Just Stupid! by Andy Griffiths and Terry Denton Page B

should thank me for helping him keep control of the class because he certainly can’t. Mr Dobson is our substitute teacher, but if you ask me, he’s no substitute for Ms Livingstone. She’s been away for the last two months climbing Mount Everest. I wish she’d hurry up and get back.
       Mr Dobson walks up to my table.
       ‘Come on,’ he says.
       ‘Where are we going?’ I say.
       ‘The Preps’ room,’ he says. ‘I’ve had enough.’
       Nobody dares laugh. It’s not the first time he’s threatened to send somebody to the Preps’ room, but it’s the first time he’s actually done anything about it.
       I collect my books and pencil case.
       ‘Leave your books,’ says Mr Dobson. ‘You won’t be needing them.’

       Of course! Going to Preps might not be such a bad thing after all. It will be easier— and a whole lot more fun—than fractions. I mean, how hard can a bit of cutting, pasting and colouring-in be?
       I follow Mr Dobson out the door.
       ‘So long, suckers,’ I say over my shoulder to the rest of the class.
       I follow Mr Dobson down the corridor and across the yard to the junior school.
       ‘Wait out here,’ says Mr Dobson at the entrance to the Preps’ building.
       He walks down the corridor and knocks on a brightly coloured door.
       A friendly-looking woman wearing a long dress with red flowers all over it opens the door. Mr Dobson talks to her in a low voice. The woman nods and smiles.
       Mr Dobson motions to me to come closer.
       The woman gives me a very sweet smile. She crouches down slightly so we can see eye to eye.
       ‘Hello, Andy,’ she says. ‘My name is Mrs Baxter. Welcome to Preps. You’re just in time for show and tell.’

       I catch a glimpse over her shoulder of all the kids sitting cross-legged on the floor.
       ‘Cool,’ I say.
       Mrs Baxter nods at Mr Dobson.
       He nods back.
       ‘Behave yourself, Andy,’ he says, and walks off up the corridor.
       I walk into the room.
       All the Preps stare.
       Mrs Baxter closes the door behind me and puts her arm around my shoulder.
       ‘This is Andy, everybody,’ she says. ‘I’d like you all to make him feel welcome.’
       ‘But he’s a big kid,’ says one boy. ‘He’s not a Prep.’
       ‘But he’s welcome all the same,’ says Mrs Baxter. ‘Sit down, Andy.’
       I poke my tongue out at the kid while Mrs Baxter’s not looking.
       ‘He poked his tongue out at me,’ says the kid.
       ‘I did not,’ I say. ‘I was licking my lips.’
       Mrs Baxter holds up her hands.
       ‘I’m not interested in your stories, Bradley,’ she says.
       ‘But he did,’ says Bradley.
       ‘Did not,’ I say.
       ‘Andy! Please!’ says Mrs Baxter.

       I sit down on one of the tiny tables.
       Mrs Baxter shakes her head.
       ‘No, Andy,’ she says, pointing to the floor.
       She wants me to sit cross-legged? On the floor?
       ‘But . . .’ I say. ‘I’m too big to . . .’
       ‘You’re part of the group,’ says Mrs Baxter. ‘Just like everybody else.’
       I don’t mind spending a day with the Preps, but being made to sit on the floor is going a bit far.
       I look for a spot with the boys but there are no free spaces. I have to sit between two girls.
       ‘All right,’ says Mrs Baxter. ‘Now where were we?’
       ‘It was my turn,’ says Bradley.
       ‘Oh that’s right,’ says Mrs Baxter. ‘What would you like to tell us about, Bradley?’
       Bradley stands up.
       ‘My grandma,’ he says.
       ‘And what would you like to tell us about your grandma, Bradley?’
       ‘I don’t like her,’ he says. ‘She smells funny.’
       All the kids laugh.

       ‘You smell funny,’ whispers the girl on my right. She pinches her nose.
       ‘Oh yeah?’ I say. ‘Well you smell funny too.’
       The girl starts crying.
       ‘Mrs Baxter,’ says the girl next to