Einstein's Underpants--And How They Saved the World (6 page)

Felicity put her head timidly round the door. Alexander couldn't stop himself from groaning.

‘Hello, Felithity,' said Melvyn, the wound to his tongue making him lisp.

Felicity looked almost as disappointed as Alexander. ‘Am I in the right place for the audition?'

‘Audition? This isn't
Britain's Got Talent
, you know,' Alexander said brusquely. ‘You did read the advert, didn't you?'

‘Well, yes, but I wasn't expecting . . .'

‘Us?' said Alexander. ‘Who did you think it was going to be? MI5?'

‘No need to be tharcathtic,' thaid – I mean said – Melvyn. ‘If we're going to do this we should keep an open mind.' He dabbed at his tongue with the clean white hankie his mother gave him every morning.

Alexander sighed. ‘OK, OK. Just show us what you can do, Felicity.'

Felicity squeezed her body through the half-open door, as if too meek to dare to open it fully.

‘We're waiting,' said Alexander finally, drumming his fingers on the dusty desktop.

Felicity looked down at the floor and up at the ceiling, and then at each of the walls
in turn. Then it all gushed out of her.

‘Look, I can't really do anything special, but I'm very, very organized. And quite often when you have a hero with special powers there's someone else who helps them who hasn't got special powers, but that doesn't mean they aren't awfully useful. There's Batman's butler, and, erm, Renfield . . .'

‘Renfield?'

‘Yes, well, he's a sort of madman who helps Count Dracula, and even if you say that Dracula wasn't really a hero—'

‘Which he most definitely was not.'

‘– you still have to admit that he had special powers, such as being able to turn into a bat or a wolf and—'

‘Sucking perfectly innocent people's blood, thereby turning them into either corpses or other bloodsuckers as evil as himself?'

‘And I can file things and help in all sorts of ways. Everyone knows I've got the neatest writing in the whole school, even better
than most of the teachers, which is why I always get picked when someone has to come up and write on the whiteboard. And,' she said, finally running out of breath, ‘I've brought my own sandwiches.'

Alexander sighed. He wasn't usually unkind. The opposite, in fact. But Felicity just wasn't what he had in mind when it came to saving the world.

‘I'm sorry,' he began, meaning to continue with the nicest sort of brush-off he could manage, emphasizing such things as the danger and difficulty of their task, the mighty challenges, the awesome responsibilities, and the fact that just being good at filing things away and having neat writing and bringing your own sandwiches really wasn't enough to make you much of a superhero, or even a superhero apprentice.

But he didn't get the chance to say any of that.

‘OK,' said Melvyn.

‘What?' hissed Alexander.

‘She'll be handy to have about the place,' Melvyn whispered back. ‘And she's right about the superheroes needing someone normal to help them.'

‘But it's
Felicity
. Dorky Felicity. If she's in, then we won't be a league of superheroes, but a league of dorks.'

‘I may not be a superhero, but I'm not deaf,' said Felicity.

‘She's no more of a dork than we are,' said Melvyn.

‘Gee, thanks,' said Felicity. ‘I think that's what they call damning with faint praise.'

She was putting on a brave face, but both boys realized that she was on the verge of tears.

Alexander sighed. ‘What kind of sandwiches have you got?'

‘Cheese and tomato. And I've got some crisps. And an orange.'

‘What flavour?'

‘Orange flavour, of course, silly.'

‘No, the crisps.'

‘Oh, sorry, ha ha, salt and vinegar.'

‘OK, Felicity. You can join as our official secretary. On a trial basis, that is. And if you develop any special powers later on, then maybe you can get promoted to one of our combat squads.'

Felicity let out a squeal of delight. ‘Can I start now?'

‘Now? I'm not—'

‘It would actually be quite useful,' said Melvyn. ‘She can keep the minutes of the meeting. Take notes. Write down names. That sort of thing.'

And before Alexander could do anything about it, Felicity had whipped out a writing pad and a pencil case, and skipped round to their side of the table.

