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  I hoped Lisa might win one of Mr. Speed's pens but Holly got eighteen spellings completely correct. She was really pleased to win the pen, especially as her little sister, Hannah, had leant too hard on Holly's old pen and made it go all splodgy.

  “Maybe you'll win the second pen, Lisa,” I said hopefully.

  But Samantha got sixteen spellings absolutely ace-standard correct. She batted her big blue eyes, looking very, very hopeful.

  “Now we have the second prizewinner,” said Mr. Speed. Strangely, he wasn't looking at Samantha. He was looking at me!

  “This goes to the child who has had the sheer dogged temerity to resist all my persuasive teaching skills and persists in being a truly inventively gargantuan appalling speller.”

  I gaped at Mr. Speed. I hadn't understood a word he was saying. But I understood the next bit.

  “The second pen is awarded to the child who has the most spelling mistakes. Step forward, William!”

  So I got the second prize pen. Some of the children groaned and said it wasn't fair—but most of them clapped. Greg even cheered!

  I felt very, very, very pleased.

  I didn't feel exactly proud, though. I am a bit thick but I'm not completely stupid. I knew it was just a booby prize. It's not the same getting a prize for being the worst at something. I still wished I could be the best at something so I wouldn't feel quite so useless.

  Mr. Speed always makes up a story for us after spelling. He uses every single spelling word within the story. It was one of his When I was a little boy stories. He told us his accommodation was a miniature but pleasant house and his parents paid him every attention even though it was occasionally necessary to discipline him because he was so naughty. He enjoyed eating delicious breakfasts, especially sausages. He ate his substantial sausages with such determined commitment that he invariably made himself physically sick but this was a penalty he bore with relative indifference. His sausage consumption was brilliant training for the daily Enormous Mouthful contest that took place at lunchtime.

  Mr. Speed wanted to stop his story then and there because he'd used up all the hard spelling words but we all complained and said, ‘No, Mr. Speed, go on, tell us more,’ because we all wanted to hear about the Enormous Mouthful contest.

  “You mean I've never told you about the Enormous Mouthful contest?” said Mr. Speed, looking astonished. “Well, maybe it's just as well. If I tell you about it you'll only start up something similar yourselves.”

  “No we won't, Mr. Speed,” we all chorused.

  “Oh yes you will!”

  “Oh no we won't!”

  We went on like this, getting louder, Mr. Speed conducting us with his arms. Then he quickly put his finger to his lips and we all whispered—even me. This is a game we play when Mr. Speed is in a good mood.

  Then he told us all about the food they had for school lunches when he was a little boy. You couldn't choose in those long-ago days. You never ever had chips (my favorites). You had disgusting things like smelly stew all glistening with fat and gray ground meat that looked as if someone had chewed it all up. You had cabbage like old seaweed and lumpy mashed potato and tinned peas that smelt like feet.

  “But we ate it all up because if you didn't you weren't allowed to have pudding. Puddings were the whole point of school lunches. We had jam roly-poly and bread-and-butter pudding and chocolate sponge with chocolate sauce and apple pie and custard and, absolute best of all, trifle. There were also a lot of boring puddings like rice and semolina and something particularly revolting called tapioca that looked like frog spawn—but even these were palatable because we were given spoonfuls of jam or brown sugar or raisins. Those of us who were particularly greedy wangled two spoonfuls. These were to be savored. However, the milk puddings needed to be golloped down as quickly as possible because they were so horrible. That was the start of the Enormous Mouthful club. Someone got hold of a big serving spoon and we had this ridiculous contest to see who could swallow the largest mouthful.”

  “Did you win, Mr. Speed?”

  “Do you think I would have been such a rude and ill-mannered and mischievous child as to take part in such an indigestion-inducing eating contest?” said Mr. Speed.

  “YES!” we yelled.

  Mr. Speed grinned and bowed. ‘You know me well, my children. Yes, I took part. Yes, I choked and spluttered and snorted and got violent hiccups. And yes, I won the Enormous Mouthful contest.’ Mr. Speed paused. ‘But you children are strictly forbidden to take part in any similar contest. Do you all hear me?’

  “Yes, Mr. Speed,” we said.

  “And to hear—?”

  “Is to obey,” we chorused.

  We heard, all right. But of course we didn't obey. We had our very own Enormous Mouthful contest at lunchtime. It was not quite as easy for us. We didn't have milk puddings, which are soft and slippy. We have bulky, crunchy, crispy food that won't go with one swallow. We had to experiment and do an awful lot of chewing (and a little choking too).

  Chips proved to be the easiest food for the Enormous Mouthful contest. My favorite.

  I shoveled up an entire plateful of chips and crammed them all into my mouth and I WON the Enormous Mouthful contest!

  I came FIRST.

  So I'm not useless. I'm the champion Enormous Mouthful Eater of all time. Whoopee! Whoopee! Whoopee!

  Mr. Speed was right. Things have looked up enormously.

  SAMANTHA'S WORRY

  Type in your worry:

  I miss my dad. It's just not the same now he's gone. And my mum is either sad or snappy nowadays. And my little brother is ever so naughty and keeps spoiling all my things. And no one wants to be my boyfriend. And I don't think my teacher likes me anymore either. He always used to pick me to be his special messenger but now he picks Holly. Or Greg. Or Claire. Or even William.

  It's so awful. I've always been the girl everyone likes. Everyone always wants to sit next to me or be my partner. Everyone wants to be invited for tea at my house or come to my party.

  But now it's all changed.

  Dad went last year. He and Mum had lots of rows but everyone's parents have rows. I didn't like it but it didn't really bother me. My little brother, Simon, used to crawl into my bed and sit on my lap and he made me cup my hands over his funny little sticky-out ears so he couldn't hear the shouting.

  I didn't have anyone to put their hands over my ears but I didn't mind too much. I wanted to know what was going on. I was always on Dad's side no matter what. I love my mum but she's not Dad. Dad looks like a film star, he really does, with lovely blond hair and deep blue eyes and he's really fit too because he works out and plays a lot of sport. That was what Mum and Dad rowed about. Dad always flirted with all the ladies he met at badminton and tennis and swimming. My mum used to go too but then she had me and couldn't get out so much and then she had Simon and stayed a bit plump so she didn't want to wear tight sporty clothes anyway.

  Dad took me sometimes. He got me my own special little tennis racket and threw the ball at me again and again. We went swimming on Sunday mornings and he showed me how to dive and swim right down to the bottom of the deep end and he called me his little dolphin.

  But then he met this horrible woman, Sandy, at his gym and Mum found out. Dad didn't stop seeing Sandy. He packed his bag and walked out and stopped seeing us.

  He said he wasn't leaving me, he was just leaving Mum. He said he was still my dad and he loved me lots and lots and lots and he'd see me every single week. But that hasn't worked out because he and Sandy have moved away and now that Sandy's going to have a baby, Dad doesn't come over so much. I haven't seen him for weeks now. He was supposed to come last weekend for Simon's birthday, he absolutely promised, but the day before, he rang to say Sandy had got these special tickets for a trip to Paris as a surprise so they were going there instead.

  Mum shouted down the phone that he obviously couldn't care less about his own son and his birthday. Dad said that he loved Simon very much but perhaps