Mascot Madness! (14 page)

‘It was no accident,' said Fred. ‘I saw the whole thing!'

‘Me too,' said Clive.

‘You weren't even there,' said Fred.

‘Oh,' said Clive.

‘You're lying, Fred,' I said.

But for once Fred was definitely not lying. He knew everything. The whole sorry story.

‘You won't tell anybody, will you?' I said.

‘Of course not,' said Fred. ‘Wouldn't dream of it—unless you do something silly, of course . . . so, do we have an understanding?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘We have an understanding.'

‘Understanding is good,' said Fred. ‘It's good when friends understand each other. Now get out of my sight, McThrottle.'

As I walked back to our grandstand I wasn't sure what I'd achieved—if anything—by going to visit Fred and Clive.

I had wanted to find out if they were working for Mr Constrictor, and if so, to make them stop.

Now I knew for sure that they were working for Mr Constrictor, and they knew that I knew, but I couldn't stop them because Fred knew too much about me. And even worse, he now knew that I knew that he knew too much.

Confused? It wasn't that difficult, really.

What it boiled down to was that if I spilled the beans on Fred, he would spill the beans on me, and I couldn't risk that. So I was under Fred's thumb. And one thing I didn't like being was under anybody's thumb, especially Fred's.

As I took my seat back in the grandstand, I was in such a state of shock I barely even noticed that
down on the field Newton was coming up the home straight of his four-hundred-metre sprint.

The crowd was roaring.

So was Flip Johnson. ‘And Newton Hooton is dominating this race!' he said with excitement. ‘He's running faster than a dandelion in a pink dress! Go, Newton, go!'

I was worried about Newton, but to tell you the truth, I was even more worried about myself. If Newton won this race, Fred and Clive would hold me responsible.

But it was too late. Newton went shooting across the finish line, a full three seconds ahead of the nearest Northwest West Academy runner.

As he did, Jack, Gretel and Jenny closed in around him and escorted him safely to the winners' podium in preparation for yet another climb to the top.

The crowd went wild.

Flip Johnson went wild.

Mr Brainfright went wild.

And Mr Constrictor went wild, too. But Mr Constrictor didn't go good-wild. He went wild-wild.

He'd clearly been counting on Fred and Clive's threats to stop our winning streak dead in its tracks. But, like his bus attacks, his banana-hating dog, and his attempts to intimidate the judges, it hadn't worked.

As Mr Brainfright started up a victory chant in front of our grandstand, Mr Constrictor came surging across the field towards him.

He was flanked by Troy Gurgling on one side and the slavering, teeth-gnashing Chomp on the other.

I wasn't sure what he was up to exactly, but I did know one thing—he hadn't come to shake Mr Brainfright's hand.

‘Hey, Brainfright!' snarled Mr Constrictor. ‘Turn around and fight like a man!'

Mr Brainfright stopped dancing and turned around. ‘Fight? Whatever for? And fight like a man? Why, that's impossible—I'm a banana!'

‘Are you trying to be funny?' said Mr Constrictor, moving his face menacingly close to Mr Brainfright's banana head.

‘No,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘My job is to inspire my school.'

‘Is it really?' said Mr Constrictor. ‘I could have sworn your intention was to distract and confuse my school with your stupid antics.'

‘I'm sorry you feel that way,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘But every team has a right to have a mascot. And your dog is no angel. You may not realise this, but he's actually very frightening to some of our students.'

‘What do you mean?' said Mr Constrictor, whose upper lip was curling in a very frightening way . . . much like Chomp's.

‘Well, the way he snarls and slavers,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘He looks quite . . . dangerous—like those teeth of his would really hurt . . .'

‘Are you saying my dog's aggressive?' said Mr Constrictor, as Chomp made yet another lunge for Mr Brainfright's legs.

‘Not at all!' said Mr Brainfright, stepping backwards. ‘I'm just saying . . .'

‘If you insult my dog, you insult me!' said Mr Constrictor.

‘If you'll just let me finish,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘It's just that—'

But Mr Constrictor was in no mood to let Mr Brainfright finish. He handed Chomp's leash to Troy, and opened his arms wide.

At first I thought he was embracing Mr Brainfright, but when I heard the high-pitched gurgling noise coming from Mr Brainfright's throat I realised the truth.

Mr Brainfright was being squeezed!

‘I'll give your brain a fright all right, Mr Brainfright!' roared Mr Constrictor. ‘I'm going to squeeze your brain till it pops!'

‘And it looks like the action is hotting up on the field,' announced Flip, who didn't seem to question
or care what he commentated on, as long as he was commentating. ‘It's Karl “The Boa” Constrictor versus Mr “Giant Banana” Brainfright. The Boa's got the Banana in a tight squeeze, a ferocious squeeze, and I'm not sure what the Banana's got to match that.'

A large crowd had gathered.

Mr Brainfright was doing his best to escape, but he was helpless in his banana suit.

Fred and Clive were at the front, thrilled at having a ringside seat to see their hero in full squeezing mode.

