Funny Stories Shade Shorts 2.0 Read online

  ‘Did you know she’d lost him?’

  As I am now nerd queen of the century and no one talks to me anymore, I didn’t know.

  ‘So?’ I said.

  ‘So …’ Kieran told me his plan, and my eyes widened. I had to suppress a giggle.

  ‘You know that’s so stupid, it might just work,’ I said.

  ‘So we’re on?’

  ‘We’re on,’ I said, ‘but you’re still a neek.’

  ‘And you’re still a loser,’ said Kieran.

  A week later, I was sitting alone in the canteen at school, when Hazel walked past.

  ‘I hear there’s a reward out for finding your rabbit,’ I said in a loud voice.

  ‘And?’ said Hazel. ‘What’s it got to do with you, Vampire Girl?’

  ‘I think I saw him,’ I said.

  ‘Really?’ She turned her beady, black eyes on me.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m sure it was Flopsy. I saw him on that patch of wasteground at the back of the school. I can show you after school if you like.’

  Hazel still looked suspicious, but she did love that rabbit, so after a moment’s indecision, she said, ‘OK, I’ll meet you. But no funny stuff. Right?’

  She marched off, and I had to restrain my laughter. This was going to be so much fun.

  ‘So where did you see Flopsy?’ said Hazel, as she and the chav crew picked their way awkwardly in their high heels over the wasteground.

  ‘Well, I think he hopped this way,’ I said. I led them through the rubble and potholes, till we came out on to a street where there was a café where we sometimes hang out.

  ‘I’m sure he went in here,’ I said.

  I marched into the café, where I found Kieran sitting eating a pie.

  ‘What’s that you’re eating?’ I said, as Hazel came bounding in after me.

  ‘Flopsy-wopsy, coochy-coo? Where are you?’ she purred.

  ‘Oh it’s the yummiest of pies,’ Kieran said, rolling his eyes and making mmm, mmm noises. ‘I never knew rabbit could be so tasty.’

  Hazel stopped cooing for Flopsy, disbelief registering in her eyes.

  ‘You’re never eating rabbit,’ she said.

  ‘Kieran didn’t get the pie here,’ I said. ‘We made it.’

  ‘You made it?’ Hazel looked incredulous. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Yes we did,’ said Kieran, smiling a sweet smile. ‘I went out to my vegetable patch last night and saw a stupid lop-eared bunny eating all my mum’s carrots. So I shot it with my air rifle, and Cassie here put it in a pie. It’s really yummy. Don’t you want to try some?’

  Hazel suddenly looked pale.

  ‘You – you shot a rabbit?’ she said. ‘What was its name?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Kieran seemed to consider this slowly. ‘Oh yes, I think the tag said Flopsy.’

  ‘But – but – that’s my rabbit’s name,’ said Hazel and fainted clean away.

  When she came round, she found us standing over her, laughing at her.

  ‘You didn’t really believe that lame story about Kieran shooting your rabbit, did you?’ I said.

  ‘You mean, Flopsy is still alive?’ Hazel gabbled, her cheeks growing bright pink.

  ‘Of course he is,’ I said. ‘Does Kieran look like a bunny boiler?’

  ‘What a loser,’ said Kieran.

  ‘And a neek,’ I said.

  ‘No, surely a geek,’ added Kieran.

  ‘Definitely a leek,’ I agreed, and we left the café high-fiving it.

  ‘I don’t think Hazel will be bothering you again,’ said Kieran.

  I suddenly felt awkward. It still didn’t seem right for Kieran to be nice to me.

  ‘Well, um, thank you,’ I said. ‘But why did you help me? I thought you hated my guts.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Kieran. ‘But someone had to put Hazel in her place.

  Besides, if anyone gets to call you a loser, it should be me.’

  ‘Well that’s rich coming from the biggest neek on the planet,’ I said.

  ‘Says the geek,’ said Kieran.

  ‘Oh shut up, you leek,’ I said, ‘I think perhaps we’ve become friends by mistake.’

  And I put my arm through his and we walked down the road, fighting about which was the best Doctor Who episode ever.

  Nice to have things back to normal.

  Skyjack

  by Tish Farrell

  Skyjack

  by Tish Farrell

  Saba fumed. As the seventh child, her name meant seven, and everyone knew that seven was lucky. But now everything had gone wrong, and it was all Grandpa Hari’s fault. Grandpa Hari was the Last Magic Carpet-Maker in the Land East-of-West, and Saba meant to succeed him. But yesterday he had defied their employer, the new King Alusdubad, and ruined her career prospects.

