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

At first everything was a blank slate but then a few images started to form − a porcupine, a pineapple, and a mop. What did all of this mean? I was completely stumped.

What looks like a porcupine, smells like a pineapple, and cleans like a mop? Without a doubt, this was the worst riddle ever. It was even worse than the chicken joke. It was as if my brain had vacated the premises and I was ready to stick a ‘for lease’ sign on my forehead.

I decided to try one last time. I closed my eyes and concentrated so hard that there were wrinkles on my brow. This time two images appeared: some brussels sprouts and some kid picking his nose.

I must admit, not the best material but at least this kind of stuff was up Barney’s alley.

“Barn! What’s the difference between a plate of brussels sprouts and a booger?”

“Ah... let me think Howie. Is it that they are both green?”

“I said ‘difference!’ Try again.”

“Um... one is round and the other is... um... not round?”

“No. Think harder Barney.”

“Okay... I think I’ve figured it out. Is it that brussels sprouts grow in the garden and boogers grow in your nose?”

“Ha ha... not too bad Barney but the answer is ‘a kid won’t eat brussels sprouts,’ get it?”

At first, Barney chortled but then just stared blankly at me so I had to repeat the joke and I even had to explain why it was funny. After a couple of minutes, he did start to chuckle again and in no time he was laughing away, the down side was that he sounded like a hyena having an asthma attack. That’s what I loved about Barney, he could enjoy the same joke three times, once when it was told, once when it was explained, and then again when he finally got it.

“It’s funny... ha ha... because it’s true! That’s... ha ha... a good one Howie... ha ha... do you think... that it will... ha ha –”

I exploded midway through Barney’s laughter and it wasn’t pretty. I sneezed like a diseased camel and sounded as loud as a longbarrelled blunderbuss. Barney jumped out of his skin and to make matters worse, most of the slobber made contact with him.

“Eeew... thanks a lot Howie!”

“Oh... I’m so sorry Barney,” I said as I wiped my nose with one of the leftover serviettes which had been in my pocket.

“You better not be gettin’ sick,” huffed Barney.

“Ah... I don’t think so... hopefully I’m just allergic to Savani!” I tried to laugh it off but to be honest, I was feeling a little feverish... maybe the pressure was getting to me.

Barney and I quickly went up to the registration table and enquired about signing up. “Oh you made it just in time sonny,” exclaimed the old lady behind the desk as she checked her wrist watch. She looked frail, like you could blow her over with a whisper, and had more wrinkles than a sack of walnuts and smelled like a bag of mothballs. “Another minute and you would have missed the party!”

“Party?!” queried Barney.

“Shush,” I muttered.

“I think she’s being sarcastic.”

I then turned to the old lady. “Ha ha... lucky us!

“Yeah... lucky as a worm in a chicken coop!” mumbled Barney.

“There you go sonny,” the old lady said as she handed over our registration papers. “You’re team number six, I’ll get them to set up your table... good luck!”

The rules for the Great Quiz were quite simple − each pair of contestants were asked a question. If you got three questions wrong, you would be eliminated. The last two teams would then go into the finals and battle it out until one of the teams provided an incorrect answer.

The organisers set up the six tables on the stage at the front of the Royal Pavilion. Principal Ditherington stepped up onto the podium and the old lady with the thousand wrinkles handed him the microphone.

“To be certain, it is a most marvellous day for our Great Quiz challenge today, and when I say marvellous I am referring to this glorious spring day. Look around, the cherry trees are in blossom and note the scent of freshly cut grass lofting in the air. C'esl la vie de château. Most certainly, spring is here, offering new beginnings, rebirth, inspiration. Let me share a poem that I wrote, it is called Spring has Sprung:

We lived a white lie in a little blue cottage, 

The snow piled itself into a corner 

And Old Man Winter died like a mouldy pumpkin.

He croaked his last breath near the cabbage patch.

Yes he did.

Heed! Ostara’s rays of joyful light glimmer from yonder,

There I see the bud of a yellow daffodil, 

Suddenly it was spring in my garden.

The unicorn would stop and eat the periwinkles,

While the shepherd chased the sheep into the valley.”

There was a round of polite applause from the audience and then the principal just stood there with a confused look on his face. “Now onto the... ah... what was I about to say” he muttered as he scratched his chin. The wrinkled old lady quickly stepped up to the principal’s side and whispered in his ear.

“Ah yes, most certainly. Thank you. I was talking about the Great Quiz. The Great Quiz challenge which has now been running for over a century and as day is day, night is night and time is time, it will endure as a legacy of this town’s history. We have six most worthy teams ready to go head to head. The winners, of course, will have their names forever immortalised on the Quockingpoll Flats Great Quiz trophy.”

At this moment, the old lady moved in again and whispered into the principal’s ear.

“Ah yes, of course, the Quockingpoll Flats Great Quiz trophy has been stolen... it is no longer with us, it has been filched, pilfered, most peculiarly, most certainly. Not to worry, not to worry.”

Mr Ditherington was overcome with emotion and took off his glasses, pulled out his poker dotted