The Day Our Teacher Went Mad and Other Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls (3 page)

‘Oh yeah?’ said Allison. ‘Take this!’ And, grabbing a bandaid from her desk, Allison stuck it on the man’s leg and ripped out a thousand hairs.

The man leapt forward and bumped his head hard against the corner of Allison’s bookshelf. But bouncing back again, he fell on top of Allison and grabbed her.

‘Kerry!’ screamed Allison. ‘He’s got me!’

‘Turn the light on or I’ll break your arm,’ growled the man.

This was Kerry’s moment. What should she do? She had to help her sister, that’s what!

Kerry quickly grabbed a pair of tweezers from her bedside table, opened them wide and snapped them closed right on the point of the burglar’s nose. Next, she flicked him a beauty on the butt with a wet towel and then finally, gave him one almighty kick. Guess where?

Right in the
goolies.

As the burglar lay groaning on the ground, Allison said, ‘I think that’s enough, don’t you?’

‘I think so,’ said Kerry.

‘Right,’ said Allison. ‘You can go, but on one condition — that you never steal anything from anyone again.’

‘I promise,’ said the man. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die. Here, I’ll even give back your mother’s jewellery.’

‘No need to go that far,’ said Allison.

Later, still out of breath, Kerry said that what they’d done was terribly dangerous. Their mum and dad would go crazy if they knew.

‘No, they won’t,’ said Allison. ‘Trust me.’

By the time their parents came home, Allison and Kerry had cleaned up so that not a sign of the burglar remained.

‘How did it go?’ asked their dad.

‘Good,’ said Allison. ‘We had a burglar and we hoped he’d take those terrible earrings of Mum’s, then we bashed him up and pulled all the hairs out of his legs.’

‘Did you?’ laughed their dad. ‘OK girls, time for bed.’

Which just goes to show, it’s always best to tell the truth.

Clumsy Clive was probably not a fair name for the big, loveable fool who sat next to me at school. Clumsy, stupid, dreamy Clive would have been closer to the mark.

He would come to school with his hair sticking up, laces undone, socks that didn’t match, jumper inside-out, shorts when it was cold, pants when it was hot, and undies on back to front — which was probably just as well, because sometimes he’d wear the same ones five days in a row.

If he did remember his bag, he’d usually bring his sister’s lunch by accident — and a few times, on PE days, he brought her sports skirt as well.

But Clive was a nice kid, all the same. Friendly, kind and always ready to share his lollies. He tried hard enough not to be dopey, but somehow he would always get things wrong. In fact, the harder he tried, the more confused he became.

The rest of us poked fun at him, of course. All the time. But Clive didn’t seem to mind. He’d just shrug his shoulders and laugh along with the rest of us.

Or so we thought. Secretly, the teasing cut Clive to bits.

One day, we had to shift a fish tank from one corner of the room to another. Clive asked if he could be one of the helpers.

‘No way!’ we all screamed. ‘He’ll drop it!’

But Mr Harris, our teacher, said that it was very good of him to offer. So, with Mr Harris on one end and Clive on the other, the big shift began.

Mr Harris had explained that once they picked up the tank, the shift had to be in one movement, from one table to another. There was no way the tank could be put down on the floor for a rest because it was much too difficult to bend down. Without spilling heaps of water, anyway.

‘No worries,’ said Clive.

We were all sure that Clive would make a mess of things, so we raced around madly shifting chairs and desks to give them as clear a path as possible. But just as they’d started the shift, the bell rang for morning play. And do you know what? Clive went to put his end of the tank down.

‘No!’ we all screamed.

‘Oh yeah,’ said Clive. ‘Better finish what I’m doing first.’

‘Yes, Clive,’ we all said together, rolling our eyes and shaking our heads.

So the shift continued, centimetre by centimetre.

‘Mr Harris,’ said Clive, after a moment, ‘I think I want to go to the toilet.’

‘Well, you can wait,’ said Mr Harris, starting to lose his temper.

‘I’m not sure if I can,’ said Clive.

‘Ones or twos?’ asked Mr Harris.

‘Both, I think,’ replied Clive.

‘Then try not to think about it,’ said Mr Harris.

‘But Mr Harris —’

‘Clive, will you shut up!’ shouted Mr Harris.

