Other Books in the Series
Little Badman and the Invasion of the Killer Aunties
Little Badman and the Time-Travelling Teacher of Doom
Little Badman and the Radioactive Samosa (World Book Day 2021)
Little Badman and the Rise of the Punjabi Zombies
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First published 2025
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To the three most important people in my life: my mother, my wife and my barber. I would also like to thank and praise God for everything! God is great.
– Humza
To my wonderful Teddy, who can always get one more story out of me.
– Henry
CHAPTER ONE MISSING MUM
Let me get straight to the point, yeah. My life is . . . fine. It feels weird to say it, but it is. No aliens are trying to kill me, no zombies are trying to eat me. There are no crazy spy missions or mutant hamsters. Things are . . . normal.
Except they ain’t. Cos for some reason I’m STRESSED ! Super-duper, round-the-clock, mega-crazy STRESSED ! And this isn’t because of any of that out-of-this-world nonsense that’s been messing with me the last year. It’s because of the stupidest, most ridiculous, most ungangsta reason in the universe . . .
A girl. But not just any girl. Aisha Mariam Shah. Twelve years old. Four foot eight. Perfect skin and hair and eyes and teeth and smell and . . .
AARGGHH !
It’s terrible. Why can’t she just be a mess like me or my friends? Actually, scratch that. Wendy’s not really a mess, and Umer’s too much of a mess. He might be my best mate but I once saw him use a glue stick as a deodorant for like a week before he realized. Fool couldn’t lift his arms by the end.
And anyway, in my defence, I ain’t even that much of a mess most of the time. I look sharp (obviously). I’ve got my Badman style: beanie, puffa, hoodie. I’ve got better taste in music than my whole school combined. And I’ve got the top score in every single video game Umer owns! That’s extra impressive considering I can only play them when I’m round his house.
That’s right. My mum and dad STILL won’t buy me a games console. Or a PC . Or a smartphone!
The only chance I ever get to play games is when I’m round someone else’s place.
I did manage to borrow my cousin’s Xbox for a bit while he was in hospital for swallowing a doorstop. But unfortunately he got better and I had to give it back. Still, I always manage to wipe the floor with Umer at every single racer/ beat-em-up/sports-sim/first-person-shooter and anything else we can get our hands on. What can I say? My natural talent just shines through!
Seriously though, I’m doing all right for a twelve-year-old. I’ve saved the world more times than most kids my age. And not just in video games. The actual world. And even though I’ve gotta keep all that a secret, it still gives a guy confidence to know he’s basically an Avenger.
So how is it, you ask, when I’ve got all this going for me, that some random girl can come along and turn my stomach inside out and my heart into a drum machine?! Well, like I say, she ain’t just some girl. She’s Aisha Mariam Shah. And she’s a work of art.
Now, normally I like to kick things off with a little recap rap. Just my way of catching you up on what’s been going on these last few months. But honestly, I’m feeling a bit all over the shop. I can’t get the lyrics straight in my head. I feel too distracted, y’know?
But . . . well . . . I’ve got a job to do. So I’ll give it a go. After all, I am a pretty sick MC and I’ll probably knock it out the park, right?
Here goes . . .
Listen up, fam, to the tale I’m spittin’.
Rhymes so tight other MC s quittin’.
Filling in gaps with my recap rap –
snap traps, don’t yap, till I’m done – then clap.
Alien slugs come to Earth with a plan.
Goes belly up when they meet Badman.
Summer school teacher, calculating coolly, plans to rule the world, then he meets yours truly.
Fearsome zombies back from the dead.
Grab a magic orb – let ’em rest instead.
Those are just some of the tests I’ve aced, but none of ’em compare to Aisha’s face.
DAMN IT ! Ignore that. That’s not what I meant to say.
Where was I? Oh yeah . . .
Gave a little try to life as a spy. Went back in time, no word of a lie. Nearly got hit by a comet from space, and I can’t stop thinking ’bout Aisha’s face!
