Funny Kid #3 Read online

  “Well, sometimes history books have horror stories in them, Max. Only they’re much scarier . . . because they’re true.” And with that, she gets back on the bus.

  She is a very strange girl, that Abby Purcell.

  We travel into Lake Quiet National Park for another half an hour or so. The trees get really tall and the road gets really bendy, but eventually we arrive at a clearing next to a huge lake.

  We all get out and there’s almost no sound at all. No cars driving by. No dogs barking. No next-door neighbor yelling at the garbage truck for running over his bin again.

  “I think I know why they call it Lake Quiet,” Hugo whispers.

  “You’re a very clever kid, Hugo. Have I ever told you that?” I reply.

  “Never,” Hugo says. “You have never told me that.”

  It’s time to set up our tents.

  Setting up a tent feels a bit like trying to build a house with chopsticks and three garbage bags. Hugo and I start by unwrapping our garbage bags and then sticking all the chopsticks together. Unfortunately that means we just end up with one really long chopstick.

  We begin again and this time we end up with five shorter chopsticks, which makes an awesome scarecrow but not a very good shelter.

  “How are you getting on there, boys?”

  I look up and see Abby and Pip standing there, smirking at us. Behind them, their tent is set up perfectly. Ours looks like a weird sort of plastic salad.

  “We’re fine,” I say.

  “It looks like you’re having a bit of trouble,” Pip says.

  “It’s much harder than –”

  I cut off Hugo. “No trouble at all. We were just seeing if there might be a more . . . creative way of doing it. You know, anyone can have a normal-looking tent. We thought we’d try and make ours two stories.”

  “Oh, really? A two-story tent?” Abby scoffs.

  “Exactly. Like bunk beds!” I say with a grin. I’m really digging this idea!

  Pip smiles. “Who’s going to sleep on the top?”

  “Me!” I reply.

  “I’m not sure I’d be so keen to volunteer for that,” Abby says.

  “Why?”

  “Well,” Pip says, “whoever is on top is going to fall the farthest when the monsters get you in the middle of the night.”

  “Or even if it just gets windy,” Abby adds. “Is that what you want, Max?”

  “Hmm. Good point. Hugo, you can have the top bunk!” I say.

  “Thanks, Max.”

  “Then again,” Abby continues, “whoever is on the bottom level is probably going to have the person on top fall and squash them in the middle of the night.”

  I look at Hugo. Ah . . . um . . . “Let’s just set it up normally, eh?”

  Hugo nods.

  Pip and Abby wander off, which means I can quietly ask Miss Sweet to come and set up our tent for us.

  The afternoon goes pretty quickly, and before long, we’re all sitting around a campfire that Mr. Bert made and Miss Sweet is telling us it’s almost time for bed. All we’ve done since we arrived here is set up tents, tables, and chairs, move logs for the campfire, and then sit on the logs and have dinner.

  “What sort of vacation is this?” I complained. Miss Sweet then took ten minutes to explain to us that we weren’t on vacation. We were spending two nights out by the lake to learn to appreciate nature. Apparently nature needs us to appreciate it more or something. It’s so needy.

  Dinner was some sort of slop, although that might be overselling it. A greeny-creamy-bluey-orangey sort of color, it was like soup, except lumpy, and I think I saw it wriggle.

  I sneak away from the food area to a spot behind our tent where I’ve made a home for Duck. He seems quite happy to polish off my dinner for me, which is helpful, but it also means I’m going to bed hungry. I decide to take some of the bread I hid for Duck into my tent to eat later. After all, I’ve got to eat. I’m a growing boy!

  When I come back, Pip wants to tell scary stories.

  We roast marshmallows in the fire and Mr. Bert tells us about a haunted house with the ghost of a walking, talking pig called Bronwyn.

  Layla tells a story about a baby that was bitten by a radioactive goat (crazy kid!), and Ryan tells one about a politician who turns into a maniac at night and steals everyone’s money (in other words, he stays exactly the same).

  “Abby, do you have a scary story?” Pip asks.

