“Who asked you, big nose?” said Bertie.

  Nick ignored him. “Face it,” he said. “You’re never going to win.”

  “Oh, yeah? Why not?” said Bertie.

  “Because obviously I’m going to win,” boasted Nick.

  “Says who?”

  “Says me!”

  “We’ll see about that,” said Bertie. “I’m pretty good at guessing.”

  “Really?” said Nick. “But I won’t need to guess because I’m a genius. I can work it out.”

  “How?” said Bertie.

  Nick tapped his nose. “Ahh, wouldn’t you like to know?” he smirked. “See you later, losers!”

  Bertie watched him go. Right, he thought, this means war. Only one of us can win that egg. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Nick’s face when Miss Boot handed him the prize.

  CHAPTER 2

  All that morning Bertie couldn’t stop thinking about the giant egg. Miss Boot had removed it from class because she was tired of people wanting to hold it. Everyone was desperate to guess how much it weighed.

  Bertie sighed – he hadn’t a clue. But what if Nick was telling the truth and you could work it out? Unfortunately, he was rubbish at maths. Subtraction was so tiring and fractions gave him a headache. No, if he was going to win he needed help. But who could he ask? Darren was no use. He got stuck on his three times table. And maths got Eugene muddled.

  Hold on, thought Bertie, if anyone knows the answer, it’s Miss Boot. She was a teacher after all! But how to trick her into giving him a clue? Bertie slipped out of his seat and made his way to the front.

  “Miss,” he said. “Can I ask a question?”

  “No. Sit down,” snapped Miss Boot. “Get on with your work.”

  “This is about work,” said Bertie. “I was thinking about maths.”

  Miss Boot gawped. Was Bertie ill? Usually he avoided maths like the plague.

  “Well, what is it?” she said.

  “I was just wondering,” said Bertie. “Are big things heavier than smaller things?”

  Miss Boot sighed. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Well, like for instance, how much do you weigh?” asked Bertie.

  “ME?” said Miss Boot.

  “I don’t mean exactly,” said Bertie quickly. “I mean, roughly, do you weigh a ton or more?”

  “A TON!” screeched Miss Boot, sounding as if she might explode. Bertie gulped. This wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped.

  “What about smaller things?” he babbled. “Like toffee or crisps or … chocolate eggs?”

  Miss Boot’s eyes narrowed. “Has this got something to do with a certain competition?”

  “Erm, not really.”

  “Because let me warn you, Bertie, there will be no cheating,” said Miss Boot. “If you think you can weigh that egg, forget it. It’s somewhere you’ll never find it. Now sit down.”

  Bertie trailed back to his seat. Some people were so suspicious. He hadn’t got any information out of Miss Boot and now she suspected him of cheating.

  He’d never even thought of weighing the egg. But actually that was a brilliant idea. If he could “borrow” it, he could find out the exact weight. There was just one problem. Where had Miss Boot hidden it? In her handbag? No, not big enough. The book cupboard? Too obvious.

  A smile spread across Bertie’s face. Of course! It was somewhere he’d never find it … somewhere children were not allowed… THE STAFFROOM!

  CHAPTER 3

  DRRRRINNG!

  The bell rang for lunch break. Bertie shot out of class and flew down the corridor. He only had a minute to carry out his mission before the teachers arrived. He screeched to a halt at the staffroom and peeped round the door. No one was about.

  Now … where would Miss Boot hide a giant chocolate egg? He got down on all fours and looked under the coffee table. No luck. Nothing behind the curtains. His eye fell on the cupboard. He threw open the door. EUREKA! THERE IT WAS!

  Bertie grabbed the monster egg. Now to weigh it… Argh! Bertie groaned. In his excitement he’d forgotten he’d need some scales.

  Suddenly he heard voices in the corridor. Help! If Miss Boot caught him in the staffroom she’d go berserk.

  Bertie looked around for somewhere to hide. But where? There was only the coffee table. It was a tight fit, but maybe he could squeeze underneath. He made it just as the door opened.

  The room filled up with teachers. Bertie lay squashed under the table, not daring to breathe. This was like a horror film – trapped in a room with killer zombies! He could see Mr Weakly’s shiny shoes and Miss Boot’s baggy stockings only inches away.

