Authors: Alan MacDonald
It was hot. Scorching hot. Sitting at the back of the class, Bertie felt he was going to melt. It was ages till afternoon break. His head flopped on to his desk. He was certain it must be 1000 degrees. There ought to be a law against going to school in this heat.
It was all right for teachers
, he thought bitterly. Miss Boot had a fan on her
desk to keep her cool. The rest of them had to roast. Eugene’s cheeks had gone bright pink. Darren’s hair was sticking up like a paintbrush. Only Know-All Nick looked as pale and neat as ever.
Bertie moaned. “I’m dying of thirst!”
“Me, too,” said Darren. “Ask Miss Boot if we can get a drink.”
“You ask her,” replied Bertie.
Darren raised his hand.
“Miss, please may I go to the toilet?”
“Certainly not. Wait till break time,” snapped Miss Boot.
Darren squirmed in his seat.
“Pleeeeease! I’ve been holding on since lunchtime!”
Miss Boot rolled her eyes.
“Oh, very well.”
Darren got up, giving Bertie a wink as he left the class. There was a drinking fountain by the boys’ toilets. Bertie watched him go and stuck up his hand.
“Miss…”
“No, you can’t,” snapped Miss Boot.
“But Miss, I…”
“No means NO!” thundered Miss Boot.
Bertie’s shoulders slumped. It was so unfair! How come Darren got to go and
he didn’t? He glanced up at the clock. He’d never last till break. He was actually
dying
of thirst. Soon he’d be nothing but clothes in a puddle of sweat.
DING-A-DING! DING-A-DING!
Bertie sat up. He knew that sound. It was Mr Frosty’s ice-cream van! The van tootled down the road, playing its merry tune, and parked near the school gates. Bertie stared out of the window. What he would give now for a juicy Cola-Cooler lolly! Or an extra-large cone with soft ice cream…
“BERTIE!”
Miss Boot was standing over him.
“Yes, Miss?”
“Get on with your work. You haven’t written two words.”
Bertie sighed. It was cruelty. He
needed
an ice cream. Besides, ice cream was good for you. It contained healthy stuff like um … cream. If Miss Boot wasn’t such a meanie, she would go and buy him one.
At break time Bertie and his friends stood staring out through the fence. They watched the nursery children come out and get ice creams.
This is torture
, thought Bertie. The van was parked ten metres up the road, but it might as well have been a million miles. School was just like prison. The
gates were locked and the teachers were on patrol at all times.
“There
must
be a way,” said Bertie.
“Face it,” said Eugene. “It’s impossible.”
Darren nodded. “Forget it.”
Bertie flopped against the fence. All he wanted was one teeny-weeny ice cream (with a chocolate flake). Was that too much to ask? If he closed his eyes, he could almost taste it. Smooth, silky ice cream slipping down his throat.
He opened his eyes and stared at the fence. There had to be a way out somewhere… Hang on, what was that? A little further along, the wire fence was bent back. It left a tiny gap underneath, big enough for a cat or a small person to crawl through. They could escape! There was just one problem – Miss Boot was on
playground duty. If she spotted them, she’d swoop down like a fire-breathing dragon.
Bertie racked his brains. They needed some way to distract her. But what? Eugene tap-dancing? Know-All Nick yelling that his pants were on fire? What would get Miss Boot’s
full
attention? Bertie smiled. He knew just the thing.
Miss Boot sat on a bench in the shade, fanning herself with her sun hat. Darren wandered over.
“Miss,” he said. “What do rats look like?”
Miss Boot frowned. “Rats?” she said. “They’re like mice, only bigger and dirtier. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s just I thought I saw one,” said Darren.
Miss Boot turned pale.
Rats? In the school?
If there was one thing she hated it was rats. Filthy, horrible vermin!
“Where?” she said.
“Over there,” said Darren, pointing to the rubbish bins.
Miss Boot followed him over. She was certain Darren had imagined it. All the same, she didn’t want to get too close, just in case. If there was a rat, it might run over her foot – or even up her leg. She shuddered at the thought.
“Where was it?” she demanded.
“Just there, Miss, by the bin,” said Darren. “A great big rat with blood-red eyes and pointy teeth.”
Miss Boot went a bit closer. She bent down to look.
THUMP!
Suddenly, one of the bins jumped.
“ARRRRRGHH!” screamed Miss Boot, leaping back. If that was a rat, it was a monster. A king rat!
“I’ll er … I’ll fetch Mr Grouch,” she gulped. “Rats are his job, really. Keep away from there, Darren.”
She hurried off to find the caretaker.
As soon as she was gone, Eugene popped up from behind the bin.
“Did it work?” he asked.
“Like a dream,” said Darren. He hurried over to Bertie by the fence.
“All clear?” said Bertie.
“Yes, but you’d better be quick,” said Darren, holding up the fence.
They didn’t have long. Miss Boot would be back any minute with Mr Grouch. Bertie looked around. No one was watching. He got down and squeezed through the small hole. Now to grab the ice creams and make it back before anyone saw him.