“You’ll have a great time while I’m stuck at home,” grumbled Darren.

  “My parents keep saying I might learn something,” said Bertie. “What does that mean?”

  On the first Monday of the holidays, Bertie and Eugene waited for the coach to arrive. Bertie had never been away from his family before. He couldn’t imagine how they’d cope without him. He stared at the other campers, waiting with their parents. They all looked smart and well behaved. Strangely, a number of them were clutching pencil cases.

  “Who are all these kids?” whispered Bertie.

  Eugene shrugged. “They must be from other schools,” he said. “It doesn’t look like anyone else from our school’s going.”

  At last the coach arrived. The man in charge was called Mr Twig, who made them line up.

  “Be good, Bertie,” said Dad.

  “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time,” said Mum, hugging him.

  “Try not to work too hard,” grinned Suzy.

  Bertie frowned. This was a holiday – he wasn’t planning to do any work!

  On the coach he settled into a seat next to Eugene. At the last minute a boy climbed on, looking out of breath. Bertie glanced up.

  “OH NO! Not Know-All Nick!” he groaned.

  Nick was the last person he wanted at camp. He ducked down in his seat but it was too late.

  “Oh hello, Bertie!” Nick sneered. “Don’t tell me you’re coming to camp?”

  “I was, until you arrived,” replied Bertie.

  “I go to Bright Sparks every summer,” boasted Nick. “In fact it was me who told Miss Boot about it. Mum says it’s good for me to mix with other clever children.”

  Bertie rolled his eyes.

  “I thought you’d hate summer camp,” said Eugene. “You don’t even like games or sports.”

  “Sports?” Nick sniggered. “Oh no, I think you’ve got the wrong idea. It’s not that sort of summer camp.”

  “Then what sort is it?” asked Bertie.

  “Bright Sparks is a summer school for clever children,” said Nick. “We do maths, science, spelling – all my favourite things in fact. I’m sure you’re going to love it, Bertie!”

  A summer school – with children like Nick? Bertie felt a wave of panic. He looked around wildly but the coach was moving off. Suddenly it all made sense. No wonder Miss Boot was keen to hand out the leaflets. No wonder his parents wanted him to go. He’d been tricked! Bright Sparks was a school for swots! He stared at his fellow campers on the bus, clutching their new pencil cases. This was all a terrible mistake.

  “STOP THE BUS!” he wailed. “I want to get off!”

  The coach turned down a long drive and came to a stop. Bertie stared at an ancient school topped with turrets and towers. It looked older than his gran.

  “At least we won’t be sleeping in tents,” said Eugene.

  “No, but we’re back at school!” moaned Bertie.

  Nick poked him in the back. “I hope you’re not going to moan all the time,” he said. “Bright Sparks always look on the bright side.”

  Mr Twig took them up to their dormitory. Iron beds sat in two rows in a dark, chilly room. Notices on the walls said:

  “Tidy children have tidy minds” and “Bright sparks always give their best!”

  “Well, this is home for the week,” said Mr Twig. “You’ve got half an hour to make your beds and fold your clothes before assembly.”

  Bertie had never made a bed in his life. Summer camp was like joining the army!

  Downstairs they filed into the grand hall under the eye of the teachers. The campers sat up straight and folded their arms. Miss Cram, the camp director, stood up and beamed.

  “Welcome campers, old and new,” she said. “Some summer camps are all about idle pleasure – swimming, campfires and zip wires, that kind of thing. Bright Sparks is different. If you enjoy hard work and getting top marks then you’ve come to the right place.”

  “Hooray!” cheered Nick.

  “Help!” gulped Eugene.

  “Get me out of here!” moaned Bertie.

  “Now I’m sure you want to see your timetables, so Mr Twig will hand them out,” Miss Cram went on.

  Bertie was given a timetable with his name on. The day began with “Fun with maths”, followed by spelling, grammar, science, more maths (advanced) and a test to round off the day.

  “I love tests!” chirped Nick. “It’s just like school!”