She was just in time, as at that precise moment there came the second knock on the door of room 111.

CHAPTER 13

HARRY POTTER, I THINK NOT

‘
ENTER
,'
SAID ALEXANDER
, with just a little less enthusiasm than the first time, and the door creaked open.

Where they expected to see a head, there was nothing. The head appeared roughly where you might expect a belly button to be. It was time for Alexander's second groan of the day.

‘Hello, Titch,' said Melvyn, polite as ever.

Titch Williams was the smallest kid in the school. If he'd been any smaller he'd have been snapped up by a circus, or perhaps kidnapped by the military for special training as a micro-spy, able to crawl through cat-flaps and wriggle up drainpipes. Although microscopic, Titch was
known to be rather fierce. He'd once severely bitten the legs of a stout Year Nine girl who'd pushed him over in the playground.

‘Right then, Titch,' said Alexander. ‘What can you do for us?'

Titch reached inside his blazer. ‘Pick a card, any card,' he said, thrusting a clumsily fantailed pack towards them.

‘I don't think you've quite got what this is all about, Titch.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean, it's not like a . . . like a pantomime.'

‘Look,' growled Titch, ‘the advert said special powers, and I have got special powers.'

‘What special powers?'

‘Magic, obviously, dumb-ass.'

‘OK, OK, don't get your knickers in a twist. You've started so you may as well finish.'

‘Like I said, pick a card, any card.'

Once more the pack was thrust towards
Alexander. There was a card right in the middle that was sticking out a bit more than the others. It was pretty obvious that Titch wanted him to pick that one. Alexander selected another from nearer the outside. It was the six of clubs.

Titch looked furious. ‘You've picked the wrong one, dummy.'

‘How can there be a wrong one? I thought you were magic?'

‘Fine. Whatever. Put it back then.'

‘Shouldn't you have your eyes closed or something?'

Titch tutted, and half closed his eyes.

Alexander put the card back in the pack.

Titch opened his eyes again. ‘Is this your card?'

It was the queen of diamonds.

‘No.'

‘Oh.'

He went through the pack and found another. ‘Is this your card?'

Three of hearts.

‘No.'

The procedure was repeated.

‘Is this your card?'

Finally Titch had it.

‘Yes, that's it. Amazing.'

Titch smiled broadly and bowed.

There followed more tricks, some involving string, some coins. All were rubbish.

‘That was really great, Titch,' said Melvyn when it was obvious he'd finished his act. ‘We'll, er, let you know.'

Titch bowed and swept out of the room.

‘Not exactly Harry Potter, was it?' said Alexander.

And without Titch's inhibiting presence, the three of them finally collapsed into spluttering laughter.

CHAPTER 14

SUPERSTRONG

THE DOOR BURST
violently open, and a ball of raw energy exploded into room 111.

‘SUPERSTRONG!'

The startled expressions on the faces of Alexander, Melvyn and Felicity were transformed into broad smiles.

‘Hi, Jamie.'

‘SUPERSTRONG!' said Jamie again. He was holding the sheet from the school newspaper with the ad for heroes.

Jamie had Down's syndrome. He was big and friendly and enjoyed everything he did, from getting up in the morning to going to bed at night. Nearly everyone in the school liked him, and he liked them all back.

The other three exchanged glances.

‘What can we do for you, Jamie?' said Alexander.

‘I'm superstrong,' said Jamie, by way of an answer. He showed his biceps like a body builder.

‘Heck, yes, I know you are, Jamie.'

‘So, in your gang? Hurray, yippee! Gonna tell everyone.'

Jamie's open face was so full of hope it made Alexander's heart ache. He looked at the others again.

‘Can't we let him join?' said Melvyn. ‘He is really quite strong. He's the only kid in our year who can throw the shot put more than twenty centimetres.'

‘And Big Mac's frightened of him,' Felicity added. ‘He always runs away whenever Jamie turns up, ever since Jamie gave him that hug and nearly broke his back.'

