Nathalia Buttface and the Embarrassing Camp Catastrophe

“Your father always tells me how funny you are,” she said, “and he’s so right.”

They walked past St Scrofula’s nice yurts. Queen Bee of Year Eight, the amazing Flora Marling, was talking to Plum, the girl from St Scrofula’s who had ruined Dad’s joke.

This’ll be interesting, thought Nat. The best six days of her school life so far had all involved Flora actually talking to her. Even if it had just been to ask Nat why on Earth she was friends with Darius Bagley.

Nat watched as Plum and Flora examined each other. Plum tossed her hair back; it was yellow in the pale sun. Then Flora flicked her hair and the sun broke through the clouds. All around Flora the air was golden. Plum gasped and Flora, victorious, smiled gracefully.

“Have my yurt,” said the awestruck Plum, “please.”

Flora smiled graciously then floated into the yurt, like a passing dream.

Nat trudged down the slope to the grotty yurts.

“You know, it could be really cosy in here,” said Penny inside. “It just needs some brightening up.”

“Brightening up?” Nat groaned, looking around her.

It was dark, damp and dismal.

“I wouldn’t even mind, but we have actually invented hotels,” grumbled Nat, unrolling her sleeping bag.

“You should be less grumbly and more proud of yourself,” said Penny, whose favourite Princess Boo song was “Be More Proud of Yourself”. She added, “Look on the bright side: if you hadn’t written such a great essay, we wouldn’t be getting a week off school.”

“You’re right,” said Nat, cheering up. She squished a bug with her foot. “No school is good, you’re right. I am pretty awesome, I suppose.”

“And so modest,” said Penny quietly.

“I just wish people would listen to me when I try and tell them I wrote that essay,” said Nat. “It would be nice to get some credit for something once in a while.”

“OK, I promise that next time anyone mentions it, I’ll definitely tell them it was you,” said Penny.

Nat smiled. “Ta,” she said. She looked around. “I would help you with the brightening-up, but I’m plotting how to get Bagley out of his cabin, and I need to concentrate.”

She lay back on her sleeping bag and closed her eyes.

She was woken from her nap by Dad, who pottered in a little later. “Not too bad, is it?” he said.

Nat had already forgotten she had been cheered up. She wasn’t going to miss a chance to complain at Dad. Somewhere, somehow, it was always his fault.

“Dad, the other school is horrible. The kids are rotten and spoiled and they’ve nicked all the best yurts. They ate all the pizza at lunch too, so we had to have slop. I think it was worms, and I’m not even joking.”

“Mmm. Cracking good school though. Those children are just used to getting what they want. Nothing wrong with that.” He looked at Nat in a rather odd, thoughtful way. (It was odd because it was thoughtful.) “I’ve been chatting to the St Scrofula’s teachers,” he continued, “and they’re all amazing. They’re at school two hours early every day to organise extra lessons and activities.”

“Yuk,” said Nat.

“And next term they’re going to extend school hours to seven o’clock at night.”

“I’d feel sorry for them if they weren’t so horrible,” said Nat.

“Their last school play went to the West End, the head boy’s going to be an astronaut, last year’s sixth form are all doctors, and their football team are in the third round of the FA Cup.”

“I’m not impressed,” fibbed Nat, who was impressed.

“The head of media studies used to work on Star Wars, the head of art has a picture in the Tate Gallery, and guess who did their prize-giving? The flipping prime minister.”

“Blimey,” said Nat, “remember who did our prize-giving? Brian Futtock from Futtocks Coach Hire and Pest Control.”

“Urgh, and all those rats got out,” shuddered Penny, remembering the screams.

“Yeah, that was Darius,” chuckled Nat. “He got a three-year detention – even broke his brother Oswald’s school detention record.”

“Maybe your mum’s right,” said Dad. “Maybe YOU should go to that school.”

There was a horrible pause when Nat realised Dad wasn’t joking.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, going all hot and cold. “It’s taken me ages to get to know THIS bunch of idiots. No offence, Penny.” She turned to her friend.

“What was that?” said Penny, who was drawing a picture of Princess Boo, dressed as a fairy and riding on a unicorn, on the yurt wall.

“You writing that essay for Darius has done us a great favour,” said Dad. “It’s given us a chance to compare both schools, side by side.”

Nat felt sick. She didn’t want him to compare schools. Dad comparing the schools could be a DISASTER.

Dad left the yurt with a big smile on his face.

Behind him, Nat felt the familiar footsteps of doom approaching. “I need some fresh air,” she said, following him. “At least it smells nice out here.”

“Time to dig the dunny!” yelled Mr Bungee, who was right outside.

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“Who knows what a dunny is?” asked Mr Bungee.

Children and teachers alike were assembled in a field near the camp. It had stopped raining and the sun was actually threatening to peek out.

Darius, who had a black eye, chuckled.

Rufus, who had TWO black eyes, was too busy scowling at Darius to answer.

“A dunny is what you need to dig today,” shouted Mr Bungee, waving around a couple of heavy spades as if they were toothpicks. “In fact, you gotta dig two: one for boys and one for girls. Now can you guess?”

The quicker-brained children giggled.

“You gotta dig the dunnies nice and deep cos when you use them you don’t want anything jumping up and biting you on your backside,” he said. “That’s a bit of a final clue, mates.”

Nat had a horrible feeling she knew what a dunny was. She sidled over towards Dad. “Can I go home now please?” she said.

He just chuckled.