The Curse of Captain Cross-eyed (2 page)

Captain Cross-eyed gave a great belly laugh, then his real hand slid down his sleeve and took the hook back from me. “Good trick, Jonny Smith. Don't you agree?”

I wasn't going to disagree with a huge pirate, so I just nodded. Then I turned and ran down the path. I jumped on my bike and pedalled away fast, only stopping to hand in my orange bag to Mr Maini.

“Did you know that an enormous pirate lives at 13 Weird Street?” I gasped.

“A pirate? In Weir Street? What kind of crazy boy are you? Mr Cross lives at number 13. Nice man. Works in the sausage factory. Now, don't be telling silly stories, Jonny Smith.”

It was clear Mr Maini did not believe me.

I jumped on my bike again and headed for school. When I got there though, the playground was empty, except for a crisp packet blowing in the wind.

“Oh no,” I groaned. “Late again. Miss Dodds will never believe I was held up by a gigantic pirate.”

I was right.

“A large, huge, enormous, gigantic pirate? That's certainly one of your more inventive excuses, Jonny Smith,” she said, looking down her long nose at me. “You can stay behind at break and write out the whole fantastic story.”

I sighed and went to my desk. The day was getting worse. First Mr Maini didn't believe me, now it was Miss Dodds.
And
I had a story to write. Miss Dodds knew I always played football at break, and she knew that the inter-schools' final was coming up soon…

I slumped down in my seat.

“A large, huge, enormous, gigantic pirate?” parroted my pal, Sara, nudging my elbow. “Good excuse, Jonny.”

“The best yet,” agreed Surinder, who was sitting behind me.

“It's not an excuse,” I whispered. “There
was
a big pirate. The people in Weird Street are
weird
.”

As they picked up their pencils, I could tell from their grins that Sara and Surinder didn't believe me, either.

Neither did Mum and Dad when I told them about it after school.

“What an imagination you have, Jonny,” smiled Mum, handing me the cutlery to set the table for tea.

“It'll get you into trouble one day,” warned Dad. “I happen to know Ian Cross. He manages the sausage factory and very kindly donated several boxes of bangers for the children's barbeque last summer.”

“Sossiz, sossiz,” grinned Ellie.

“I'm telling the truth,” I protested, as Mum ladled tomato soup into bowls. “There really was a pirate.”

But no one was listening.

I sat down at the table and picked up my spoon. It's been the weirdest day of my life,
I thought, and no one believes me. However, I was determined to stick with the paper round. I wasn't going to give up like the other paperboys. I was also determined to show everyone I was telling the truth about the pirate. The question was,
how
?

The idea came to me as I was getting dressed the following morning.

“It's simple,” I said. “Why didn't I think of it before?”

I would take my mobile phone and photograph Captain Cross-eyed when I handed over his paper. Then I'd have a picture to prove my story was true.

The only problem was I'd then have to take my phone to school, and Miss Dodds had banned them. One morning, everyone in the class had played the ‘psycho' ring tone when she'd arrived. BIG MISTAKE. Still, if my phone was switched off, she'd never know, would she?

I grabbed a quick bowl of cereal, dodging the bits of soggy crusts Ellie threw at me. Then I set off for Mr Maini's.

He was busy in the back of the shop when I arrived and gave me a wave as I collected my papers. “Perhaps you'll see dinosaurs in Weir Street today, Jonny Smith,” he laughed.

I felt for my phone and switched it on. Just wait, Mr Maini, you'll see, I thought.

But he didn't, and neither did I.

When I arrived at number 13, I was all ready to take the photo, but there was no sign of Captain Cross-eyed. Or his parrot. Or his cat.

I knocked at the door.

Nothing.

I knocked at the door again.

Still nothing. I even sneaked round to the back garden.

No one. Unless you counted the garden
gnome fishing beside the wheelie bin.

Disappointed, I left the paper under a large stone and went on my way. So much for my big idea. But I wasn't late for school, so Miss Dodds wasn't able to give me a telling off … till my phone rang.

“There's an ice-cream van in the playground!” cried Peter Ho.

Everyone rushed to the window to look. Everyone except me. I knew my ring tone when I heard it. I gasped and quickly switched off my phone.

But I was too late. Miss Dodds had spotted me. “Sit down, everyone,” she ordered. “Jonny Smith, bring that phone over here. You know I do not allow them in the classroom. I hope there's a good reason why you have it with you.”

I could hardly tell her I was hoping to photograph the pirate she didn't believe I'd seen yesterday, could I?

So I didn't.

“No good reason,” I said instead.

“Very well. The phone will stay in my desk for the rest of the week, and you will spend your break doing an extra maths exercise.”

That meant no football practice
again
. The other boys in the team glared at me.

“Sorry,” I mouthed. I sighed. I'd be lucky to play in the final at this rate.

Sara and Surinder looked at me sympathetically, and at break, they stayed behind to help me with the maths.

“Why did you bring your phone in?” asked Sara. “You know how crazy Miss Dodds went about the ‘psycho' thing.”

“I wanted to get a photo of the pirate in Weird Street,” I muttered.

“You're not
still
on about that, are you?” said Surinder. “Pirates live in books, or in films, not in a street near you, Jonny.”

“This one does,” I insisted. “He lives in Weird Street and I'll prove it. Just you wait and see.”

I thought about the problem all day. I even thought about it during football practice after school. Which was a mistake.

“Smith! Keep your eye on the ball,” yelled Mr McGregor, our coach. “You're playing like a big tumshie.”

Tumshie is the Scottish word for turnip, so clearly Mr McGregor wasn't very pleased with me. But it was worse than that.