Free Just Stupid! by Andy Griffiths and Terry Denton Page B

pink teddy bear with a human skull for a head.

       What sort of boy is this Andy?
       I look at a photograph on a pinboard. The boy has his thumbs jammed in the corner of his mouth and his pointer fingers in the corners of his eyes. He is pulling his eyes down and his mouth up. And sticking his tongue out as well. What an idiot.
       I look in a mirror. I don’t look anything like that. I can’t be this boy. Whoever I am, I’m not Andy. Unless . . . I’d better just do a quick check. I rest the photo against the mirror. I put my thumbs in my mouth and my fingers in my eyes and try to pinch my fingers and thumbs together. I stick my tongue out.
       The resemblance is uncanny.
       But this can’t be right! I can’t be Andy. He’s sick! He’s disturbed! Me looking like him is just a coincidence. Yeah, that’s it. Just some sort of crazy coincidence. I don’t belong here. Somewhere, somebody’s probably missing me. I bet they’re really worried. I know! I’ll ring Missing Persons and see if anybody has reported me missing.

       I go downstairs and find a telephone. I ring up the police.
       ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I’d like to see if anybody has reported me missing.’
       ‘I see . . .’ says the man on the other end of the phone. ‘What is your name?’
       ‘I can’t remember,’ I say.
       ‘You can’t remember?’
       ‘No,’ I say. ‘That’s why I’m ringing you. I think I might be missing and I wanted to see if anybody is looking for me.’
       ‘Is this a prank call?’ says the man.
       ‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s not a prank call. I’m serious.’
       ‘So let me get this straight,’ he says. ‘You’re the missing person, are you?’
       ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I think so.’
       ‘Can you describe your exact location at this moment?’ he says.
       ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’m in a house talking on the telephone.’
       ‘Excellent,’ says the man. ‘Case solved.’
       ‘Huh?’ I say.
       ‘Well,’ says the man, ‘as far as I can figure it, if you are the missing person in question then you just found yourself, so you’re no longer missing. Goodbye.’
       He hangs up. That wasn’t really as helpfulas I’d hoped. Just my luck to get the new guy. And my head is starting to hurt again.

       I sit down on the couch.
       There is a pile of books on the coffee table. I pick one up. Coping With A Problem Child . I pick up another one. Your Non-gifted Child . Under that is one called Smack Your Child To Success .
       Gee, that Jen must be a real troublemaker.
       The glass door slides open. I look up. It’s the woman from the photo, the man with the big ears and the girl called Jen. They are carrying plastic bags.
       ‘Well,’ says Big Ears, ‘don’t just sit there—give us some help.’
       ‘Excuse me,’ I say, ‘who am I?’
       ‘Andy, this is no time for a game of twenty questions,’ he says. ‘Get up off that couch and help us with these bags.’
       ‘So I’m Andy, am I?’ I say.
       ‘Andy,’ says Big Ears, ‘if you don’t get those bags into the kitchen in the next ten seconds I swear I will . . .’
       ‘Okay, okay,’ I say.
       I was right. He has got a bad temper. Best not to get him too upset. I pick up the bags and put them on the kitchen table.

       ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ says the mother, sighing. ‘The shopping isn’t going to put itself away.’
       I put my hand into a bag. I pull out a box of washing powder.
       ‘Where does this go?’ I say.
       ‘In the cupboard in the laundry,’ says the mother. ‘Where do you think?’
       ‘Where’s the laundry?’ I say.
       The mother takes the box out of my hands.
       ‘On second thoughts, don’t worry about it,’ she says. ‘It will be quicker to do it myself.’
       ‘Mrs G,’ I say, ‘you think I’m your son, don’t you?’
       ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Worse luck!’
       Big Ears