Googol Boy and the peculiar incident of the Great Quiz Trophy, John Michael [white hot kiss txt] 📗

putrid. Being the tightwad that he was, Mr Klopsberg didn’t want to see a good science experiment go to waste.

“It vill all be fine,” he proclaimed in order to assure us.

He then handed out a wooden peg to each student to put over our noses in order to neutralise the smell. It was, at best, wishful thinking as the pegs kept slipping off and for the kids with a larger schnoz, the pegs didn’t even fit. They were the first to succumb to the over-bearing stench, covering their faces with their hands and gasping for breath. The fish were so bloated that they exploded as soon as they came in contact with the scalpel. At the end of the process there were fish-guts being squirted in every direction and students keeling over and gagging and others running out of the room screaming. The classroom had to be aired out for a good week before it could be used again.

So, all in all, I had to disagree with Barney’s assessment − speeches were bad, but smelly rotting fish carcasses were much worse.

Sardines or no sardines, Mr Klopsberg was a no-nonsense kind of teacher. He was a man of few words but, if you got on his nerves, he would let you know exactly what he was thinking. On a general level, if your work was good, Mr Klopsberg would respond with a concise “vell done” and if your work wasn’t up to scratch, you would get some abrupt criticism combined with a long lingering stare from those unblinking eyes.

The students quickly sat behind their desks and waited in quiet dread. The teacher got out of his chair and stood in front of the class. He looked at the rows of gloomy faces and gazed back detached and emotionless − for some reason, this was a common look which overcame all of our teachers from time to time. It was an expression which seemed to say, ‘When I was in high school, I had such big plans for my life but look at me now − I’m back in high school!’

Mr Klopsberg had a thin hollowed face with a neatly trimmed goatee below and a meticulously applied comb-over on top. He carefully adjusted his steel rimmed glasses which rested on his thin nose and cupped his hands as if he was about to deliver a sermon.

“Students! I vant you all to pay attention,” instructed Mr Klopsberg in his clipped German accent.

He was dressed in his white lab coat which always looked brand spanking new. Come to think of it, I had never seen him in any other attire... even during class excursions he would wear the same clothes. His lab coat was always pristine white − almost dazzling in its immaculate brightness. For a moment I thought that I should ask him about his secret as Mum was always on my back about the stains on my clothes and how she could never get them out.

There had been many unfortunate incidents in our science classroom which were the cause of Mum’s laundry nightmares. I have already mentioned the sardine misadventure, Mr Klopsberg copped his fair share of the blood, guts and scales but, the next day, his same lab coat with the torn pocket − not a spot! My clothes, on the other hand, had to be burned as my mother refused to touch them. There was also the one time when Susie Skitter accidently mixed hydrogen peroxide, potassium iodide and dishwashing liquid and kaboom! Green slime everywhere but, the next day, Mr Klopsberg’s lab coat was, as you’ve guessed, as white as the driven snow. My favourite yellow shirt and light blue pants, however, still have green streaks to this day even though they’ve been washed at least thirty times. Perhaps in reality he was some evil genius who had discovered a way to clone his white lab coat and had an entire wardrobe of them − hundreds and hundreds of duplicates of the same coat! Hmm... that would certainly explain a lot.

“Today, as you know, vee vill start with zee speeches!” instructed Mr Klopsberg.

At the back of the class Lazy Lenny immediately put his hand up. He had acquired his nickname because of his dislike of any classwork what-so-ever, but he also had a lazy eye, so the nickname was appropriate on a couple of levels. Furthermore, Lenny was as predictable as he was lazy and everybody in the class knew that he was putting up his hand in order to get to the sick bay as he hadn’t done the speech. The other thing about Lenny was that he was quite mean spirited and ticked all the boxes necessary to be one of the worst bullies at the school:

He had a nasty snarl

He loved to punch people

He liked to spread spiteful rumours

He had unflattering nicknames for other students

He loved to pull the wings off flies

He had bad breath

He could fart at will

As you can see, Lenny wasn’t the kind of guy you wanted to invite home for dinner.

Mr Klopsberg was attempting to ignore Lenny, but he then started to make irritating grunting noises.

“Vot is it this time Mr Lenotti?”

“Um... ah... you see... um...” stuttered Lenny.

“Vell? Has your tongue been got by zee cat?”

The class giggled in unison.

“Ah sir... I’m not feeling that well and –”

“And you vant to go to zee sick bay?” interrupted Mr Klopsberg. “Yes, I know Lenny, you try zee same excuse every time and the answer is nein!”

Lenny muttered something under his breath. Big mistake! Mr Klopsberg wasn’t a big fan of mutterers. Actually, he had a strict ‘no muttering’ rule. Come to think if it, Mr Klopsberg also had a whole bevy of other class rules: ‘no cavorting,’ ‘no warbling,’ ‘no dallying,’ ‘no tooting,’ and especially ‘no tardiness.’ All in all, he was quite a nit-picky teacher and was very set in his ways.

“Lenny... you