Liane Moriarty - Nicola Berry and the Petrifying Problem with Princess Petronella

HONEYVILLE PRIMARY SCHOOL,

HONEYVILLE, SYDNEY,

AUSTRALIA, EARTH

Nicola Berry sat as still as concrete. Even when the fan at the front of the classroom rotated in her direction and everybodys hair whooshed back as if they were sticking their heads out of car windows, she didnt flicker an eyelash.

She was trying something new.

Mental telepathy.

Her subject was her teacher, Mrs. Zucchini, who was scribbling furiously on the board and shouting something about oceans and seas. Nicola didnt know why Mrs. Zucchini was so upset about oceans and seas. They should have made her feel cool and refreshed.

Mrs. Zucchinis real name was Mrs. Zukker, but everyone secretly called her Mrs. Zucchini. It suited her, as she generally had such an eeeeuuuuw expression on her face, you would think shed just that minute been force-fed a plate of mashed zucchini. She was in a bad mood every day of her life because she disliked children and she had a severe allergy to chalk. She also hated hot weather and was particularly cranky on steamy, humid days like today. Once, Nicola had written her an anonymous note.

DEAR MRS. ZUKKER,

I AM WRITING TO SUGGEST OTHER CAREERS THAT MIGHT MAKE YOU FEEL HAPPIER AND LESS STRESSED. POSSIBLE INTERESTING JOBS INCLUDE:

1. JAIL WARDEN (IN AN AIR-CONDITIONED JAIL)

2. DOG TRAINER (OF BIG SNARLY DOGS WHO NEED TO BE YELLED AT)

3. ANY JOB IN A COLD SNOWY COUNTRY WITHOUT CHALK OR CHILDREN!

YOURS SINCERELY,
A MOST CONCERNED STUDENT

Nicolas dad said she should definitely send Mrs. Zucchini the note and then laughed so hard he choked on his ham and pineapple pizza and had to be thumped on the back. Nicolas mom said she thought Mrs. Zucchini might be offended and think that Nicola meant she wasnt a good teacher. Nicola said well, actually, that was exactly what she meant. Then her mom told her a long story about a horrible teacher shed had at school, who turned out to have a kind heart and gave her a lemon meringue pie recipe or something. Nicola knew that Mrs. Zucchini actually had an evil black heart, but she didnt want to upset her mom, so she just patted her on the shoulder and said, Thanks, Mom, that was really interesting and helpful.

Yesterday, Nicolas older brother, Sean, had told her that whenever he didnt want to be picked by his teacher to answer a question in class, he just used mental telepathy. He said this was absolutely one hundred percent true and that he would do a lie-detector test if she wanted. Nicola said she didnt have a lie detector handy, and Sean said that was her problem and did a somersault in midair. (They were on the trampoline in their backyard at the time.)

Nicola was pretty sure that Sean was making it up, but it was worth a try. She was hoping to learn mental telepathy before her birthday, which was December first, just three days away. It would be so impressive. After everybody sang Happy Birthday and she blew out the candles, she would do a demonstration of her amazing new skills. Everyone would be astonished. Last years birthday had been a little dull, to be honest, and she wanted to make this one especially memorable. After all, if Sean could do mental telepathy, she could, too.

WHAT IS THE NAME OF THIS SEA RIGHT HERE? hollered Mrs. Zucchini as if they were all a million miles away instead of sitting right in front of her. She banged the chalk next to the squiggly map shed drawn on the blackboard.

A few people put up their hands, but Mrs. Zucchini ignored them. She didnt like it when someone knew the answer because that meant she couldnt yell. Her pink piggy eyes darted around the classroom, searching for a person who would get it wrong. Her chalk allergy made her skin red and flaky, and as she tapped the chalk in the palm of her hand, pieces of skin showered to the floor. It made Nicola itchy just looking at her.

EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU SHOULD KNOW THE NAME OF THIS SEA!

Nicolas eardrums throbbed.

I SAID IT JUST FIVE MINUTES AGO. IF YOU DONT KNOW, THEN YOURE NOT LISTENING!

Nicola did not know the name of the sea. There wasnt even a name on the tip of her tongue. The only thing on the tip of her tongue was a frosty strawberry sensation from the ice pop shed had at lunchtime.

If ever she needed mental telepathy, it was now.

She tried as hard as she could to beam her thoughts directly into the dark, swirly depths of Mrs. Zucchinis brain: