentary on the action for the benefit of the neighbours. The possibilities are endless. And a lot more fun than lying here.

  I start wriggling out from underneath the bed. Hang on. What’s that?

  I hear sounds outside. Footsteps coming up the path. I hear the key in the front door.

  Just in time!

  I wriggle under again. Not long now.

  In a moment Jen will open her bedroom door. She will click on the light. She will approach the bed. I will reach out and grab her ankle. She will scream. I will roar like a monster. She will scream again. I will roar again—but this time not like a monster. I will be roaring with laughter.

  I hear whispering. Jen’s room is right next to the front door.

  ‘Would you like to come in?’ says Jen.

  ‘Are you sure it’s all right?’ says Craig.

  ‘Yes, of course I’m sure,’ says Jen.

  ‘But what about your parents?’ says Craig.

  ‘Their bedroom is upstairs,’ she says. ‘They won’t wake up—and even if they do I’ll just tell them you’re borrowing a CD or something.’

  ‘What about your stupid little brother?’ says Craig. ‘What if he’s still up?’

  ‘Oh don’t worry about him,’ says Jen. ‘He would have been in bed hours ago. He’s just a child.’

  ‘Some child,’ says Craig. ‘I should have taught him a lesson while I had the chance. Nobody makes a fool of Craig Bennett and gets away with it.’

  ‘He didn’t make a fool of you, Craig,’ says Jen. ‘He was the one who looked ridiculous.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Craig chuckles. ‘Those Action Man undies . . . what a loser.’

  They are both laughing. I don’t see what’s so funny. Action Man’s not a loser.

  ‘Come on,’ says Jen. ‘Just for a minute.’

  ‘Well, okay,’ says Craig. ‘Just for a minute.’

  Damn—still more waiting. I hope Craig doesn’t stay for long.

  They come into the hallway and close the front door very quietly. Jen flicks her bedroom light on.

  ‘Come in,’ she says. I hear the door click shut.

  Oh no. I don’t believe it. She’s brought him into her bedroom!

  If they find out I’m here I’ll be in serious trouble. They’ll think that I’m spying on them. Craig will want to punch my head in again . . . and this time Jen will probably let him. She’ll probably even help him. I’ve got to get out of here. But I can’t. They’ll see me.

  Jen kicks off her shoes. One comes skidding across the floor and hits me in the left ear. Ouch. I take a deep breath and clench my teeth.

  I’m straining my eyes as far around as I can without moving my head to see where they are. I can see their feet. Jen is in the middle of the room. Craig is over near her dressing table.

  ‘Wow,’ says Craig. ‘Is this a real crystal ball?’

  Jen’s got this enormous crystal ball. It’s practically as big as a bowling ball. In fact if you ask me, that’s all it’s good for. All it needs is three holes drilled in the top and it would be perfect.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I can see the future in it.’

  ‘Am I there?’ asks Craig.

  I see Jen’s feet move towards the dressing table.

  ‘Of course you are,’ laughs Jen. ‘I had the best night, Craig. You really know how to make a girl feel special.’

  ‘That’s not hard,’ says Craig. ‘You’re a pretty special girl, Jen. Here, this is for you.’

  ‘Oh thank you,’ says Jen. ‘I love roses. It’s beautiful. Just like the ones Dad grows.’

  ‘Actually, it is one of your dad’s,’ says Craig. ‘I picked it on the way in.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble,’ laughs Jen.

  ‘Nothing’s too much trouble for you,’ says Craig.

  I’ve got to get out of here. Before I throw up. A rose. How corny. What’s next? A box of chocolates?

  ‘Ouch!’ says Jen. ‘It pricked me!’

  ‘I see the rose hit the floor. It’s not far from my head. If she bends down to pick it up she’s going to see me. I wriggle as far away from the edge of the bed as I can.

  ‘Are you okay?’ says Craig. ‘Here, let me kiss it better.’

  I can see Craig’s black leather shoes facing Jen’s bare feet in the centre of her Yin and Yang rug. Craig is standing on the white bit. Jen is on the black bit. Their feet are very close. For a few moments there is no sound.

  ‘Oh Craig,’ says Jen.