AARGHHHHH !
See what I mean? I’m ruined! How can I be a world-famous rapper if I keep breaking into lyrics about my girlfriend?! Oops. I wasn’t meant to say that. Maybe just keep the whole ‘girlfriend’ bit to yourself, yeah? I mean, it’s not like we’ve even held hands or nothing. It’s just that, you know, Pakistani parents can be pretty strict when it comes to this kinda thing, so we’ve been keeping it on the down-low.
Seriously, I knew a guy who shook hands ONE TIME with his pretty second cousin and had to go and live in Karachi for two years. Fact. So, as a Pakistani, unless you’re planning on getting married that same week, you best watch yourself when it comes to dating. Most Pakistani
parents will literally sell you for parts if they get wind of it.
And yet, that’s where things have taken an unexpected turn lately. See, my dad’s actually met Aisha (even though he was the size of a Barbie doll at that point). And because I was busy stuttering and stammering my way through every sentence I spoke to her, he spotted that I might just have a bit of a crush. Which, of course, he used as an opportunity to make fun of me.
A lot.
But when Dad ended up helping us save the day, we started getting on a bit better. It was the first time I’d actually involved him in my adventures, rather than just trying to hide them from him. And while, at the time, he didn’t much like being shrunk down smaller than a bowling pin, looking back on it I reckon he had fun.
Which is why I can now have actual conversations with him. Like the one we had that late-autumn morning, just before school . . .
‘Mum!’ I shouted from the top of the stairs. ‘Where’s my swim kit?’
There was no answer.
‘Mum!’ I yelled again. ‘This is urgent!’
‘Stop yelling for your mum!’ shouted my dad, appearing at the bottom of the stairs with an apron on (a very bad sign). ‘She’s gone out already, numbskull!’
‘What!? Where?’ I asked, worried about what that meant for my breakfast.
‘University,’ he said, turning back towards where smoke was pouring out of the kitchen.
‘Oh yeah,’ I replied as the fire alarm exploded into life. ‘I forgot . . .’
Mum had started her degree a month ago and had to go to uni most of the week. She was gonna be a teacher, apparently. I couldn’t understand for the life of me why anyone would ever sign up for more school than was legally necessary, but that’s Mum for you. Too smart for her own good. And now she’s planning to use that big brain of hers in the service of pure evil: the education system . . .
When I made it to the bottom of the stairs, Dad was waving a tea towel around under the fire alarm with one hand, while holding a blackened frying pan in the other. The kitchen was thick with smoke and Punjabi swear words.
When we were both done coughing (and the fire alarm lay smashed to pieces on the kitchen floor), I took a look into the frying pan and tried to guess what my dad had been attempting to cook.
‘Scrambled eggs?’ I asked him.
‘Daal,’ he replied.
‘Wow . . .’ I said, genuinely surprised that I was looking at daal.
Normally, I’d complain about being served daal, but I wasn’t worried about it this time. There was no way this smoking heap of black death was fit for human consumption. I was safe.
Six minutes later, however, we were sitting at the kitchen table eating daal.
‘This is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted,’ I told him. ‘It’s worse than the time I woke up with a spider in my mouth.’
‘Well, it’s all you’re getting,’ he replied, crunching on something burnt. ‘So eat up.’
‘You know, I might just digest my own stomach lining instead,’ I said, putting my fork down.
‘You need to eat something, boy,’ he said, sounding like he might actually care about my wellbeing. ‘Your mum will shout at me if you don’t.’
‘Gotcha.’ I reached for an apple. ‘This should be enough to get me through swimming. Have you seen my trunks?’
‘Already packed,’ he replied, looking very pleased with himself. ‘In your bag, by the door.’
‘Wow, you’ve really upped your parenting game.’
‘Nonsense!’ he replied. ‘I have always been an incredible parent! I was voted Best Father of the Millennium by a readers’ poll in the Peshwari Post !’
