The Bravest Kid I've Ever Known and Other Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls by Christopher Milne Page A
Authors: Christopher Milne
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back of the head so that he’d hit his teeth on the tap. But Pete saw him coming and stiffened his neck just in case.
Bruce was really angry, and he must have thought to himself, This is it. This is the time. So he made sure everyone was listening, and he let Pete have it.
‘No wonder your stupid mum and dad split up,’ said Bruce. ‘I’ve heard they’re both dorks. And that they split up because of you. ’
Well, you could have heard a pin drop. Everyone waited. They knew how much Pete and I loved Mum and Dad. And they knew how much we wished they were together again. But Pete didn’t say anything. Nothing. It was as if Bruce were talking to someone else. Except for one little thing. Something that only I noticed. Pete had that look I told you about.
Well, the footy game had only been going again for a couple of minutes when Pete disappeared. I thought he must have gone to the toilet.
There’s one more thing I have to tell you. Pete used to watch the football replays on TV and the thing he liked best was what Dad called a ‘shirt-front’. That’s when a guy is running as fast as he can with his eyes on the ball, watching it come down from a high kick, and another guy running from the opposite direction crashes straight into his guts.
It’s about the worst, bone-crunching, painful-looking thing you could ever see. The shirt-frontee is usually carried off on a stretcher. As I said, Pete loved them.
Well, the game of footy kept going and Bruce was getting heaps of kicks. That’s because everyone else was scared to go near him. And then it happened.
Bruce and Ali Fez were running side by side, trying to beat each other to a ball that had been kicked high over their heads. They were running as fast as they could and they were dangerously close to the trees along the boundary line. Ali got slightly in front, so Bruce grabbed him by the jumper and smashed him to the ground.
That left Bruce free to take the mark of the year all by himself. Well, almost by himself. I was the first one to notice. A foot sticking out from behind a tree. Pete’s foot. And then Pete’s eyes. Gleaming eyes. Pete knew that this was his moment.
Just as Bruce ran the last few strides to take his fantastic, brilliant mark of marks, a charging rhinoceros called Peter Mills came out from behind the tree. It was the fastest any of us had ever seen Pete run. And that’s fast.
We could see what was going to happen, but Bruce couldn’t. His eyes were still on the ball. Poor Bruce. And do you know what? I had to force myself to watch it. THE SHIRT-FRONT OF THE YEAR. SMACK!
Not in a million years could Pete have done a better job. Bones rattled, teeth chattered, skin shivered and eyes rolled. The kids who hadn’t been able to watch said they wished they had, because listening to it was even worse. Something like an elephant being hit by a truck.
As Bruce lay groaning on the ground, feeling as sick as he’d ever felt in his life, Pete walked over to say sorry. He put out his hand to help Bruce up, and then did a burp right in Bruce’s face. A burp that was all too obviously a result of Pete’s lunch of salami, onions and smelly cheese.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Pete.
Bruce threw up.
Now, I know hurting people is bad. Dad always says violence only breeds more violence. But to this day Pete reckons it was a fair bump. And Bruce wasn’t hurt that badly, although he still feels a bit pukey when he thinks about it. I’m sure that’s because of the belch, though. The kids who were nearby said it was Pete’s best ever. A real sickie burp.
Bruce and Pete are friends these days, and do you know what? Bruce’s mum and dad hadn’t really changed jobs. Just his mum. You see, his parents had split up too. Poor Bruce. His way of hiding how sad it made him was to be nasty to everyone else.
Over the last few weeks, my dad has been visiting Bruce’s mum a bit. I think he likes her. In fact I know he does. I saw them having
Bruce was really angry, and he must have thought to himself, This is it. This is the time. So he made sure everyone was listening, and he let Pete have it.
‘No wonder your stupid mum and dad split up,’ said Bruce. ‘I’ve heard they’re both dorks. And that they split up because of you. ’
Well, you could have heard a pin drop. Everyone waited. They knew how much Pete and I loved Mum and Dad. And they knew how much we wished they were together again. But Pete didn’t say anything. Nothing. It was as if Bruce were talking to someone else. Except for one little thing. Something that only I noticed. Pete had that look I told you about.
Well, the footy game had only been going again for a couple of minutes when Pete disappeared. I thought he must have gone to the toilet.
There’s one more thing I have to tell you. Pete used to watch the football replays on TV and the thing he liked best was what Dad called a ‘shirt-front’. That’s when a guy is running as fast as he can with his eyes on the ball, watching it come down from a high kick, and another guy running from the opposite direction crashes straight into his guts.
It’s about the worst, bone-crunching, painful-looking thing you could ever see. The shirt-frontee is usually carried off on a stretcher. As I said, Pete loved them.
Well, the game of footy kept going and Bruce was getting heaps of kicks. That’s because everyone else was scared to go near him. And then it happened.
Bruce and Ali Fez were running side by side, trying to beat each other to a ball that had been kicked high over their heads. They were running as fast as they could and they were dangerously close to the trees along the boundary line. Ali got slightly in front, so Bruce grabbed him by the jumper and smashed him to the ground.
That left Bruce free to take the mark of the year all by himself. Well, almost by himself. I was the first one to notice. A foot sticking out from behind a tree. Pete’s foot. And then Pete’s eyes. Gleaming eyes. Pete knew that this was his moment.
Just as Bruce ran the last few strides to take his fantastic, brilliant mark of marks, a charging rhinoceros called Peter Mills came out from behind the tree. It was the fastest any of us had ever seen Pete run. And that’s fast.
We could see what was going to happen, but Bruce couldn’t. His eyes were still on the ball. Poor Bruce. And do you know what? I had to force myself to watch it. THE SHIRT-FRONT OF THE YEAR. SMACK!
Not in a million years could Pete have done a better job. Bones rattled, teeth chattered, skin shivered and eyes rolled. The kids who hadn’t been able to watch said they wished they had, because listening to it was even worse. Something like an elephant being hit by a truck.
As Bruce lay groaning on the ground, feeling as sick as he’d ever felt in his life, Pete walked over to say sorry. He put out his hand to help Bruce up, and then did a burp right in Bruce’s face. A burp that was all too obviously a result of Pete’s lunch of salami, onions and smelly cheese.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Pete.
Bruce threw up.
Now, I know hurting people is bad. Dad always says violence only breeds more violence. But to this day Pete reckons it was a fair bump. And Bruce wasn’t hurt that badly, although he still feels a bit pukey when he thinks about it. I’m sure that’s because of the belch, though. The kids who were nearby said it was Pete’s best ever. A real sickie burp.
Bruce and Pete are friends these days, and do you know what? Bruce’s mum and dad hadn’t really changed jobs. Just his mum. You see, his parents had split up too. Poor Bruce. His way of hiding how sad it made him was to be nasty to everyone else.
Over the last few weeks, my dad has been visiting Bruce’s mum a bit. I think he likes her. In fact I know he does. I saw them having
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