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us plus a bonus second egg for her.
    It wasn’t fair. If there was one person in the school who didn’t deserve to be hit by an egg—much less two—it was Jenny Friendly. Jenny was the sort of person who spent her whole day thinking about—and looking out for—other people. There wasn’t a nicer, more thoughtful person in the whole school, but Northwest West Academy didn’t care about that. That’s how bad they were. Jenny was standing there, covered in thick, runny egg goo, just like the rest of us.
    As I wiped egg yolk out of my eyes and watched the smoke-belching bus tear off down the road, I swore revenge.
    I didn’t know how I was going to get it—I just knew that I would.
    I was going to make Northwest West Academy sorry they’d thrown eggs at Jenny Friendly.
    I was going to make Northwest West Academy sorry that they had ever been born.
    Or my name wasn’t Henry McThrottle.
    Which it was . . . so it was definitely going to happen.
    I picked up Jenny’s bag as well as my own. ‘Come on,’ I said to the others. ‘Let’s go in and get cleaned up.’
    Just then, Fred and Clive appeared.
    â€˜What a bunch of losers you all are!’ guffawed Fred.
    â€˜Good one, Fred,’ said Clive.
    â€˜We’re not losers,’ I said.
    â€˜My mistake,’ said Fred. ‘You’re a bunch of loser omelettes! That’s what you are!’

21
The Brainfright Program for Sporting Excellence

    We entered the classroom, limping and egg-splattered.
    â€˜I’ll get the Super Dryer 3000!’ said Grant, jumping up and heading towards his locker.
    â€˜NO!’ we all said at once, imagining ourselves covered in fried egg.
    When Mr Brainfright arrived, he stopped and stared at us. ‘What happened to you?’ he asked.
    We told him about Northwest West Academy’s latest cowardly attack. And while we were feeling sorry for ourselves we told him about what had happened in the rest of our sports class the previous afternoon, after he’d been sent packing by Mr Grunt.
    â€˜I wish Mr Grunt would let you stay and cheer us on,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m sure we’d be better if you were there.’
    â€˜Probably not, though,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s faceit. We’re just no good at sports. We couldn’t even dodge a few eggs.’
    â€˜That’s not true,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘Everybody has ability—even you, 5B. You just don’t realise it yet . . . and until you do, you can’t develop it!’
    â€˜What do you mean?’ said Jenny.
    â€˜A mascot is an important spirit-lifter, to be sure, but so is belief in your own abilities . . . I think it’s time to put you all on the Brainfright Program for Sporting Excellence.’
    â€˜Don’t tell me we have to go back outside,’ whined Newton.
    â€˜I’m still tired from yesterday,’ said Penny.
    â€˜I’m covered in egg,’ said Jack.
    â€˜Relax,’ said Mr Brainfright, chuckling. ‘We don’t need to go outside. The latest research shows that sporting success has much more to do with the mind than anybody ever suspected. In fact, it’s possible that you could actually achieve more sitting here at your desks than you ever could on a sports field.’
    â€˜I find that hard to believe,’ said David.
    â€˜Me too,’ said Jenny. ‘My mother says that practice makes perfect.’
    â€˜And she’s right,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘But a recent study suggests that practising a skill in your mind can be just as effective—if not more so—than actually practising it with your body.’
    â€˜But how?’ said Jenny.
    â€˜Well,’ said Mr Brainfright, ‘in this study they tested two groups of basketball players. One group played basketball for half an hour every day. The other group imagined that they were playing basketball