Funny Kid for President Page 5

  “Got it!”

  I jump off the chair, put the key in the third drawer’s lock, and open it.

  “Oh.” I had been hoping to find all my torn-up posters, but all that’s inside is a large, bright pink box. It looks exactly like the ballot box sitting on the front of Mr. Armstrong’s desk. “It’s just another ballot box.”

  Abby comes over. “Open it up.”

  I lift the top off the box and we see that it’s full of folded pieces of paper. I pick one up and unfold it.

  “It’s a ballot paper,” whispers Abby. She’s right. It’s a slip of paper with all the candidates’ names in a list. It’s exactly the sort of form I would expect us all to use to vote on Monday.

  Only this one has a big tick next to Layla’s name.

  I grab a handful and so do Hugo and Abby. As we flick through them, we see that Layla’s name has been ticked on nearly every one.

  “Fake ballot papers,” says Abby. “He’s going to switch the box after we vote.”

  “It doesn’t matter what we do or how people vote,” I realize. “Layla is going to win.”

  “Isn’t this the evidence we were looking for?” Hugo asks.

  “Not quite. We can’t just take this to Mrs. Sniggles. We broke into the classroom to find it,” I say, realizing too late that our plan has had a critical problem all along.

  “And if we get rid of it, he’ll know that we’ve done it before the vote and he’ll just find another way,” Abby says.

  “Then we have to catch him in the act,” Hugo says.

  It’s the first smart thing Hugo’s said all day.

  Monday. Election Day.

  Hugo, Abby, and I have spent the weekend coming up with a plan. I’m not entirely convinced it’s going to work, but I don’t have any other options. I put on my favorite red-and-white-striped T-shirt. I even brush my hair. May as well look the part.

  “Mom! Dad! Time to go!” I’m by the door.

  Mom staggers out of her bedroom, her hair looking like a distressed skunk.

  “Max, it’s five a.m.!”

  “Just want to be ready, Mom. Just want to be ready.”

  She looks at me in the way only your mom can look at you when you’re about to do something that might just get you kicked out of school forever. Another moment and I would have confessed to everything.

  Instead she asks: “Are you nervous, Max?”

  I nod. “I guess a little.”

  Mom makes me a cup of warm milk and while she has a shower I open my back door and sit down on our step.

  It doesn’t take long.

  Quack.

  This time I don’t run away. I stay nice and still. The duck waddles up to me, watching me intently. It walks right up onto my step, and then it sits down next to me.

  “Today’s a big day, Duck,” I say. “I’m going to need your help. Do you think you can help me?”

  It stares at me with its big dark duck eyes.

  Quack.

  I’m pretty sure that’s a yes.

  “Okay, let’s practice. Now when I say, ‘Quack’, you say –”

  Quack.

  Excellent.

  By the time the bell rings for school, all the kids are already standing outside the classroom, waiting. Hugo slips out of the room and joins me and Abby just as Mr. Armstrong comes marching around the corner. He’s checking the little contraption that tells him how many steps he’s taken and starts to yell: “All right, mongrels –”

  He stops cold, suddenly realizing that Mrs. Sniggles is also standing with us. She’s wearing her safari suit and hat again, although this time she has a giant toy toucan attached to the hat. Both the principal and the toucan are staring at our teacher.

  “Ah, er, yes, all right, inside, everyone!” he stammers as he opens the door.

  Once we’re all seated, Mr. Armstrong explains how the election will work.

  “Layla will speak first, then Abby, and then Max at the end.” He holds up a pink ballot box and a stack of blank ballot papers. They look identical to the ones we found on Friday night. “You will all vote on these slips of paper and put them in this pink box. I will count them, and then we’ll have our first class president. Any questions?”

  None. Over to Layla.

  Her speech goes something like this:

  I can’t tell you if there were more details in there. I wasn’t really listening. I am way too nervous about my own speech.

