My Gym Teacher Is an Alien Overlord E-Book

David Solomons

• Herausgeber: Nosy Crow
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: My Brother is a Superhero
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 288

Beschreibung

Zack and Lara have superpowers. Luke has new school shoes and a burning sense of resentment. He KNOWS that aliens disguised as gym teachers are about to attack Earth but will anyone listen? No. So one dodgy pact with a self-styled supervillain later, and Luke is ready to save the world. He just needs to find his trainers. My Gym Teacher Is an Alien Overlord is the action-packed sequel to the bestselling My Brother Is a Superhero, winner of the Waterstones Children's Book Prize and the British Book Industry Awards Children's Book of the Year. Books don't come much funnier than these! Packed with heart and soul, this series is perfect for fans of David Baddiel and David Walliams. My Brother Is a Superhero My Gym Teacher Is an Alien Overlord My Evil Twin is a Supervillain My Arch-Enemy is a Brain in a Jar My Cousin is a Time-Traveller

Leseprobe

OUT OF THIS WORLD REVIEWS FORMY BROTHER IS A SUPERHERO

“I even think my dad would like reading this book!”David, The Book Squad, The Beano

“Cosmic! Amazing! Outstanding! Probably the funniest book I have read for a long time.”Alison A. Maxwell-Cox, The School Librarian

“I was so addicted to it that my mum had to make me put it down.”Calum, aged 11

“Funny, fast moving and deftly plotted, it’s the best thing to hit the superhero world since sliced kryptonite.”Damian Kelleher, Dad Info

“You know a book is going to be good when you’re giggling after five minutes… Ideal for comic readers and superhero experts.”Nicola Lee, The Independent

“An excellent adventure story with real heart that’s also properly funny.”Andrea Reece, Lovereading4Kids

“You’ll laugh until you fall out of your tree house!”Steve Coogan

“A brilliantly funny adventure with twists, turns, crazy characters and a really hilarious ending. Fantastic!”Sam, aged 11

“Brilliantly funny.”The Bookseller

For Luke and Lara

The nicest invaders you could ever hope to be conquered by. We couldn’t be happier that you’ve taken over our world, but if you wouldn’t mind delaying the daily invasion until after 7am, that’d be much appreciated.

1

POWER-UP

“Luke, use your force field!” Serge shouted from the other side of the splintering ten-storey shark tank that ran the height of Commander Octolux’s vast undersea lair. There was a crack like a pistol shot as the tank sprang a leak and a stream of water arced on to the deck, splashing my foot.

We were about to be up to our necks in hammerheads.

I focused my force-field superpower on the widening hole. Glowing blue energy shot from my fingers and plugged the gap. That would keep the sharks at bay. Now it was Octolux’s turn. I checked my watch – we had less than five minutes before he launched an intercontinental ballistic missile containing a unique and deadly payload. If we failed to stop him then the virus stored in the warhead would infect the whole world, turning every man, woman and child into a quivering jellyfish.

“I’m going for the command bridge,” I said, sweeping past Serge. I touched a finger to the side of my mask and with a swift tap blasted a fizzing ball of mental energy at the high-security door. It flew off its hinges and hit the floor with a clang. Quickly I stepped over it, my cape fanning out behind me as I raced inside.

The walls of the command bridge were one smooth curve of plexiglass, offering a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the deep ocean. Monstrous shadows cast by dimly glimpsed sea-creatures glided over the surface. The ping of a sonar detector and the gurgle of Octolux’s breathing apparatus were the only sounds. After battling our way past attack squids, lethal lionfish sentries and electric eel assassins, we had reached our final goal.

