Mascot Madness! (8 page)

Person B
: What?

Person A
: I said, there's a banana in your ear.

Person B
: Pardon?

Person A
: THERE'S A BANANA IN YOUR EAR!!!

Person B
: I'm sorry, I can't hear you—you see, I have a banana in my ear.

10. Bananas were voted Most Popular Fruit in a recent
Monkeys Monthly
magazine readers' poll.

Things got even worse after that.

At first Mr Brainfright had only worn the banana suit when he was doing visualisations, but now he kept it on all day. And he was still teaching us about bananas.

We learned about the history of bananas.

We did sums with bananas.

We read stories about bananas.

We acted like bananas.

We got completely and utterly and totally fed up with bananas!

We'd always enjoyed our weekly art class with Mrs Rainbow, but now we looked forward to it even more. Apart from sport and library, it was the only lesson in which we didn't have to study bananas.

So you can imagine our disappointment one afternoon when we arrived at the art room only to be greeted by a giant banana wearing an art smock.

‘Hello, children!' said Mr Brainfright cheerfully.

‘Mr Brainfright?' I said, taken aback. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘Well,' he said, ‘Mrs Rainbow has taken ill and she asked me if I would step in and take the class for her today.'

Jack, Jenny, Gretel, Newton and I looked at one another with our mouths open.

‘Mr Brainfright,' said Jack, ‘I don't want to be rude, but will this class be about bananas?'

‘Of course not,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘This is art class!'

‘And you won't make us draw bananas?' said Gretel.

‘No drawing bananas,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘Unless you want to, of course?'

‘No!' said Gretel quickly.

‘And we won't be making bananas out of papier-mâché, clay, or icypole sticks?' said Jenny.

‘I promise you faithfully that we will do none of these things,' said Mr Brainfright.

It seemed too good to be true, but a promise was a promise. We relaxed a little.

‘So what are we going to do then?' said Jack, as we took our seats.

‘Well,' said Mr Brainfright, ‘I thought today we would concentrate on colours. Is that all right with you?'

We nodded. And relaxed even more.

‘Who can tell me how many colours there are in a rainbow?' asked Mr Brainfright.

Fiona's hand shot up. ‘Oh, that's easy!' she said. ‘Seven! Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet.'

‘Very good, Fiona,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘And who can tell me which is the best colour?'

Fiona's hand was still up. ‘Do you mean which colour is our favourite?' she said.

‘No,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘I mean which colour is the best.'

Then Fiona did a strange thing.

She put her hand down.

Astonishing as it seemed, she didn't know the answer!

‘Nobody knows?' said Mr Brainfright. ‘Nobody? Why, it's yellow of course!'

‘Uh-oh,' Jack said under his breath.

‘Yellow?' said Fiona. ‘Why yellow?'

‘Isn't it obvious?' said Mr Brainfright. ‘Yellow is wonderful! It's the colour of the sun! And the colour of daisies! It's the colour of cheerfulness and it's also the colour used on warning signs—so yellow helps keep us safe! It's the colour of all the most precious things in the world: of amber . . . and gold . . . and . . .'

‘Bananas by any chance?' asked Jack.

‘Yes!' cried Mr Brainfright. ‘Bananas! There's no doubt about it, yellow is definitely the best colour there is!'

‘I'm not so sure about that,' said Fiona. ‘What about green? Green is good too. It's the colour of grass, trees and vegetables—vegetables are very good for you, you know.'

‘Vegetables are overrated,' snapped Mr Brainfright. ‘They certainly aren't as good as bananas! Besides, where would vegetables be without the sun—which, may I remind you, is yellow!'

Jack and I exchanged a surprised look. We'd never seen Mr Brainfright like this before. He didn't seem like the Mr Brainfright we knew at all.

‘But that's ridiculous!' said Fiona.

‘Don't argue with me!' said Mr Brainfright. ‘Yellow is the best colour, and that's all there is to it. And there's not just yellow-yellow, either. There are over thirty-two different shades of yellow! Gold, amber, golden-yellow, golden-amber, lemon, mustard, saffron—'

‘Yes, Mr Brainfright,' said Jack, attempting to pacify him. ‘You're definitely right . . . we get the point.'

But Mr Brainfright was not to be stopped. He droned on and on, apparently intent on naming
every single one of yellow's thirty-two shades. ‘Corn, straw, canary yellow, banana—'

‘Will we be tested on this?' asked Fiona, interrupting him.

‘You bet you will!' said Mr Brainfright. ‘In fact, we'll have a test right now!'

‘But you can't test us
now
!' Fiona protested. ‘You didn't warn us beforehand!'

‘Yeah,' complained Clive. ‘It's not fair. I'm going to tell my brother!'

‘Warning! Warning!' said Mr Brainfright sarcastically. ‘In one second there will be a test.' He paused. ‘There. Consider yourselves warned. The test begins now. What frequency of the colour chart does yellow occupy—ninety hertz, one hundred hertz, four hundred hertz or five hundred hertz?'