  ‘His Oppressiveness upped the quota,’ Grandpa Hari explained. ‘Ordered seven mystic mats per annum instead of one. And when I said, “I’m too old for rush jobs”, he said: “Name your successor. Let him do the work.”’

  But what really hurt Saba was that Grandpa had told the King he had no successor. Wasn’t her spinning lightning-fast, her weaving light as lamb’s breath?

  ‘So you won’t tell me the flying charm?’ she cried.

  ‘ABSOL-U-TELY NOT,’ Grandpa Hari yelled. ‘The Sky-High Formula must die with me. It’s for your own good,’ he said. ‘Can’t have you slaving for that puffed-up potentate. He’ll dole out mystic mats like sweeties, just to please his toadies.’

  Then Grandpa told her the worst news. He’d been banned from test-flying the carpets before delivery, because that would have made them used carpets – and not fit for gifts.

  Saba sighed. Maybe he was right: where was the fun in magic carpet-making if you couldn’t skim the Himalayas, or out-shoot a shooting star? Finally, Grandpa said that, on threat of the snake-pit, he’d been told to rethink his position. In two days he must return to the palace to name his successor. Now Saba wondered what on earth he would say.

  Grandpa Hari was wondering too. He’d always planned for Saba to take over Mystic Mats Inc. Of all his large family, only she had the gift. His three sons kept sheep and wove stay-at-home rugs, while Saba’s six brothers were olive growers. So it was a crying shame that he couldn’t divulge the Sky-High Formula and make her a full-blown Magic Carpet-Maker.

  On the day that Grandpa Hari was due to see the King, he and Saba set off on the donkey, Ferooz. At the palace, Saba skulked behind a potted palm to eavesdrop. She saw the Grand Vizier smirk as Grandpa shuffled to the gilded throne, and her heart sank.

  Grandpa Hari also saw the smirk and shuddered. Worse still, beneath a towering crown, bedecked with baubles, smirked the bulging chops of King Alusdubad. Hari dropped his gaze in alarm. Another smirker? Something was definitely up.

  ‘So, Hari,’ cried King Alusdubad. ‘Name your successor, or else.’

  Grandpa Hari clasped his trembling hands. This is for Saba, he told himself. He took a deep breath. ‘Sire,’ he said. ‘I can find no successor. I am old. Please let me retire.’

  ‘Oh dear me, no. We can’t have that,’ said King Alusdubad, slimier than a jug full of jellyfish. ‘My courtiers must have new carpets every year, or they’ll be revolting. Besides, I’ve devised an incentive scheme to keep your old fingers nimble …’

  ‘Y-you have, sire?’

  ‘Indeed,’ crooned the King. ‘I’ve just thrown your three sons into my creepiest dungeon. If you don’t bring me seven magic carpets in seven weeks, it’s bye-bye Hari’s boys, hello snake pit. And if you haven’t found a successor by then, call yourself viper-bites. Dismissed.’

  ‘Son of crocodile,’ groaned Grandpa Hari, as he and Saba left the palace. ‘What a fix.’ Saba was too shocked to speak. It took them a year and a day to make one magic carpet. How would they possibly save Papa and her uncles?

  Back at their home village, all the family was out to meet them.

  ‘The Palace Guard snatched our husbands,’ waile
d the daughters-in-law.

  ‘And the wretches smirked,’ growled Saba’s oldest brother, Shushu.

  ‘Dirty smirkers,’ said Great-Granny Gulbarg, baring her tooth.

  ‘Shut UP,’ cried Grandpa Hari. ‘I must work. Where’s Saba?’ But Saba had vanished, and Hari stamped off to his workshop muttering, must save my sons; must save Saba.

  But hardly had he re-threaded his loom when there was frenzied banging across the village, and Saba burst in. ‘I’ve ordered my brothers to make six looms, and I’ve devised a round-the-clock rota, so everyone can help.’ Grandpa Hari was astonished. Such initiative! In no time, his workshop was humming day and night, as seven shuttles flew across seven looms. Yet even as he watched the lovely carpets grow, all a-shimmer on their threads, his heart was filled with dread.

