Googol Boy and the peculiar incident of the Great Quiz Trophy by John Michael (good short books .TXT) 📗

out of my pirate nightmare, only to find myself back in the gym hall, facing my basketball nightmare. In comparison, I couldn’t decide which scenario was worse − the funeral or the suspense of whether or not the ball would go in. I watched as the ball circled the rim one more time, I didn’t want it to end this way -with Mr Perriman screaming out pirate insults at us and then us having to attend our own funerals. It just wasn’t fair... we were only fifteen minutes late!

I was on tenterhooks... the ball was

The entire class erupted in wild cheers – everyone was high fiving each other. Even Barney joined in the celebrations, he had forgotten about his torn shorts. It was moments like these where you just didn’t give two hoots if someone sees your underpants − even if they did have Sesame Street characters on them.

Cheers of jubilation continued to echo all around the hall. This was the first time in living memory that Corporal Punishment hadn’t been able to dish out some punishment and it was a collective victory. The teacher just stood there on the sideline, lifeless like an oversized mannequin, not knowing how to react. I could feel his eyes on me, then finally he stirred and strode towards me with that large gait of his and his giant fists all balled up.

“Here it comes,” I thought. “Mr Perriman is going to squash me like a gnat with those meaty paws of his!” I closed my eyes and waited for my inevitable doom.

“Well, well, well,” he uttered. “That was good work Howard! I better see you at basketball tryouts next Wednesday. It starts after school on the courts. Be there!”

I opened my eyes and noticed that for once Mr Perriman didn’t have a scowl on his face. I mean, he wasn’t smiling or anything, but he didn’t look like he was passing a kidney stone either.

“Yeah, sure sir... see you there,” I replied.

I didn’t really want to try out for the basketball team but, hey, Mr Perriman finally got my name right! And that was good enough for me.

Chapter nine 

fishpot

The clang, clang, clang of the lunchtime bell was a welcome relief. To say that it had been an eventful morning was an understatement and it was only halfway through the school day − first the school break-in, then being hassled by Corporal Punishment, and then my whole basketball-maths adventure... or was it a maths-basketball adventure? I still wasn’t sure. I felt like I had just been to an amusement park and had ridden all the rides at once − the gravitron, the roller-coaster, the pendulum, the caterpillar, the kamikaze and, yes, even the pirate ship. Unlike the times I had actually been on those rides, I hadn’t barfed as yet but I certainly was feeling a little woozy.

The good news for Barney was that he had found some spare shorts in his locker and could reclaim his modesty. I had no idea about his Bert and Ernie fondness and sometimes such things are best left unsaid, even amongst friends. He was already munching away through his third sandwich like he didn’t have a care in the world, the horror of having to run laps around the oval already a distant memory.

“Fonks bor pettin doz bazgets en miaowee!” muttered Barney.

For a second I thought that Barney was speaking in tongues but then I realised that he was still finishing off his last few bites of food.

“What was that Barney?”

“Fonks bor pettin doz bazgets en miaowee!” he repeated.

At times I thought that Barney’s middle name should be Mumbles. I had no idea what he was saying − he was as clear as a jabbering toddler sitting beside a babbling brook.

“Barn! Remember what we talked about in the past? Chew then swallow!”

He then gulped down the mouthful of food and tried again.

“Thanks for getting those baskets in Howie!”

“Yeah, well... it seemed to have all worked out in the end... who would have thought?”

“You have great stats for a rookie Howard. For an opening game, you are at 100%. Just look at the Quockingpoll Flats Rockets this last season − you’re up there with Walt Pazlowski’s 3 for 3 and he went on to a scoring average of 16.4, rebounds per game at 6.7, and assists per game averaging 3.8!”

“Um... thanks for the vote of confidence Barney but I’m pretty sure I’m not going to join the Quockingpoll Flats Rockets just yet.”

“Well, maybe not just yet but you should definitely look into –”

“Plus, Mr Perriman wants to sign me up as his star player for the school team! Have you forgotten already?”

We both laughed, imagining the terror of being coached by Corporal Punishment before and after school, every day, five days a week. Then, suddenly, I was having that familiar sensation of cogs whirring away in my brain. Clues, signs and suspicion were falling into place and they were all pointing in the same direction.

“Perriman!” I muttered.

“What about him?”

“Perriman!” I repeated.

“Don’t worry, he’s no longer around.”

I yelled.

“Um... this is getting awkward now Howie.”

“Don’t you see Barney! It was Perriman – the break-in, the trophy, the cash! It all makes perfect sense.”

“You mean Corporal Punishment stole the trophy? But why?”

“As punishment!”

“Huh? I’m lost Howie.”

“Mr Perriman got banned from the student versus teacher dodgeball games, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“And he dislikes the academic pursuits here at school, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“He would love to turn this entire school into some kind of sports academy!”

“I guess so.”

“Just one Gym lesson after another.”

“Ugh! No thanks!”

“If it was up to Mr Perriman, there’d be no Great Quiz − instead we’d have the Great Games!”’

“The Great Games?”

“It was punishment Barney! He wanted to punish the school for having an academic focus! So he stole the trophy!”

“That’s terrible!”

“Perriman would certainly be strong enough to bust through that foyer door!”

“He could run through a brick wall!” yelped Barney.

“And he’d be able to carry that trophy off with no effort!”

“Yeah he could... but Howie?”

“Yes Barney?”

“The burglary