There's a Dragon in my Backpack! Read online

  For my gran, missed every day,

  and my grandad, who I blame for

  making me a reader – T.N.

  For Pops – S.H.

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER 1

  BRING YOUR DRAGON TO SCHOOL DAY

  CHAPTER 2

  NEW TOBY

  CHAPTER 3

  BRING YOUR DRAGON TO SCHOOL DAY: TAKE TWO

  CHAPTER 4

  GONE DRAGON GONE

  CHAPTER 5

  THE BREAKOUT

  CHAPTER 6

  WELCOME TO LA-DI-DA LAND

  CHAPTER 7

  FISHING FOR DRAGONS

  CHAPTER 8

  SHOWDOWN

  CHAPTER 9

  THE RETURN TRIP

  CHAPTER 10

  ROAR AND TELL

  EXTRACT FROM ‘THERE’S A DRAGON IN MY TOILET’

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  COPYRIGHT

  There’s a dragon in my backpack. This is what I’ve been reminding myself of all day.

  The dragon isn’t one of those full-sized, princess-stealing, knight-guzzling dragons that you’ve probably heard of. For one thing, I’d never fit one of those in my bag. No, he’s a Mini-Dragon. Which means he looks exactly like one of those other dragons – same green scaly skin, fiery breath, sharp teeth and claws – except that he’s about fifteen centimetres tall and can talk. Oh, can he talk! His name is Pan and here’s how he came into my life:

  Property developers destroy Pan’s home in China.

  Pan’s parents bundle him in a crate of beansprouts bound for Mexico to stay with his aunt and uncle.

  The restaurant in Mexico that ordered the beansprouts closes down.

  The crate is sent to England, to my friend Min’s parents’ Chinese restaurant.

  Min delivers Pan to my house in a takeaway meal without realizing.

  I end up with a Mini-Dragon who gives me no end of grief.

  So now Pan spends most of his day in my house playing video games, reading comics and watching TV. Which sounds like a perfect day to me, but for some reason he finds it boring. For ages he’s been begging me to let him come to school and last night I finally gave in, on the condition that he keep quiet and stay out of sight in my bag.

  Surprisingly, today’s actually been going well. Aside from the odd whisper from Pan, asking me to repeat something he’s missed or helpfully providing me with the answer to a sum or ten, he’s kept his word. And it’s almost home time now so I can probably stop worrying. I mean, realistically, there’s almost no chance at all of something going wrong now.

  Almost no chance.

  That screaming woman who looks a bit like a yeti is Miss Biggs, my teacher. She thinks she’s just seen a rat run across the classroom floor.

  She hasn’t.

  She’s just seen a Mini-Dragon run across the classroom floor.

  Although completely different, I can see why she might confuse the two. If you had just caught sight of a tiny creature darting across the room, you’d probably think rat before you thought Mini-Dragon. To be honest, you’d probably never think Mini-Dragon.

  Unless you happen to be me. In which case you’d always think Mini-Dragon.

  As screaming kids began to barge their way to the door, I noticed Miss Biggs reaching under her desk and pulling out the cricket bat everyone knows she keeps there. No one quite knows what it’s for, although there have been plenty of gruesome stories passed down over the years about Miss Biggs using it on misbehaving kids, annoying parents and even the odd unruly teacher. No one really believes the stories, of course, but then no one thinks she plays cricket with it, either.

  “Er… Miss, what’s that for?” I asked, swallowing a huge lump in my throat.

  “This is Doris,” smiled Miss Biggs, thumping the bat in her hand. “And Doris doesn’t take kindly to vermin in her classroom. Doris gets very angry. And when Doris gets angry, things get smashed.”

  Miss Biggs was considered the toughest teacher around thanks to her enormous, muscle-bound physique and general bad attitude. In fact, people liked to imagine what Miss Biggs might have done before she became an evil, heartless school teacher. These theories included:

  With her massive head of curly white hair, Miss Biggs has always reminded me of a yeti. You might think that’s funny, but trust me, a yeti armed with a cricket bat is no laughing matter.

  Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah – my escaped Mini-Dragon. “Jayden, where are you going?” I said, grabbing the arm of my best friend, as he ran past me alongside hoards of fleeing kids.

  Jayden looked at me as if I had lost the plot. “Where do you think I’m going?” he said. “I’m getting away from the rat.”

  “Ha, you’re such a chicken,” said Min, our other friend, calmly staying put.

  It occurred to me that since Min had been the one to bring Pan into my life, technically this was all her fault. But I just had to try those free beansprouts, didn’t I?

  “It’s not a rat,” I whispered, trying to remain calm on the outside, while on the inside I was getting very worried about the thought of Miss Biggs squashing our little friend. “It’s Pan.”

  “Of course it is,” groaned Min.

  “A pan won’t be any use against a rat,” said Miss Biggs, twirling her cricket bat in the air. “They’re clever little beasts – cleverer than you lot, that’s for sure. But not as clever as Doris and me.” She paused. “What was that?”

  Miss Biggs spun round and swung the bat like a hammer, smashing an entire desk in two. Jayden, Min and I, the only kids left in the room, let out a huge gasp.

  Fortunately there was no sign of Pan in the wreckage.

  “Phew,” I said.

  Miss Biggs scowled in frustration. “Thought for sure I saw it there.” She turned and glared at us. “If you three are sticking around, make yourselves useful. Find that rat! Flush it out.”

  We nodded. Finding Pan before Miss Biggs did seem like a good idea.

  As Miss Biggs stalked around the classroom, Jayden began checking under desks and Min started looking in cupboards. I scanned the room, trying to think of the likeliest place Pan would be. Then it dawned on me. I headed towards the storage trays and pulled out the one with my name on it.

  “Oh hey, Eric,” whispered Pan. He was sitting in the tray, clutching a piece of paper, trying to look as casual as possible – as if this was a perfectly normal place for me to find him. “How’s it going?”

  Mini-Dragons, in their own words, are excellent at a lot of things, but acting innocent isn’t one of them.

  “We had a deal,” I whispered back. “Escaping from my backpack to have a look in this tray was not part of it.”

  Pan looked at me doubtfully. “Wasn’t it?”

  “No!”

  “I’m not so sure,” he said slowly. “It’s a bit of a grey area, isn’t it?”

  I looked at Pan in amazement. “How is it a grey area?” I asked. “I said, ‘stay in the bag’. You came out of the bag. That’s not grey. That’s black … or white… But it’s definitely not grey.”

  “Well, look,” said Pan, trying to sound reasonable. “It’s clear that neither one of us is right, so I think we should just draw a line under the whole thing and move on.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to check Miss Biggs hadn’t seen us, but she and Doris were busy threatening a plant pot at the other end of the room. “Why did you escape?” I asked.

  “It was so boring inside that bag,” Pan grumbled. “And so, so hot – I mean, I know I’m a dragon and should be used to high temperatures, but still! Anyway, I’ve just been having a look through some o
f your drawings. Is this supposed to be me? I mean, I’m flattered you drew me. But you have to admit, it looks nothing like me. You haven’t captured my good looks at all.”

  “Crisp!” bellowed Miss Biggs from across the room. “Who are you talking to? Not the rat, I hope? There’s no reasoning with rats, Crisp. Stand back, Doris is coming through.”

  I spun round, the colour draining from my face. I had to think fast. I took a step backwards, quickly banging the drawer shut with my bum, causing Pan to let out a little yelp. As Miss Biggs thundered towards us, I pointed at the door.

  “Out there, Miss,” I said. “I just saw it heading into the corridor.”

  Miss Biggs screeched to a halt. “You’re sure?” she asked.

  “I think I saw it, too,” said Min, who seemed to realize what I was doing.