I stared at him flatly for a moment and waited for him to acknowledge the idiocy of what he’d just said. He didn’t bat an eyelid.
‘Daaaad . . .’ I began patiently, ‘that’s one of your lies, isn’t it?’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘Yes. I just made it up. I have no idea why.’
‘Well done,’ I said with a smile. ‘That’s the quickest admission yet.’
See? Progress! My dad had been lying to me about everything my entire life. Mostly just the little stuff, like key details in every single story he ever told. When I was young, I had just assumed it was all true. Then I began to spot the clues. Things like how in every story he was always the hero. And not just a hero, but a legend of superhuman magnitude.
His stories were full of impossible things, like talking bears, ghost pirates and him winning handsomeness contests. I still liked his nonsense stories, but now that I was having a more honest relationship with him, I figured it was only fair if it went both ways.
‘Thanks for admitting you were lying, Abu-jee,’ I said, patting him on the arm. ‘That’s real progress.’
‘It feels . . . boring,’ he replied. ‘How can you tell a story without a little bit of . . . spice?’
‘Well, if you really need to exaggerate, just remember what we agreed on, yeah?’
Dad nodded, then reached into his pocket. He pulled out the red foam nose I’d given him and popped it in place. He stared at me like a sad Pakistani clown and said: ‘In 1984, I won all of the Olympic gold medals by myself.’
‘Good for you, Dad,’ I told him. ‘That must have been a big deal in Pakistan.’
‘They gave me a parade,’ he replied with a small smile, then took the nose off and popped it back in his pocket.
‘Right then,’ I said, jumping up. ‘On that note, I’m off to school.’
‘You want a lift?’ he offered.
‘Nah, it’s cool. I’ll call past Umer’s place on the way.’
‘Still don’t want to be seen in your dad’s car, eh?’ he asked with a grin.
‘Obviously not,’ I replied as I grabbed my bag. ‘But only cos it’s the worst car ever made. Nothing to do with you personally.’
‘Understood,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Though I think it may have something to do with a certain Miss Shah.’
I felt my cheeks heat up instantly.
‘Bye, Dad!’ I spluttered, turning my back on him and marching away.
‘Say hi to Aisha for me!’ he called as I pulled the front door behind me. ‘Oh, and –’
I couldn’t quite make out his last words as the door slammed shut. Sounded like something about my swimsuit. Probably nothing important . . .
CHAPTER TWO SINKING FEELING
‘AARRGGHHH
!!’
My yell echoed around the enormous changing room and out into the leisure centre. Every boy in my year turned to look at me.
‘Everything OK?’ asked Umer, looking concerned.
I’d finally figured out what my dad had been trying to tell me when I left the house . . .
‘He’s packed my old swimsuit!’ I cried, staring into my bag.
‘They’ll be OK , won’t they?’ replied Umer.
I lifted out the tiny pair of yellow Speedos and held them up.
‘Oh . . .’ said Umer, clearly trying to fight a grin. ‘They’re not that bad.’
‘Yes they are! I ain’t worn these since I was three! You couldn’t hide an acorn inside ’em!’
‘Well, that shouldn’t be a problem then,’ Umer replied with a smirk.
‘Shut up, man!’ I yelled.
‘What? You’re not planning on taking any acorns swimming, are you?’
‘I’m gonna look like an idiot,’ I moaned.
‘Quick! Let me borrow yours!’
‘No!’ Umer choked, half laughing, half shocked. ‘I need them.’
‘I need them more!’ I declared. ‘You ain’t got a girlfriend in the next room. I do! I can’t have her see me in these!’
‘No one’s gonna care,’ he said, grabbing his towel and heading towards the exit. ‘They probably won’t even notice.’
The roar of laughter that went up from the kids waiting by the pool when I walked out suggested they had noticed.
‘What are those?’ guffawed Jamal Jones.
‘Is that a pair of swimming trunks or a rubber band?’ said Iqbal Butt.
