Secret Diary of World's Worst Genius

Paro Anand

Description

I, Arjun Bhasin, am a genius. I ve just been diagnosed with it. Once upon a time, I was an average Joe, neither at the top nor at the bottom. Heck, I was even the middle sibling! But all it took was one test, just one, to change my life. Suddenly, I was important. I was a GENIUS. Everyone was waiting anxiously to hear the pearls of wisdom that would drop from my mouth. Only one problem I didn t know what I was a genius at. If you think geniuses have it all, I bet you haven t met someone like me. I d give anything to be a normal thirteen-year-old again. At least I wouldn t be dragged everywhere, from museums to theatre classes to horse races, to find out my geniosity . At least my best friend wouldn t act like I ve got a contagious disease. At least I wouldn t be a freak . . . Still want to know more? Take a peek into this secret diary to find out what happens when an ordinary boy suddenly becomes the World s Worst Genius.

Sujets

• Children's
• Humanities

Informations

• Publié par: Penguin Books Ltd
• Date de parution: 15 août 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9789351181859
• Langue: English

Extrait

Paro Anand

THE SECRET DIARY OF THE WORLD S WORST GENIUS

PUFFIN BOOKS
Contents
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
The Difficulty of Being Good (for Nothing)
The Difficulty of Still Being Good for Nothing
18 June 2012: Is This It Then?
19 June 2012: The Totally Random Genius
Their Own Difficulty of Being Good
And So
Read More in the Series
Read More in Puffin
Read More in Puffin
Acknowledgements
Copyright Page
PUFFIN BOOKS
THE SECRET DIARY OF THE WORLD S WORST GENIUS
Paro Anand can t stop writing, and has written twenty-three books so far, for children, young adults and adults. She also works with children in schools and NGOs through her programme Literature in Action. She is a world-record holder for helping children make the World s Longest Newspaper. She has performed her stories in many parts of India, UK, France and Switzerland. She has been awarded for her contribution to children s literature by The Russian Centre for Science and Culture. Her work has been listed on the IBBY Honour List. You can catch her in action at www.avantgardediaries.com and www.paroanand.com
Also by Paro Anand:
Wild Child and Other Stories
To Viraj and Sanya, who helped me find a totally weird and wacky solution to this book
Chapter 1
I ve just discovered the weirdest thing. I, Arjun Bhasin, am a genius. I ve just been diagnosed with it. Yeah, I know, that sounds as if it s a disease. And if you ask me honestly, it is a disease. It s making me sick. Sick to my stomach. Sick in my heart. It s horrible. Being a genius comes with a lot of burden. You d think it would make life easier. Believe me, it does not. My life was easy before. Now it s hard to go from one day to the next. I feel a bit like that statue of Atlas carrying the world. Yep, I ve got the weight of the entire globe on my tender shoulders. Rather puny shoulders, too.
If you have the stomach to know about the life of a genius, read on. But if you re just an average Joe like me-well, like I was-then put the book down quick and pick up a comic instead. It s easy on the mind and eye. A wonderful no-brainer, for no-brainers, like life should be. Like my life used to be.
Trust me, this story is one big nightmare. Like, the spooky kind. Are you really, really sure you want to be reading this? For goodness sake, please do judge this book by its cover. And stop reading it right away.
Wow, you re still here. Not very bright, are you? Okay, okay, so I see you re a sucker for punishment. All right, if you insist, here goes
I was happily living my life. Quite cool. Quite satisfied. I was neither at the top of the class, nor at the very bottom, although closer to the end than the beginning, if you know what I mean. It was a comfortable place to be. No one expected anything much out of me. And that s just great. Well, was just great. Past tense. Present tenser.
I don t know, quite honestly, how these achiever types do it. I mean, if you re the kid who comes second in everything you do, then you re constantly driven by someone sitting on your tail, whipping you to get to the first place. Same if you re coming fourth. Then you have to make it to the top three. The top ten have to make it to the top five. Etc. etc. etc. Me? There was no one pushing me to go from thirty-third to thirty-second place. Which, frankly, suited me just fine. And once, when I went from thirty-second to seventeenth place, well, you should have seen the beams all around. You could have switched off all the lights and still got a nice, healthy glow from my parents. Although my sister Soumya darkened things up a bit. My parents were upset with her because not only had she not come first, like they d wanted her to, but she had slipped from second to third place. So she wasn t happy to see them beaming their glowy beams at my seventeenth. However, I looked the other way and pretended I didn t notice. I m good at that. I wear blinkers-you know, the kind that they put on horses? Well, not real ones, obviously, I m not a freak, but virtual blinkers, so that I don t notice much and can pretend to live in a happy state of oblivion. Besides, I was rather enjoying the parental beams coming my way for once. It didn t happen very often. Not much I did was beam-worthy. Well, all that was about to change. For the worse. Much worse.
