Free Billionaire Boy by David Walliams Page A

Joe.
    “I thought that’s you wanted? You said you couldn’t stand her.”
    “Yes, but…” Joe hesitated for a moment. “I just feel a bit, you know, sorry for her.”
    Lauren pulled a dismissive face.
    Meanwhile, a gang of fierce-looking girls were sat on desks at the back of the class. The smallest of the group was pushed over in Lauren’s direction as the others looked on smirking.
    “Got any Pot Noodles then?” she asked, much to the amusement of the gang.
    Lauren shot a look at Joe. “I don’t know what you mean,” she protested.
    “Don’t lie,” said the girl. “You look different in it, but I well reckon it’s you.”
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Lauren, a little flustered.
    Before Joe could speak a young man in old man’s clothes entered the classroom and took his position uncertainly by the whiteboard. “Simmer down, please,” he said quietly. No one in the classroom took any notice, except Joe.
    “I said, ‘simmer down, please’…”
    The new teacher’s second sentence was barely more audible than the first. Still none of the other kids took any notice. In fact, if anything they started making even more noise than before.
    “That’s better,” said the little man, trying to make the best of it. “Now, as you may know Miss Spite isn’t here today—”
    “Yeah, she’s been given the boot!” shouted a loud fat girl.
    “Well, that’s not… well, yes, it is true…” the teacher continued in his faint monotone. “Now I am going to be taking over from Miss Spite as your form teacher, and also to teach you History and English. My name is Mr Bread.” He began writing his name neatly on the board. “But you can call me Peter.”
    Suddenly there was quiet, as thirty little brains whirred.
    “Pitta Bread!” proclaimed a ginger-haired boy from the back. A huge wave of laughter crashed over the classroom. Joe had tried to give this poor man a chance, but he couldn’t help but laugh.
    “Please, please, can I have some quiet?” pleaded the unfortunately named teacher. But there was no use. The whole class was in uproar. The new form teacher had committed the biggest blunder any teacher can make – having a silly name. This is a serious point. If you have a name like any of those in the list below it is very, very important you don’t become a teacher:
    Teachers' Names
     
     
     
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Sue Doku
Tom Atoe
Justin Case
Neil Down
Will Ing
Bob Head
Terry Daktul
Clare Voyant
Mel Formed
Rachel Prejudice
Mona Lott
Herbie Hind
Ima Hogg
Carol Singer
Dick Tate
Don Keigh
Rhoda Camel
Robin Banks
Felix Cited
Gerry Atrick
Bea O’Problem
Mya Bumreeks
Anita Bath
Sue Age
Marcus Absent
Al Gebra
Barbara Blacksheep
Kitty Litter
Mary Christmas
Jim Class
Doris Closed
Doris Locked
Wayne Dear
Dan Druff
Humphrey Dumpty
Stan Dupp
Cliff Hanger
Hugh Idiot
Lee King
Manuel Labour
Ruth Less
Willie Mammoth
Marsha Mellow
Walter Melon
Hazel Nut
Luke Out
Stu Pidd
Lolly Popp
Chuck Up
    Seriously. Don’t even consider it. The kids in your class will make your life a living hell.
    Now, back to the story…
    “Right,” said the unfortunately named teacher. “I am going to take the register. Adams?”
    “Don’t forget Tara Mosalata!” shouted a skinny blonde-haired boy. The laughter swept up again.
    “I did ask for quiet,” said Mr Bread, pathetically.
    “Or Ted Ziki!” hollered another kid. The laughter was deafening now.
    Peter Bread put his head in his hands. Joe could almost feel sorry for him. This grey little man’s life was going to be an utter misery from this day forward.
    Oh, no , thought Joe. We’re all going to fail our exams.

Chapter 17
A Knock on the Toilet Door
    T here are a number of things you don’t want to hear when you sit on the toilet.
    A fire alarm.
    An earthquake.
    The roar of a hungry lion in the cubicle next door.
    A large group