  ‘Oh Jen,’ says Craig.

  ‘Oh brother,’ I say, only I say it very quietly so that they don’t hear me.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see movement.

  There’s something coming out of the rose.

  Something black.

  Something hairy.

  Something disgusting.

  Something with fangs.

  And it’s heading straight for me.

  This is not good. Not only am I trapped underneath my sister’s bed while she smooches with a thug who has threatened to punch my head in on at least two occasions, now I’ve got a killer spider heading straight for my earhole.

  It’s not a really big spider or anything, but that makes it even worse. It’s the small ones that are really lethal.

  What if it gives me one of those bites that never heals? The sort where your flesh just starts dying and spreads over your whole body until you’re practically a zombie.

  Or even worse, what if it’s pregnant and just wants to paralyse me and lay its eggs in my flesh so that when the babies hatch they’ve got lots of fresh meat to feed on?

  My only hope is that Jen and Craig will see it and deal with it before it reaches me. Look down! Look down!

  ‘Oh Craig,’ says Jen.

  ‘Oh Jen,’ says Craig.

  I don’t think they’re going to look down.

  The spider is crawling towards me. It’s so close I can see the light glinting off its enormous black fangs. It’s coming to get me.

  Hang on. Jen and Craig are moving closer to the bed.

  Maybe they’ll step on it. Come on . . . please . . . please . . .

  Craig’s feet stop beside the bed.

  I can’t see the spider any more. I think he stood on it, but I can’t tell for sure.

  Hang on.

  There it is!

  The spider is on the toe of Craig’s shoe. It’s going to crawl up his leg. Excellent!

  Well, not excellent for Craig, but excellent for me.

  All I have to do now is wait. Sooner or later Craig is going to realise there’s a spider on him. Hell freak. Jen will see the spider and go hysterical—she is even more terrified of spiders than she is of the bogeyman. She will scream and run out of the room. Craig will follow, Mum and Dad will wake up, and in all the commotion I will slip quietly back to my room. Simple.

  Suddenly they sit down on the bed. The bed gets even lower. It buckles under their weight and pushes against my chest. Great. I’m even more cramped than I was before. I wish that spider would hurry up. I’m going to suffocate down here.

  I feel an itch on the side o
f my neck, just below my ear, but I can’t scratch it because I’m too squashed. I hate that. It’s really itchy and the more I can’t scratch the more it itches. I can’t stop thinking about it. I need to take my mind off it. I’ll do my seven times table. One seven is seven. Two sevens are fourteen. Three sevens are . . . um . . . um . . . damn this itch! I can’t concentrate. I can’t even remember what three times seven is. It’s the itchiest itch ever. And it’s spreading. Now it’s on my cheek.

  Hang on. It’s not spreading—it’s moving. Itches don’t move. I don’t think it’s an itch— I think it’s the spider.

  Okay. Get a grip. I’m not going to panic. I’m going to stay calm. I can handle this.

  I don’t know for sure that it’s the spider. It could be just a moth. Or an ant. Something harmless.

  Whatever it is, I should be able to squash it if I turn my head and press my cheek against my shoulder.

  My nose rubs the bottom of the bed as I turn my head.

  Not a good idea. Turning my head has made whatever it is move faster.

  It’s moving up towards my mouth.

  I hold my breath. I strain to look down to see what it is. Uh-oh. It’s the spider. It looks much bigger close up.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath. I want to scream, but the spider places a leg across my lips as if to shush me. This is our secret, it seems to be saying, this is just between you and me.

  It draws its furry body across my mouth and pauses. My lips are shut tight.

  Okay. This is not good. But I’m not going to panic. I’ll be all right if I don’t panic. I have to keep control of myself and not alarm the spider.

  Maybe I could blow it off.

  I part my lips the tiniest amount possible and start to blow. The spider doesn’t budge. It lowers and flattens its body like it’s trying to hold on.

  I need a bigger breath. I breathe in as deeply through my nose as I can and blow harder. But it’s still not enough. For all I know the spider is enjoying this—it must be like standing in front of a warm heater on a cold day.

  Suddenly Jen squeals.