‘But you heard him. He'll tell everyone.'

‘Not if we tell him it's a secret. He can keep secrets.'

‘No, look, it's not fair on Jamie. We don't
know what's ahead of us. This might get dangerous. Jamie could get hurt. How would we explain it to his mum and dad?'

The others nodded. It was hard to fault Alexander's reasoning.

Alexander got up and went over to Jamie, putting his arm around his broad shoulders. ‘Listen, Jamie, this is just a silly club. It's just a game we're playing. I think you'll find it boring.'

‘I like games. Is it because I'm special? Is that why I can't play?'

Alexander was guiding Jamie towards the door. ‘No, Jamie, it's just that . . .' But he couldn't think of anything else to say. ‘I'll talk to you about it later, OK?'

‘OK,' said Jamie sadly as he walked away from room 111.

CHAPTER 15

THE HUMAN HURRICANE

‘
I FEEL LIKE
a heel,' said Alexander, hoping the others would say something like, ‘Well, it's probably for the best,' or ‘I'm sure you've done the right thing.' But they didn't say anything. There are times, thought Alexander, when being the leader really sucks.

Luckily, they didn't have time to sink too far into the depths of despond because there came a lazy knocking at the door. More a sort of tired slap, in fact, than a knock.

It was a Year Eight kid they recognized but whose name they didn't know. He was tall and skinny and had a long fringe covering most of his face, but not enough to disguise the fact that he had the worst case
of acne they'd ever seen. He came in with long, slow, clumsy strides and sat in the chair, looking like a giant stick insect in need of a haircut and zit cream.

‘Hi,' he said. ‘I'm Ed.'

There was no way of telling who he was looking at because of the fringe.

‘Hi,' said Melvyn, Alexander and Felicity.

‘You want kids with special powers, yeah?'

The boy spoke in a lazy, drawling kind of way, as though he had a mouth full of Blu-Tack.

‘Yeah.'

‘You want to see what I can do?'

‘Sure.'

Alexander had started eating one of his sandwiches, and Felicity was peeling her orange-flavoured orange. Melvyn had poured a cup of chicken noodle soup from his flask.

‘This is better if I have someone on the piano.'

‘Piano . . . ?'

‘Yeah, you know, as an accompaniment. It's usually my aunt Gwendolyn. You know, at Christmas and birthdays. Family get-togethers.'

Alexander rolled his eyes. They'd got another one. He bit into his sandwich. Some kind of meat paste. Pink, with a taste like snogging a pig. He'd have to have a word with his dad, who usually made his sandwiches.

Then the kid began.

He made a throat-clearing noise, although Alexander wasn't sure if the noise actually came from his throat, and then he was singing
God Save the Queen
. Except this wasn't singing like any they had ever heard before. Most of the words were belched with terrific force, so that the three kids behind the desk actually felt the wind on their faces. And each time the word ‘Queen' came round, the kid would lift up one of his butt-cheeks and blast out a fart. Except the fart
actually sounded like ‘Queen'. So it was like this:

But sadly, that can't convey the extraordinary truth that you could still hear the actual words through the rasping burps and bum-rumbles. It was a breathtaking performance, and it really deserved a round of applause.

Unfortunately the three judges were too busy waving their hands in front of their noses, gasping, retching and groaning, to even think about applauding. The air in the room was filled with a smell like burning hair. Their eyes were stinging, and it looked
for a while as if Felicity was going to be sick, and one Technicolor yawn would almost certainly have set off the other two, resulting in a considerable amount of vomit – probably a third of a bucketful, which is a lot of puke when all's said and done.

No one was going to be eating any sandwiches or soup after that.

‘I'm not sure what smelled worse, the farts or the burps,' said Alexander, gagging.

The burpy-farty kid sat there with a proud look on his face (at least that part of it that was visible beneath the fringe) – an expression not unlike that of a precocious two-year-old who's just learned to pooh in his potty and is showing the results to his mummy.

‘So,' he said, ‘did I pass? Am I in?'