  “You know what Bertie asked me today?” Miss Boot was speaking.

  “What?” asked Miss Darling.

  “He asked me if I weighed a ton!”

  Miss Darling giggled. “That boy! Tee hee!”

  “He’ll be the death of me,” snorted Miss Boot. “Sometimes I think he lives on another planet.”

  “Sometimes I wish he did,” said Mr Weakly.

  Bertie almost banged his head. Was this what teachers talked about when they were alone? Him! Didn’t they have homework to discuss?

  MUNCH, MUNCH…

  Bertie groaned. Now they were eating their sandwiches! He could smell cheese and pickle. This was torture. If only he’d brought something to eat!

  Then he remembered – he had the chocolate egg. But there was no way he could touch that. It was a prize for the school fair. Miss Boot would blow a fuse. On the other hand, it was chocolate … and it was enormous… Who was going to miss a teeny-weeny piece?

  Slowly, Bertie slid out the egg from its box. He peeled off the gold paper and broke off a piece. SNAP!

  He held his breath. Luckily the teachers were too busy yakking to hear. Bertie crammed the chocolate into his mouth.

  Mmm, mmm! It was the sweetest, smoothest chocolate he’d ever tasted. One more piece and then he’d put it away.

  “Has anyone seen my glasses case?” It was Mr Weakly again.

  Bertie looked about. By his feet was a blue glasses case.

  “Maybe it’s fallen on the floor?” suggested Miss Darling.

  Bertie turned cold. If Mr Weakly bent down to look, he’d see him under the table. He had to do something and fast! He gave the glasses case a kick. It shot out from under the table. A moment later a hand reached down.

  “It’s all right. Found it!” cried Mr Weakly.

  Bertie breathed out. That was close. He nibbled more chocolate to calm his nerves.

  The lunch hour dragged on. Bertie’s neck ached from lying squashed under the table. His hands were sweating.

  Only chocolate kept him going. At long last the bell rang.

  Bertie waited until he was certain the last teacher had gone and crawled out.

  There wasn’t time to weigh the egg now. He had to put it back and return to class. He looked down and gasped.

  YIKES! Who’d scoffed half the egg? He must have gobbled it without even knowing. What was he going to do?

  Miss Boot would go bonkers if she found out. Bertie wrapped up the half-eaten egg and slid it back in the box. Wait a minute… Only the front half of the egg was showing, which still looked smooth and perfect. No one would guess! He was saved!

  He stuffed the Easter egg back in the cupboard. Now to whizz back to class before Miss Boot missed him. He licked his lips. Hmm, first he’d better wipe the chocolate off his face.

  CHAPTER 4

  The day of the Spring Fair was bright and sunny. The school playground was crowded with people. Many of Bertie’s class were in charge of stalls.

  By far the most popular was the Giant Easter Egg competition run by Miss Boot. The egg stood proudly on the table in its gold box. People queued to pay fifty pence to guess the weight. Miss Boot’s cash box was stuffed with coins and notes. In five minutes she had promised to announce the winner.

  Bertie and his friends sucked lollipops as they watched.

  “I never win anything,” sighed Eugene.

  “Someone has to win,” said Darren.

  Bertie shrugged. “It’s only an Easter egg,” he said.

  “Are you kidding?” said Darren. “It’s massive! It’s the biggest chocolate egg in history!”

  “Yes,” said Eugene. “Imagine taking the first bite.”

  Well, maybe not the first, thought Bertie, because I already scoffed half of it. He hoped Miss Boot would hurry up. Maybe he’d be the winner? He’d made a guess like everyone else – there was no sense in not entering. Someone poked him in the back. Bertie turned round to see his enemy, Know-All Nick.

  “I hope you’re not going to cry, Bertie,” he jeered.

  “Cry?” said Bertie. “What for?”

  “When I win the competition,” said Nick.

  “What makes you so sure?” asked Bertie.

  “I told you,” said Nick. “I’m a genius. I worked it out.”