  And so it was, as the deadline drew near, Grandpa Hari took to his bed and would not wake up. One day turned into two, and Saba wanted to scream. Against the odds the carpets were done, but if Grandpa couldn’t say the Sky-High Formula, they were sunk.

  ‘And you really don’t know it?’ whispered Shushu. Saba blushed and said she might know a bit. But when Shushu said that a bit was better than nothing, Saba bit her lip. She knew it wasn’t.

  At dawn on the forty-ninth day, with Grandpa Hari sleeping like a stone, Saba cut seven carpets from seven looms. She shooed the family out of the workshop, then she said the only magic words she knew: Mojambilitatuinne … Then she rolled up the carpets and set off for the palace, with Ferooz and a family procession trailing behind. All the way there, her heart leapt and jolted. She had to save Papa and her uncles, but without a test-flight how could she tell if her charm had worked?

  When King Alusdubad saw the new magic carpets, his eyes glittered greedily. But the next moment he was bellowing. Hari had lied, he yelled, saying he couldn’t make seven carpets a year. And lying to the king meant only one thing – the snake pit.

  Out in the palace courtyard, Hari’s family groaned. Saba thought fast. ‘Sire,’ she said. ‘My grandfather is sick. It was his successor who made these carpets.’

  ‘And his name?’ barked the King. Saba heard the whispered pleas outside: No, Saba, no. She heard Ferooz give a croaky hee-haw. She blinked.

  ‘Ferooz,’ she cried. ‘He’s looking after Grandpa and will present himself when my father and uncles are released.’

  Alusdubad turned a darker shade of beetroot. But then his gaze drifted to the beautiful carpets. There were bribes to make, plots to thicken and the peasant mob outside was getting on his nerves.

  ‘The prisoners will be released in one week’s time,’ he said. ‘Dismissed.’

  All the way home, Saba’s brothers shouted. It would be snake pits all round when Alusdubad found out that Ferooz was Grandpa Hari’s donkey. Saba shrugged unhappily. ‘I used my initiative,’ she said.

  And one week later, Saba’s Papa and uncles did come home, although they were not alone. With them came the Palace Guard. Everyone groaned (again) as the Captain called for Hari the Magic Carpet-Maker. Surely, the Ferooz story had been rumbled?

  Great-Granny Gulbarg bared her tooth. ‘Hari’s on his death bed,’ she croaked. ‘Where the King drove him.’

  Yet hardly had she spoken, when Grandpa Hari himself tottered out, his face greyer than week-old porridge. Saba leapt between him and the Captain, opening her mouth to confess. Everyone gasped. But suddenly the Captain was off his horse and bowing to Hari.

  ‘Great sir,’ he said, laying seven carpets and a royal scroll at Hari’s feet. ‘The King returns these items with his greetings and grants your wish to retire. He also thanks the one called Ferooz, but says he is not worthy of such creations.’ With that, the Captain leapt on his horse and galloped away.

  Hari stared after him, wondering who this Ferooz was. Then he turned and hugged the Almost Magic Carpet-Maker. They were free.

  It was only when traders came to the village to buy the olive harvest that the full story of the Ferooz carpets came out. One trader cried with laughter as he recounted how a stuck-up princeling had been riding his new carpet through the bazaar, spitting melon pips on everyone’s heads. Then a swallow skimmed by, and off sped the carpet, soaring and diving, tipping his haughtiness headfirst in to basket of fish guts. Phew, what a stink.

  ‘And then,’ wept another trader, ‘the Court Chamberlain was flying about on his mat, insulting the palace acrobats for their useless somersaults. And, lo and behold, his carpet’s turning cartwheels, dropping him down the palace well. He’s still there.’

  ‘B-but the c-camel races!’ spluttered the third trader. ‘There was King Alusduwhatsit hovering over the start-line. Off went the camels, and off went the carpet, the King hanging on like a tick on a sheepskin. Left up a date palm, he was, for six whole days, while his carpet raced the desert wind.’

  Then the traders held their sides, saying that King Alusdubad was a changed man and living in fear of the terrible wizard, Ferooz.

  ‘Fer-OOZ!’ cried Hari. ‘But that’s my old donkey!’

  Later, Grandpa Hari called Saba to his workshop. He wanted an explanation.

  Saba hung her head. ‘I made up my own spell,’ she said. ‘I told the carpets to follow their heart’s desire, just as I want to. But now we’re out of a job. And you’ll never tell me the Sky-High Formula.’

