Authors: Andy Griffiths
Andy Griffiths discovered a talent for tricking his parents at an early age. Since then he has tried to trick many other people including friends, neighbours, teachers and complete strangers with a variety of lame pranks, poorly executed stunts, pathetic disguises and ridiculous stories.
Terry Denton hates writing illustrator biographies. So he draws them. He was sitting at his desk trying to write this one when his head fell off. It landed on a skateboard .Â .Â .
Also by Andy Griffiths
and illustrated by Terry Denton
The Bad Book
The Cat on the Mat is Flat
Also by Andy Griffiths
The Day My Bum Went Psycho
Zombie Bums from Uranus
Bumageddon: the Final Pongflict
Also by Andy Griffiths
(with Jim Thomson and Sophie Blackmore)
Fast Food and No Play Make
Jack a Fat Boy: Creating a healthier lifestyle
for you and your children
Pan Macmillan Australia
First published 1997 in Mammoth by Reed Books Australia
This Pan edition first published 1999 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited
These electronic editions published in 1999 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney 2000
Text Copyright Â© Andy Griffiths 1997
Illustrations Copyright Â© Terry Denton 1997
The moral rights of the creators have been asserted.
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
This ebook may not include illustrations and/or photographs that may have been in the print edition.
National Library of Australia cataloguing-in-publication data:
Griffiths, Andy, 1961â. Just tricking
I. Denton, Terry, 1950â. II. Title.
Adobe eReader format 9781-74197-011-1
Online format 978-1-74197-614-4
EPUB format 978-1-74262-217-0
The characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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t's 8.15 a.m. and I'm still in bed. I should have got up an hour ago.
But I didn't. You want to know why? Because I'm dead.
Well, not really dead. I'm just pretending I'm dead so I don't have to go to school.
If I can convince Mum and Dad that I'm dead, not only will I have pulled off one of the greatest practical jokes of the century, but I'll get off going to school for the rest of the year. Maybe even for the rest of my life.
I got the idea from my dog. I've been taking Sooty to obedience classes each Sunday morning. We've only been going for a few weeks, but already he's learned to sit, beg
roll over. Yesterday he learned how to play dead. I thought, if my dog is smart enough to do it, then why not me?
All I've got to do is lie here without breathing or blinking. Well, when I say without blinking, I mean blinking when nobody is looking.
And when I say without breathing, I don't mean not breathing at all â that would be stupid. I mean just taking a tiny little breath every so often â just enough to keep me alive.
The only thing that worries me is, I'm such an excellent practical joker, I might trick myself into thinking I'm really dead. And if that happened, I'd be as good as dead â or as bad as dead â because as far as I can see, there's nothing really good about being dead, except that you don't have to go to school.
Suddenly Mum bustles into the room.
âWhat? Still in bed? Come on, you'll be late!'
I hear the rattle of the curtains being opened.
The sudden light hurts my eyes, but I remember not to blink.
Any moment now Mum is going to see me. And scream.
She's standing right next to me.
âPooh, what a stink! When's the last time you cleaned this room? It's an absolute pigsty! Dirty socks and undies everywhere. Why can't you put them in the washing basket like your sister does? If you're not showered, dressed and out of this house in ten minutes you're going to miss your bus, and I'm not going to drive you.'
She walks out of the room.
I stare at the ceiling. What else would a real corpse do? It's not as if it would make some brilliantly witty comeback, like, âLay off me, you old bag. I'm not going to school today because I'm dead. Just leave me alone so I can rot in peace.' Yeah â that would be a good line, but I can't say it because I'm supposed to be dead. So, I just lie here and stare at the ceiling some more.
Next thing I know, Dad is standing next to the bed.
âAndy?' he says.
I don't answer.
âAre you all right?' says Dad in a slightly deeper voice.
I'm holding my breath. My body is tight.
He puts his hand on my shoulder and shakes me roughly.
âAndy!' he says. âAndy, I'm warning you .Â .Â . if this is another one of your practical jokes, it's not funny! You hear me? Not funny!'
I tense as hard as I can while Dad shakes me. Then he stops and puts his thumb and forefingers around my wrist. He's trying to find my pulse.
Damn! It's the one thing I can't fake. All the same, I try to concentrate on my heart and slow it down.