Back The Book of Wonders
Chapters (42)
  1. Cover Page
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 1
  6. One morning
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. Breaking News
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 2
  16. 9
  17. Mum Rocks
  18. 10
  19. 11
  20. Excerpt from the Book of Wonders
  21. I Dare
  22. Excerpt from the Book of Wonders
  23. 12
  24. 13
  25. 14
  26. 15
  27. 16
  28. 3
  29. 17
  30. 18
  31. Excerpt from the Book of Wonders
  32. 19
  33. Excerpt from the Book of Wonders
  34. It Hurts, But It Doesn’t Matter
  35. 20
  36. 21
  37. 22
  38. Excerpt from the Book of Wonders
  39. 23
  40. 24
  41. 25
  42. Acknowledgements

I stroked the cover of Louis’s Book of Wonders. I flicked past the page about stripping naked in the English teacher’s class and couldn’t help smiling. Then I closed my eyes and turned the page. I opened only one eye, dreading what lay in store for me, prolonging the little pleasure that would also be short-lived. The number of pages Louis had filled was limited; he planned to live and add to it gradually. But Louis hadn’t had enough time. Reading this new page, at first, I howled inwardly – ‘Oh no, not that!’ – then I gave a sort of nervous laugh that spoke volumes. As a matter of fact, I’d been expecting to find something to do with football in the notebook, I’d even been surprised that Louis’s beloved sport wasn’t the very first entry. For sure, the cover was plastered with football images, visual warnings that had prepared me mentally. Despite this expectation, the sentence was harsh, unfolding in his rounded handwriting on the page which mocked me endlessly. I called my mother in and held out Louis’s notebook. She burst out laughing, gratifying me with a ‘Well, he’s certainly putting you through your paces!’

There, in front of me, the treacherous football crime scene lay spread out with an exuberant defiance:

Football football football ☺☺☺

– Do an intensive course with Edgar, yes! (and Isa . . . )

So, who was this Edgar? His soccer coach, most likely. I vaguely remembered Louis mentioning that name . . . but I never listened properly when he was talking about football. On the other hand, what the hell was the mysterious Isa – this was the second time her name had appeared – doing in the midst of this nightmare?

Once over the shock, I wondered whether I could find a way of sidestepping this dream. I didn’t mean to avoid honouring my promise – I’d do as instructed – but I could still try to make my own alternative interpretation of what he’d written. After all, Louis spoke of an intensive course, without specifying the content. Perhaps I could find someone called Edgar and a girl called Isabelle and ask them to play a football video game intensively for a few days, and that way fulfil the challenge while staying nice and snug at home?