So, without saying anything more, Clive tried to hurry things up a bit.

‘Clive, you’re pushing!’ screamed Mr Harris.

‘No, I’m not,’ said Clive. And just to prove it, Clive pulled back gently in the other direction. Which set a small wave going in the tank. So Clive pushed back again. Which only made the wave bigger.
And bigger.

‘You fool!’ shouted Mr Harris. ‘Stop still!’

‘Do you want us to help?’ we all yelled.

‘No!’ screamed Mr Harris. ‘I want Clive Potts to finish the job he started, properly!’

Clive went to say something else, but he couldn’t. You see, the wave had become so big that it lapped over the end of the tank and a goldfish shot into Clive’s mouth. When he tried to spit it out, the goldfish only wriggled in further.

With Clive choking and the tank shaking, we all screamed, ‘Hang on, Clive!’

But just as we raced in to help, Clive let go. As Clive’s end of the tank hit the floor, a giant wave crashed into him and water, pebbles and goldfish went everywhere.

Clive, dripping wet, staggering and holding his throat, accidentally stood on three wriggling goldfish. Finally, with his eyes almost popping out, Clive gave one almighty cough, and the goldfish in his mouth shot across the room and hit Mr Harris right in the face.

As I madly tried to pick up fish from the floor, I said, ‘This water’s warm!’

‘It’s not water,’ said Clive. ‘I’m afraid I’ve just wet myself.’

Do you think we didn’t give Clive a hard time after that? Before school, after school, during school. But, as usual, Clive just shrugged and gave us a big dopey grin.

Poor Clive. He was secretly dying inside from all the teasing, but what could he do? The harder he tried not to be clumsy, the worse he became.

He ran over his father’s foot with the lawn-mower, he rode his bike into the lady next door, he spilt fruit yoghurt on Mr Harris, he bumped his head getting out of the wrong side of bed, he closed the car door on his little brother’s fingers… and then, finally and terribly, he got hit by the school bus.

Up until then, Clive’s clumsiness had been sort of funny. But when I saw him in hospital with the saddest look, teeth missing, bruises on his cheeks and tears in his eyes, I just stood there and cried.

After that, I didn’t tease Clive ever again. None of us did. And do you know what? Clive improved heaps. I’ve never seen a kid so happy. Which made me wonder something.

Does every clumsy kid in the world have to get hurt before we’ll give him a chance?

Although there’s something I should admit. Now that he’s OK, I sometimes laugh about it. Clive getting hit by the bus. I know I shouldn’t. But I haven’t told you the best bit.

You know how when you cross the road you’re supposed to look right, then left, then right again?

Clumsy Clive got mixed up and looked right, then right, then right. Then walked.

Clive. Bus.
Boom.

We’ve all met some ratbags in our time, but Melissa Chan would have to take the cake. She was very cheeky, very loud, funny sometimes and naughty most of the time. But cool to her friends. If you asked a grown-up, ‘Say, for some reason, a child had to rule the world, who would you choose?’, it wouldn’t be Melissa Chan.

As it turned out, Melissa lived in Canberra, and one day her school was asked to sing ‘Advance Australia Fair’ at a special welcome for the President of the United States. As well as singing, there would be flag-waving, speeches and a band playing, and the whole thing would take place at the airport.

Everyone was to be on their best behaviour because, apart from the importance of the day, there would be television cameras everywhere.

Best behaviour?
wondered Melissa.
We’ll see about that.

The idea of being on television sounded excellent to Melissa, but not just as a singer in some dopey school choir. Melissa wanted to be the star! The talking point. The ratbag!

So, secretly and very cleverly,
Melissa made some plans
.

At last the day arrived, and Melissa was so excited you’d think she’d got out of school for a year. She lined up in her position, ready to sing. But then, just as the President’s plane landed, she knelt down and crawled under a nearby police car.

Everyone was too busy watching the plane to notice Melissa, and in no time she had rolled out from under the other side of the police car and into the main building. And then into the toilets. Secretly, during practice the day before, Melissa had hidden a bag in the bottom of a rubbish bin. Would it still be there? Yes!

As quick as a flash, Melissa sneaked back into her singing position, with something rather large up her jumper.