  “No,” said Bertie. “It’s even worse.”

  At least at school they got to go home. Here there was no escape from teachers all day and night. Where were the zip wires and campfires Darren had talked about? Nick leaned closer.

  “So aren’t you glad you came, Bertie?” he smirked.

  Bertie ground his teeth.

  At 7 a.m. the next morning he was woken by a loud bell. Bertie opened his eyes and remembered. Oh no, he was stuck at swot camp and a long day of lessons lay ahead of him.

  “Couldn’t your mum come and fetch us?” he begged Eugene as they got dressed.

  “No chance,” said Eugene. “I bet they knew all along this was a swot camp.”

  Bertie trailed from one lesson to the next. Sometimes they took place outdoors but that meant marching round the field, chanting their times tables. With Miss Comma they played spelling games. You moved up a place if you spelled a word correctly and down a place if you got it wrong. Bertie sunk quickly to the bottom.

  Know-All Nick passed him in the corridor.

  “Having fun, Bertie?” he jeered. “Can you spell ‘Dumbo’ yet?”

  “Can you spell, ‘Get Lost’?” Bertie replied.

  Back at the dorm, Bertie lay on his bed. “It’s torture!” he groaned.

  “I know,” said Eugene. “And the worst thing is we’re meant to be on holiday!”

  Bertie sighed. Six more days of lessons, tests and Nick’s ugly face at breakfast. There had to be a way out.

  “I know,” he said. “We could escape!”

  “How?” asked Eugene. “We’re miles from anywhere!”

  This was true enough. Even if they got out of school they’d probably get lost in the woods. Bertie sat up.

  “Wait, what if they sent us home?” he said.

  “Why would they do that?” asked Eugene.

  “They might if we broke the rules,” said Bertie. “What if we did something so awful that they’d have to get rid of us?”

  Eugene looked anxious. He hated getting into trouble. But Bertie’s mind was already racing ahead. What crime would be so bad that Miss Cram would be forced to send them home?

  Bertie lay awake half the night but nothing came to him until the following day. In the afternoon Mr Twig was taking them for a nature lesson as part of science.

  “I want you each to take one of these jars,” he said. “Let’s see what insects you can collect for us to study. Caterpillars, slugs, ladybirds, beetles – anything you can find.”

  Bertie couldn’t believe his luck. Finally, this was his kind of lesson – he loved any sort of creepy-crawly. And better still, it had given him a brilliant idea.

  Bertie grabbed a jar and followed Eugene outside. They found a rock and rolled it over. Underneath dozens of shiny black beetles crawled around.

  “Perfect,” said Bertie, scooping some into his jar. He checked no one was watching and hid the jar under a bush.

  “What are you doing?” asked Eugene. “We’re meant to take that back to class.”

  “No one will notice,” said Bertie. “We can pick it up at the end. You want to get sent home, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes,” said Eugene. “But how are beetles going to help?”

  “I’ll explain later,” said Bertie. “Come on, let’s fill your jar so we’ve got something to show.”

  That evening Bertie crawled into bed. He glanced across at Eugene and gave him a thumbs up. Eugene slid down under the covers. He could hardly bear to watch.

  “Lights out, children, no talking,” said Mr Twig. The room was plunged into darkness. Bertie waited. It shouldn’t be too long now. Three, two, one…

  “YEEEARGHHH!” a boy screamed. “There’s something in my bed!”

  “HEEELP!” yelled another. “It’s crawling up my leg!”

  The lights went back on. All over the dorm, boys were leaping out of bed and hopping around as if their pyjamas were on fire.

  Mr Twig saw something black scuttle across the floor and trapped it in his hand.

  “Hmm. A ground beetle,” he said. “I wonder how that got in?”

  He looked around. Only two boys had remained in their beds. One was hiding under the covers while the other seemed to be enjoying the chaos.

  “Bertie,” said Mr Twig. “Come here. You too, Eugene.”

  Bertie got out of bed. “Now we’re in big trouble!” he grinned.

  Early next morning Bertie and Eugene waited outside Miss Cram’s office.

