Primary School Confidential Read Online Free Page B

butt hit the soft foam-filled fabric.
    This was followed by a few seconds of awkward silence before Diane yelled, ‘Did you just fart on my bean bag?’ Her face all twisted into an unusual look of horror and disgust.
    I started laughing, which didn’t exactly help the situation, while Diane shouted, ‘Mum! Kirsten just farted on my bean bag!’
    Diane’s Mum entered the room and calmly assessed the situation. She took one look at a red-faced Diane, then one look at me laughing hysterically on the bean bag, and very politely suggested that it might be best for all concerned if I made my way back home.
    Probably a fair call. I mean it was corduroy and I did just fart on it. I thanked Diane’s Mum for having me, apologised to Diane, put my pink jelly shoes on and walked home.
    On my way home I decided that I was really lucky Diane didn’t go to my school because, if she did, there was a fairly high chance I would be known as the girl who farted on a bean bag for the rest of my life. I also decided that I really, really wanted a bean bag of my own.
    The only problem was that Mum didn’t have a sewing machine and I’d already put in a request for a Cabbage Patch Kid, a game of Guess Who? and a View-Master for Christmas, so I thought adding a corduroy bean bag to the list might’ve been pushing things a bit.
    However—back to the classroom—upon hearing Mrs Hill say the words ‘excursion’ and ‘station wagon’ snapped me right out of my bean bag daydream and my hand went up quicker than a contestant on The Price Is Right !
    ‘Mrs Hill! Mrs Hill! My dad has a station wagon!’ I shouted excitedly, while frantically waving my hand around.
    ‘It’s a red one. He just got it. Although it’s not really his. I think his boss is lending it to him? I’m not sure. Dad told us about it while we were eating tea last night but I wasn’t really listening because Mum had cooked schnitzel and it’s my favourite and she hardly ever makes it and—’
    ‘Thank you, Kirsten—’ Mrs Hill interrupted (that used to happen to me a lot during primary school)—‘for yet another very in-depth answer to a fairly simple question. I think your father mighthave what is known as a company car,’ continued Mrs Hill, while no doubt wondering how quickly a cigarette lighter works in a new station wagon and if those new beige vinyl seats everyone keeps talking about really are as slippery to sit on as they say they are. ‘I’ll give your dad a call at lunch time and see if he is allowed to use it for a school excursion.’
    Turns out Dad was allowed to use the work station wagon for school excursions and, while we were all in the playground inhaling peanut butter sandwiches and playing Red Rover on the concrete, Mrs Hill was working hard in the staffroom, calling other parents to ask if they too had a station wagon and would they like to join us on an excursion?
    By the time we all filed back into our classroom at the end of lunch, Mrs Hill had successfully managed to rope two other parents into using their station wagons, so the excursion was happening!
    ‘Right,’ said Mrs Hill as she whipped out a piece of chalk from her hair. ‘It’s time for a quick maths lesson. Eyes on the board!’
    We all stared straight ahead as Mrs Hill proceeded to write the following sum in longhand on the large blackboard on the wall:
    If there are twenty-seven students in a class who are going on an excursion and there are three station wagons to take them to and from the venue, how many children will fit in each car?
    I was never any good at maths, so I watched on as hands shot up around me and someone yelled out, ‘Nine! There will be nine of us in each car!’
    ‘That’s right, Mark,’ said Mrs Hill. ‘Well done. There will be nine of you in each car. One in the front seat, three in the back seat and five in the boot.’
    ‘Where will you be, Mrs Hill?’ asked Kelly.
    ‘Oh, I will be driving in my own car behind you all, keeping an eye on