Read Online The Donut Diaries by Anthony McGowan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anthony McGowan
Ads: Link
avoid getting jabbed in the eye by one of Crow’s giant fingers, or vamped to death by Ella.
DONUT COUNT:
Thursday 25 January
YESTERDAY WAS LIKE one of those days in a war when nothing much happens and you can hang out your washing on the barbed wire and play football in no-man’s-land.
Well, today was different.
I was settling down at my desk for English with Miss Brotherton, contemplating a quick round of Speedbum, when two prefects came in. One was my old enemy, Ivan the Terrible. He was still limping from his mishap with the poo, but it looked like it had just been a sprain and not a break.
Pity.
I didn’t know the name of the other prefect, but he always followed Ivan around, the way a smell of egg follows a fart. He had a zit on the side of his nose that was actually bigger than the nose itself, so it looked like the spot had a nose rather than the other way round. Ivan was no genius, but the spotty prefect was the kind of kid who’d stick his finger up his bum and act surprised when it didn’t smell of flowers.
‘We’ve come for Milligan. Mr Whale wants him,’ said Ivan, not showing very much respect for Miss Brotherton. That was quite risky. Miss Brotherton could be pretty fierce, in a big-nosed, woodpeckery kind of way. Which, I admit, is not the fiercest kind of fierce, but it’s more fierce than being fierce in a rabbitty way, for example. But today Miss Brotherton wasn’t even woodpecker-fierce. She looked a bit sad. She was going out with Mr Wells, so maybe they’d had an argument, or he’d decided that her nose was just too big and her elbows too sticky-outy, even if she did have quite nice hair.
So she just waved me out of the room, like a bored judge waving a condemned man off to the gallows.
On the way to Whale’s office, the two prefects kept shoving me against the walls and tripping me up and the usual prefect tricks.
‘Bouncy bouncy,’ sneered Ivan.
I really hate that kid.
Really.
Hate.
That.
Kid.
‘Stepped in any poo lately?’ I asked sweetly, and got a last cuff round the head as my answer.
We reached Mr Whale’s office.
‘Wait here, Lardy,’ said Ivan, and then the two goons went off to find someone else to torment.
I could see through the frosted glass that there were several people in there. I’ll admit that I was sweating. I guessed that this had to be about the Phantom. But as far as I was aware there hadn’t been any more attacks.
The door opened and a face appeared. It wasn’t a good face to see at that moment.
‘Millicent, in,’ said Crazy Fricker.
What awaited me in the room was pretty close to my dream team, if by ‘dream team’ you mean the group of people most likely to make me want to curl up in the corner and whimper.
Mr Whale was there, of course, looking more like an Evil Baby than ever. Then there was Mr Fricker, who I now saw was wearing his sensible hands rather than any special attachments. And, completing the unholy trinity, DOC MORLOCK!!!
Actually, there was one friendlier face in there: Mr Wells. Mr Wells was OK. He said ‘well’ too much, but there are worse faults than that, e.g. looking like an Evil Baby, or enjoying torturing kids on the rugby field, or spending your life looking at poo and telling people to stop eating donuts.
I also noticed that there was a deeply revolting smell in the room, despite the fact that the window was open. And a big fat bluebottle was buzzing around, like a cherry on the cake of irritation.
Mr Whale started talking, although I missed the first part because the horror of all this had rendered me temporarily deaf.
‘… international expert … consultant with the Metropolitan Police Forensic Department … brought in to solve this dastardly …’
I shook my head and tried to get my brain into gear.
‘It is not public knowledge yet,’ continued Mr Whale, ‘but there was another incident. It occurred yesterday. During assembly. The assembly into which
you
were observed sneaking
DONUT COUNT:
Thursday 25 January
YESTERDAY WAS LIKE one of those days in a war when nothing much happens and you can hang out your washing on the barbed wire and play football in no-man’s-land.
Well, today was different.
I was settling down at my desk for English with Miss Brotherton, contemplating a quick round of Speedbum, when two prefects came in. One was my old enemy, Ivan the Terrible. He was still limping from his mishap with the poo, but it looked like it had just been a sprain and not a break.
Pity.
I didn’t know the name of the other prefect, but he always followed Ivan around, the way a smell of egg follows a fart. He had a zit on the side of his nose that was actually bigger than the nose itself, so it looked like the spot had a nose rather than the other way round. Ivan was no genius, but the spotty prefect was the kind of kid who’d stick his finger up his bum and act surprised when it didn’t smell of flowers.
‘We’ve come for Milligan. Mr Whale wants him,’ said Ivan, not showing very much respect for Miss Brotherton. That was quite risky. Miss Brotherton could be pretty fierce, in a big-nosed, woodpeckery kind of way. Which, I admit, is not the fiercest kind of fierce, but it’s more fierce than being fierce in a rabbitty way, for example. But today Miss Brotherton wasn’t even woodpecker-fierce. She looked a bit sad. She was going out with Mr Wells, so maybe they’d had an argument, or he’d decided that her nose was just too big and her elbows too sticky-outy, even if she did have quite nice hair.
So she just waved me out of the room, like a bored judge waving a condemned man off to the gallows.
On the way to Whale’s office, the two prefects kept shoving me against the walls and tripping me up and the usual prefect tricks.
‘Bouncy bouncy,’ sneered Ivan.
I really hate that kid.
Really.
Hate.
That.
Kid.
‘Stepped in any poo lately?’ I asked sweetly, and got a last cuff round the head as my answer.
We reached Mr Whale’s office.
‘Wait here, Lardy,’ said Ivan, and then the two goons went off to find someone else to torment.
I could see through the frosted glass that there were several people in there. I’ll admit that I was sweating. I guessed that this had to be about the Phantom. But as far as I was aware there hadn’t been any more attacks.
The door opened and a face appeared. It wasn’t a good face to see at that moment.
‘Millicent, in,’ said Crazy Fricker.
What awaited me in the room was pretty close to my dream team, if by ‘dream team’ you mean the group of people most likely to make me want to curl up in the corner and whimper.
Mr Whale was there, of course, looking more like an Evil Baby than ever. Then there was Mr Fricker, who I now saw was wearing his sensible hands rather than any special attachments. And, completing the unholy trinity, DOC MORLOCK!!!
Actually, there was one friendlier face in there: Mr Wells. Mr Wells was OK. He said ‘well’ too much, but there are worse faults than that, e.g. looking like an Evil Baby, or enjoying torturing kids on the rugby field, or spending your life looking at poo and telling people to stop eating donuts.
I also noticed that there was a deeply revolting smell in the room, despite the fact that the window was open. And a big fat bluebottle was buzzing around, like a cherry on the cake of irritation.
Mr Whale started talking, although I missed the first part because the horror of all this had rendered me temporarily deaf.
‘… international expert … consultant with the Metropolitan Police Forensic Department … brought in to solve this dastardly …’
I shook my head and tried to get my brain into gear.
‘It is not public knowledge yet,’ continued Mr Whale, ‘but there was another incident. It occurred yesterday. During assembly. The assembly into which
you
were observed sneaking
Similar Books
