Free Pencil of Doom! by Andy Griffiths Page A

you and me,’ I said.

44
Mighty Boy

    As we left the hall, I overheard Principal Greenbeard inviting Mr Spade back to his office for a cup of tea.
    This was my chance. I had to act fast.
    I nudged Jenny.
    â€˜What is it?’ she asked.
    â€˜I’ll be a little late back to class,’ I said.
    â€˜Why?’ said Jenny.
    â€˜I’ve got an errand to do,’ I said.
    â€˜What sort of errand?’ said Jenny.
    â€˜Can’t say,’ I said.
    Jenny noticed me looking at Mr Spade’s shed.
    She shook her head. ‘I know exactly what you’re going to do,’ she said. ‘And it’s completely against the school rules! You heard Principal Greenbeard. If you get caught in there, your life won’t be worth living!’
    I told her about how I’d almost been run overby Mr Grunt’s Hummer. When I finished, Jenny nodded.
    â€˜All right,’ she said, perhaps remembering her own experience with the pencil’s evil sense of humour. ‘But I’m coming with you.’
    â€˜Jenny!’ I said. ‘No! I need you to cover for me in class. Besides, it’s too dangerous.’
    â€˜Yeah,’ said Jenny, ‘too dangerous for you to do it alone. I’m coming with you and that’s that. We’ll just chuck the pencil in, turn on the compactor, and be back in class before anyone has even noticed that we’re missing.’
    â€˜Okay,’ I said. I knew there was no point in arguing. Jenny can be really stubborn when she wants to be. And she was right—it wasn’t going to take long.
    We dropped to the back of the line, and as the rest of the class turned the corner to head towards our classroom, Jenny and I turned in the opposite direction and headed for Mr Spade’s shed.
    We approached it warily, making sure that nobody saw us.
    After one last look around, we slipped inside.
    Standing in the middle of the shed was Mr Spade’s new Mighty Boy Garbage Compactor, a solid block of gleaming steel. The specifications on the side boasted six hydraulic pistons and five hundred thousand kilos of brutegarbage-compacting force. If that couldn’t deal with my pencil, then nothing could.
    â€˜Well, what are you waiting for, Henry?’ Jenny asked. ‘Put it in!’
    â€˜I will!’ I said, studying the control panel. ‘I’m just trying to figure out how to turn it on. Mr Spade’s got the instruction manual, remember? Where’s Grant Gadget when you need him?’
    â€˜What about this button here?’ Jenny pointed to a large green button with the word on written on it.
    â€˜Of course,’ I said, ‘I was getting to that. I was just trying to figure out how to get the pencil inside the compactor first.’
    â€˜What about this chute?’ said Jenny. ‘The label says
place small items here
.’
    Gee, I had to hand it to her. Jenny really knew her way around a Mighty Boy Garbage Compactor.
    â€˜Good work,’ I said, taking the pencil out of my pocket and passing it to her. ‘You put it in and I’ll turn it on.’
    Jenny took the pencil and nodded. ‘Now?’ she said.
    â€˜Now!’
    She dropped the pencil down the chute.
    I pushed the button.
    The compactor began to vibrate—quietly atfirst, and then increasing in volume until it was really humming.
    And then it started to compact.
    We could hear it smashing, grinding and pulverising.
    I could hardly believe it. ‘It’s working!’ I yelled above the noise. ‘It’s really working! It’s destroying the pencil! At last!’
    â€˜That’s great,’ said Jenny. ‘I just can’t help feeling a tiny bit sorry for it, though.’
    â€˜Are you kidding?!’ I yelled. ‘That pencil was bad news! It wanted us all dead . . . and it almost succeeded . . . and you feel sorry for it?’
    Jenny shrugged. ‘I know I shouldn’t,’ she said.