Jim Smith - Barry Loser and the Case of the Crumpled Carton

‘Whenever Detective Manksniff’s trying to solve one of his really hard mysteries, he pulls the straw out of his cocktail and starts chewing on it,’ I warbled. ‘That’s what’s making you look like him!’

Bunky smiled his smile he smiles when he doesn’t really care about what I’m saying. Then he pointed the straw at me and blew.

‘OW-AH!’ I screamed, as the tiniest rolled-up ball of paper in the whole wide world amen shot out of the straw and hit me on the ear lobe.

I snatched the straw off Bunky and snapped it in half, which isn’t easy, seeing as straws are bendy, not snappy.

Bunky smiled, not in the keelest bit bothered about me snapping his straw. ‘Plenty more where that came from!’ he said, pointing at a poster for Tears of Granny Laughter right next to where we’d stopped.

‘You-you’ve tried it?’ I gasped, suddenly realising where he’d got the straw from.

‘Eeve keelse!’ smiled Bunky, which is how we’ve started saying ‘of course’, by the way. ‘My sister bought me a carton of Gertrude flavour last night,’ he said, and I wished I had an older sister who bought me cartons of Tears of Granny Laughter like Bunky, instead of a baby brother who stole my mum and dad.

‘Wh-what’s it taste like, Bunky?’ I warbled, leaning against Nancy so I didn’t fall over out of jealousy.

‘Alright I spose . . . Not as nice as Fronkle,’ he said, and he started waggling his legs around like the man in the Tears of Granny Laughter advert. ‘That reminds me, I haven’t weed it out yet . . .’ he giggled.

My ears couldn’t believe themselves. How could a drink made out of old grannies’ tears not be the tastiest thing in the whole wide world amen?

‘What are you, NUTS?’ I said, which is what Detective Manksniff says when his ears can’t believe THEMselves. ‘Tears of Granny Laughter is the keelest thing since Future Ratboy!’

Nancy rolled her eyes, picking up Bunky’s snapped-in-half straw and putting it in a bin.

‘A lot of people don’t like those adverts, you know,’ she said, as three real-life grannies doddered past just like Beryl, Irene and Gertrude, except without the special glasses.

‘Boo, naughty drink!’ shouted the first granny, waggling her walking stick at the poster, and the second one shook her fist in the air.

‘Ban Tears of Granny Laughter!’ croaked granny number three as they wobbled off at two centimetres per hour.

‘See!’ smiled Nancy, and a shiver went down my spine. What if they DID ban my favourite drink before I even got to taste it? Since Desmond Loser the Second had come along and stolen my mum and dad off me, slurping on a carton of Tears of Granny Laughter was the only thing I had to live for.

‘As if they’d ban the keelest drink since sliced keelness!’ I said, not realising what was about to happen next.

‘OUT OF THE WAY LOSEROIDS, THIS IS AN EMERGENCE-WEE!’ screamed Bunky as we got to the school gates, and he zoomed across the playground towards the toilets.

Nancy chuckled to herself and picked up a copy of The Daily Poo from the stack next to the gates. ‘Er, you might want to read this, Barry,’ she said, suddenly not chuckling at all, so I picked one up too.

‘TEARS OF GRANNY LAUGHTER BANNED!’ read my eyeballs, not believing themselves. ‘Th-this must be a joke . . .’ I stuttered, and I went to lean on Nancy, but she’d walked off so I fell on the floor instead.

‘Enjoy your trip, Barold?’ sneered Gordon Smugly from my class, who’s the sort of smug, ugly Gordon who’s only happy when someone else like me is UNhappy.

‘It wasn’t a trip, Gordon, it was a FALL,’ I cried, and he chuckled to himself like one of the baddies in an episode of Detective Manksniff, except less scary.

‘Yes, well, dreadful news about Tears of Granny Laughter, isn’t it?’ he drawled, and I squinted my eyes, wondering what he was up to. ‘Hope you get yourself a carton before they all sell out . . .’ he smiled, jangling a handful of coins inside his pocket.

From the sound of Gordon’s jangle, he could afford to buy every carton in Mogden. And that’s exackerly the sort of thing he’d do, just to ruin my life.

‘Better get down to Feeko’s sharpish after school, Barold!’ he snortled, gliding off on his tiptoes, and I looked around for someone a bit less Gordonish to talk to.

Anton Mildew was slumped on a bench, Tears of Anton Sadness zigzagging down his cheeks. ‘IT’S THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE!’ he wailed, and I crawled towards him, seeing as I was still lying on the floor from my fall-over from before, and getting up is BORING.

‘It’s all Mayor Plunkett’s fault!’ snuffled Anton, blowing his nose on his Daily Poo. ‘She said the Tears of Granny Laughter adverts were cruel to grannies and ordered Feeko’s to stop selling it immedikeely.’

‘Good riddance to it, that’s what I say!’ burped Darren Darrenofski, slurping on a can of Fronkle, which is his favourite drink since sliced Darren. ‘Tears of Granny Laughter is for losers!’ he chuckled.

Anton crumpled his Daily Poo into a ball and threw it at Darren’s head, just as Sharonella from our class stomped over, doing her angry face.