The Trouble With Bruce

By Robin Kane Spreafico

Bruce’s reputation as a particularly creative troublemaker had grown to near-mythical proportions and had naturally preceded him, causing the staff to feel as if a terrorist attack was imminent.
The school’s principal – an old codger going by the name of Archibald Pringles – lost no time in contacting Bruce’s previous schools, but didn’t like what he heard, and so he thought, plotted, planned and had whole meetings about “the new student”.
He alerted the computer staff, personally tested the fire extinguishers, ordered the First Aid Room to be restocked and briefly toyed with the idea of asking the insurance company to review the school’s comprehensive cover against accidents.
Security staff was briefed, and an extra paragraph was added to their job description. Pringles was taking no chances.
St. Barber John looked and felt like a fortress and the atmosphere was electric!

Then, July 1st arrived.
At 7am, just as the school gates were about to open, the wintry sky turned a sickly shade of grey and with an ear-busting thunder crack a rogue lightning bolt incinerated the school’s only tree.
The massive oak tree had graced the front yard for the past sixty years.
It had been planted by a certain Adenoid Pringles, the current principal’s great grandfather, to commemorate the school’s grand opening.
Now, it was toast.
Teachers and security guards alike exchanged worried looks: this looked like a bad omen, for sure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robin Kane Spreafico
• Release date: Aug 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310648199

Robin Kane Spreafico

I've been a mountaineer, a musician, a driving instructor, an English teacher, a car mechanic, a farmer and a tour guide (not necessarily in that order). It stands to reason that becoming a writer is the next logical step.Now all I have to do is hold my breath...Favourite booksMervyn Peake - The Illustrated Gormenghast TrilogyElias Canetti - Auto da FeJRR Tolkien - The Lord Of The Rings, The Hobbit, The SilmarillionJKR Rowlings - The Harry Potter SeriesPhilip Pullman - His Dark MaterialsTerry Pratchett - Truckers, Diggers, WingsKen Follett - The Pillars of the Earth, World Without EndDouglas Addams - The Hitch-hiker's Guide To The GalaxyB Traven - The Death ShipJohn Steinbeck - To a God Unknown

Book preview

BOOK 1

THE TROUBLE WITH

BRUCE

THE SCHOOL YEARS CHRONICLES

a double trilogy in several parts

by

ROBIN KANE SPREAFICO

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015

Robin Kane Spreafico

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Map of the Landscape

Foreword – Dribbles from Above

Chapter 1 – A Legend is Born

Chapter 2 – The Way the Cookie Crumbles

Chapter 3 – Germ Warfare

Chapter 4 – The Secret Society

Chapter 5 – The Newbies

Chapter 6 – Holiday Wars

Chapter 7 – The Mid-Term Miracle

Chapter 8 – The Inter-School Challenge

Chapter 9 – The Joys and Pains of Christmas

Chapter 10 – New Beginnings

Chapter 11 – Lucky Escapes

Chapter 12 – Valentine Stars

Chapter 13 – The Brass Disk Mystery

Chapter 14 – The Betrayal

Chapter 15 – Payback Time

Chapter 16 – The Field Trip to Nowhere

Chapter 17 – The Final Countdown

Epilogue

Map of the Landscape

Foreword

Dribbles from Above

Before you fall into this tale, it is important you realize that not all you are about to read is what it seems to be. To start with, you should be aware that the story is true and false in equal measures.

Bruce is as real as your next door neighbour in some aspects, and as unlikely as a two-headed dragon in others. By all means, feel free to discard him as a mere figment of your (and my) imagination, if that makes you feel better.

Secondly, the New Zealand you are about to visit doesn’t belong in any atlas or map but is the country it should be, if I were its president. It is quite possible that I may have, at some point tampered with entire cities, lakes or even mountains, in the name of artistic liberty.

If by doing so I have caused you to feel disoriented, confused or in any way offended, I do beg your pardon. New Zealand is indeed a very beautiful country, full of snowy peaks and rolling hills, quaint country roads, little cottages, farmsteads, colorful gardens, hobbit holes and bulls and cows and sheep, and sheep, and more sheep. It is a country blissfully unaware of its impending doom...

Impending doom?

Well, it’s like this.

I could spin out a perfectly good tale, where nothing ever goes wrong and people live an idyllic life, never arguing, falling sick or losing their wallets; where every cloud in the sky gets a platinum lining and everybody lives happily ever after, in thatched little cottages with pumpkins growing in the veggie patch at the back.

By Jove, I could even let people live until the grand old age of hundred and fourteen, make beetroot illegal and annihilate unemployment, but then you’d probably start complaining that life is boring and blame me for making it so. Therefore, doom it is, and not just doom, but also greed, envy, gluttony and other, assorted sins.

Of course, you are perfectly entitled to resist the urge to celebrate and firmly state that you don’t like happy endings anyway. In the end it’s entirely up to you whether you choose to side with the good guys or the evil ones in this story.

Thirdly, there is the matter of the events in the story, some of which might seem a tad extreme or even outrageous to you.

Well, I’m afraid there is not much you can do about those, because I don’t do editing and I don’t own an eraser.