  Abby’s up next. She keeps hers short and punchy:

  It’s the sweetest I’ve ever heard Abby be. She can really turn it on when she has to.

  That’s not a skill I have.

  I look down at my notes. Down at the first sentence of my new speech. When I wrote this yesterday, I’d begun with: “I’d like to start with a joke.”

  Am I really going to do this? There’s no turning back now.

  “I’d like to start with a joke,” I begin.

  There are a couple of laughs. Not many. This is a tough crowd.

  I pause, awkwardly. Silence.

  “I told you that joke because in election speeches, everyone always says the same thing. Things you’ve heard before. It gets so repetitive.”

  I say those last three words slowly and loudly. I wait again, hoping, but still there’s nothing.

  What if our plan doesn’t work?

  I look over at Hugo. He’s sweating more than normal. It looks like he walked through a garden sprinkler on the way to school. I keep going, trying to buy some time.

  “This election has been a little different though. For a start, two of our candidates aren’t even here. Kevin got sick from Mr. Armstrong’s smoothie, and Mr. Armstrong’s catapult nearly took off Ryan’s head. Accidentally, of course. And then there’s a certain duck who always turns up at the wrong time.”

  Except for when you really need it to!

  I glance over at Abby. I was never expecting to get this far along in my speech. I look down at my notes. If I keep going and publicly accuse Mr. Armstrong of cheating, in front of Mrs. Sniggles, without any evidence, then not only will I probably be kicked out of school, but I’ll also look like a really sore loser. I’m not sure which is worse.

  Abby smiles encouragingly, and I suddenly wonder if she knew the whole time that this plan wouldn’t work.

  I look back at Hugo. He’s still sweating, but he’s also nodding at me. One of his really expressive nods that tells me, “Go for it, Max. It’s now or never.”

  You know what? Hugo’s right. It’s time to rise above the politics. It’s time to tell the truth!

  I look up from my notes. Let’s do this.

  “Max!” The teacher stands up. I keep going.

  “That’s enough, Max!” declares Mr. Armstrong. “You’re done!”

  The principal and her toucan leap to their feet. Everyone freezes. No one quite expected such an explosive voice from such a little person. The toucan glares at me.

  “That is a very serious accusation, Max. Do you have any evidence?”

  I look at Hugo and Abby. I’m done for. I can’t tell Mrs. Sniggles about the ballot box without telling her we broke in. This plan doesn’t work unless she finds it herself.

  “Max?”

  Who am I kidding? This plan was never going to work. I’m an idiot. I look out at the class and I can see they agree. This is worse than when Mr. Armstrong first said I did the poop.

  It. Is. Over.

  Quack.

  I look up.

  Did I just hear what I thought I just heard?

  Quack.

  Mrs. Sniggles looks confused. So does the rest of the class.

  Quack.

  It’s the sound I’ve been desperately waiting for. Talk about cutting it close!

  “What is that?” the principal asks. “It sounds like a duck.”

  Everyone looks around, trying to figure out where the noise is coming from.

  Mrs. Sniggles steps forward, looking behind the desk, searching for the source of the quacks. Onl
y Abby, Hugo, and I know exactly where the quacks are coming from. They’re coming from where Hugo hid my duck before class.

  Quack.

  The principal presses her ear to Mr. Armstrong’s third drawer.

  Quack. Quack.

  She tries to open the drawer. Locked.

  “Mr. Armstrong, why is this drawer locked? Give me the key.”

  “Umm . . .” Now it’s his turn to be speechless.

  “The key, Mr. Armstrong.”

  He stammers, struggling for words. He looks like he could do with his stress ball right about now.

  “There’s nothing in there, Mrs. Sniggles,” he manages finally. “It’s Max! He was quacking all through his speech. He’s . . . umm . . . he’s learned to throw his voice! What do they call that kind of comedian? A ventriloquist? Yeah, that’s it! Thinks he’s a really funny kid, this one.”

