Lights, Camera, DISASTER!

  But the technician was mistaken. There was one other low-impedance detonator cable on campus. It was the wire Elmer Drimsdale had stretched around Jordie Jones’s trailer to set off the fireworks attack. That had been the night when Jordie had started off as the enemy and ended up a new friend. The boys had removed all the fireworks — all except one piece. The Super-Duper Jumbo-Boomer still lurked there, half buried, pointing up at the trailer. Its wick was attached to a length of low-impedance detonator cable buried in a flower bed and now hooked up to Seth Dinkman’s plunger.

  “Okay! Action!”

  Four cameras, focused at various angles on the miniature Faculty Building, started rolling. The director raised his arm, then dropped it in signal. The special effects technicians pushed the plunger. Hundreds of pairs of eyes were riveted on the model.

  Nothing happened.

  Dinkman stared in disbelief at his final scene. Where was the explosion? Where was the fire? He turned a furious countenance to his special effects team. “Push the stupid plunger!”

  “We did, boss!”

  Boots heard it first — a sputtering, hissing sound behind them. He wheeled. There was smoke coming from underneath Jordie’s trailer. And sparks. He tapped his roommate on the shoulder. “Hey, Bruno —”

  WHOOSH!!!

  The Super-Duper Jumbo-Boomer launched out of its hole like a missile from a silo. It deflected off the undercarriage of the trailer, sheared off both emergency brakes and shot out from under the camper, heading for the crowd. Spectators dove in all directions as the big rocket screeched through their ranks, a metre off the ground. Then it turned upwards and roared off into the sky, leaving a trail of sparks.

  BOOM!!!

  The explosion rocked the countryside. Showers of coloured light rained down on everyone. The crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed, and some even applauded.

  “Hey,” said Cathy, mildly annoyed. “That was my Super-Duper Jumbo-Boomer. You guys owe me one Super-Duper Jumbo-Boomer.”

  Bruno and Boots didn’t hear her. They were staring in horror at the big trailer with the star on the door. Its emergency brakes gone, there was nothing anchoring it to the uneven ground. It began to roll, very slowly at first, then picking up speed as the campus sloped downwards to the lower-lying north lawn.

  Goose Golden’s sunburned bald head poked out the window. “Hey! What’s going on?”

  “Hit the brakes!” screamed Bruno.

  Like a juggernaut, the runaway trailer bowled along, bearing down on the film crew. They scattered like tenpins. Even Seth Dinkman had to make a desperate dive to safety.

  “Heeeelp!” cried Goose.

  The camper sailed harmlessly past the cameras, which were still dutifully rolling. It missed the light reflectors and sound equipment, too. Gaining momentum, it barrelled through the heart of the set and ploughed over the model of the Macdonald Hall Faculty Building, crushing it into splinters. Then it continued onto level ground and stopped.

  Dinkman had his hands over his face. “It didn’t happen! It didn’t happen!” He uncovered his eyes. “It happened.”

  Miss Scrimmage was looking on in perplexity. “A building being run over by a giant trailer! What a strange movie!”

  The general chaos was enhanced by the arrival of a yellow taxicab along the road that led from the main driveway. The rear door opened and out stepped Mr. Fudge, still in full camping attire.

  The Housemaster cupped his hands to his mouth and called, “Can anyone lend me three hundred and forty-seven dollars and fifty cents?”

  Seth Dinkman sat on the grass, his head in his hands, his crew gathered around him, awaiting orders. “This place is jinxed. Forget the model. We’ll build another one in California.”

  “What about the stunt?” asked a cameraman. Dinkman made a face. “Let’s get it over with. Where’s Charlie?”

  “Waiting for the ambulance.”

  “What?”

  A production assistant provided the explanation. “He threw his back out dodging the camper. Should we send for another stuntman?”

  The director flushed bright purple. “No! I refuse to spend five more seconds in this — this war zone! We filmed a perfectly good stunt last week, and I intend to use it!”

  “We’ve been over that,” said the assistant. “The kid’s not in the union.”

  “Yeah?” roared Dinkman. “Well, I’m going to call in every favour I have in the world, lie, cheat, bribe, threaten and get him in the union!” He looked up to see Bruno standing nearby, hope written all over his face. “Yeah, kid, you heard right. Congratulations. You’re in the movie.”