  Miss Boot was heading to the microphone. Bertie joined the crowd to hear the result. Whoever won was in for a bit of a surprise. But he wasn’t worried. No one could pin the blame on him.

  “And now, the result of our Giant Easter Egg competition,” said Miss Boot. “There were a huge number of entries but the winner is…” She looked up. “Nicholas!”

  Bertie laughed. Who else? Know-All Nick wouldn’t be smiling so much when he unwrapped his prize.

  Nick made his way to the front as people clapped.

  Miss Boot handed over the golden egg. “Well done, Nicholas,” she said. “Your guess was exactly right.”

  “Huh, how amazing,” said Bertie.

  “Yeah,” grumbled Darren. “I bet he cheated.”

  Nick made straight towards them, eager to enjoy his triumph. “I told you,” he gloated. “I’m a genius!”

  “You cheated,” said Bertie.

  “Not really,” said Nick. “I used my brain. It turns out Spillers are selling this Easter egg in their shop. So I popped in and asked what it weighed.”

  “Like I said, you cheated,” said Bertie.

  Nick licked his lips. “Never mind, Bertie. As a special treat, you can watch me eat it.”

  “Now?” said Bertie.

  “Why not?” said Nick. “I’ve got masses of chocolate, so I can eat it any time I like.”

  He slid the giant egg out of the box and greedily tore off the wrapper. His face turned a ghastly white.

  “NOOOOOOOO!” he wailed. “SOMEONE’S EATEN IT!”

  “No! Really?” said Bertie, trying not to smile.

  Nick spun round to face him. Only one person could have done this. “YOU ATE IT!” he cried. “I’m telling!”

  Bertie gave a shrug.

  “But Nickerless, how could I?” he said. “Miss Boot had it locked away. No one could have touched that egg. Well, not unless they were a genius!”

  CHAPTER 1

  Bertie was in the kitchen doing his homework. He sighed loudly. How was he meant to concentrate when Mum and Mrs Nicely kept talking?

  He hoped she hadn’t come round to invite him to one of Angela’s parties. Last time it had turned out to be just him and a dozen girls in fairy costumes.

  “…So, we’re going to my sister’s for the weekend,” Mrs Nicely was saying. “But I can’t think what to do about Pusskins. Normally Mrs Crab feeds him, but she’s in hospital.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mum.

  “Exactly,” said Mrs Nicely. “I’m really in a fix. In fact, I was wondering if you might do it?”

  “I’d be glad to,” said Mum, “but I’ve got a lot on this weekend. What about Bertie?”

  “ME?” Bertie looked up from doodling a picture of Miss Boot.

  Mrs Nicely frowned. She was hoping to find someone sensible. Bertie was about as sensible as a jelly sandwich.

  “Well, I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “Are you good with cats?”

  “Not especially,” said Bertie. “I’m good with dogs.”

  Bertie didn’t mind cats, but he didn’t really see the point of them. All they did was sleep, laze around and eat. You couldn’t take a cat for a walk or throw a ball for it to fetch. Pusskins was too fat and idle to fetch anything. Anyway, he didn’t see why he had to feed him.

  Mrs Nicely sighed. “Well, it would be doing me a great favour. And, of course, I’d pay you.”

  “PAY ME?” cried Bertie. “How much?”

  “BERTIE!” groaned Mum.

  “It’s all right,” said Mrs Nicely. “Let’s see, what about five pounds?”

  FIVE POUNDS? Bertie almost fell off his chair. That was more than double his pocket money! And all for feeding a fat moggy. Yippee! He was going to be rich!

  Bertie followed Mrs Nicely next door so she could explain what he had to do. Angela was in the kitchen practising her ballet. She ran upstairs and came back with Pusskins, who lolled in her arms like a furry pudding.

  “Here he is!” she trilled. “This is Bertie. Say hello, Pusskins.”

  Bertie reached out a hand.

  “Grrrrr!” snarled the cat, arching his back.

  “He likes having his tummy tickled,” said Angela. “You have to feed him twice a day and he only likes Kitty Krunch.”

  Fusspot, thought Bertie. Whiffer would eat anything – even the pizza off your plate.

  “When does he go out?” he asked.