Commander Octolux stood over the launch-control panel, preparing to fire his fishy missile. At one time he had been wholly human, but where his head used to be was now a surgically attached octopus plugged directly into his brain stem, and although his hands sported four human fingers, instead of thumbs he had a pair of opposable piranha fish. With his octo-brain he could think of eight different things at once, which made him a master strategist, and his piranha thumbs meant he was a formidable opponent in close-quarter combat. His one weakness was a reliance upon special breathing equipment. He needed to be connected to an air tank or he’d go as floppy as a stunned haddock. All we had to do was cut off his supply. The next few minutes would witness an epic battle between the forces of good (me and Serge) and the evil commander.

The fate of the world was in my hands.

Commander Octolux looked up from the control panel, threw back his bulbous head and opened his vicious beak to let out a great gurgling laugh. Somehow he knew we were coming – we had walked into a trap. His watery gaze fell upon me, that horrifying beak opened once more and he said:

“Luke, I’m not telling you again – your dinner’s on the table.”

Commander Octolux sounded a lot like my mum.

I glanced over my shoulder. Mum stood in my bedroom doorway. Even without an octo-brain and piranha hands she was a fearsome presence.

“Luke, Luke – he is launching le missile!” Serge yelled over the headset. “Ah, mon brave, we are too late.”

I turned back to the TV screen just in time to witness an animation of Octolux’s missile rising from its undersea silo and shooting out of the ocean depths to wreak jellyfish doom upon the world. I threw down my game controller and sighed.

There were no save points on the final level, which meant we’d have to start again from the beginning, and those platypus mines at the first airlock had been a total pain to get past. Especially since Serge found the word “platypus” so funny that he kept forgetting not to step on the mines.

“I think that’s enough Star Lad for one day,” said Mum, switching off the console.

My parents had been so amazed and stunned and happy at avoiding the recent asteroid apocalypse that when I asked them shortly afterwards for a new games console they’d not only agreed, but also let me keep it in my bedroom. I’m not proud of taking advantage of them in their moment of weakness. On the other hand – brand-new Xbox!

“It’s not Star Lad,” I said. “It’s Star Lad 2: Danger from the Deep.” There were two videogames featuring the world’s first real superhero, Star Lad. The first one was rushed out after he’d stopped Earth from being flattened by Nemesis. It was OK, but the sequel was better. However, both suffered from the same problem: they didn’t feel real. For a start, neither was set in Bromley. Even worse was how they portrayed Star Lad. For example, in Danger from the Deep, Star Lad’s secret identity is millionaire schoolboy Lance Launceston, who is bestowed with superpowers after an accident with a plasma generator at his father’s fusion laboratory; he has a kinetic blast power, and a Star-Jet that can do Mach 6.

All of which is complete nonsense.

And how do I know this? Because Star Lad is Zack Parker, who was given his powers by Zorbon the Decider. He gets five pounds fifty a week pocket money, has just regular telekinesis and owns a Carrera Vengeance mountain bike. And he’s my big brother.

I slipped off my chair and followed Mum downstairs. I had played a small but, I like to think, key role in Zack’s epic world-saving triumph, but no one was making videogames about me. Perhaps because, apart from my best friend Serge and my neighbour (but definitely not my girlfriend) Lara Lee, no one knew how I’d helped rescue Star Lad from the clutches of wannabe superhero and comic-book-store owner Christopher Talbot. But even if they had known, who wants to play a videogame from the point of view of an eleven-year-old boy with flat feet and no superpowers? It wouldn’t be very popular. In fact, I don’t think I’d play a videogame as me.

As I trudged downstairs for dinner I heard a tuk-tuk noise from the hallway and then a small shape slid from the shadows beneath the hall table. A red squirrel waited for me at the foot of the stairs. I knew it was for me, since this wasn’t the first time. The squirrel sat up on its hind legs and held out a note. It hadn’t written the note – that would be silly – but I knew who had. As soon as I took the folded paper it scurried off, its bushy tail bobbing back into the shadows.

“Assemble tonight,” read the message, which was scrawled in the familiar purple ink of a Uni-ball Gelstick Pen with a 0.4mm tip.

