Well I came top of the class again. One hundred out of one hundred for Maths. And one hundred out of one hundred for English. There isn’t one kid in the class who can come near me. Next to me they are all dumb.
Even when I was a baby I was smart. Since then I have always been very advanced for my age. Every year I win a lot of prizes: top of the class, top of the school, stuff like that. I won a prize for spelling when I was only three years old. I am a terrific speller. If you can say it, I can spell it. I can spell every word there is.
Some kids don’t like me; I know for a fact. They say I’m show off. I don’t care. They are just jealous because they are not as clever as me.
Last week something has happened. Another kid got one hundred out of one hundred for Maths too. That never happened before – no one had ever done as well as me. A kid called Jerome Dadian beat me. He must have cheated. I was sure he cheated. It had something to do with that ice cream. I decided to find out what was going on.
It all started with the ice cream man, Mr Peppi. The old fool had a van which he parked outside the school. He sold ice cream, all different types/ He had every flavour there is, and some that I had never heard of before. He didn’t like very much. He told me off once. “Go to the back of the queue,” he said. “You pushed in.”
“Mind your own business, Pop,” I told him. “Just hand over the ice cream.”
“No,” he said. “I won’t serve you unless you go to the back.”
I went round to the back of the van, but I didn’t get in the queue. I took out a nail and made a long scratch on his rotten old van. He had just had it painted. Peppi came and had a look. Tears came into his eyes. “You are a bad boy,” he said. “One day you will get into trouble. You think you are smart. One day you will be too smart.”
I just laughed and walked off. I knew he wouldn’t do anything. He was too soft-hearted. He was always giving free ice creams to kids that had no money. The silly fool.
There were a lot of stories going round that ice cream. People said that it was good for you. Some kids said that it made you better when you were sick. One of the teachers called it “happy Ice Cream”. I didn’t believe it; it never maid me happy.
All the same, there was something strange about it. Take Pimples Peterson for example. That wasn’t his real name – I just called him that because he had a lot of pimples. One day Peppi heard me calling Pimples that name and gave Peterson a purple coloured ice cream. “Here, eat this,” he said. “I am giving it to you for nothing. It will help you to get rid of your pimples.”
I laughed and laughed. Ice cream doesn’t get rid of pimples, it gives you pimples. Anyway, the next day when Peterson came to school he had no pimples. No one. I couldn’t believe it. The ice cream had cured his pimples.
I made up my mind to put a stop to this ice cream business. Jerome Dadian had been eating ice cream the day he got one hundred for Maths. It must have been the ice cream making him smart. I wasn’t going to have anyone doing as well as mw. I was the smartest kid in the school, and that’s way I wanted it to stay. I wanted to get a look inside that ice cream van to find out what was going on.
I knew where Peppi kept his van at night. So at about eleven o’clock I crept out of the house. There was no one around when I reached the van. I opened the door with a crowbar and shone my torch around inside. I had never seen so many tubs of ice cream before. There was every kind of ice cream. You could think of: tasting apple and banana, cherry and mango, blackberry and watermelon, and about fifty other flavours. Right at the end of the van were four bins with locks on them. I went over and had a look. These were his special flavours.
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