  “Don’t look so worried,” whispered Bertie. “She’ll probably tell us off, then send us home.”

  Miss Cram opened the door and beckoned them in.

  “Ah, our two practical jokers,” she said, taking a seat at her desk. “Mr Twig told me about your little prank. I suppose you think putting beetles in someone’s bed is funny?”

  “Quite funny,” said Bertie.

  Miss Cram glared. “We do not tolerate troublemakers at this camp,” she said. “I am very tempted to send you home.”

  Whoopee! thought Bertie. Goodbye swot camp!

  “However I don’t believe in giving up on children,” Miss Cram went on. “So I’ve decided to move you to another dorm.”

  Bertie gaped.

  “M-move us?” he stammered.

  “That’s what I said. I’ve asked one of our trusted campers to keep a close eye on you,” said Miss Cram. “He’ll be with you every minute of the day to make sure you behave.”

  There was a knock on the door. Bertie looked round. His face fell.

  “Hello, Bertie!” smirked Know-All Nick. “We’re going to have so much fun together!”

  Hooray! Miss Boot was away on a course, which meant Mr Weakly was teaching Bertie’s class this week.

  “Now settle down everyone,” pleaded Mr Weakly, clapping his hands.

  Bertie aimed a ball of paper at Know-All Nick’s head. This was going to be brilliant. Mr Weakly was as timid as a mouse. He didn’t seem to notice when Bertie turned round or balanced a ruler on his head. Better still, it was easy to distract him by asking questions like, “Have you got a girlfriend?” Mr Weakly turned as red as a beetroot if you asked him that.

  “I have some exciting news,” said Mr Weakly. “In three weeks I’m planning to enter a team for the Junior Science Challenge. Who wants to take part?”

  Stony silence.

  “This year’s challenge is to build a robot for a battle of the robots contest,” squeaked Mr Weakly.

  A robot? Bertie’s hand shot up with everyone else’s. His favourite programme on TV was Robot Wars, where robots battled like gladiators. Building a robot would be a dream come true.

  “Goodness!” said Mr Weakly. “I’m afraid I can’t take all of you. Write down your names and I’ll try to pick a team.”

  After the lesson Bertie and his friends waited to add their names to the list.

  “He has to choose us,” said Bertie.

  Darren pulled a face. “I bet he only takes teacher’s pets like Know-All Nick,” he said.

  “I heard that!” cried Nick, turning round. “Anyway, you don’t stand a chance, Bertie. Don’t forget, you’re the one who locked Mr Weakly in the store cupboard.”

  “Only because Darren dared me,” said Bertie.

  “Still, it’s probably not going to help,” sighed Eugene.

  “Just let me talk to him,” said Bertie. “We’ve got to be on that team.”

  Mr Weakly was packing away his books.

  “Scuse me, sir,” began Bertie. “We’re dead interested in robots.”

  “Well, ah yes, me too,” smiled Mr Weakly.

  “What I mean is we’d be perfect for the team,” said Bertie.

  “I’m sure you would,” said Mr Weakly. “But I have all the other children to consider as well.”

  “I know,” said Bertie. “But obviously you’ll want to pick the ones who come top at science. And that’s Eugene, Darren and me.”

  “Really?” said Mr Weakly. He couldn’t picture Bertie coming top at anything.

  “Imagine if we actually won the competition,” Bertie went on. “Miss Boot would be dead impressed – and Miss Skinner, too!”

  “Well yes, I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Mr Weakly.

  It was true he wasn’t Miss Skinner’s favourite member of staff – mainly because his classes did what they liked.

  “Well anyway, it’s up to you,” said Bertie. “But our names are on the list – Darren, Eugene and Bertie. I’ve underlined them.”

  Eugene closed the door behind them.

  “What did you tell him that for?” he groaned. “We’ve never ever come top in science!”

  “No, but he doesn’t know that,” grinned Bertie. “If it gets us in the team then that’s all that matters.”

  The next morning Mr Weakly read out the team for the competition.

