My Life and Other Massive Mistakes
Read My Life and Other Massive Mistakes Online
Authors: Tristan Bancks
Have you ever helped your pop escape from a nursing home? Does your teacher have a problem with his bowels? Is your sister an evil genius and criminal mastermind? Have you ever mined your teeth for cash? Is there a girl or boy at school who's desperate to kiss you? And do you know someone with the worst case of nits in world history?
I'm Tom Weekly and this is the third book in my weird, funny, sometimes gross life story.
âThese books are 100% gluten free, 100% fat free, 100% organic and 35% fact free. They have no added sugar and contain absolutely NO NUTRITIONAL BENEFITS! May contain traces of NUTS!'
Raph Atkins, kid author/llama enthusiast
Ny
Hey,
I'm Tom Weekly and this is my life. Every single word in this book is true. Except the stuff I made up.
See, I have trouble working out where reality stops and fantasy begins. Tanya, my evil-genius criminal-mastermind sister, says that makes me a liar. But that's not true. Stella Holling really
did
try to trick me into kissing her on her chocolate-smothered lips. I actually
did
help my pop attempt a breakout from Kings Bay Nursing Home. And, yes, I
did
try to use Lewis Snow's nits as a biological weapon to shut down my school.
If you have any weird, funny or gross stories, jokes or drawings you'd like me to put into my next book or on my website, I'm at:
Be kind to your nits. (And Lewis says try feeding them small dollops of tomato sauce. It's their second favourite food, after blood.)
Tom
I plunge my arm deep into the forest of Lewis Snow's hair and scrape my fingernails across his scalp. When I withdraw my hand it is crawling, teeming,
seething
with head lice.
âI dunno if this is the epic-est thing I've ever seen or if I'm going to vomit,' I whisper to Lewis and Jack.
âMaybe both,' Lewis replies with a smile.
There aren't just dozens of nits on Lewis's scalp. Or hundreds. There are
thousands
. Tens of thousands, maybe. It doesn't even seem possible that this many nits exist in the world, let alone on one very small head.
âJust don't hurt them,' Lewis says. âNits are people, too.'
Lewis has had nits since he was three years old. He reckons he can't remember
not
having an itchy head. He's had nits for so long he sees them as pets. He reckons they speak to him, that all his best ideas come from his nits. Lewis was expelled from his last school for having too many nits, but our school will take anybody.
I proceed to release the minibeasts into the wild, depositing 50 to 100 extra-large nits into each blue hat on each peg outside each classroom in the main school corridor. We even get the teachers' hats. All the other kids are in assembly so the place is deserted, apart
from me, Jack and Lewis. And the nits.
âPace yourselves,' Jack whispers, delving his own hand into Lewis's wild blond afro. âWe've still got a bunch of classes to do.'
âIt's okay,' Lewis replies. âPlenty to go round.'
Jack and I continue to spread the nit love until we make it to the end of the very long corridor. We look back. Hundreds of blue school hats are wriggling with lice.
âGood job, men,' Jack whispers. âOnly our class left to do.'
âFour minutes,' Lewis confirms, checking the timer on his watch, which is in sync with the school bell.
Just enough time to finish sowing the seeds of our terrible plan: complete school shutdown before next week's dreaded national standardised tests, when we face the hardest exams of our lives.
Jack, Lewis and I reckon that our talents
can't be measured by a test. So we figure that if there were, say, a plague of head lice and every kid in school had to be sent homeâ¦
Boom.
No exams.
We've been hatching the plan for three weeks. The idea came to us on the day that Lewis Snow, the kid with the worst case of nits in world history â Jack's and my new best friend and hero â wandered into our classroom, scratching like mad.
Lewis, Jack and I slip into three empty seats at the back of assembly next to a sleeping Mr Carter, just as the recess bell sounds.
âSTAY in your seats!' Mr Skroop demands from centre stage. He seems to be staring right through me with those charcoal eyes. Walton Skroop is not my biggest fan, which is unlucky because he recently landed the job
of deputy principal. And he's my next-door neighbour.
âAs you know, we have examinations next week and I expect you all to be using your preparation time wisely. The reputation of this school, our funding and even your teachers' jobs depend on these results. I will be very,
very
disappointed if we do poorly. Do you understand?'
âYes, Mr Skroop,' we all say in unison.
âNow please leave the hall in a
calm and orderly fashion
, one class at a time, beginning with 6A!'
We slowly file out of the hall, across the playground and into the main school building, where everyone grabs their food and hats for recess. Jack, Lewis and I stand at the end of the corridor, near the library, watching as our scheme unfolds.
âI love it when a plan comes together,' I say.