Just two little words, but they signified something big. Finally! Things had been quiet since the whole Star-Lad-Christopher-Talbot-volcano-comic-store-giant-asteroid business in the summer. Since then my life had returned to its dull routine. I scrunched the paper in my fist. All that was about to change. Something was in the air. I sniffed. Some kind of fishy thing in a gloopy sauce. But that didn’t matter because something else was out there, waiting for me. Something thrilling. Something dangerous. Adventure was in the air, and its name was … S.C.A.R.F.

2

DON’T GO OUT WITHOUT YOUR S.C.A.R.F.

After dinner I sneaked out to the tree house in our back garden. When Dad and Grandpa put it up they had no idea that the exact spot they’d chosen was a doorway between our world and a parallel world, or that it was destined to become the international headquarters for a secret superhero crimefighting organisation known as S.C.A.R.F. – or possibly S.P.A.T.U.L.A. We hadn’t yet decided, which was partly why we were meeting up tonight. There was a lot to discuss.

As I huffed and puffed to the top of the rope ladder I reflected on recent events. Thanks to a catastrophically timed wee, I had missed out on being granted my greatest wish – to become a superhero. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it had happened twice.

Twice.

The second time the powers were given to my neighbour, schoolfriend and cub reporter, Lara Lee. Now, instead of splashing the story of Star Lad across the front of the school newspaper, she had become the story. Right away, she and Zack teamed up to fight crime and have thrilling adventures. Which was very nice for them, but left Serge and me twiddling our game controllers. That’s what this evening was about.

For weeks I’d been trying to get both superheroes in a room with us to discuss forming a team. We hoped to convince them that dynamic duos were old-fashioned, and that modern superheroes have a whole bunch of people helping them out in the background. Of course, usually they’re ex-Special Forces commandos or genius-level scientists, not eleven-year-old boys with no practical skills and whose only expertise lies in knowing that the Hulk comic-book character was meant to be grey and that Superman was originally bald. But we weren’t going to mention that part.

Serge was already in the tree house, the first to arrive. He looked up as I entered and I saw that his cheeks were covered in a bright-red rash. “I am allergic to squirrel fur,” he explained miserably. “I wish she would stop sending messages by small woodland creature.”

“She’s just exploring her new power,” I said, sitting down next to him to wait for the others.

“I should warn you that I have taken the anti-histamine,” he added, “but I am unsure if it was drowsy or non-drowsy.”

Serge and I had been through a lot together, most of it accompanied by a chocolate bar and an asthma inhaler. We were alike in many ways, but most of all we shared a passion for superheroes. I was as close to Serge as I used to be to my brother. It’s not that I don’t get on with Zack, but we’re in different places in our lives. I’m saving for the new Batman videogame, and he’s saving the world.

“Did you bring the designs?” I asked.

Serge unzipped an A3 portfolio case. We’d spent ages coming up with the name of our crimefighting team, and even longer on designs for the logo. I held up the first one, all sleek silver and black lettering with a drop-shadow that made it pop off the page. “Nice,” I cooed.

“Nice?” He seemed offended. “It is a highly effective design, at once simple and resonant with our target audience. Regard the swoosh, which adds dynamism, and the bold use of chiaroscuro—”

“The what?”

He sighed. “Light and shade, Luke. Light. And. Shade.”

I held up the second design side by side with the first. “I’m still not sure about these. S.C.A.R.F. and S.P.A.T.U.L.A. aren’t exactly fearsome, awe-inspiring acronyms.”

When the initial letters of a phrase spell out a word it’s called an acronym. We’d tried to create one as cool as S.H.I.E.L.D. or T.H.U.N.D.E.R. but it’s much harder than it looks.

There was a rustle of leaves from outside the tree house and a moment later Star Lad blew through the doorway to land before us with a controlled thud. He struck a pose, head down, one knee on the floor, one arm trailing behind him, cape settling across his back. Slowly he lifted his masked face. These days Zack rarely just arrived anywhere – he made an entrance.