  Everyone looks at Abby. She actually seems quite nervous. She shakes her head, then nods, then shakes, then nods.

  “Come on, tell us about your scary dragons,” I say, because this makes me look tough and brave.

  “But that story is true,” she replies. “So it actually is scary.”

  “I bet it isn’t.” I glance over at Pip.

  “It is!” Abby says. “And it’s even worse than that because it’s about this place. That’s why I got so nervous when I realized we were coming to Lake Quiet. I’ve read stuff about this place.”

  “Like what?” Hugo asks.

  Abby just shakes her head.

  “Oh, come on!” I say. “How scary can it be?”

  Abby scowls at me. “Okay, fine. Lake Quiet, where we are right now, is where the Gunker Dragons used to live.”

  “What do you mean when you say ‘dragons’? What were they actually like?” Kevin asks.

  “Like ones that breathe fire?” Hugo asks.

  I blow a raspberry. “Of course not, Hugo. Someone’s tricked Abby with all this nonsense.”

  “I’ve seen photos, idiot. When we get home, you can look it up.” Abby turns to Hugo. “Of course not fire-breathing dragons. Gunker Dragons are like Komodo Dragons, these giant lizard things. They used to inhabit this whole region centuries ago, but they became extinct.”

  “So more like dinosaurs?” Ryan asks.

  “Exactly,” Abby replies. “They lived in the water like giant crocodiles and then came out at night to hunt their prey while it slept.”

  Hugo shudders and looks over at the lake.

  “Big deal!” I say. “I’m not scared. You even said it yourself, Abby. They’re extinct!”

  “Well, technically yes.”

  “Technically?” Tyson asks.

  “There have been sightings,” Abby says. “About once a year, a camper or hiker reports that they think they’ve seen one dragon that still lives here. Or they’ll report things going missing from their campsite in the middle of the night.”

  “And on that note, time for bed!” Miss Sweet announces. “Don’t worry, Abby. There are no monsters out here.”

  “Not monsters. Gunker Dragons,” Kevin murmurs. “Thanks for freaking us out, Abby.”

  When I climb into our tent, Hugo is already there in his pink ballerina-flamingo pajamas. There’s not much room to move in here.

  I demand Hugo closes his eyes while I get into my own pj’s. I’m about to pull on my pants when I smell it.

  “Sorry,” Hugo replies.

  “Did you seriously just fart in a tent, Hugo?”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “In a TENT!”

  “It’s these beans that I brought for extra snacks.” He points to a whole bag of canned beans next to his sleeping bag. “Sometimes they do funny things to my tummy.”

  It’s so disgusting. It smells like how a skunk would smell if it had come home from its job at the sewage works after eating an egg covered in Parmesan cheese and forgetting to brush its teeth.

  I desperately want to flee the tent, except I’m not wearing any pants. So instead I’m stuck, half naked and marinating in Hugo’s stench, inside our little garbage-bag house.

  “There’s something I’ve always wondered,” Hugo says, still sitting there, farting with his eyes closed. “In order for you to smell something, does some of it have to actually go into your nose?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you smelling my fart because a bit of fart air came out of my butt and floated through the tent
and then got sucked into your nostril?”

  I gag and yank on my pants. “Hugo, shut up!”

  “It’s a pretty gross idea, don’t you think? That maybe a bit of my butt air is now inside your body.” He pauses as I leap into my sleeping bag. “Can I open my eyes yet?”

  I decide not to answer that and just change the subject. “How’s my book going anyway?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about that,” Hugo says as I try to get comfortable. “I’ve decided I’m not going to discuss it with you anymore. You’ve been squashing my artistic vision.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask as I push one leg down into my sleeping bag. “It’s my book.”

  “See, this is the problem,” Hugo says, his eyes still closed. “I’m actually quite enjoying writing, but if I’m the writer, then that makes it my book. Not yours. You can write your own if you want, but you’re the subject of my book, so I’m just going to watch you and write down what I see. Maybe I’ll let you read it at the end. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “You’re not making any sense.” My sleeping bag is twisted. I try to stretch it out. “This book is supposed to be about how awesome I am. I can help with that! Besides, I’m not giving you permission to write about me without letting me read it.”