  “Yeah,” said Jayden, giving me a wink to show he understood. “It was huge. Had a big smile on its face.”

  “Thinks it’s got away from me, does it?” said Miss Biggs. “Come on, Doris, let’s go and show that rat how wrong it is.”

  As soon as Miss Biggs left the room, I pulled out the tray. Pan was sitting there, his claws covering his mouth, looking like he was about to barf.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked him.

  “I found some prawn crackers in your tray,” he groaned, “but they tasted horrible.”

  I scratched my head. There weren’t any prawn crackers in my tray. There were just some drawings and… Oh!

  “Pan,” I said. “Those prawn crackers. They weren’t glued to a bit of paper in the shape of a face, were they?”

  A groggy-looking Pan nodded weakly.

  “Those were Styrofoam chips,” I said. “We used them in art last week.”

  Pan let out a belch and a jet of flame came out after it.

  “Ooh, that’s much better,” said Pan.

  “Not really,” I said, as the flame caught one of my drawings. Pan quickly leaped into my arms. Min moved fast, grabbing a jug of water from Miss Biggs’s desk and throwing it over the tray.

  The pictures were ruined, but at least the fire was out.

  As Min swiftly returned the jug to Miss Biggs’s desk, Jayden and I opened the window and started wafting out the smoke before the alarm could go off. When I was sure we were in the clear, I quickly closed it again and turned back to Pan. He grinned at me apologetically, but I’d had enough.

  “Now, stay out of sight,” I said, bundling him into my bag. “Or you’ll be the first Mini-Dragon to make a home-run – as the ball.”

  “You’re thinking of baseball,” said Pan.

  “Yeah, he’s right,” said Jayden.

  “It’d be hitting a six in cricket,” added Min.

  “Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “My point is he’d be on the wrong end of a cricket bat.” I glared at Pan. “If you’re cool with that, then you’re welcome to stay out.”

  I waited for a response, but was greeted with silence. “That’s what I thought,” I said, zipping up my bag.

  Ten minutes later, Miss Biggs burst back into the classroom, a foul look on her face.

  “Get back in here, you cowards,” she shouted. The rest of the class hurried in from the corridor as fast as they had left.

  An awkward silence filled the room.

  “Did you get it, Miss?” asked Jayden.

  Min and I shook our heads in disbelief. Of course she hadn’t got it. There was nothing to get!

  “No, I didn’t,” snapped Miss Biggs. “I thought I had it, but … well … to cut a long story short, we no longer have a functioning coffee machine in the staff room.”

  Miss Biggs had barely sat down at her desk before another scowl appeared on her face. “What’s happened to my water?” she roared. “Which one of you is responsible for this?”

  Min, Jayden and I glanced at each other with panicked expressions. I couldn’t tell Miss Biggs who was actually responsible, not unless I wanted a flattened Mini-Dragon.

  I put up my hand. “It was me, Miss,” I said. “I got thirsty.”

  Min and Jayden looked at me in horror. They knew I was in for it now. I could see them both starting to raise their hands. They were going to take the blame with me. I gave them a look that said, “Don’t do it, there’s no point in all three of us getting in trouble.” They seemed to get the message and lowered their hands, though neither of them looked very happy about it.

  “The whole jug?” said Miss Biggs, looking flabbergasted. “This is my water, Crisp. Mine. You can think about that when you’re writing me a 500-word report on the history of rats.”

  “That’s not fair,” I said.

  “Not fair?” repeated Miss Biggs. “No, Crisp, not fair is me knowing that somewhere out there is a rat who escaped justice. And now I can’t even have a drink of my own water – that’s not fair!”

  I sighed, slumping in my chair. Could this day get any worse? I thought to myself.

  Which was a mistake. Of course it could get worse.

  “Oh, and Crisp?”

  “Yes, Miss?”

  “Have it on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

  With Miss Biggs it always got worse.