Beside me I could tell without looking that Serge was impressed. Even though he had played a vital role in the Nemesis adventure, Serge hadn’t yet outgrown the fanboy phase. On a daily basis, I was rather less in awe of Zack. It was hard to be impressed when you got the blame for a messy room and can’t say it’s because your brother threw a telekinetic fit looking for his spare cape.

Ah yes, the cape.

For ages Zack wouldn’t wear a proper costume, saying that a mask and cape looked stupid, but in the end he came round. Zack is a bit skinny and the billowing cape gives him more presence. The mask guards his identity, but it also protects the delicate skin around his eyes. He was getting some serious windburn from all that flying.

There was a flutter and a hoot from the doorway as Lara glided into the tree house. She didn’t have the same flying superpower as Star Lad, relying instead upon a unique propulsion system.

Birds.

They clung to her sleeves and trouser legs: geese for altitude, pigeons for guidance, and frantically flapping, manoeuvring sparrows. She touched down gently, extending one poised foot to the floor and then the other. Landing accomplished, she chirped at the birds. Releasing their grip on her they streamed from the tree house back out into the night.

The superpower that Zorbon the Decider had given Lara was the ability to command animals.

Not all animals. Tigers, elephants, polar bears – basically anything big and fearsome – didn’t respond to her. We’d been to the zoo and checked. It was only creatures like squirrels and rabbits and small birds that she could control, which I couldn’t help thinking was, well, a bit rubbish.

And then there was her costume. It was unlike any other, which is to say that it covered her body in a sensible fashion. Whenever I look at girl superheroes in comics my first thought is that if they went out wearing as few clothes as that, they would catch a chill. And one day I’d like someone to explain to me the point of an armoured bikini. I’d helped Lara decide on her costume. So in addition to a mask and cape, she wore a tough leather jacket, dark trousers with useful zip pockets, gloves for protection from claws, and big black boots.

She’d also needed my help choosing her superhero name. Obviously it had to be animal-based, so she suggested names like Talon, Claw and Birdgirl.

“All taken,” I informed her.

“What about something with wing?”

“There’s already a Nightwing,” I said.

“Then I could be Daywing!” said Lara.

I frowned. “That sounds like part of a hospital.”

In the end she decided to call herself Flutter, which, after checking through my comic collection, turned out was available. However, it was also terrible. But she wouldn’t budge. After a great deal of persuasion, she agreed to Dark Flutter, which added a hint of fear to the featheriness. Although Serge thought it sounded like a chocolate spread. Then he’d had to go and make himself a sandwich.

In the tree house Lara and Zack began to catch up on their week’s heroics, talking about events Serge and I knew nothing about, or had only seen reported on the news. It was as if we weren’t even in the room.

Lara snapped her fingers. “Oh, I forgot to mention the—”

“Genetically modified greengrocer?” finished Zack. “Taken care of.” He brushed off a piece of glowing broccoli that had stuck to his sleeve.

“Oh good.”

“And those trapped miners?” he asked in return.

“Yes, the moles were a great idea. Thanks,” said Lara, making a feverish burrowing motion with her hands.

Zack lifted his mask. It settled on his forehead with a twang of elastic. “No problem.”

“By the way,” said Lara, “great job on that evil Artificial Intelligence in John Lewis.”

Zack shrugged. “Couldn’t have done it without you. Partner.”

She gave him a friendly punch in the arm. “Stop it. You’re embarrassing me.”

They grinned at each other, distinctly pleased with their week’s work.

“So,” I said. “Evil Artificial Intelligence, eh? Sounds like the kind of mission, say, where you could have done with some back-up?”

“Nah, we had it covered. Isn’t that right, Dark Flutter?” Zack held up a palm and Lara smacked a high-five. He turned to me. “So why have you brought us here? I have maths homework, and it’s polynomials.”