  With a shriek of pure joy, Bruno hurled himself straight into the air, pumping his fists in ecstasy. By the time he came back to earth, Boots and Jordie had joined his celebration, thrilled that, after all his efforts and near misses, their friend had finally made it into Academy Blues. The three stood there, laughing, cheering and pounding each other on the back.

  Boots was almost hysterical. “I can’t believe you actually made it!”

  Bruno looked offended. “I never doubted it for a second.” Abruptly his face fell. “Hey, Cutesy — this means the filming’s over! You’re leaving today!”

  Jordie nodded solemnly then broke into a big grin. “But guess what? The world premiere is going to be in Toronto! I’m coming back!”

  There was more celebrating.

  “And I want you guys to be my special guests at the big opening,” Jordie went on.

  Bruno’s face was glowing pink with pleasure. “I’ll probably have to sign a few autographs myself,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m the stuntman. This is my first step on the road to superstardom!”

  And suddenly he was making his way through the crowd, waving frantically at the director.

  “Hey, Mr. Dinkman — is this a good time to discuss salary …?

  Epilogue

  Sir Michael Markham was the toughest critic in Hollywood. He yawned his way through the most exciting action films ever made. Comedies that had viewers howling hysterically in the aisles put him to sleep. While audiences dabbed at their eyes during heartwrenching tearjerkers, he was beset by giggles. And as star-crossed lovers kissed passionately on the screen, Sir Michael sat in the front row, crunching extra-thick potato chips so loudly that the sound carried all the way to the rear of the theatre.

  So, at the Toronto premiere of Academy Blues, after all the other critics had pronounced the movie another Jordie Jones success, there was an expectant pause when the question was posed to Markham.

  It was a one-word review. Sir Michael simply said, “Fertilizer.”

  “He must have loved it,” was Seth Dinkman’s opinion. Everyone expected negatives from Markham, so none of the cast, crew or producers was heartbroken.

  Except for one stuntman. “The nerve of that guy!” raged Bruno, once again resplendent in the red velvet jacket he had worn on the first day of Academy Blues. “Dumping on our movie! I’ll fertilize him!”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jordie assured him. “Sir Michael hates everything. He called Gone With the Wind a big bomb.”

  After the premiere, a fleet of limousines whisked the guests off to the Empress Hotel, where Dinkman had rented the Ambassador Suite for a mammoth party. It was there that Bruno, Boots, Elmer, Larry, Sidney, Pete, Wilbur and Mark presented Jordie with a videotape.

  “So you’ll never forget us,” grinned Bruno.

  “Fat chance of that!” exclaimed the star fervently. He examined the tape. “What is it?”

  “A copy of my documentary,” Mark said proudly. “I got an A double-plus.”

  “And only a C minus on editing,” Pete reminded him.

  “How could I cut anything out?” Mark demanded righteously. “Everything was perfect!”

  All of the suite’s eleven TV sets were on, and the boys settled themselves at a corner monitor and popped Mark’s tape into the machine.

  Switching back and forth from narration to musical soundtrack, the video documented the
making of Academy Blues in painstaking detail. Everything from the loading and unloading of equipment, the actors rehearsing their lines and the crew having lunch, to the activity in the makeup trailer was included. But what really made Mark’s piece fascinating were the extra intercuts between the scenes of Dinkman and Jordie in action. Booby-trapping the trailer, poker night, Mr. Sturgeon dismantling Miss Scrimmage’s shotgun, Bruno’s flubs as an actor — the boys watched in fascination and awe.

  At first they were by themselves in the corner, but soon some of the adults became aware of the video and began to drift over. Those who came stayed, watching with curiosity and interest. Gradually, more and more people gathered around the set. The documentary unfolded — the dance, the hockey game, the press conference, Bruno’s stunt and the rapid-fire disasters of Die-in-the-Woods, starring Cathy Burton as the spotted tundra leopard.

  Then came the credits — directed by Mark Davies, produced by Mark Davies, edited by Mark Davies, concept by Mark Davies, based on an original idea by Mark Davies — all superimposed over the image of the Macdonald Hall Faculty Building being run over by Jordie Jones’s trailer.