‘Yeah, ha ha, whatever,’ I said, my cheeks starting to burn like the sun. ‘It’s called fashion. Next week you’ll all be wearing these.’
‘Hey, Humza,’ came a familiar voice behind me. It sounded like birdsong.
Like angels.
Like the perfect vocal hook in a banging tune about me!
My heart leapt into my mouth before crashing down into my Speedos. I couldn’t bear to turn round. I decided it was best just to answer with my back to her.
‘Uh . . . hey, Aisha,’ I said, not budging an inch. ‘You look nice.’
I figured she probably looked great as usual, so it was a safe bet.
‘Um . . . thanks,’ she replied. ‘Do you want to turn round now maybe?’
‘I’m definitely thinking about it,’ I replied, without moving.
‘Don’t worry about Humza,’ came Wendy’s voice. ‘He’s just embarrassed because he’s wearing swimming trunks five sizes too small for him.’
‘Thanks, Wendy,’ I growled, slowly turning round to face them.
My face was screwed up like a clenched fist, while my heart was doing bhangra in my chest. My Speedos felt tighter than a cling-film coffin. This wasn’t exactly how I wanted to chat to my girlfriend for the first time today. And judging by her response, it wasn’t exactly what she wanted to see either.
With an awkward smile, Aisha murmured, ‘Uh . . . I have to go,’ before turning and hurrying away to the other end of the line.
And then the whistle blew.
And my heart imploded.
I swear to God, I’d never been so happy in my life to get into a swimming pool. As soon as I was under, it felt like my idiotic yellow swimming trunks weren’t so visible. And yeah, I know water’s see-through, but it was still an improvement.
Plus, as luck would have it, Aisha was one of the best swimmers in the year, so she’d gone off with the top group to the far end of the pool. I was in the shallow end with Umer, sploshing around like a couple of manatees with the other useless kids.
‘See,’ Umer said, as he floated beside me, trying to keep his tummy above the waterline. ‘That wasn’t so bad.’
‘What you talking about?’ I yelled. ‘Everyone laughed at me! Even the lifeguards!’
‘Yeah, but Aisha didn’t seem bothered.’
‘Course she did! She left faster than my dad at a school play! She was embarrassed to be seen with me!’
‘You’re overthinking it,’ he replied, closing his eyes and allowing himself to float there happily.
‘You should do like me and let it all just wash over you.’
So I splashed him.
Umer bolted up with a nose full of water and shot me an annoyed look.
‘Don’t blame me. It was Douglas,’ I said, pointing over at Douglas Grub, who was treading water nearby.
‘Yeah, right,’ Umer replied, not believing a word of it. ‘All I’m saying is I think you’re OK . You’re not going to blow it. Unless you keep being weird.’
‘Oh, great – thanks! So you think I’m going to blow it?’
‘No! I just said exactly the opposite!’ groaned Umer. ‘I said I don’t think you’re going to blow it. But you might just mess things up if you keep trying to be something you’re not.’
Umer didn’t know what he was talking about. Being ‘something I’m not’ was the central strategy in my plan to keep having a girlfriend. She was ace. Flawless. And I was me.
Let’s break it down:
I could go on . . . Aisha’s a perfect human being in all the ways that matter at school. And in all those same ways, I’m basically a disaster. I’m bad at schoolwork, bad at homework, bad at listening, never on time, rubbish at sport, always in trouble, and I lick tortoises when Umer dares me to. They say opposites attract, but I assume there are limits? I mean, there ain’t no fairy tales about princesses
falling in love with verrucas. OK, I’m not a verruca, but you get my point. I’m punching above my weight and I’d rather she didn’t find out.
That whole thing at the side of the pool was the opposite of what I needed. She couldn’t even look at me once she’d clocked those stupid little trunks! I’d never seen her lose her cool before, but one glimpse of me in my acorn-smugglers and she was out of there like Umer after an ice-cream van. It was a disaster. I had to fix it, and fast.
