The Girl Who Blew Up Her Brother and Other Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls Read Online Free PDF Page A

us all in a huddle. We were having one of our regular sunburn peeling competitions and Guy Pearson had just ripped a bit off his back so big you could have made a kite out of it. Earlier, Damien Scott had removed what seemed like half his nose and I almost puked.
    That was when this big, deep voice said from behind, ‘I’ve seen some bogans in my time, but you guys take the cake. Ever heard of skin cancer?’
    â€˜Maybe,’ said Bernie. ‘Who wants to know?’
    â€˜I do,’ said Bossy Bob. ‘My uncle died of skin cancer and I tell you what, if I see any of you jerks on the beach without sunblock and a hat, I’ll rip your arms off.’
    Well, you could have cut the air with a knife. All of us could see trouble coming with a capital T.
    Bossy Bob stared Bernie in the eye, and Bernie stared straight back.
    Poor Bernie wasn’t quite sure what to do. He felt he could take this dude, deck him no worries, but what Bossy Bob had said was probably fair enough. They were idiots for getting sunburnt! It was the bit about ‘any of you jerks on the beach’ that upset Bernie. This was Bernie’s beach he was talking about. As if Bossy Bob suddenly owned it!
    Maybe it was time to show Bob who was really the boss. But a teacher came up, probably smelling trouble, and told us all to start picking up papers. So, no fight. Not for now, anyway. And how’s this for luck? The very first piece of ‘paper’ I picked up turned out to be a piece of Damien Scott’s nose!
    It so happened that Bossy Bob was a bit of a beach boy himself. He could swim and surf and fish and slide down sand hills as well as anyone else.
    So, when Bossy Bob started spending a lot of time on Bernie’s beach, and bossing kids around all the time, the fight that had only just been stopped was suddenly about to happen again. The fight to be King of Craven Cove.
    Well, it didn’t ever turn out to be a fight. Not in the real sense, anyway. More a test of strength. Bernie had been giving this whole thing with Bossy Bob a lot of thought and he remembered something his dad once said.
    â€˜Fighting is for losers. Because no-one ever wins. Sure, you might knock the other bloke down, but then you spend half your life waiting for him to get back at you one night. Or it might be his brother. Or someone totally new. Who needs that?’
    So, Bernie had decided instead on a challenge. A test.
    This was the deal. A race would be held combining running on the beach, running on the sand hills and a swim out to the pier. The winner would be the boss, the loser had to find himself another beach. Simple as that.
    â€˜Sounds good to me,’ said Bossy. ‘Enjoy your last day at Craven Cove.’
    The race was a beauty. Kids lined the route and yelled their hearts out.
    â€˜Come on, Bernie!’
    â€˜Go, Bernie!’
    But Bernie struggled. Badly. You see, Bossy was fast. And strong. He shot across the flat, tore through the sand hills and, by the time they’d hit the water, Bernie was a good thirty metres behind.
    Suddenly, Bernie’s head disappeared beneath the water. Panic seized the other kids on the beach.
    â€˜Bernie!’
    â€˜He’s drowning!’
    Oh, no he wasn’t. Instead, Bernie had duck-dived to grab the biggest crab you’ve ever seen in your life. He took a deep breath, gulped, stuck it down the back of his shorts and waited.
    â€˜Yeeow!’
    As I mentioned, Bernie had been bitten on the bum by a crab before, but this one had a claw the size of a pair of hedge clippers. With teeth. The kids watching said Bernie swam so fast they had trouble seeing through the spray.
    Of course, Bernie won. Easily. No flies on Bernie. Just a crab on the bum.
    Bossy hasn’t been seen at Craven Cove since. Bernie asked him back but Bossy said Bernie could stick it. Fair enough.
    And do you know what? No-one is King of Craven Cove these days. Bernie decided that being a king just