Everybody in the class looked at each other. How were we supposed to know that? How was
anyone
supposed to know that?

Even Fiona and David were looking confused.

Mr Brainfright never tested us. In fact, he hated tests. Maybe even more than we did.

Something was wrong.

Something was seriously, definitely, terribly wrong.

After art class finally finished, we had lunch. Then we trudged slowly back into the classroom.

We didn't mind the visualisations, but we were dreading more banana lessons.

Our first sight of Mr Brainfright was not promising.

He was standing at the front of the room, in full banana suit, holding a carton of banana-flavoured milk in his hand.

‘Oh no,' I whispered to Jack. ‘I can't take any more!'

‘Me neither,' said Jack. ‘Let's make a run for it—the window's wide open!'

‘Good idea,' I said. ‘Let's go!'

We were about to run across the room and jump out the window when Mr Brainfright yelled at us. ‘Where do you think you're going?' he said. ‘Sit down!'

Jack and I looked at each other, undecided about what to do.

But Mr Brainfright decided it for us. ‘Now!' he said sharply.

There was an edge to Mr Brainfright's voice that we'd never heard before. He was mad. And not just banana-mad either—he was mad-mad.

‘All right, 5B,' said Mr Brainfright when we were all sitting down. He held up the carton of milk. ‘I presume you know what this is?'

Fiona's hand shot up. ‘It's a two hundred and fifty millilitre carton of flavoured milk,' she said.

‘That's right, Fiona,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘And can anyone tell me what flavour it is?'

For once I knew the answer to one of his questions, but I didn't dare answer it. Nobody did—except Fiona, who could never resist an opportunity to show off her knowledge.

‘Banana flavoured!' she said.

Mr Brainfright nodded. ‘That's right,' he said, shaking his head sadly. ‘Banana. Can you believe it?'

‘Yes,' said Fiona, not even bothering to put up her hand anymore. ‘I believe banana is the third most popular flavour at the canteen, after chocolate and strawberry.'

‘Well, it's wrong!' shouted Mr Brainfright. ‘Do you hear me? It's completely against the natural order of things!'

Fiona just looked at him, dumbfounded.

She didn't speak.

She couldn't speak.

None of us could.

And I'll bet you wouldn't be able to, either, if a giant banana was standing over you, shouting and waving a carton of banana-flavoured milk in your face.

‘A banana DIED to make this milk!' said Mr Brainfright, stalking up and down between our desks, waving the carton in our faces. ‘And drinking it makes you no better than a murderer!'

I glanced at Jenny, Gretel, Jack and Newton.

None of us knew what to make of this latest development.

It didn't make sense. After all, it was Mr Brainfright who, in one of his very first lessons, had taught us how to eat, and really taste, a banana. Now here he was accusing us of being murderers if we so much as dared to drink banana-flavoured milk.

As strange and unlikely as it seemed, Mr Brainfright had gone from appreciating bananas, and dressing up as a banana to . . . well, there's no other way to put it: to thinking like a banana.

Later that week, we were standing outside the library listening to Mr Shush giving us his usual warning about all the things that we were not to do once we got inside the library.

‘And furthermore,' he said, taking a deep breath, ‘there is to be no juggling of the books, no using the books as frisbees, and definitely no kicking the books . . .'

Jack shook his head. ‘No kicking the books?' he muttered. ‘What does he think we are? Wild animals?'

‘Yes,' said Mr Shush, who had exceptionally good hearing. ‘That's exactly what I think you are. If it were up to me, I wouldn't allow students in the library at all.'

‘Can we go in now?' said David.

‘Yes, I suppose so,' said Mr Shush. ‘If you must. But make sure you each wipe your feet properly.
I don't want any mud in the library, and certainly no mud on any of the books!'

‘You already told us that, Mr Shush,' said Gretel, as she wiped her feet and went inside.

‘Shush!' said Mr Shush. ‘You're in a library now.'

Once we were safely seated at the study tables, we did quite well at resisting the temptation to juggle, frisbee, kick or smear mud all over the books. But we didn't do so well at not talking and, as usual, poor Mr Shush was run off his feet dashing from table to table shushing people.

The only person who was actually reading a book was Fiona. She had her head down and was studying an enormous medical textbook. We knew the book well, as we'd spent many lessons looking at the photographs of gruesome medical conditions.

‘Any good pictures, Fiona?' said Jack.

‘Don't show them!' said Newton, who was terrified of photographs of gruesome medical conditions. He was probably more terrified of the photographs than the medical conditions themselves. To tell you the truth, we all were—but that didn't stop us looking at them.

‘Don't worry, Newton,' said Fiona, finally raising her head. ‘I'm not going to show you any photographs, but I have found some very
interesting information. I think I know what's wrong with Mr Brainfright!'