  “Amanda Thribb and Nicholas,” he began.

  Nick shot Bertie a look of triumph.

  “And the rest of the team will be … Darren, Eugene and Bertie,” added Mr Weakly.

  Nick gasped. Bertie almost fell off his chair. They’d done it – they were in the science team!

  This was going to be amazing, thought Bertie. With a little help from Mr Weakly, they were going to build the greatest robot ever!

  “We don’t have much time,” said Mr Weakly. “So I’d like you all to design a robot for your homework. We’ll let the class decide which is the best.”

  For once, Bertie couldn’t wait to start on his homework. He watched Robot Wars every week so his head was bursting with ideas. On the way home Darren and Eugene couldn’t talk about anything else.

  “You wait till you see my robot,” said Darren. “It’s going to play football.”

  “I’m making Spiderbot, which climbs up tall buildings,” said Eugene. “What are you doing, Bertie?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” replied Bertie. “But it’s going to be brilliant.”

  Back home he sat at the kitchen table with a pencil and paper. His robot had to be fast, strong and as deadly as a scorpion. It would make other robots tremble at the knees. Let’s see, he thought. What would be really scary? Suddenly he had the perfect idea…

  The next day Bertie and the others handed in their homework. Mr Weakly glanced through the drawings.

  “Hmm … uh huh … good grief!” he gasped when he saw Bertie’s picture. “It’s rather fierce!”

  “That’s the idea,” said Bertie. “Bootosaurus will make the other robots all run away.”

  “I can’t say I blame them,” nodded Mr Weakly.

  The picture reminded him of someone but he couldn’t think who it was.

  “Well, let’s show these to the class,” he said.

  Bertie stood at the front with the others and waited for his chance to explain his idea.

  “Right, let’s take a vote,” said Mr Weakly, handing out slips of paper. “Write down the robot you like best and I’ll tot up the results.”

  Bertie crossed his fingers as Mr Weakly counted.

  “Well, we have a winner,” he said. “Darren has five votes, Eugene four, Nick … none, I’m afraid, Amanda eight and Bertie … fourteen. That means Bertie’s robot is the winner.”

  “YESSSS!” whooped Bertie.

  “NOOO!” wailed Nick.

  “Oh dear!” sighed Mr Weakly.

  For the next few weeks sounds of banging and hammering came from Mr Weakly’s room after school. The team brought in bike lights, batteries, wheels, rubber bands and anything that might be useful. None of them had any idea how to build a robot, but luckily Mr Weakly turned out to be a whizz with a screwdriver. Finally, with a few days to go, the robot was ready.

  Bootosaurus came roughly up to Bertie’s waist. The body was made from a pedal bin fixed to a skateboard. It had thick glasses, pointed teeth and mad eyes. Mr Weakly said that flamethrowers were out of the question so the robot’s only weapon was a flip-up lid which could catapult small objects.

  On the day of the Science Challenge, they arrived at the Pudsley Arena.

  Bertie was excited to see Danny Dent from Robot Wars was the host.

  “Woah! Check out these robots!” said Danny, looking around the hall.

  “Don’t worry, Bootosaurus will beat them,” said Bertie.

  “In your dreams,” sneered Nick. “Isn’t that Swotter House over there?”

  Bertie recognized their old enemies who they’d beaten in the Junior Quiz. Here they were again in their smart blazers and shiny shoes, looking for revenge.

  “Don’t look now, they’re coming over,” whispered Eugene.

  Miss Topping introduced her team.

  “This is Giles, Miles, Tara and Harriet,” she said. “And this must be your robot. Goodness, what an ugly thing!”

  The Swotter House team tittered and nudged each other.

  “Take a look at our robot,” boasted Giles. “We call it Shark Attack.”

  “It’s totally invincible,” bragged Tara. “That means it can’t be beaten.”

  Bertie stared. Shark Attack was bigger than him! And it was armed with more weapons than a battleship.

  “Well, good luck,” said Miss Topping. “We’ll be seeing you in the final round.”

 

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