  “After tea and only in the back garden,” said Angela. “Mostly he sleeps on my bed, don’t you, Pussypops?”

  Mrs Nicely showed Bertie the cat food and gave him a front door key.

  “One more thing,” she said. “Don’t forget to turn off the burglar alarm.”

  “Burglar alarm?” said Bertie. No one had mentioned this before! Mrs Nicely showed him a panel by the door with rows of buttons.

  “It’s quite simple,” she said. “You just punch in the code to turn it on or off – four-two-seven. Can you remember that?”

  Bertie nodded.

  “Repeat it to me.”

  “Four … seven … umm…”

  Mrs Nicely rolled her eyes. “I’ll write it down for you,” she said. “And lock the door when you leave. Have you got all that?”

  “Yes,” said Bertie. “Do the alarm, feed the cat and lock the door.”

  “Don’t forget,” warned Mrs Nicely. “The alarm’s linked to the police station so it must be turned off immediately.”

  She watched Bertie stuff the key in his pocket. Possibly she was out of her mind – this was, after all, the boy who’d arrived at Angela’s party dressed as a worm. But it was too late to find someone else. All he had to do was feed a cat – surely even Bertie could manage that?

  CHAPTER 2

  BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

  It was Saturday morning. Bertie had let himself in to the Nicelys’ house and the burglar alarm was going mad. ARGH! Quick! Where’s that piece of paper? He found it in his pocket and hurriedly punched in the code.

  BEEP! BEEP! BE— The alarm stopped.

  Bertie let out a sigh of relief. Why did the Nicelys need a burglar alarm anyway? Why didn’t they just get a guard dog?

  He went into the kitchen and filled the cat bowl with Kitty Krunch.

  “PUSSKINS!” he called. “Look what I’ve got!”

  The fat grey cat appeared in the doorway and plodded into the kitchen. It glared at Bertie then sniffed the food as if it might be rat poison.

  Bertie glanced around the kitchen – suddenly it dawned on him that he had the Nicelys’ house all to himself. He could do whatever he liked! He could watch TV with his feet up or help himself to biscuits. He could bounce on all the beds. Come to think of it, he’d never seen Angela’s bedroom. Maybe he’d have a quick nose around.

  Bertie crept upstairs. Angela’s bedroom had pink walls with pink curtains and a pink duvet covered in hearts.

  YUCK! thought Bertie. He flopped on to the bed. Wouldn’t Angela be furious if she could see him now? It would serve her right for telling everyone he was her boyfriend. He looked at Angela’s books. They had titles like My Cuddly Kitten Gets Lost and Girls 4 Ever! He took down a sparkly exercise book. On the cover were the words: MY STORIES by Angela Nicely – Strickly Private.

  Ah ha! thought Bertie. What was so private that Angela didn’t want anyone reading it? He opened the book at the first story.

  Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess called Princess Angela. She lived in a big palace with loads of servants to make her bed and turn on the TV and stuff.

  One sunny day Princess Angela was playing in her garden when a prince came by. His name was Prince Bertie and secretly he had falled in love with Princess Angela…

  WHAT?! Bertie threw the book down in disgust. He wanted to be sick. How dare Angela put him in her soppy fairy tale? How dare she make him a drippy prince who went round falling in love and living happily ever after?

  What if any of his friends saw the story? Bertie felt ill. What if Angela ever read it out in class? The news would be all round school in no time. People would start calling him Prince Bertie! YUCK!

  No, he had to make sure that didn’t happen. But how? He could throw the book in the dustbin. But wait, he had a better idea. Why not simply change the story? He could cross out his own name and replace it with someone else – Prince Nickerless for example.

  Bertie smiled to himself. Wouldn’t Angela be mad when she saw it? He glanced at the clock. Mum would be wondering where he was. Never mind, he’d carry out his brilliant plan later when he gave Pusskins his tea.

  CHAPTER 3

  BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

  The burglar alarm rang out. It was six o’clock and Bertie was back. As he hurried inside, something shot through his legs like a furry rocket. ARGH! Pusskins had got out! Bertie was just in time to see him vanish over the wall. This was terrible!