I got straight to the point. “We’re here to discuss the formation of a super-secret organisation dedicated to fighting crime.” I held up the logo designs. “S.C.A.R.F. is the Superhero Covert Alliance Reaction Force, and S.P.A.T.U.L.A. stands for Superhero PATrol United—”

“Is this for one of your role-playing game thingies?” Zack interrupted with a frown.

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s real.” I could see from his expression that he wasn’t getting it.

Lara studied Serge’s expertly shaded logo. “Bold use of Enrico Caruso,” she said with a pitying smile. She was always muddling her words. Muddled or not, unlike my annoying big brother, she could tell I was miffed.

“Wait,” said Zack, realisation dawning. “You want to help us fight crime?”

Now we were getting somewhere. “Exactly.”

He folded his arms. “Not a chance.”

“But you need us!”

“Do we?”

He was forgetting an important point. “Who rescued you when you were abducted by Christopher Talbot a.k.a. The Quintessence?”

“You just won’t let it go, will you?” The muscle in his jaw clenched. “I get nabbed by a supervillain one time. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s not fair!” I burst out. “You get superpowers. She gets superpowers. And what do I get? A pair of slip-on loafers!” I was breathing heavily. “Just hear us out, Zack, please.”

My brother relented. “OK, OK, if it means so much to you.”

I turned to Serge. “Ready?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, head slumped on his chest, snoring lightly.

I sighed. “He took the drowsy.” No matter. I could do this without him. It’d be just like my presentation to the class on wasps. Except hopefully without the mass breakout and the screaming. I jumped to my feet, clasped my hands behind my back and began to pace. “Superheroes are in constant danger of making easily avoidable mistakes. If only Superman had had someone to tell him, ‘Kal-El, step away from the glowing green rock.’ That’s why you need someone like me.” I glanced down at the snuffling Serge. “And him.”

Zack and Lara stood in silence. I could tell they weren’t buying it. But I wasn’t finished yet. “While I admit that you have gained some experience of how to be superheroes, you’re still new to the job. On the other hand, I have years of experience. I’ve been reading comics since I was knee-high to Ant-Man.”

Zack tutted. “Comics are useless – they don’t tell you how to be a superhero.”

Was he mad?! That’s precisely what comics did. But just as I was about to say so, he cut me off. “Oh sure, they’re full of fantastic adventures, but they don’t tell you about the reality. They don’t tell you that you need to wear a vest to keep warm when flying at altitude. Or that under certain atmospheric conditions your telepathic power picks up Radio 4. Or that it’s all very well stopping criminals, but you have to be very careful not to breach their civil rights or you open yourself up to accusations of unlawful restraint and wrongful arrest.”

He was right – none of that stuff was in any comic I’d read. Probably because it sounded really boring. I turned to Dark Flutter. “Lara, come on, who was it stopped you from choosing a dry-clean-only costume?”

“That’s true,” she nodded, “but there’s quite a difference between reading washing instructions and fighting crime.”

This was too much. “Well, you’re a terrible superhero,” I fumed. “Your power is rubbish.”

“Rubbish?!” Lara placed her hands on her hips, raised her chin and declared, “I have dominion over the animal kingdom.”

“You have dominion over a petting zoo! In fact, you’re not a superhero at all. You’re a Disney Princess.”

She bristled with indignation and I was glad she didn’t have a spare hedgehog to hand.

“Maybe if you were ex-Special Forces or genius-level scientists we could team up,” mused Zack.

“But, Zack—”

“Forget it. It’s too dangerous. We’ve got superpowers; all you’ve got is a swooshy logo.” I was about to protest when he clutched a hand to his forehead. “I’m picking up a disturbance on my Star-Screen.”

“I came up with that name,” I muttered, but he ignored me.

“Someone’s in trouble,” he said. “Dark Flutter?”

