Googol Boy and the peculiar incident of the Great Quiz Trophy by John Michael (classic books for 13 year olds txt) 📕

“Well okay, it was pretty bad. But look on the bright side,” replied Barney. He then proceeded to stare out of the window with an absent-minded look on his face.

“Well? What’s the bright side?” I enquired with eager curiosity. I was hoping for this dark cloud of gloom to have some silver lining.

“Wait, I’m thinking.”

“You can think all you want. It was a disaster. First Savani ridicules me, then she humiliates me, then she out-raps me, and then the school bullies want to make me their new Tommy Kilkenny. I might as well just become a hobo.”

“Tommy Kilkenny? Hobo? What hobo?”

“Yes... Hobo Joe.”

“Huh? Tommy Kilkenny has become Hobo Joe?”

“Never mind.”

“Well okay... maybe you’re right Howie... there is no bright side... but it could have been worse.”

“Worse? You were there. How could things have been worse?”

“Well... Savani could have finished off the whole battle by giving you a purple-nurple,” snorted Barney.

“Eww! I guess you’re right,” I responded with an involuntary laugh. “That would have been worse!”

“Don’t worry Howie, you’ll show that Savani who’s Tus-pet,” chortled Barney.

“Ha ha... you mean Sut-ped.”

“Yeah... that’s what I meant... Sut-ped,” chuckled Barney.

“Well... let’s hope that’s it for the bad luck for today,” I said, in part to reassure myself but, of course, I spoke too soon. We were just past the midpoint of Main Street when suddenly the school bus started to tremble and the engine started to splutter and, without warning, the shuddering vehicle came to a grinding halt.

“What’s going on?” enquired Barney.

“Looks like the bus has given up the ghost,” I replied.

“Oh! Not again!” replied Barney. “That means we’ll have to hoof it.”

The bus driver tried the ignition and the engine turned over but the grinding noise sounded like a death rattle. She let go of the key for a few seconds and then tried again, this time pumping the accelerator with vigour. The engine continued to rattle and whine but slower this time.

Doris turned around in her seat. “That’s it folks!” she bellowed. “The party’s over! Everybody off the bus!”

We all gathered our school bags and slowly shuffled down the aisle. As I walked past the bus driver she gave me a look of disappointment. “Well, grease-monkey boy?”

“Huh?” I replied rather absent-mindedly.

“Why didn’t ya give us a heads-up?”

“Heads-up?”

“Yeah... about the bus breakin’ down,” grunted Doris.

Great! It seemed that even the bus driver was on my back.

“Um sorry, I guess,” I replied.

“Ah... stuff ya sorries in a sack mister, they ain’t gonna do us no good now!” she snapped as she lit a cigarette.

I continued walking with my head lowered and shoulders hunched − it felt like today was ‘everybody punch Howie in the face day.’

As we disembarked the bus, all the students quickly scurried off in different directions to get to their homes. Another reason they were scampering away so hastily was that there was a good chance that Doris would force them to push the bus back to the depot. It happened once before.

Unfortunately, Barney and I had quite a trek to get home. We still had to get to the end of Main Street, walk through Lord Shaftesbury Park, take a left at the Town Hall and continue past the orphanage for another fifteen minutes. We’d be lucky if we got home before dinner.

It was a rather non-eventful journey although my string of bad luck did continue. I stepped in some dog poop as we travelled through the park and then ripped the back of my shirt as it got snared on a tree branch near the Town Hall. By the time we arrived at the orphanage I just wanted this day to end.

The orphanage was situated in an old castle which stood on the largest hill at the edge of town. The estate had initially belonged to the esteemed industrialist Earl Sherwood Higginbottom who had made his fortune in diapers. Since the orphanage had been the biggest consumer of diapers in the entire county, he found it fitting to leave his estate to the “impoverished little blighters” as he called them, so his property was bequeathed to the town after his death.

Higginbottom had builtthe mostextravagant castle in all of Quockingpoll Flats (actually, it was the only castle in Quockingpoll). It was in a gothic style and constructed of imposing granite blocks with supporting buttresses angled against the walls. The rooftop was covered with patterned slate shingles and there were a number of double rose-windowed spires around the central courtyard. The side turrets were decorated with menacing gargoyles* perched on columns and, yes, a moat encircled the entire structure. The alligators were long gone now but Higginbottom did get into a bit of strife at the time after a couple of his gardeners were eaten.

Barney and I stood at the entrance to the castle, in front of the imposing wrought iron gates as we admired the view before us. There had always been rumours that the place was haunted and the scene seemed like something out of a Grimm Brothers fairy tale. The sun was setting over the distant hill with the rays of light peeking out amongst the long grey clouds which looked like skeletal fingers reaching out across the sky. The castle glowed a bright orange in the fading light as the day came to an end. As the sun started to ebb below the horizon the temperature dropped quite suddenly, making me wish that I had brought my sweater (and that I didn’t have a gaping hole in the back of my shirt). The only sound that could be heard was the soft rustling of leaves as a light westerly breeze moved across the grounds, chilling us to the bone.

wailed Barney out of the blue.

“Don’t do that!” I yelped. “You scared the bejesus out of me!”

“Oh sorry Howie.”

“You gave me a heart attack! For a second there I thought that you were the ghost of Billy-Bob!”

“Billy-Bob? Ooh no, not that fellow!” stated Barney as he looked around