Frankly, I was an Average Joe and happy to be so. Always had been and would have been grateful to always remain so.
My report card remarks always read: Could do better. Yeah, yeah, I know that statement very well. Of course I could do better. Who couldn t? I mean, the teachers could have done better in teaching me. My parents could have done better in parenting me. J.K. Rowling could have done better with Harry Potter. Why, even Superman could probably have done better. So it never really bothered me.
Actually, come to think of it, nothing really bothered me. Until now. Now.
When I came back from an examination and my parents asked me how I d done, I d smile and sometimes even whoop it up a bit, saying that it was brilliant. Initially they d also smile and pat me on the back. I mean, I knew the exam hadn t gone brilliantly. And most likely, after all this time, so did they, but what was the point of telling them? I mean, you re going to get into trouble later anyway, you re going to be in the dock when the results come, so why not give yourself a break now and pretend that all izz well? An enjoy now, pay later kind of deal. Gosh, truth be told, I used to even convince myself that the exam had, in fact, gone well. I think my parents, too, thought it was easier to just pretend that I was going to do well and then accept that nothing changes when the results were out.
Older sis Soumya, on the other hand, didn t know this trick. She d come back crying and weeping that she d lost a half mark here and a quarter mark there. You know the kind, right? They re the ones who sit down with their brainy friends immediately after the paper and analyze every question, every mark. It s like going through the whole freaking exam all over again. What s the point? I tried telling her this once, but she fairly bit my head off and told me I was too stupid to understand. Which was probably true. And I didn t mind in the least. So she continued weeping away until the results came, and then she was all smiles, usually. And I continued laughing away until the results were announced and then I well there weren t too many tears.
Okay, so there were a few rough days just after the exam results rolled around, and I had some passes, some fails and the occasional retest. So what? About half the class was in the same boat. And we were pretty happy to be there. Sailing along, not minding anyone else s business and, best of all, no one minding ours. None of us making a huge splash but no one falling off the boat and drowning, either.
Do you get the picture? No? Never been on that particular boat? No probs, here s another metaphorical example.
You know what I mean? Like in the Olympics, you re straining your eyes and your heart is pumping for the two athletes who are straining their own eyes, legs and hearts, while bobbing their heads to breast the tape first. Then your heart will bleed and your voice will bleat for the poor joker who is struggling with a broken hamstring, still limping over the finish line. But there are no cameras on the athletes coming in fifth and sixth, right?
Oh, I knew that the inevitable lectures on studying regularly and being consistent and all that would come. Just as we all knew they would inevitably go too. In through one ear, out through the other, kind of coming and going. I knew, by now, how to behave when I brought my report card home. I hung my head to show I was ashamed (although I wasn t), nodded occasionally to show that I was listening (although I wasn t). I said sorry (although I wasn t) in a teary voice and opened my eyes wide with earnestness to show that I was going to do better from now on (although I wasn t). And best of all, the parents knew I was bluffing as well.
The kids who were in the uncomfortable glare of attention were either the shining examples at the top of the class, or the complete duffers at the bottom. I was a duffer too, but I still managed to pass in most subjects and average my way along the penumbra of the class. Yes, I lived in a happy penumbra of existence. And let me tell you, it s a really comfortable place to be in. It is light enough to find your way, yet not so bright that you can t take a quick nap from life.
Then everything changed.
When I was in Class 8, these clever folks came to our school do some sort of survey. Our class teacher announced that we were not going to be able to have our weekly test that day. Or weakly test, as we bottom feeders called it. She waited until the cries and hoots of joy had subsided. Then, in a triumphant voice, she told us the catch (she was a mean sort, this teacher of ours, always giving us the good news as though it came with no strings attached and then tying us up with strings, like handcuffs, a minute later.) So she smiled her evil smile, which was scarier than her frown, and announced, Your weekly subject test will take place TOMORROW. However, today you will have another test. It will be conducted by an organization that is testing children of your age from all over the country. This is part of a survey. I want you to do your best. Do your school proud.
The class exploded once again, everyone shouting questions:
What test?
Which subject?
Who are these people?
How long is the test?
Why haven t we been given time to prepare?
Do our parents know we re taking this?
It s against the rules if you don t take permission.
Can we refuse to take the test?
Yeah! Yeah! I refuse!
Me too!
But mostly, everyone was shouting because that s how we were. Once someone started the shouting spree, we all joined in for