  Mr. Armstrong glares at me, then walks over to his trophy cabinet. He reaches up into the stinky shoe and pulls out the key. He glares at me some more before handing it over to the principal.

  Mrs. Sniggles unlocks the third drawer of the desk. She carefully pulls it open. In a wild flurry of feathers, Duck flies out, quacking happily.

  As Duck does merry laps of the room, I watch as our principal reaches down and opens the second ballot box. She slowly picks up all the pre-ticked ballot papers. Layla. Layla. Layla.

  Mr. Armstrong’s eyes suddenly look very small. His face goes as white as an albino fur seal dressed like a ghost for Halloween.

  The room falls silent and everyone holds their breath.

  “Actually, Max, you can stay right where you are,” Mrs. Sniggles says eventually.

  A week later, Hugo and I are standing at the bus stop, waiting.

  Our whole life feels like waiting.

  Waiting for grown-ups, buses, holidays, dinner . . .

  “Our new teacher starts today,” Hugo says. “I heard she’s really nice.”

  Mmm, dinner. I wonder what’s for dinner?

  “Are you listening to me, Max?”

  Maybe we’ll have the chicken wings with the spicy stuff on them.

  “Max?”

  Mmmm . . . chicken.

  I could probably run to the work shed and ask Dad to make the chicken wings and still be back in time for the bus.

  “I did the poop.”

  If I ran really fast . . . Hang on.

  “What?”

  Hugo is looking sheepish – like a sheep who did a poop in the storeroom.

  “It was me. I had to go into the storeroom to get something, and I’d had your dad’s chicken wings the night before. You know the ones with the spicy rub?”

  “Yes, I know the ones! I was just thinking about them!”

  “Well, they always make me poop! It came on really quickly. I didn’t have time to make it to the bathroom, and I didn’t know what to do . . .”

  “So you pooped on the floor?” I’m horrified.

  “It’s not as crazy as it sounds!” Hugo protests. “You should have been there!”

  Hugo looks down at the footpath. “I was embarrassed,” he says. “You’d be embarrassed if you’d pooped in the storeroom.”

  “I was embarrassed because people THOUGHT I pooped in the storeroom!”

  Hugo nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for covering for me. You’re a good friend.”

  Grrrrrrr . . .

  Abby Purcell. Just what I need.

  “Morning, Madam President,” Hugo says.

  Oh, did I forget to tell you? Must have slipped my mind. Abby won the election. After they fired Mr. Armstrong, Mrs. Sniggles came and taught us for the rest of the week. She ran the vote. Ryan and Kevin got to run, as did Layla, because she’d actually had no idea about Mr. Armstrong’s schemes. Not that it made any difference. Abby kicked our butts.

  To be honest, I wasn’t quite as disappointed as I thought I’d be. I’d wanted to be president to beat Mr. Armstrong, and I’d done that. Plus, who really wants to be in politics anyway? What a bore!

  In Abby’s acceptance speech, she said that Mr. Armstrong had been beaten by the funny kid and everyone gave me a cheer. I’ll settle for that. Then she started yammering on about something to do with paper airplanes. Seriously, Abby, who cares?

  “It’s a lovely day to be alive, don’t you think?” she is saying. “The day is filled with possibility!”

  Actually, it will probably be filled with spelling tests and a history lesson, but I’ll let her have her delusions.

  “Oh, I forgot!” Abby says, and hands me a piece of paper. “I got this for you.”

  I look down at the flyer.

  “I thought you might want to enter. You can tell your little jokes or something,” Abby says.

  Ooh, interesting. I would like to be famous.

  Grrrrrrr.

  Abby Purcell, you’re going to ruin my life.

  THE END

  Did you enjoy

  FUNNY KID FOR PRESIDENT?

  Email Matt and let him know what you thought!

  matt.stanton@gmail.com

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  with Max in

  FUNNY KID: STAND UP!

  Thank you!

  Making a book is hard work, but the great thing is, you don’t have to do it all by yourself. So this is a really good spot for me to say thank you.