  I push my other leg down into the sleeping bag. Hang on a minute. What is that?

  I just touched something with my toe. Something cold and squishy. Something kind of long. I poke it. It just keeps going, all around the bottom of my sleeping bag. I have a bad feeling about this.

  “Yes.”

  “There’s something in the bottom of my sleeping bag.”

  “Something like what?”

  “It’s long and windy and cool and a little bit . . . scaly,” I explain, listening to the words as I say them. Why would there be . . . ?

  “Oh, that’s a snake for sure,” Hugo says.

  I scramble desperately to get away from the reptile at my feet, but it’s actually surprisingly difficult to remove oneself from a sleeping bag quickly! My feet get tangled, the sleeping bag slips and slides, and I can feel the snake moving as I move. It’s around my knees! I’m kicking and thrashing like I’m trying to run a race lying down.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Get me out of here!” I yell, finally freeing my legs. I jump up onto my feet, leaping away from the sleeping bag and crashing into the side of the tent. “Where’s the flashlight? Give me the flashlight!”

  I snatch it out of Hugo’s hand because he’s not nearly fast enough. I point it straight at my bed, enough to see a toy rubber snake half hanging out of my sleeping bag.

  And that’s when I hear Tyson laughing hysterically from the tent next door.

  I am going to pull that stupid kid’s ears off!

  He’s not the only one laughing either. There is giggling coming from all across the campsite!

  Then I turn to Hugo. “It’s okay. It’s not a real snake. It’s just Tyson getting revenge for what I did to his backpack.”

  “Phew.” Hugo breathes a sigh of relief. “Hey, can I open my eyes yet?”

  When the sun hits our tent the next morning, I’m already awake. Supersoldiers in prank wars never sleep.

  I’m lying in my sleeping bag, listening to the birds.

  So many lovely tweeting birds. I’ve never been so happy to listen to them. Whistles and squawks, cheeps and twitters. A big smile spreads over my face.

  “What’s that noise?” Hugo mutters, still half asleep.

  “That’s the beautiful sound of a choir of feathered angels,” I reply.

  Hugo opens his eyes and looks at me as though I just farted. Buddy, I’m not the one in this tent with a gas problem. I can tell he’s listening to the birds now too.

  “They’re quite loud,” he says.

  I grin. “Very loud.”

  “What’s going on?” Hugo asks, looking suspicious.

  We unzip the tent, poking our heads outside. There are no birds on the ground. No birds in the trees. Hugo looks confused.

  “Check out the tent next door,” I whisper.

  We swivel our heads toward Tyson’s tent and Hugo’s eyes open wide. I’ve never seen so many birds at one time in my entire life. They are completely covering the tent – flapping, squawking, fighting. You can hardly even see the tent – it’s just a giant hurricane of feathers.

  “What the –?” Tyson suddenly calls out.

  Hugo looks at me.

  “I got up in the middle of the night and covered Tyson’s tent in bread crumbs,” I say. “It’s important for the birds to be able to have some breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day after all.”

  Tyson must feel like he’s being attacked by Big Bird in there.

  We watch as everyone else comes rushing out of their tents to see what’s going on. They all look over and slowly start to laugh.

  Tyson is still screaming like he’s just sat on a hedgehog and it’s actually scaring the birds away. We all watch as the zipper on his tent comes down and Tyson falls out onto the grass. Of course, crashing out of his tent scares the rest of the birds away, so when he finally glances around to see what was causing the cyclone he woke up to, there’s nothing there.

  “You all right there, Tyson, buddy?” I ask.

  He looks over at me, incredibly confused.

  “Revenge is sweet,” I say quietly to Hugo.

  “You’re pretty good at this prank war thing,” he says. “Can I help?”

  “Sure,” I say. “You should probably clean up those leftover bits of bread.”

