Читать книгу Radio Boy - Christian O’Connell - Страница 12

Leading the laughing and pointing at what my split karate trousers had revealed was, of course, School Enemy Number One, Martin Harris. The tear had revealed my underpants. They were Iron Man underpants.

Yeah, I know, Iron Man underpants. Please don’t judge me. My mum got them when I was younger and they were the only clean ones to wear that day.

It was obvious I could never, ever go back. I had brought shame on this ancient art form and I’m pretty sure the samurai code didn’t allow its warriors to wear their big sisters’ clothes. The laughing, the pointing, the Iron Man underpants: this would now become yet another nightmare I would relive forever.

For days afterwards, as I walked the school corridors, I could see people looking at me, sniggering, trying to hide their laughter, and hear the yells of, ‘Hey, look, IT’S IRON MAN!’

Or worse, ‘He wears his SISTER’S CLOTHES!’

Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up! Then GET INTO THE PIT OF SNAKES, MARTY!

My stuntman career was over before it had even begun.

That evening, I was hit with another MMB (Mum Mind Bomb). As she turned out my bedroom light, she chillingly said, ‘Don’t worry, there’s always the Chess Club.’

As I slept, I had terrible nightmares of Katherine Hamilton in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle with a man in my clothes – except it was Martin Harris. I wasn’t going to be marrying Katherine. Instead, I was playing chess with the vicar at the back of the church.

No! I thought when I woke up, sweating coldly from the nightmare. Not Chess Club. This had to stop, and only one thing could halt Mum on a mission.

I’ve got to get back on the radio.

There was nothing else for it: I was going to have to try out Dad’s idea, and start broadcasting from the garden shed.

There was one big Mum-sized problem with that plan, though, as I will explain in the next chapter, if you’re still reading this horror story.