Which was how I came up with my big plan. The plan that was going to convince her once and for all into thinking I was smart at school stuff and deserving of her love . . .
I
was gonna win the science fair!!!
And I knew just how to do it . . .
‘You’re gonna win the science fair!’ I told Wendy as we got on the coach after swimming. ‘And I’m gonna help!’
Wendy, who was just taking her seat in the row behind me, looked up, puzzled.
‘You and me?’ replied Wendy, confused. ‘Together?’
‘Yeah! Brilliant, right? Obviously you can be in charge of making all the sciency decisions. I’ll just be there to pitch in.’
‘Oh, right . . .’ Wendy said, still looking puzzled. ‘How exactly?’
‘However you can use me! Seriously, anything you need. I can lift stuff, carry stuff, move stuff, fetch stuff . . .’
‘So, basically, if I have “stuff” that I need shifted, you’re my guy,’ Wendy said with a half smile.
‘I’ll be helpful, I promise! Just tell me what you’ve got in mind. I bet you’ve been planning something all year.’
‘Well, yes, I have actually,’ replied Wendy.
‘Great! And with me as your assistant, we’ll definitely win!’ I flashed her my best winning smile.
There was a moment’s pause as she stared at me.
‘You’re scamming me, aren’t you, Humza?’ she said.
‘Wendy! Would I ever scam you?’
‘You’d scam your own mother.’
‘Yeah, but she ain’t a mate. Come on, man! You can trust me!’
‘I’ve known you since you were five, Humza Khan,’ Wendy said, staring at me over the rims of her glasses. ‘And I’ve never seen you take on extra schoolwork willingly. You’ve got an angle here. There’s something going on . . .’
She’d barely finished speaking when Aisha appeared.
‘Hey, guys, is this seat free?’ she asked, gesturing to the seat beside Wendy.
‘Of course,’ replied Wendy. ‘I was saving it for you.’
Thank God Umer was already sitting beside me or I might have had to sit next to my own girlfriend! He was busy working his way through the big Tupperware of samosas his mum had packed him as a snack. The crunchy deep-fried parcels of deliciousness looked so good I was tempted to snatch one if he didn’t start sharing soon.
I missed having a mum who cooked. My dad had just drawn me a picture of an apple and shoved it in my swim bag. On the back it read: ‘Eat this. Ha ha ha.’
It wasn’t quite the same.
Aisha popped her swimming stuff under the seat and sat down.
‘What were you guys talking about?’ she asked.
‘Humza was just saying that he –’ Wendy began.
‘Me and Wendy are doing the science fair together!’ I interrupted. ‘As partners. Fifty-fifty.’
I couldn’t bring myself to look directly at Wendy as I said it, but even out of the corner of my eye I could tell she’d figured it out. Now Wendy knew exactly why I was so keen to win the science fair, and she was grinning at me so obviously I could feel it burrowing into the side of my head.
‘Ohhh! I get it now . . .’ said Wendy, sounding amused (and a little mischievous).
‘Get what?’ asked Aisha.
‘Uh . . . get all the help she could possibly
need!’ I blurted out before Wendy could answer. ‘From yours truly! Her science fair partner. Me!’
‘That’s great,’ Aisha replied. ‘What’s your project?’
‘Do you want to answer that one, Humza?’ Wendy asked, still grinning at me. ‘I know how passionate you are about it. I bet you’ve memorized every last detail . . .’
Wendy was enjoying this. I smiled at her through gritted teeth.
‘No, no. Probably best you explain, Wendy,’ I replied. ‘You love talking about this stuff.’
‘No problem,’ Wendy said, still smirking. ‘But I think it might be best just to show you in person. Why don’t you all come round mine after school?’
At the mention of going to Wendy’s house, Umer bolted up in his seat and spun round.
‘Linda Wang!’ he shouted, through a mouthful of samosa. ‘I’ll get to see Linda Wang!’
And I couldn’t blame him. Wendy’s mum was pretty awesome.