“Right behind you, Star Lad.” She cupped a hand to her mouth and squawked. In seconds the tree house filled with birds. “See you at school,” she said to me as the birds picked her up.

I could only stand by and watch as she and Zack flew off on their next adventure.

There was a snort as Serge stirred and sat up. He looked round the tree house through bleary eyes. “Ah, zut, I missed them. So,” he asked, turning to me, “is it S.P.A.T.U.L.A? Oh, I hope it is S.P.A.T.U.L.A.”

3

MY GYM TEACHER IS A SUPERVILLAIN

“I’m not picking Luke Parker, miss. He’s rubbish.”

There was a chortle from the rest of Miss Dunham’s Year 7 gym class. I sat unhappily on the bench beside Serge as our amused classmates formed two neat lines along one edge of the pitch. Forget joining an ultra-secret superhero team, we couldn’t even get picked for football.

The early October sun beat down on the all-weather grass as the class divided into opposing sides. We were the last two to be chosen, as always. I found it maddening, but Serge didn’t care. He said football was a trawler and they were all seagulls following the trawler, or we were the trawler and they were waiting for us to throw them sardines. Or something. I think it must have made more sense in French.

A screeching whistle pierced the air. It belonged to Miss Dunham, our gym teacher, a terrifying woman with a voice like her whistle and bulgy eyes that reminded me of a praying mantis. She swivelled her insect gaze to the boy who had called me rubbish. “Joshpal Khan,” she began. “Yes, Luke and Serge might not be the most naturally gifted athletes the world has ever seen, and it’s certainly true that Luke couldn’t find the back of the net with a satnav and a bloodhound, but that’s no reason to be rude. Now, choose.”

Josh Khan thought for a moment. “Can I pick the bench?”

The rest of the class dissolved into whooping laughter. I noticed the corner of Miss Dunham’s mouth curl into a small smile. I didn’t take it personally, because I knew what this was really about.

My gym teacher was a supervillain.

“Ah, mon ami, as much as I am eager to believe, I do not think that is likely,” said Serge. It was ten minutes later and we were huddled together on the touchline. Occasionally a pack of our classmates would rush past, loudly chasing a ball.

“But her first name is Susan,” I said.

“Uh, and how exactly does that make her the supervillain?”

“You’re not getting it. Susan Dunham. Sue Dunham. Pseudonym!”

Serge gazed at me blankly. “I do not know this word.”

For a comic-book mega-fan Serge could be surprisingly ignorant. “A pseudonym is when you give yourself a false name to protect your true identity. Y’know, like the Riddler is Edward Nygma. E Nygma. Enigma. Or Walter E. Go was the alter ego of Christopher Talbot.” Figuring that out had put us on the track of the villainous comic-store owner.

Mulling over this fresh insight, Serge studied Miss Dunham across the pitch. She scuttled on spindly legs after the high-pitched pack of players, who were now streaming in the opposite direction. “Have you considered that per’aps she is a superhero, not a villain? Heroes also use sue-dunhams.”

“No chance.” I shook my head. “Let’s examine the evidence,” I said. “Number one. Last week when she was demonstrating her basketball speed dribble she knocked Oliver Johnson to the ground.” Serge gave me a puzzled look. “To accomplish her objectives she is willing to harm innocent bystanders,” I explained. “That’s classic supervillain behaviour. Number two. She appeared mysteriously on the first day of term—”

“I believe she appeared in a Volkswagen Polo.”

“—and she promptly stole Miss McCann’s parking spot. See, she will stop at nothing!” I could tell that Serge wasn’t entirely swayed. But I had yet to hit him with the big one. “And number three. The most conclusive proof of all. You, Serge. You.”

“Moi?”

“You have a note from your maman, correct?”

“Yes, I am not supposed to exert myself,” he said.

“And what did Miss Dunham do when you presented it to her?”

“Miss Dunham ripped it up.”

“She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about your note.”