âWe are great humanitarians,' Jack agrees. âI love nits,' Lewis says dreamily.
By the afternoon everyone is scratching.
Everyone.
Kindergarten kids, primary kids, teachers â even Mr Barnes, the maintenance guy.
â
Please
stop scratching and concentrate on your work,' Miss Norrish snips. âYou heard what Mr Skroop said this morning.'
We are at our desks doing last year's maths test, preparing for next week's exam. Apart from Jack, everyone around me is scratching. Miss Norrish is up the front, marking papers. She's usually calm and fun, but today she's on edge. I think she's as scared of Mr Skroop as we are.
âExcuse me,' Raph Atkins says.
âYes, Raph.'
âI'm itchy.'
âJust ignore it,' Miss Norrish snaps.
âBut it feels like my head's about to explode.'
âI will make it explode if you don't stop scratching.'
âI think I have zombie nits,' he says.
SLAM!
Miss Norrish throws a textbook down on her desk, stands and says, âThis is ridiculous. I don't know what's got into you all this afternoon.'
âI'm itchy,' a small voice says at the back.
âI know that! So am I!' Miss Norrish shouts and then scratches her head like a wild woman, turning her usually dead-straight hair into a haystack. âGet out, all of you! Go outside and scratch yourselves silly. Go on, GO!'
At first we're not sure if she's serious, but eventually we head out into the playground.
âThis is awesome,' Jack whispers.
The next two days whirl by in a storm of school-wide scratching and teacher meltdowns, but it's Friday before the nits really hit the fan. Jack, Lewis and I skate to school together. As we roll through the top gates, we stop and stare.
âWhat's happening?' I ask.
âI dunno,' Jack says.
âMy nits have a bad feeling about this,' Lewis mutters.
There is a queue of about 40 parents on the stairs leading up to the front office. All the kids in the playground are being rounded up by teachers and marched towards the hall.
âThe bell hasn't even gone,' Jack says.
We pick up our skateboards and walk down the driveway. Pretty soon, we are swept up in the tidal wave of kids pouring into the hall.
Inside, everyone is lined around the walls in class groups, scratching. Kindergarten is up near the stage. Years one and two are against the side wall and year three is at the back. The line-up of kids wraps right around to year six at the front of the hall again, under the basketball backboard. Lewis, Jack and I take our places.
Mr Skroop stands in the centre of the hall with a microphone. Even from this distance his brown, gappy teeth and fluorescent white skin make me shiver.
â
This
,' Mr Skroop begins as the last few kids straggle in, âis a great
in
convenience.'
He turns slowly to look at each and every child, his eyes boring into us.
â
This
,' he goes on, âis a source of great antagonism and
frustration
for me.
Someone
in
this room is responsible for the unprecedented outbreak of
Pediculus humanus capitis
, commonly known as head lice.'
How could he know?
I wonder.
How could he know the nits didn't just
naturally
invade the school?
â
You
,' he says, âknow who you are.'
Lewis's leg is shaking. I can see it out of the corner of my eye. I don't look at his face. Jack picks the scab on his nose. He does that when
he's nervous. I remember the time I was in hospital and Mr Skroop ate Jack's knee-scab. I'm still annoyed with him about that. It was the biggest in my collection.
âI have had some very unhappy parents in my office this morning,' he says, âand when I have unhappy parents in my office, that makes
me
unhappy and when
I
am unhappy, that means
you
should be unhappy, too, because
I
am the captain of this ship.'
Lewis's leg is really jittering now. And Jack's nose is bleeding. Kids all around whisper nervously to one another.
âSILENCE!' Mr Skroop howls. Four hundred kids and 12 teachers snap to attention. He slithers towards the kindergarten kids, just to my left. He's so close that I can smell the stink of his beastly cat, Mr Fatterkins, on his shredded maroon jumper.
The kindy kids cower before Dark Lord Skroop as he walks by. A blond boy wets
himself. Mrs Rodgers lifts him out of the puddle and helps him over to the side doors.
Mr Skroop continues around the large rectangle of fear, past each and every child. He regards them with deep suspicion before moving on. The only sounds are the ominous clops of Skroop's footsteps and the constant
shooka-shooka-shooka
of head scratching. Skroop examines first grade, second grade, third grade.
âThe nits think we should confess,' Lewis says.
I shush him. âJust act normal.' But it's hard to act normal when you're trying to act normal. You keep thinking,
Just act normal
,
just act normal
, until you don't even know what the word ânormal' means anymore.
Mr Skroop stops and stares at a fourth grader until the kid starts bawling. He passes the halfway line on the basketball court, moving towards us. My bladder is bulging at
the seams. I hope I don't end up in a puddle, too.