Guys Read: Funny Business: Artemis Begins by Eoin Colfer; Jon Scieszka

Author:Eoin Colfer; Jon Scieszka
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Boys & Men, Juvenile Fiction, Humorous Stories
ISBN: 9780062111494
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2011-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

Donal brought Niall to the top of the stairs, where they waited for my mother’s return. I followed a couple of spaces behind. I had an idea what was coming but it would have been wrong of me to intervene, just as it would be wrong of a nature reporter to come between two monkeys in the wild.

“When Mom sees the smashed award she will be furious,” Donal explained.

Niall nodded. “DEFCON four.”

“Exactly, grasshopper. So, my job is to somehow turn that fury into sympathy. I have to do something so extreme that Mom won’t even remember why she was angry in the first place.”

Niall was nodding like a little bobblehead toy. He would have done anything. Anything.

“All you have to do is kneel here, at the edge of the stairs, and when I give the signal, scream like you’re in great pain.”

“What’s the signal?” asked Niall, which I thought was a fair question, but Donal would not have agreed with my thought had I voiced it, which I didn’t, as I was merely an observer.

“What’s the signal?” Donal repeated, shocked. “What’s the sig…Are you questioning my methods? Are you trying to run the show? Maybe I should just leave you to get out of trouble yourself and see how far you get.”

Niall’s nose candles dripped in shock. “No. No. Don’t go. I’ll be good.”

“You will be obedient,” corrected Donal. “Like a puppy!”

“Woof,” said Niall.

“Okay. You’ll know the signal when you see it.” Donal poked his head between the banister posts. “Now we wait.”

It was not a long wait. Mere seconds later we heard the familiar snick of the front door closing and the mutter of Mom’s voice as she complained to herself about the person she had just been talking to. We followed her footsteps down the hallway and into the kitchen, where the crystal shards would be winking a Morse code of guilt that read: NIALL NIALL NIALL.

“Niall!” my mother shrieked, being well-versed in crystal codes. “Niall!”

“Here we go,” said Donal, rubbing his hands.

Niall pointed at the rubbing hands. Was that the signal? He was afraid to ask.

Mom was on the hunt now. She picked up the trail of muddy trainers coming in the back door, followed it to the bottom of the stairway. From above, her body language seemed a little hostile. An impression that was not helped by the wringing of a dishcloth between her fingers.

“Mom is wishing that was your neck,” said Donal to Niall with a merry wink.

“Niall,” called Mom. “Niall!”

Her eyes swept up the stairs, following the trail of mud, and just before her gaze rested on the culprit, Donal decided that it was time for the signal.

In one violent motion, Donal elbowed Niall off the top step and sent him tumbling down the stairs.

“Scream, grasshopper,” he called after his rapidly descending brother. “Scream your little lungs out.”

Niall did not need to be told twice; in fact he didn’t need to be told once. He screamed with great gusto and in genuine fright, pausing only to take a mouthful of carpet at every revolution.

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