PUFFIN
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Published by the Penguin Group
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Copyright © 2017 by Wesley King
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Cover design: Lisa Jager
Cover image: (trees) Yuriy2012 / shutterstock.com; (letters) Vera Holera / shutterstock.com
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
King, Wesley, author
Laura monster crusher / Wesley King.
Issued in print and electronic formats
ISBN 9780670070022 (hardcover).—ISBN 9780143197829 (epub)
I. Title.
PS8621.I5653L39 2016 jC813’.6 C2016-900947-5
C2016-900948-3
Visit the Penguin Canada website at www.penguinrandomhouse.ca
v4.1
a
For my Opa,
whose memory remains in all that he built
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Duck, Duck, Goose ruined my life.
It happened way back in first grade, but I still remember it perfectly. I was wearing my favourite knitted red sweater and these really awful matching scarlet track pants—not sure why that outfit was allowed by my parents—the combination made me look like a particularly large and plump strawberry.
Our usually strict teacher, Mr. Bugbutter, surprised us with the news that we were going to play a quick game of Duck, Duck, Goose before home time, and the class happily marched down to the gym with me at the lead. I loved Duck, Duck, Goose more than anyone. Well…I did. That was about to change.
We sat in a circle, and I tucked myself in between Teresa Little and a really shy kid with a super freckly nose named Daniel Pittwell. Portia Carson was selected to go first. She stood up slowly, scanning the group for the perfect target. I saw her eyes dart from one face to the next like a predatory lioness. I watched her circle the group, tapping one nervous person after another with an almost whispered “duck,” and then, as she passed out of view behind me, I tensed, ready to move. I already knew what was coming. She slapped me on the head with those dainty, little, manicured fingers and shouted, “Goose!” The game was on.
I scrambled to my feet and took off around the left flank. You’re always at a disadvantage as the goose, of course; the picker is up and running. But I had a strategy. Take the inside track—force the picker wide. It gained you valuable seconds.
The plan worked perfectly. Portia Carson had to go around me, and I grinned wolfishly as I rounded the circle at a full sprint. I had a slight lead. The game was mine.
I think Mr. Bugbutter saw it coming first. I saw him look at me and then at Daniel Pittwell, who was sitting beside the now vacant spot in the circle. Mr. Bugbutter’s big brown eyes widened, his mouth opening with a desperate warning, but he was too late.
With a last burst of energy, I flung myself toward the opening—butt first.
I don’t know what happened. Maybe I was too competitive. Maybe I slightly miscalculated my jump. But whatever the reason, I over-sailed the opening and landed directly on poor, innocent Daniel Pittwell.
I should probably mention that I was the biggest girl in class. Actually I was the biggest kid in my grade. I was at least four inches taller than Daniel and probably thirty pounds heavier. He never had a chance. I heard a loud crack in his arm, Daniel started to scream—he was flattened beneath me on the floor at this point—and there I was, sitting on his stomach and looking around at a circle of horrified faces.
For years, they called it the Strawberry Squish. And the Dead Duck Disaster. There were a lot of names. But most importantly, that was the day they all realized something they would never again forget: Laura Ledwick was very large.
And worse yet, they never let me forget it either.
—
Six years later I left Newcastle Elementary for the last time, basically skipping down the hallways to the tune of the final bell. My family was moving to the next town over, Riverfield, in late August, and I would spend eighth grade at a new school. My dad had found his dream fixer-upper there, and we were making the short move to undertake the new project. My uncle Laine already lived in Riverfield with my aunt Sandra and their two kids, and he had recommended the place to my dad as a promising opportunity. I still hadn’t even seen it.
Most kids probably would be at least a little upset to be moving so suddenly, but I was thrilled. Portia Carson had naturally evolved into some sort of evil Barbie Doll, and she’d led her minions in a six-year campaign to remind me that I was fat. I’d had many names myself over those six years: Laura Largebottom, Laura Lardo, Laura Lumpy…you get the idea. Alliteration is always popular with bullies. Easier to remember, I guess.
Like I said, I was happy to leave Newcastle behind, although I knew that I was going to