  “Hey, Toby,” I said, as I got out of the car later that day. He was climbing out of his parents’ massive car next door and did not look happy. I mean, he never does, that’s just Toby, but today he looked especially unhappy. He was still wearing his P.E. kit, which might have explained his mood – Toby hated exercise. He completely ignored me, dragging his bag by the straps into his house and slamming the door behind him.

  Here’s a picture of Toby’s backpack, by the way:

  And here’s one of mine:

  Look familiar? I had mine for a whole day before Toby made his mum buy him the same one. He hates it if I ever have something he doesn’t. Even worse, afterwards he insists that I copied him.

  “Well, that was nice,” I said, staring at Toby’s closed front door.

  “Oh, he mustn’t have heard you,” said Mum, as she unstrapped my little sister Posy from her car seat. “Never mind, he’ll be round for tea tonight, you can catch up with him then.”

  “Woohoo!” I said sarcastically.

  “Of course you can’t come back to school,” I told Pan once we were in my room, stunned that he would even bother to ask.

  “Awww,” he moaned, as he climbed out of my bag. “But it’s soooo boring being stuck in the house all day.”

  “If you think that’s boring then you’ve obviously never had to write a report for Miss Biggs before,” I said.

  Pan looked confused. “Of course I haven’t. I’m a Mini-Dragon.”

  “Yes, I know, I meant… Oh, never mind,” I said. “Look, we tried it today and it was a disaster.”

  “But next time, I promise—”

  “No, Pan,” I said, putting my foot down. “Look, I’d better go. Toby’s coming round for his tea.”

  Pan folded his tiny arms, the clear beginnings of a Mini-Dragon sulk.

  “Don’t be like that,” I said. I undid the front pocket of my backpack and took out a paper bag. “Look, Min gave me some prawn crackers.”

  Mini-Dragons love prawn crackers almost as much as they love dirty laundry. In fact, according to the Encyclopaedia Dragonica, a massive book containing everything you could ever want to know about dragons, Mini-Dragons actually only have three main food groups:

  I try to make sure Pan always has plenty of prawn crackers around so that I don’t have to explain to Mum why my school clothes look like they lost a fight with a cactus.

  Without even a glance in my direction, Pan snatched the bag then retreated to a corner of the bed. With his back to me, he began munching away. I left him to it.

  When I walked into the kitchen, Dad was sitting at the table as Mum served out dinner – beef lasagne. The only good thing about Toby coming round for tea was that Mum always made her best dishes.

  “Where’s Toby?” I asked, looking around. Nothing made me more nervous than seeing food
with Toby’s name on it and not seeing Toby. It was a sure sign of trouble.

  “It’s not like him to be late,” said Mum.

  “That’ll be him now, I expect,” said Dad.

  “Eric, go and let him in,” said Mum.

  I opened the door. Sure enough it was Toby, but not the Toby I knew.

  “Good evening, Eric!” he said, which set off more alarm bells. There were a total of three things wrong with that sentence:

  “What are you up to?” I said, narrowing my eyes.

  “What do you mean?” he asked innocently.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you were trying to be nice,” I said, as we headed for the kitchen.

  “What are you on about, Eric?” said Toby, letting me enter the room first. “I’m always nice. Hello, Mrs Crisp, Mr Crisp.”

  “Er … hello, Toby,” said my parents, looking as confused as me.

  “Ooh, lasagne,” said Toby, clapping his hands. “How wonderful.”

  Mum and Dad turned towards me as if expecting some kind of explanation for Nice Toby, but all I could offer was a shrug. I had no idea who this boy was or what he had done with the real Toby.

  “You’re all looking well,” said Toby.

  It continued like this for the rest of the meal:

  “Huh?” I said. I had heard the words, but coming from Toby, my brain was having a difficult time making any sense of them. Toby didn’t ask questions like this. Toby asked questions like:

  “Toby’s asking you how school was, dear,” said Mum slowly, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was saying.

  Dad was just staring at Toby in amazement, his mouth wide open.