  Not sure that’s quite what Hugo had in mind, but then it doesn’t really matter. Duck has come out of his hiding spot and is helping himself to bread crumbs for breakfast.

  Breakfast was chaos because it turned out Mr. Bert does not know how to make eggs, one of the camping toilets was broken, and a couple of kids seemed to be missing some of their stuff. Layla’s basketball was gone (don’t ask me why she brought that), Kevin lost his hairbrush (I know why he brought that – his hair is superb!), and Miss Sweet almost lost her patience.

  She managed to just hold on to it though, and after breakfast, she dragged us all down to the edge of the lake to a row of orange canoes. We’re all in our life jackets getting instructions about paddling to the other side of the lake for a picnic lunch. Hugo and I stand next to Pip and Abby.

  “Did you see the prank I pulled on your brother this morning?” I whisper to Pip.

  “Don’t you think crocodiles are monsters?” Pip says, smiling, and before I can answer, she adds, “I can’t wait to go canoeing.”

  “Who has been in one of these before?” Miss Sweet asks.

  I have, of course, never been in a canoe, but now is hardly the time to tell the truth. I look at Pip and raise my hand along with a couple of other kids. I’m pretty sure Pip is impressed.

  “Excellent,” Miss Sweet replies. “Those who have done this before can take the picnic baskets.”

  “When have you been in a canoe, Max?” Abby asks as she and Pip line up their canoe next to ours. I can tell she doesn’t believe me.

  “Oh, too many times to count. I was pretty much born in a canoe. It’s so easy. You’ll see,” I say as I put our picnic basket, Pip and Abby’s basket, and my backpack into the canoe.

  “Why are you bringing your bag?” Hugo asks.

  I turn to him quickly and put my finger over my lips. Duck is in my backpack, but no one knows that. I’m going to show Pip once we’re out in the middle of the lake.

  “You sure you’re not going to sink with all that stuff?” Abby asks.

  “No sweat!” I call out, flashing my best action-hero smile and flexing my muscles so Pip can appreciate my toned biceps. Pip’s not looking. Abby screws up her face and pretends to vomit. The girls jump into their boat and glide straight out onto the water.

  We push the canoe out a bit. Hugo goes to climb in. It takes him a moment to work out which body part should go in first. He starts
with one leg, but he can’t lift it high enough. Next, he tries to reverse in, bottom first, but the whole canoe starts to tip.

  “Whoa,” I warn him, trying to hold the boat steady. He looks at me, shrugs, and just dives in headfirst.

  He’s in the canoe, which is a good start, he’s just upside down. The canoe shakes wildly as Hugo flips himself over.

  My turn and, just like Hugo, I can’t quite swing my leg over. So I attempt a graceful spring-jump in, holding the front of the canoe. My legs come off the ground, but I can’t get my tummy over the side. Try again.

  Only, when I go to put my feet back down on the sand by the lake, I realize we’ve started to drift away from the edge and I can no longer reach solid ground. We’re now floating out into the lake with Hugo in the back and me hanging on to the outside of the front of the canoe.

  “Max! Why are you down there?” Hugo asks.

  I try to swing my legs up, but just succeed in splashing myself in the face. Ugh.

  “I’m stuck, Hugo. Pass me your paddle, would you?”

  Hugo shoves his paddle toward me, but manages to whack me in the stomach in the process, pushing me straight off the canoe and – SPLASH! – into the water.

  I say hi to a couple of fish while I’m underwater and then swim around the side of the canoe. Hugo reaches down and gives me a hand, making it a little easier for me to clamber in.

  “You’re right, Max,” Abby calls out from the middle of the lake. “It’s so easy! Just don’t you dare drop our lunch overboard!”

  Grrrrrrrr . . .

  “Why?”

  “Just paddle like me. Quick!”

  We begin paddling and turn around in a complete circle. Awesome start. I switch my paddle to the other side and try again. We just turn in a complete circle the other way. It’s a great way to see the scenery, but it’s not helping us get where we need to go!