Serge paused. “She is evil.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

He shielded his eyes from the low sun. “So what, then, is Miss Dunham’s fiendish masterplan?”

“I’m glad you asked me that.” We watched her use supervillain lightning reflexes to duck Ed Stansfield’s pinpoint free kick. “Well, at first I thought she might be attempting to unleash some ancient brooding evil buried for millennia beneath the school. That would explain the dark, horrible atmosphere you feel when you walk down the corridors and sit in the classrooms. But then I realised … that might just be me.”

Serge laid a consoling hand on my shoulder. The first term of secondary school had been harder than I’d expected. I may have helped save the planet from certain destruction during the summer holidays, but no one knew. And even when I’d dropped a few hints about my involvement with Star Lad, instead of being impressed the other kids gave me odd looks and whispered things like “saddo” and “weirdo” behind my back in the lunch queue. It felt as if everyone else at school knew exactly what they were doing; they had somewhere to go, and someone to go there with. Of course, I had Serge, but apart from PE we didn’t share any classes, so I only saw him at break times. And even if I hadn’t annoyed Lara, she was too busy being Dark Flutter to hang out.

I’d been hoping for a break, and it looked like I was about to get one. The janitor had found some weird mould infesting the gym. Even though it was unlikely to be anything interesting, like an invading alien spore, the headmaster was taking no chances. School would be closed all through next week while the fumigators nuked it from orbit. For me that meant one blissful week without Josh Khan and the hooting laughter of my classmates.

Miss Dunham furiously waved a yellow card in Parminder Chaudry’s face.

“Per’aps she is one of those villains who seek to create the perfect world,” suggested Serge. “She has looked around her at the chaos and misunderstanding and it displeases her. So she plans to bring about order and discipline by making everyone do laps of the playing field and climb the wall-bars.” He shook his head slowly at this terrible vision of the future. “I do not want to live in a world like that.”

But Serge was wrong. I knew her plan, and it was even grimmer than that. “She’s targeting Star Lad.”

“Non. But how do you know?” said Serge.

“There is a list on the wall in her office. It is headed ‘Most Wanted’. Can you guess the name at the very top of that list?”

Serge raised an eyebrow. “Jules Léotard?”

Sometimes I… Never mind. “No,” I sighed. “Zack Parker. Somehow she’s discovered his secret identity.”

Serge flinched. “Ah no, she has spotted us.”

From a right-back position deep in the other half, Miss Dunham’s insect vision latched on to us like a frog’s sticky tongue on a fly. “Quick,” I muttered. “Pretend you’re offside.”

“Too late,” cried Serge.

Miss Dunham’s whistle shrilled across the pitch. She raised one tracksuited arm and yelled, “Hey, you two, get in the game. What are you afraid of?” A cruel smile flashed on her lips. “If you muss your hair it won’t be the end of the world.”

Serge and I exchanged looks. The end of the world? Could this be even worse than I’d feared? Perhaps we weren’t dealing with just any low-level supervillain. Perhaps the greatest threat to our existence since the Nemesis asteroid was wearing a light-blue tracksuit and wielding an Acme Thunderer silver-plated whistle.

“Well, what do you say now?” I asked, walking on to the field to the jeers and slow clapping of our classmates.

At my side Serge stared straight ahead, stony-faced. “She must be stopped.”

“Well, the good news is that Miss Dunham’s ankle is not broken,” said the headmaster. It was later that same afternoon and Serge and I sat opposite him in his office. He had a head like a tomato and his name was Hines – an unfortunate combination. He loomed behind a desk the size of an Imperial Star Destroyer, his gaze like a tractor beam. “However, you two boys are in a great deal of trouble.”

“But she has a ‘Most Wanted’ list,” I blurted. “It’s on her wall with my brother’s name circled in blood.”

Mr Hines frowned. “I would hazard a guess it’s biro, Luke, and I believe Miss Dunham wants your brother for the running squad. He’s her number-one target.”

