Sticky Beak by Morris Gleitzman Read Free Book Online Page B

completely forgotten we’ve got a new teacher. I only remembered when Ms Dunning stopped the truck in front of the school gates and handed me ajar of home-made apple sauce.
    â€˜For your new teacher,’ she said.
    I groaned inside.
    â€˜Come on, Ro,’ said Ms Dunning, ‘a prezzie means a lot to us teachers on our first day.’
    I couldn’t believe it.
    She’s only been semi-retired for two days and she’s already forgotten that only crawlers and bad spellers give new teachers presents. That’s why I wasn’t carrying a plate of apple fritters.
    I was about to remind her, but then I realised she must just be having a vague spell and I decided not to hurt her feelings. It can’t be much fun, carrying a baby round inside you that uses up so much oxygen there’s not enough left for your brain.
    When I got out of the truck, all the kids that had crowded round to wave at Ms Dunning backed away, all nervously eyeing the jar of apple sauce in my hand.
    I walked through them, hoping they’d notice the jar had a lid on and that there wasn’t a single hardware store fan in the playground.
    They didn’t.
    I could only see one kid who looked relaxed.
    Darryn Peck.
    He was standing just inside the school gate, smirking at me.
    â€˜Careful Battsy,’ he said, ‘don’t trip over.’
    I walked past.
    He started walking behind me.
    I ignored him.
    I knew he was going to try and trip me, and I knew I could handle it.
    I was wrong.
    What threw me was that he used his brain.
    He waited till I was almost across the playground, then gave a screeching cry, like a cockatoo.
    For a sec I thought it was Sticky, that he’d escaped and was looking for me.
    I glanced up and that’s when Darryn stuck his foot out.
    I felt myself falling forward and my only thought was not to let go of the jar.
    Then I realised I already had.
    Me and the jar flew through the air.
    I slammed into the ground.
    The jar smashed through Mr Fowler’s office window.
    After a while, when I’d worked out which sounds were glass breaking and which were my ears ringing, someone lifted me to my feet.
    It was Amanda.
    She was white with fury and screaming at Darryn Peck.
    â€˜You’re dead meat, Peck,’ she yelled. ‘My uncle’s a solicitor.’
    Darryn Peck was looking pretty pale too, but that was because he could see Mr Fowler storming towards us.
    Mr Fowler was angrier than any of us had ever seen him.
    He was so angry that not one person laughed at the apple sauce on his head.
    â€˜What happened?’ he thundered.
    There was chaos as everyone tried to tell him something different.
    I kept out of it because my knees had started to hurt a lot and I wanted to see if there was any blood coming through my jeans.
    After a few seconds Mr Fowler sent everyone to their classrooms.
    Amanda hovered, still furious, still shouting, until Mr Fowler threatened to expel her.
    Then he took me into his office.
    The next few minutes were pretty hard on my nerves, partly because Mr Fowler wouldn’t let me speak, and partly because he kept pacing up and down on his glass-covered carpet and I was worried he’d cut himself.
    It was dumb. There I was, the victim of a telemovie-sized injustice, and I was more worried about whether one of the people responsible would slash a major artery in his foot and I’d have to knot his whistle cord round his leg to stop the blood flow.
    â€˜I don’t know what happened out there,’ said Mr Fowler, ‘and I probably never will. So I’ll be charitable and assume it was an accident. That’s two, Batts, in four days. One accident is unlucky. Two is careless. If there’s a third . . .’
    He stopped and put his face close to mine.
    Apple sauce dripped onto my shoe.
    â€˜. . if there’s a third, watch out.’
    He turned away and I pulled my notebook out to scribble a note asking for a lawyer and a broom to sweep