  By this time, all eyes in the Ambassador Suite — actors’, crew members’, critics’ and guests’ — were riveted to the screen. No one spoke. No one even moved. For a moment, you could hear a pin drop. Mark’s video on the making of Academy Blues had left a hundred and fifty people, most of them film professionals, completely speechless.

  The silence was broken by applause, not from a crowd, but from one person. Heads turned in all directions to locate its source. There at the back of the group, face pink with pleasure, clapping his heart out, stood Sir Michael Markham. “Bravo!” he called. “Bravo!”

  No one could believe it. The toughest critic in Hollywood, the sourpuss of Sunset Boulevard, the man who hated everything, liked — no, loved — no, was absolutely crazy about Mark’s video.

  Seth Dinkman began to clap, too, followed by Jordie, the crew and Goose Golden. Bruno and Boots joined in, then the rest of the boys and finally all the guests, a hundred and fifty strong, burst into thunderous applause. Glowing, Mark took a bow, overjoyed by his ovation.

  “He’s hated everything that’s come out of Hollywood in fifty years,” said Dinkman as soon as the cheers had died down, “and this he likes!”

  Bruno looked at the director, an enormous grin splitting his face. “For action, adventure and real-life drama,” he said, “you just can’t beat Macdonald Hall!”

  Be sure to read the next hilarious Macdonald Hall adventure:

  Chapter 1

  Over the Hill

  “Take my word for it, Bruno — you’re not going to like him.”

  The speaker was Boots O’Neal. He and Bruno Walton, his longtime roommate and friend, were hanging movie posters on the walls of room 306 of Macdonald Hall.

  Bruno spat out a thumbtack. “Of course I’ll like him. You’re just saying that because he’s your brother.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are,” Bruno insisted. “I mean, look at me. I hate my sister, and everybody else says she’s the sweetest kid on earth. It’s human nature.”

  “You don’t know Edward,” Boots said flatly.

  “Sure I do!”

  “You’ve only met him twice. And he was on his best behaviour because it was vacation and my folks were around. The kid is crazy!”

  “He’s totally normal,” Bruno countered. He took a step back to admire the new decor. “I think this one’s a little crooked.”

  “It’s fine,” Boots retorted. “Dormitory 3 is crooked.”

  Bruno slipped into the shoe he’d been using as a hammer. He breathed deeply. “I envy your brother — young, new, first year at Macdonald Hall — he’s got his whole life ahead of him.”

  Boots had to laugh. “And we’re grandfathers, I suppose?”

  “We have so much to teach him,” Bruno raved on. “We can show him the ropes.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Boots sarcastically. “He should really listen to us. We’ve been in trouble more than any two guys in the history of the Hall. We’ve washed more dishes, picked up more garbage, raked more leaves and shovelled more snow. And we definitely hold the record for being chewed out by the Fish.”

  “The Fish,” said Bruno, smiling at the mere thought of William R. Sturgeon, the Headmaster. “Your brother hasn’t even met the Fish yet! Were we ever that young?”

  “Yes, we were,” growled Boots. “It was a better life.”

  Bruno looked annoyed. “Your problem, Melvin, is that you’re a crab. As soon as new student orientation is over, Edward will drop by here, the three of us will get along great and all your whining and complaining will be for nothing.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth when the door flew open, and there stood Edward O’Neal. He looked very much like a younger version of Boots — blond, blue-eyed, with a sleek, athletic build.

  “Eddie!” Bruno greeted the newcomer. “How’s it going? Remember me? Bruno?” He bounded over and dealt Boots’s brother a hearty slap on the back.

  Edward’s blue eyes crossed and rolled back in his head. Without a sound, he crumpled to the floor and lay there, unmoving.

  Bruno stared, bug-eyed. “What did I do? What happened? I didn’t hit him that hard! Call Nurse Hildegarde! Dial 911! …”

  “Bruno —” Boots began patiently.

  “We’ve got to keep him warm till the ambulance comes!” Bruno howled hysterically. “Quick, get a blanket!”