“Oh come on, sir,” I scoffed. “Are we really meant to believe that?”

He leaned in, his big ripe head filling my vision. “What do you believe, Luke?”

That our gym teacher has been hiding her true, hideous form behind the human mask of Sue Dunham and is actually an insectoid supervillain with plans for global domination. I shrugged. “Don’t know, sir.”

Mr Hines sighed. “You don’t know. Of course not.”

It began to appear that my suspicions about Miss Dunham had been misplaced. Unfortunately I was only coming to this realisation after catching her, thanks to the swiftly devised and brilliantly executed Operation Venus Flytrap. Over lunch Serge and I had set a cunning trap in her natural habitat, i.e. the school gym. The trap involved a pair of wheelaway netball posts, a large net, a ball cage, a portable scoreboard and a lot of trampettes. It had worked beautifully. Miss Dunham had ended up wrapped up in the net, squished into the ball cage. She made a lot of fuss in a high-pitched squeal that sounded to me like just the sort of thing you’d hear from an insect-based supervillain. Phase two of our plan was simple. We waited for her to shed her human skin and reveal her true pincer-snapping, hairy-legged form.

We were still waiting when her next class arrived for badminton.

Mr Hines sat back. His leather chair creaked like my grandpa’s knees.

“You’d do well to take a leaf out of your big brother’s book. Zack Parker is a shining example of responsibility, diligence and academic excellence.”

I wanted to scream. Instead I wriggled in my chair and seethed like a bubbling volcano.

“Now, I don’t believe that either of you boys meant to hurt Miss Dunham. However, that doesn’t excuse your behaviour. Miss Dunham herself has suggested your punishment.”

Banished to the Phantom Zone? Locked up in Arkham Asylum?

“When school resumes, in addition to your regular PE timetable you will both be required to run twenty laps of the playing field and climb the wall-bars, twice a week.”

Serge went pale, mumbled something in French and took a quick suck from his asthma inhaler. Mr Hines said some more stuff about responsibility and conduct and top buttons on shirts, then sent us back to class.

“Sue Dunham.” Out in the corridor I shook my head, mystified at my error of judgement. “But I was so sure…”

“Face it, Luke, she is not the supervillain. Not even a regular villain.” Serge sighed. “I bet her name is not even Susan.”

“But all the evidence…”

He pursed his lips and blew out. “It was wishful thinking. We have been so desperate to experience a new adventure that we see evil everywhere.” He looked at me. “Per’aps it is time for us to put those wishes behind us. My maman says now that I have commenced secondary school I am poised on the edge of a bigger world.”

I frowned. “Middle Earth?”

“Yes, I asked that too. But it is not what she meant,” said Serge. “She explained that the world she refers to is strange and yet familiar, full of opportunity and disappointment, love and heartache. And now that it is before us, there is no turning back.” He stopped at a classroom door. “I have drama.” Without saying another word, he went inside for an hour of mime and tableaux. I shrugged off a creeping sense of unease. I was confident he’d get over his maman’s frankly bonkers statement and we’d be back rooting out supervillains in no time.

As I went off to double maths, I turned the corner and collided with Lara. We hadn’t spoken since my outburst in the tree house when I’d accused her of being a souped-up Snow White, so I was relieved when she saw me and smiled.

“Hi, Luke,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had! Three jetliners suffered catastrophic electrical faults, all at the same time. They were on final reproach – that’s the technical term for when they’re just about to land.” She put out a hand and glided it downwards, making a jet sound. “But you should’ve seen Zack. Whoosh, bosh, zap! I barely needed to use my pigeons at all. I’ll tell you all about it later. Don’t want to be late for class.”

“Sure,” I said dismally.

“What’s wrong?” She paused, lifting a hand to search her hair. “I don’t have a hedgehog in there again, do I?”

“No. No hedgehog.”

“Luke, are you OK?”