David was pointing to his handbook. ‘This is definitely against the rules!'

But the only response was from Chomp, who lunged at David, snatched the book out of his hands, and swallowed it whole.

‘Somebody stop him!' said Jenny.

‘It's too late!' said David. ‘He's already swallowed it!'

‘Not Chomp, you idiot!' said Jenny. ‘Mr Constrictor! He's killing Mr Brainfright!'

Jenny was right. Mr Brainfright was making a sound unlike any banana I'd ever heard. Or any human, for that matter. And I'd never heard Jenny call anybody an idiot before, either.

This was definitely serious. Not only were we watching the best teacher we'd ever had being squeezed to death, but we were watching our chances of winning being squeezed away, second by excruciating second!

‘Clear a path!' said a powerful voice. ‘Let me through.'

It was Gretel!

Which was good.

If anyone could save Mr Brainfright from The Boa, it was her.

She wrapped her powerful arms around Mr Constrictor and, with great effort, dragged him off Mr Brainfright's limp, banana-suited body.

Fred and Clive looked disappointed beyond words. ‘You are such a spoilsport, Armstrong,' said Fred.

‘Yeah,' said Clive. ‘It's not fair. You've got to let The Boa do his thing!'

Gretel ignored them.

She released her grip on Mr Constrictor and he turned to face her.

‘You've got a nerve,' he said in a menacing voice. ‘You've got a real nerve . . . plus a very strong grip. I admire that, even if you do play for the wrong team. I don't suppose you'd consider changing schools? You'd be very welcome at Northwest West Academy.'

Gretel didn't answer—she just glared at him.

‘I'll take that as a no,' he said. ‘But let me know if you ever change your mind.'

Then he turned away from her. ‘Troy!' he boomed. ‘Bring Chomp and let's get out of here.'

Troy, who seemed just as scared of the growling, leash-biting Chomp as we all were, followed Mr Constrictor back to the Northwest West Academy grandstand.

They were greeted by a rousing cheer.

At that same moment, Mr Brainfright let out a moan of pain.

‘Are you all right, Mr Brainfright?' said Jenny, who was kneeling beside him on the ground.

‘No,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘I don't think so. It feels like I've been squeezed!'

‘You have been!' said Gretel. ‘By Mr Constrictor.'

‘Well, that would explain it then,' said Mr Brainfright.

‘Can you get up?' said Jack.

‘I don't think so,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘My whole body feels numb.'

We looked at each other. This was bad.

Then, like an angel sent from heaven, Mrs Bandaid appeared among us.

‘Excuse me,' she called out, pushing her way through the crowd. ‘Mobile bandaid unit coming through! Stand clear!'

She was carrying a large metal box, like a carpenter or builder would use for their tools. But hers was white with a large red cross on the lid, and when she opened it, its tiered shelves revealed an amazing array of bandaids. There were bandaids of all shapes and sizes—round ones, square ones, little ones, patterned ones and even waterproof ones.

‘Oh my goodness,' she said, looking at Mr Brainfright. ‘Oh dear.'

‘What is it?' said Mr Brainfright. ‘Is it serious?'

‘Very serious,' said Mrs Bandaid. ‘You need a bandaid. In fact, you need lots of bandaids! But first you'll have to get out of that suit.'

‘But I can't!' said Mr Brainfright. ‘I'm the Northwest Southeast Central mascot! The competition's not over yet. We still have the decathlon! They need me!'

‘Well,' said Mrs Bandaid, removing Mr Brainfright's head, ‘you're not going to be much use to them in your present condition. You'll have to find somebody else to do it.'

‘But there is nobody else,' I said. ‘Only Mr Brainfright can do it!'

‘Listen to me, Henry,' said Mrs Bandaid. ‘Mr Brainfright is very badly squashed. If I don't get some bandaids on him soon, he may not pull through at all. Now help me get this suit off! Please!'

I nodded, kneeled down and helped Mr Brainfright out of his suit. He'd been dancing for a long time, and I'm not sure how long he'd had the suit on before today, but he sure smelled bad. Not unlike a rotten banana.

‘Thanks, Henry,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘I'm really sorry about this. Can you take over the mascotting for me?'

‘Me?' I said. ‘You want me to be the banana mascot?'

‘Yes,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘Why not?'

‘Because I don't know the first thing about it!' I said. ‘That's why not. You're a hard act to follow,
Mr Brainfright. I couldn't inspire anybody—I'd only make them laugh.'

‘It's really not that difficult,' said Mr Brainfright.

‘I'm sorry,' I said. ‘But I just can't.'

At that moment, Flip's voice came over the loudspeaker. ‘Goodness me, ladies and gentlemen, what a turnaround for Northwest West Academy! They are blitzing this competition just like the Northwest West Academy of old, while the Northwest Southeast Central mascot lies injured on the field. Northwest West Academy have already racked up convincing wins in the hurdles and the high jump, while the first-graders have easily won the hotly contested egg-and-spoon race! This contest is not over yet, though—the scores are almost even and it looks like the decathlon will be the deciding event of the day.'