Charlie and the War Against the Grannies (8 page)

 

A war.

Against grannies.

It doesn't sound right, does it?

I couldn't start a war against anybody.

But I did really want a paper round.

I was experiencing my first real moral dilemma.

I didn't know what to do. (Not knowing what to do is a very important part of a moral dilemma.) I had never even
thought
of starting a war against anyone. Let alone some grannies.

Even if I did want to go to war with the grannies, I had no idea how to start a war.

I needed to talk to Hils. I was sure she'd thought about starting wars. With lots of people. Maybe even grannies.

The problem was that I wouldn't see Hils until the end of school. We weren't in any of the same classes and, at lunchtime, Hils had to go to a meeting of the Birdwatching Club. (Hils told me that she isn't really interested in watching birds. The reason she is a member of the Birdwatching Club is because she wants to find out if there is a species of bird that could be trained to attack people on her command. I think she does like watching birds. I haven't ever said that to her though.)

Hils and I used to have English together. That was until Hils got moved to another English class after she had a fight with the English teacher, Mrs Whyte-Wale.

‘Hilary,' said Mrs Whyte-Wale.

Hils hates being called Hilary.

‘Hilary, can you stand up and read aloud the first stanza of the poem on page 27.'

Hilary . . . I mean Hils, didn't stand up.

‘Hilary?' said Mrs Whyte-Wale. ‘Can you please stand and read.'

‘No,' said Hils.

I always go silent when someone does something really naughty like not reading the first stanza of the poem on page 27. Even if it is my best friend. I go silent because when someone doesn't read the first stanza of the poem on page 27 I feel like running out of class, I feel like laughing and I feel like telling them to just stop being naughty and read the first stanza of the poem on page 27. I can't make up my mind which one of those things to do so I just stay silent.

‘Hilary, why will you not read?' said Mrs Whyte-Wale.

‘Because,' said Hils, ‘I think poetry is pointless. The world is a dangerous place. Instead of getting us to read poetry you should be teaching us how to make a knife out of a broken bottle and some sticky tape, or how to blow up an enemy tank using a bag of fertiliser.'

That's why Hils and I aren't in English together any more.

First period I had Science with Mr Base-Ball.

I don't like Mr Base-Ball.

One time he was teaching us biology and he started talking about reproduction. (Potential yuck.) Then he started talking about human reproduction! (Actual yuck.) Then Gregor Popovich asked Mr Base-Ball if he'd ever done human reproduction.

The whole class laughed.

Mr Base-Ball said that he was a dad so HE HAD DONE HUMAN REPRODUCTION! (Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, weird, yuck.)

The whole class laughed a lot.

Except for me. I did not laugh.

Waimarama Healy didn't laugh either. She got hiccups. (They lasted for three days. She had to see a specialist.)

Every time I have Science I am scared that Mr Base-Ball is going to talk about human reproduction again.

So I never listen in Science.

That means I will fail Science.

That means I will never be a scientist.

That means I will never invent a cure for global warming.

That means I will never save the world.

That means we're all going to die because of a super typhoon.

Thanks a lot, Mr Base-Ball. Everyone's going to die because you talked about human reproduction.

I'm always really tired after Mr Base-Ball's Science class. It takes a lot of effort to not listen to anything someone says for a whole lesson.

I thought about what Warren had told us.

The first paperboy.

The mystical bike TwelveSpeed.

The whispers of a nameless fear.

The attack on Dave.

That we should listen to the wind. (How do you do that?)

That we should go to war.

Was anything he told us true?

Was he just a crazy lying guy?

Moral dilemmas are nowhere near as much fun as I thought they would be.

My Maths teacher is Ms Plumb-Roll.

I always find it hard to concentrate in Ms Plumb-Roll's Maths class. Today I found it doubly hard because I was so busy trying to concentrate on whether it was okay to have a war against some grannies.

The reason I always find it hard to concentrate in Ms Plumb-Roll's class – even when I'm not trying to work out whether it's okay to start a war – is because whenever Ms Plumb-Roll is doing anything she always says, out loud, what she is doing, while she is doing it.

I haven't explained that very well, have I?

While Ms Plumb-Roll is writing on the blackboard she'll be saying, ‘Write, write, write, write, write.' While she's putting stuff away she'll be saying, ‘Put, put, put, put, put.' While she's waiting for one of the class to answer a questions she'll be saying, ‘Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.' (That always makes it really, very, super hard to think of an answer to the question she just asked you.)