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

everyone except for Savani who let out a frustrated shriek and stormed off the stage in a bout of fury. Penelope just stood there, her expression a mixture of bewilderment and embarrassment. She was in two minds about what she should do next, but finally decided that her partner needed attention. “I better go and see if Savani is alright,” she declared as she quickly followed her. As Penelope skipped down the stairs, she turned around. “By the way, congratulations! You both deserved to win.” She then smiled and continued on her way.

I farewelled Penelope with a friendly wave but Barney was still caught up in his own world − it didn’t register with him that the Great Quiz was actually over. He kept on rattling off statistics. “Shimkus had his best season in 1959-60 as the top league scorer with 43 goals and 91 points and won the Golden Puck Award as the most valued player.”

“Okay that’s enough now,” laughed the principal as he shook our hands. “You have won! Felicitations!”

“We won?” queried Barney. “We won!” he yelled as it finally dawned on him as he high fived me... and missed my hand altogether and slapped my forehead instead.

“Yes Bawney, we won! And id’s all danks do you!” I replied.

Barney chuckled and then he started to blush. “Aw... well... you helped a bit as well Howie.”

Mr Ditherington then took to the microphone for the closing speech. “What a fearsome battle of the minds! Of course, at a time like this, of great joy and celebration nothing would be more befitting than to present you with the Quockingpoll Great Quiz Trophy but, alas, as you know it’s gone. Gone like our childhood days of yore. En est déjà parti pour toujours. What I would do to have that trophy back? Our glorious trophy, our dazzling trophy, our fantabulous trophy...”

As the principal continued with his speech, the word “trophy... trophy... trophy” started to echo in my ears like some monastic chant. Perhaps it was a side effect of the virus, some form of tinnitus or something — I had a blocked nose, ringing in my ears, my throat was sore, I was getting a headache, what was next to go? I was falling apart at the seams and was wondering if that ambulance stretcher, which had taken away the wrinkly old lady, could come back for me as well?

I closed my weary eyes while the principal droned on and on. Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled that we had won but what I really needed right now was some chicken soup, a hot water bottle and a cup of honey and lemon tea, preferably all brought to me in bed. Of course, there was only one person who was capable of delivering on that wish list − Mum of course! Sure, she constantly embarrasses me in public, dishes out discipline like Attila the Hun and forces me to clean my room but, let’s face it, who was your go-to-mum when you needed support, sustenance, guidance and comfort? I guess I would have to forgive her for shouting out “I love you” in front of everybody and I guess I won’t be sending her to that crooked nursing home after all.

I opened my eyes and looked over to Mum who immediately gave me a loving smile and a big thumbs up. I was in the middle of responding with my own feeble attempt at an affectionate smile when, at that very moment, Groundskeeper Red walked in front of Mum and looked up at me. We locked eyes and time seemed to stop, there I was with adoration in my eyes and there was Red with a cockeyed squint. I wanted to turn my gaze away but I was overwhelmed with sick fascination and I couldn’t stop gawking at that horse-shoe imprint on his forehead. In the end, I guess Red had enough of this weird kid staring at him like he was the star attraction at the Ringling Brothers Circus. He responded to the unwanted attention with a brutish grunt and went back to picking up the discarded litter. Red got to one of those big-gulp milkshake containers which was lying empty on the grass and then proceeded to stomp on it like it was a poisonous snake about to attack him. The groundskeeper acting erratically was nothing new but, at that moment, I noticed how disproportionate his shoes were to the rest of his body − he looked like he was wearing big floppy clown shoes.

The word “trophy... trophy... trophy” once again echoed in my ears, this time becoming louder and louder. Suddenly a hotchpotch of images flashed before my eyes.

Shoes! Paint! Cheese! What did all of this mean? Suddenly I experienced a moment of perfect clarity − all the jigsaw puzzle pieces fell into place.

The principal had started to recite another poem about unicorns when I grabbed the microphone off him.

“Id was Groundskeeper Red − he stole the Great Quiz drophy!” I declared as I pointed my finger right at him. Red’s face went red and he looked like someone had just branded him with a red-hot poker. The crowd gasped in horror and parted around him as if it had been revealed on the loudspeakers that he had just soiled his pants.

Red looked up at me with his squinty eyes and then around at the crowd. “He’s telling porky pies, I tells yer,” he grunted.

“Whad aboud your shoes?” I demanded.

“My shoes? Yer want ma shoes?” queried Red. “Wait a cotton-pickin’ minute. I saws yer lookin’ at me before like yer were after somethin’.”

“Mighty big shoes were needed to gick down the schgool entrance door in order do get do the drophy!”

“I don’t know whats yer talkin’ bout... sounds like a whole lot of malarkey to me... seems like that boy must have been dropped on his noggin,” snickered Red.

“Also, the foyer door was busted ub to make it loog like sub one had brogen into