Read Online Middle School: How I Got Lost in London by James Patterson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Patterson
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And it was spaghetti Bolognese.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” whispered Leo.
I was.
JUSTICE MAY WELL have been having the day off, but Luck was by my side, because Donatello had fallen asleep. Her head was back, her mouth slightly open, and she was making a strange humming sound, like a wine taster on TV.
Across the aisle Miller the Killer sat beside Jeanne. By now he was sitting stock still with his eyes kind of bugging out of his head, and he hadn’t touched his food. The pleasures of vacuum-packed airline spaghetti Bolognese were lost to him.
In fact, forget about lunch—Miller looked like he was having trouble keeping his breakfast down.
I’d like to say it was all Leo’s idea, what happened next.
So I will.
It was all Leo’s idea what happened next.
In the pocket of the seat in front of me was a magazine full of fascinating features about beaches and hotel rooms. There was a card showing how to inflate your life jacket and a magazine full of duty-free products.
These things were of zero interest to me.
What I wanted was the other thing in the pocket. The bag you’re supposed to grab if you’re feeling like you want to hurl. The sick bag.
You know that bit in Mission: Impossible , where Tom Cruise kind of abseils into the secure room? Where he needs to steal the data without setting off the alarms? Where he’s sweating and stuff, and he…
Okay, you know the bit.
That’s how careful I was as I removed the sick bag from the pocket then turned away slightly so Miller the Killer wouldn’t see me. (Not that he was likely to be watching anyway, because he was still doing the eye-bugging thing and staring at the seat in front of him.) Then I poured my Bolognese into it.
Correction: I poured Donatello’s Bolognese into it. But she wasn’t going to mind. Judging by the yum-yum sounds she was making, she was enjoying a scrumptious meal in her sleep.
Then I took a spoon from my lunch plate and called across the aisle: “Hey, Miller !” And when he turned his head to look at me, I dipped the spoon into the sick bag and started to eat the Bolognese.
THERE’S SOMETHING CALLED a chain reaction . It’s where one action causes a reaction, and that in turn causes another reaction, and so on and so on (and so on). It’s a science thing. And we’re talking about what happened on a Living History trip—which is humanities, but what the heck. It’s all learning, right?
So LISTEN UP, class! Today we’re going to learn all about chain reactions.
It begins with Miller the Killer turning his head to see me eating Bolognese from the sick bag. Only he thinks I’m eating…
Too much information? Too much information. You get the picture.
…So anyway. I munched.
I chewed.
I did a bit of slurping too.
I even wiped Bolognese from my chin. And—inspired by Ms. Donatello—I made a whole lot of yum-yum noises.
I mean, I really yummed it up.
And Miller turned greener and greener. The muscles in his face and neck began to twitch. His chest started to heave like there was an alien creature inside him.
“Yum-yum!” I said.
His cheeks bulged.
His head pecked forward.
He clamped a hand over his mouth.
“ Delicious! ” I said.
And then Miller heaved and barfed. Puke spurted through his fingers. Beside him Jeanne Galletta shouted, “EWW!” and tried to get away. But it was too late, because Miller the Killer was unleashing a full-on gusher.
A chunderstorm.
A hurlicane.
A barfquake registering one hundred on the sick-ter scale.
And unlike me he didn’t have a sick bag. Instead, he just kept his hand clamped over his mouth. But it couldn’t contain the fountain of cookie-toss that was forced through his fingers.
His hand acted like a shower head and the vomit sprayed far and wide. It went all over Jeanne next to him and all over the kids who sat in the seats in front. And—in a way—it went all over everyone around him. Because even though it didn’t physically touch
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” whispered Leo.
I was.
JUSTICE MAY WELL have been having the day off, but Luck was by my side, because Donatello had fallen asleep. Her head was back, her mouth slightly open, and she was making a strange humming sound, like a wine taster on TV.
Across the aisle Miller the Killer sat beside Jeanne. By now he was sitting stock still with his eyes kind of bugging out of his head, and he hadn’t touched his food. The pleasures of vacuum-packed airline spaghetti Bolognese were lost to him.
In fact, forget about lunch—Miller looked like he was having trouble keeping his breakfast down.
I’d like to say it was all Leo’s idea, what happened next.
So I will.
It was all Leo’s idea what happened next.
In the pocket of the seat in front of me was a magazine full of fascinating features about beaches and hotel rooms. There was a card showing how to inflate your life jacket and a magazine full of duty-free products.
These things were of zero interest to me.
What I wanted was the other thing in the pocket. The bag you’re supposed to grab if you’re feeling like you want to hurl. The sick bag.
You know that bit in Mission: Impossible , where Tom Cruise kind of abseils into the secure room? Where he needs to steal the data without setting off the alarms? Where he’s sweating and stuff, and he…
Okay, you know the bit.
That’s how careful I was as I removed the sick bag from the pocket then turned away slightly so Miller the Killer wouldn’t see me. (Not that he was likely to be watching anyway, because he was still doing the eye-bugging thing and staring at the seat in front of him.) Then I poured my Bolognese into it.
Correction: I poured Donatello’s Bolognese into it. But she wasn’t going to mind. Judging by the yum-yum sounds she was making, she was enjoying a scrumptious meal in her sleep.
Then I took a spoon from my lunch plate and called across the aisle: “Hey, Miller !” And when he turned his head to look at me, I dipped the spoon into the sick bag and started to eat the Bolognese.
THERE’S SOMETHING CALLED a chain reaction . It’s where one action causes a reaction, and that in turn causes another reaction, and so on and so on (and so on). It’s a science thing. And we’re talking about what happened on a Living History trip—which is humanities, but what the heck. It’s all learning, right?
So LISTEN UP, class! Today we’re going to learn all about chain reactions.
It begins with Miller the Killer turning his head to see me eating Bolognese from the sick bag. Only he thinks I’m eating…
Too much information? Too much information. You get the picture.
…So anyway. I munched.
I chewed.
I did a bit of slurping too.
I even wiped Bolognese from my chin. And—inspired by Ms. Donatello—I made a whole lot of yum-yum noises.
I mean, I really yummed it up.
And Miller turned greener and greener. The muscles in his face and neck began to twitch. His chest started to heave like there was an alien creature inside him.
“Yum-yum!” I said.
His cheeks bulged.
His head pecked forward.
He clamped a hand over his mouth.
“ Delicious! ” I said.
And then Miller heaved and barfed. Puke spurted through his fingers. Beside him Jeanne Galletta shouted, “EWW!” and tried to get away. But it was too late, because Miller the Killer was unleashing a full-on gusher.
A chunderstorm.
A hurlicane.
A barfquake registering one hundred on the sick-ter scale.
And unlike me he didn’t have a sick bag. Instead, he just kept his hand clamped over his mouth. But it couldn’t contain the fountain of cookie-toss that was forced through his fingers.
His hand acted like a shower head and the vomit sprayed far and wide. It went all over Jeanne next to him and all over the kids who sat in the seats in front. And—in a way—it went all over everyone around him. Because even though it didn’t physically touch
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