CHAPTER THREE WOOF
‘OMG !’ Linda Wang cried as she opened the door and found us all standing on her doorstep. ‘OMG ! OMG ! OMG !’
‘Mum!’ Wendy snapped. ‘Calm it down!’
‘Are you kidding me, Wendy Wang?!’ cried Linda Wang. ‘You show up here with all my favourite people in the world and ask me to “calm it down”? No way! ALEXA, PLAY KOOL AND THE GANG !’
Immediately, some old-school song about celebrating stuff burst out of the speaker at volume
ten. Linda Wang began dancing, right there on the doorstep.
Aisha, who’d never met Wendy’s mum before, looked a little taken aback. Umer, on the other hand, couldn’t get enough of it. He started dancing too, shaking his bum and spinning around. I couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Get inside, quick!’ Wendy said, hurrying us through the door.
Linda continued dancing as we headed up the stairs. She was having such a good time I’m not sure she even noticed us go.
‘In here,’ said Wendy, herding us into her room.
‘Whoa!’ I gasped when I stepped inside. ‘What the heck is that?!’
On the floor next to Wendy’s bed was what appeared to be a robot dog. At the sound of my voice, it stretched out its long, extendable neck and rotated its head to look at me.
‘What the?!’ I cried.
‘It’s alive!’ gasped Umer.
‘It’s not alive,’ Wendy replied, shutting the door behind us. ‘But it can see you. And hear you, for that matter.’
‘It’s looking right at me!’ squealed Aisha, shifting her head from side to side, every movement followed perfectly by the robot.
‘LiDAR sensors, along with multiple audio inputs, allow for advanced target tracking,’ Wendy explained matter-of-factly.
‘Yeah,’ I added, like I knew what the heck Wendy was talking about. ‘Target tracking, innit.’
‘Amazing,’ Aisha said, bending down to pat the robot on the head. ‘So is this what you two have been building then?’
‘Well, not quite,’ Wendy replied, taking a seat at her desk and powering up her laptop. ‘REX is actually an off-the-shelf model I got for my birthday,’ she explained.
‘Who’s Rex?’ Aisha asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Wendy, gesturing to the robot dog. ‘Meet REX . Robotic Exploration Unit. REX for short.’
‘You got this for your birthday?’ asked Umer, amazed.
‘It’s a bit much, I know,’ she replied, blushing a little. ‘But my mum apparently had a very good year with her business and said I could have whatever I wanted. So I chose REX .’
‘Can he do tricks?’ asked Umer.
‘Of course,’ replied Wendy. ‘But it depends how you program him. Which is where my science project comes in.’
‘Our science project,’ I quickly corrected.
‘Oh yes.’ Wendy smiled. ‘Our science project.’
She began to tap away on the keyboard, and lots of black windows full of colourful text started opening up. I had no idea what I was looking at, but I wasn’t about to let Aisha know that.
‘Mm-hm, very good,’ I agreed, nodding at the gibberish code Wendy was flipping through.
‘There,’ Wendy said, hitting the enter key. ‘I’ve uploaded the most recent version of our program into REX ’s operating system. He’s now running the software we’ve been working on in our project.’
We all stared at REX , waiting for him to do something, but he just stood there.
‘He ain’t doing anything . . .’ I hissed, nudging Wendy.
‘Of course not. There are no dogs here.’
‘Dogs?’ Umer asked, puzzled.
‘That’s right,’ Wendy said. ‘REX is an interpreter. He can now translate Dog into English.’
‘That’s it?’ I spluttered, before realizing my mistake. ‘I mean, that’s it!!! That’s what he does! Isn’t it great?!’
‘Uh . . . I guess so.’ Umer looked slightly underwhelmed. ‘But how are you meant to test it? You don’t even own a dog.’
‘That’s true,’ said Wendy. ‘But our neighbour, Mr Yennek, does.’ Wendy opened her bedroom window and peered out. ‘Oh good,’ she said. ‘She’s in the garden. REX ! Hop up!’