  The first person to thank is Beck, who just happens to be my best friend. She’s so much of a best friend that she let me marry her. I get to see her every single day, which is just the best. If I didn’t get to do anything fun ever again, not for the rest of my life, but I still got to see her every day, that would be fine with me. Some people say you shouldn’t work with the person you’re married to, but I think that’s dumb. Working with Beck makes me better, and who wouldn’t want to be better? We run a company together that creates stories for kids, so you’ll hear lots more from us. The most awesome thing about working with your best friend? Going to work and coming home are both the best parts of the day.

  I think kids are pretty great. In fact, they’re the best sort of human, I reckon. The most awesome ones live in my house. They’re called Bonnie and Boston, and they hired me to work for them as their dad. Hopefully I never ever get fired because this is the best job in the world. It’s even better than getting to make funny books. I love them so much it makes my tummy do a little dance.

  I have parents and a sister too. They are ridiculously encouraging. They make me think I can do anything, so I think I will. I wouldn’t be doing this crazy job if they hadn’t told me that I could. So thanks, guys!

  Did you know that when you publish a book you get to work with these people called editors? It’s like having someone mark your homework and show you everything you need to fix before you have to give it to the teacher. You’d get 100% every time! Well, I’ve been able to work with two – Kate Burnitt and Jessica Dettmann. They’re both absolutely brilliant and made this book so much better. And if I spelled their names wrong, it’s their fault for not checking properly.

  Not only do you get to work with editors, you get to work with a whole team of amazing people who know lots about making great books for kids. Like Michelle Weisz, Holly Frendo, and Bianca Fazzalaro, who know all these awesome ways of telling kids that there are new and exciting books to read. They’re brilliant. Then there are people like Amy Fox who find really good bookshops to put the books in so that you can find them easily. She’s tops at that. Elizabeth O’Donnell is great at seeing if any other kids around the world would like to read the books. She found a whole bunch of other kids who are going to read Funny Kid so you should definitely give her a high five. Alice Karsen helps all of these people do their very busy jobs, which makes her the busiest out of all of them. I think she’s okay with this, though, because she knows that they know that they couldn’t possibly do it without her.

  The top dog of the HarperCollins Australia Children’s Books team is Cristina Cappelluto. She gets a huge thank-y
ou because she lets us all do the thing that we love to do, which is make great books for kids. Also, if anything goes wrong, it’s ultimately her problem, and that makes me breathe so much easier!

  There are these amazing people who work on Funny Kid in other parts of the world. Brilliant people like David Linker, Joe Merkel, Andrea Vandergrift, Rachel Denwood, and Harriet Wilson.

  Working with all these people is fantastic, but there’s one person in particular who you feel is your partner in crime. That person is called your publisher, and in my case, I got really lucky because my publisher is Chren Byng. Chren works with me on everything. She hatches plans, comes up with ideas, improves my jokes, hatches more plans, makes sure I don’t sound stupid, chills me out when I start to sound crazy, and basically, besides Beck and me, she’s Funny Kid’s biggest champion. It’s like having your coach, your star player, your cheerleader, and your playmaker all being the same person. “Thank you” are two words that don’t feel like they quite cut it.

  I made Funny Kid for funny kids, and I’ve met thousands of you (and your teachers) on the road. If this book made you smile, even just once, then I’ve done my job. The world is an amazing place – wonderful and sometimes scary, hilarious and sometimes sad. Making each other smile once in a while is a pretty special gift, so I hope I’ve shared that with you just as much as you share it with me.

  I look forward to sharing more stories with you soon!

  Matt Stanton, 2017

  About the Author

  MATT STANTON is a bestselling children’s author and illustrator, with over a quarter of a million books in print. He is the cocreator of the megahits There Is a Monster Under My Bed Who Farts and This Is a Ball. His much anticipated middle grade series, Funny Kid, launched around the world in 2017.

  mattstanton.net