Fourthly, should you feel unsettled by the contents of this story or experience any form of story-related discomfort, I suggest you put the book down immediately and read something lighter, like a fashion magazine, a Marvel comic or a shopping catalogue.

Finally, please support the mighty efforts the author has made to keep you entertained by spreading this book around.

Be generous! Lend it to your friends, to your enemies, to anyone at all.

After reading it once or twice, by all means sell it! Make a profit if you can, I don’t care.

Just don’t lose it.

That would really upset me.

Yours sincerely, somewhat

Robin Kane Spreafico

Director General of this particular tome

Chapter 1

A Legend is Born

This is no ordinary tale.

Its roots are nourished by a rich soil of facts, deeds and legends. It tells of a young New Zealander named Bruce Maverick Wallace, and of the magnificent bouts of misdemeanour that coloured his human career.

Bruce lived with his parents – Arthur and Trudy Wallace – in a comfortably detached house right at the centre of a nice, fully suburban housing estate, somewhere at the outskirts of Christchurch, on the South Island.

Bruce’s father, Arthur Wallace, was the director in chief of a well-known fast food franchise while his good wife, Trudy, was a capable interior designer, specializing in bathroom accessories.

Her Victorian-style lavatory and bidet combo design had won a prestigious award, so the Wallace folks were seen as very respectable and quite well-to-do on the whole, in their community.

They were an intelligent and open-minded couple, patient and devoted to the welfare of their only son and heir, Bruce. Sadly though, their busy working schedules often got in the way of some vital parental duties such as the enlightening of their son about rules, regulations and morals in general.

As a consequence, the young pup enjoyed a fabulously wild childhood and it stood to reason that his next natural environment – school – would be treated with the same amount of contempt his loving home had received. Indeed, his four-year stint at the renowned St. Barber John School produced deeds of epic proportions.

Bruce joined St. Barber John – an old and well-respected, private education establishment – at Grade 9, having already changed schools three times.

After a relatively event-free Elementary school period, the lad hit Middle School, and there the trouble started.

The atmosphere at Brownstone Middle Comprehensive didn’t seem to agree with Bruce, to the extent where he suddenly refused point blank to submit homework, take tests or do any task assigned to him by teachers.

When asked why he wouldn’t comply, Bruce tartly replied that the school ambience as a whole stressed him and prevented him from concentrating on anything for more than a few minutes.

Eager to relieve Bruce of such a burden, his loving and devoted parents moved him to Greenfields Secondary, just in time for the start of the second semester of Grade 7.

Greenfields was an instant success with Bruce, who suddenly appeared to burst with energy and enthusiasm: he seemed positively happy!

Sadly, the same could not be said of Principal Oliver Strapps, because within a month the new pupil had brought the school computer system to its knees with a particularly creative virus.

As a consequence, Bruce was firmly encouraged to seek his fortune elsewhere, but not before he’d been made to help the head of Information Technology rectify the damage done to the school database. Bruce took this as a compliment.

The third school to send Bruce packing– Red Hill Secondary – did so after he published a magazine of subversive material which included an excellent, in-depth guide on how to cheat in tests.

By the time Bruce enrolled at St. Barber John, his reputation as a creative troublemaker had grown to near-mythical proportions and teachers were counting down the days to his arrival with growing apprehension.

The school’s principal, Archibald Pringles, lost no time in contacting Bruce’s previous schools. He thought, plotted, planned and had whole meetings about "the new student".

He alerted the computer staff, personally tested the fire extinguishers, ordered the First Aid Room to be restocked and briefly toyed with the idea of asking the insurance company to review the school’s comprehensive cover against accidents. Security personnel were briefed, and an extra paragraph was added to their job description. Pringles was taking no chances.

St. Barber John looked and felt like a fortress and the atmosphere was electric.

Then, July 1st arrived.

At 7am, just as the school gates were about to open, the wintry sky turned a sickly shade of grey and a rogue lightning bolt incinerated the school’s only tree.

The massive oak had graced the front yard for the past sixty years.

It had been planted by a certain Adenoid Pringles, the current principal’s great grandfather, to commemorate the school’s grand opening. Now, it was toast.

Teachers and security guards alike exchanged concerned looks, for this was not a good omen. In the mad rush to find shelter, no one noticed Bruce slipping inside the General Administration Office and switching the fire alarm on. Seconds later, every bell in the school (two for each of the five floors of the ancient building) began to screech. The students were promptly asked to exit the school and line up in the courtyard, under the freezing, pelting rain. Naturally, Bruce didn’t comply.

From the shelter of a column he watched the proceedings and bided his time. Then, with immaculate precision, he lobbed a stink bomb into one of the ventilation shafts, which delayed his academic venture by a further hour. It wasn’t until 10 o’clock that the students were finally sorted and correctly distributed amongst their respective classes.

Bruce joined Grade 11 twice, before being firmly shepherded to his Grade 9 classroom.

Maths was first on the timetable.

Luck decreed that Bruce be seated next to Matilda, who not only excelled in the subject, but also took an instant liking to the air of helplessness that Bruce was very good at putting forward in moments of dire need. Once she had taken control of his immediate duties and had solemnly promised to give him future assistance, Bruce nodded off. He was excellent at sleeping on the spot. He could sleep at will, anywhere, in any position. Sleeping was his specialty.