  ‘Clearly no need to,’ said Grandpa Hari, unrolling a carpet. ‘Fancy a ride?’

  ‘On one of my bad mats?’

  ‘You bet!’

  And so off they flew, looping the loop with a sky full of swifts, and as they streaked round the moon Saba thought, Lucky or not, the sky’s the limit. Wey-heyeeeeeee …

  Summer, Mia

  and Me

  by Finn Rickard

  Summer, Mia and Me

  by Finn Rickard

  Hey. My name is Tyler.

  I’m just your normal, average kid. I go to school like everyone else. I’m not really bullied. In fact, I’m kind of one of the cool kids in my year – so that’s pretty good. I’m 14 years old (nearly) and I don’t get into too much trouble. People say I’m quite smart and I’ve kind of come to agree with them. I love music, I play Xbox, I don’t do too much sport but I’m not fat, so yea.

  Anyway, this is all to tell you about this girl called Mia and me and our story, pretty much. I know, you’re probably thinking Wow another love story, but no, you’re wrong –’cos I’m only (nearly) 14, so things are a bit different.

  I’m just gonna start at the start because everyone else does that. I met Mia a couple of years ago, at the start of my new school. We were friends. I thought she was kind of hot – nothing too special – but we saw each other a lot at school and texted pretty much every day. She was like that person you don’t feel comfortable telling anything to ’cos you don’t want to lose them – but they are only a friend. Get me?

  Pretty soon another girl, who I’d really liked for a couple of years, suddenly asked me out. Now, if you don’t know, when a girl or guy asks you out at my school, it basically means you become girlfriend and boyfriend and you hold hands and stuff, until after a couple of weeks everyone stands around you and starts chanting ‘Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss,’ and eventually it becomes so embarrassing that you kiss just to get them to shut up.

  Oh, and I almost forgot. The word ‘love’ gets thrown around so much it’s ridiculous. Obviously, nobody actually loves each other, ’cos we’re all like 13 or 14. But I play along, so I don’t seem rude.

  I forgot what I was talking about now. Oh yea, this other girl. Her name was Summer. I’d liked her for a long time; so when she asked me out I said ‘Yes’ without thinking. We were together for a really long time (like, more than the couple of days most people our age stay together). We were really happy; we were even embarrassed into kissing a bunch of times.

  Now, Summer and Mia were really good friends, and while I was with Summer, Mia started to talk to me less. She seemed cross at me quite often, and I had no idea why. I couldn’t work it ou
t. I’m not the best at understanding girls – like, I get them as much as I can, but they are so crazy. I don’t think it is possible for anyone to properly understand girls.

  After about five months, me and Summer split up. I’m not giving away any secrets, but let’s just say she brutally tore out my heart, piece by piece.

  No, I’m just kidding. Sure, I was unhappy for a while, but after a couple of weeks we got back together.

  Don’t think I didn’t notice that while I was not with Summer, suddenly Mia was like my best friend again. But as soon as me and Summer were back together, Mia went back to being cross with me all the time. I was confused. Maybe that’s how it’s s’posed to be.

  Anyway, me and Summer didn’t last long (a couple of weeks) before it ended again. Now the story gets interesting.

  Me and Summer had broken up on the Wednesday and Mia had been crazy, mood-swing-like crazy. On Wednesday, she was super-happy (it was awesome), then Thursday she was getting a little annoyed at me. And on Friday she barely spoke to me. By this time, everybody else had worked it out, but they’d promised they wouldn’t tell me.

  So I felt super-stupid, like an outcast. I asked Mia why she was so annoyed, and this is what she said: ‘Do you really not know why I am so annoyed at you?!’

  Obviously I replied ‘No’ –’cos I really didn’t, and everyone was looking at me like I was that kid who was just an idiot, or had said something really mean or something. Then she turned round and said to me ‘You’re just a stupid player.’ If you don’t know what that is (like I didn’t) it’s basically a guy who plays with a girl’s feelings and makes her upset and stuff. I think.

  So the next day I’m talking to my mum, and she knows about me and Summer and Mia, and she says to me ‘Are you sure you’re just friends?’ I say, ‘Yes, but the other day she called me a player. What does it mean?’

  She didn’t tell me what it meant, just told me that Mia likes me for sure, and laughed. I said, ‘No, no, we’re just friends’. And at that exact moment, Mia texted me. It said I love you xxx. Not even joking.