  From the floor, Edward reached up, pulled the top sheet from Boots’s bed and handed it to Bruno. “Thanks!” gasped Bruno, covering up the victim. He froze. “Hey, wait a minute —”

  Edward rose to his feet, dusting himself off.

  Boots grimaced. “Come on, Edward. Why do you have to pull that weird stuff on the first day?”

  Edward regarded the dumbfounded Bruno. “I’m waiting for the fun to start. The laugh-a-minute thrills. The topsy-turvy roller coaster of excitement.”

  Bruno found his voice at last. “What?”

  “For half my life, every phone call, every letter home, was full of ‘Bruno says,’ and ‘Bruno did,’ and how great and how cool it was to be at Macdonald Hall with Bruno,” sneered Edward. “Well, here I am, on the spot with the Lord of Coolness himself. And I’ve got to tell you — I’m not impressed.” And he turned on his heel and left.

  The stunned silence that followed was broken by Boots’s voice. “I told you you weren’t going to like him.”

  * * *

  Bruno and Boots crouched in the bushes outside their window, scouting the darkened campus.

  “All clear,” whispered Bruno.

  Keeping low to the ground, they snaked along the edge of Macdonald Hall property, scampered across the road and scaled the wrought-iron fence that surrounded Miss Scrimmage’s Finishing School for Young Ladies.

  Bruno picked up a handful of pebbles and tossed them at a second-story window. No response.

  Boots frowned. “Didn’t Cathy and Diane know we’d be dropping by tonight?”

  “Give it a few minutes,” Bruno shrugged. “Maybe there’s a teacher around, or something.”

  They retreated to the shadows of Miss Scrimmage’s nearby apple orchard and sat down to watch the window and wait.

  “You know,” said Bruno, “I’ve been thinking about Eddie.”

  Boots made a face. “Why? I don’t, if I can possibly avoid it. And by the way, it’s ‘Edward.’”

  Bruno nodded. “Yeah. He’s a real jerk, and all that, but I understand him. This is his first time away from home. He’s probably really scared. And he wants everybody to like him.”

  “Well, he made a great start today,” Boots grunted. “I thought you were going to rip his lungs out.”

  “He’s not so bad,” chuckled Bruno. “He’ll settle down. We’ll introduce him to all the guys. Maybe we’ll even bring him over here one night.” He glanced at his watch. “Hey, what’s keeping the gi
rls?”

  Boots stood up. “Maybe we should come back tomorrow.”

  “Nothing doing. The window’s open. We’ll wait for them inside.” He began to stride toward the building.

  Boots followed, listing the reasons why this was a bad idea. “Maybe their room got changed … maybe they haven’t arrived at school yet … maybe Miss Scrimmage is up there with her shotgun —”

  But Bruno was already shinnying up the drainpipe. Breathing a silent prayer, Boots started up after him.

  Bruno swung a leg over the sill and let himself into the room, helping Boots in behind him.

  “Well, they’ve definitely moved in,” said Boots, peering into a closet that was full of clothing. Bruno snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. They knew we were coming, and they’re raiding the kitchen to put up a big spread. Let’s go surprise them.”

  “Aw, c’mon,” moaned Boots. “It’s one thing to sneak in here; it’s another to go wandering around Scrimmage’s in the middle of the night! Let’s wait.”

  But once again, he ended up following Bruno’s lead. They navigated the dim, carpeted halls, slid down the bannister of the main staircase and stepped into the ornate dining room. On tiptoe, they made their way among the round tables and paused at the door to the kitchen. There was the sound of muffled laughter and quiet singing.

  “See!” said Bruno triumphantly. “I told you they were expecting us. It’s a party!”

  He booted open the swinging door and prepared to bound inside. He froze.

  About twenty girls were assembled, eating sandwiches, drinking soda and singing along with a lone visitor, who was strumming on a ukulele.

  Bruno stared. The guest of honour was Edward O’Neal.

  Wham! The big door swung back, catching him full in the face. He staggered away, giving Boots a clear view of the festivities as the door swung the other way.

  “Edward?”

  The two boys ran into the kitchen. Boots’s little brother was flanked by Cathy Burton on his right and Diane Grant on his left. On the counter in front of him sat an enormous slab of triple-chocolate cake.