The yellow bus rolled away from Blue Valley School with an air of excitement. Its driver, the much-loved Mr Bambuckle, whistled a tune that matched the sparkle of his blue suit. While it was usual for the children to be taken away on a yearly camp, it was completely unusual that they knew nothing of this year’s destination. In this case, Mr Bambuckle had been arranging the surprise for quite some time.

‘Do kindly close your eyes,’ said the charismatic teacher, ‘for we will soon approach a section of the journey you mustn’t see.’

The fifteen children obeyed without the slightest delay. They had come to learn their teacher operated in remarkable ways, and this was something they were beginning to relish.

‘You may now open your eyes, dear students,’ said Mr Bambuckle.

‘That was quick,’ said Sammy Bamford, straightening his baseball cap.

‘Approximately nine seconds,’ said Albert Smithers, a blond-haired boy who wore glasses and liked to read a lot.

The bus passed beneath a stone bridge the children had never seen before. To the left wound a river, shimmering like diamonds in the afternoon sunlight. Thick forest lined the opposite bank.

‘Where are we?’ said Albert. ‘I’ve studied every map of the Blue Valley region and there are no stone bridges.’

Mr Bambuckle grinned. ‘It’s amazing what you miss when you close your eyes for nine seconds. Dodger chose this location especially, you know.’

Only days before, the secluded camp site the bus now chugged towards had been discovered by a lively blue jay – Mr Bambuckle’s beloved pet, Dodger. The destination had been carefully selected to accommodate top-secret schemes the teacher had been hatching.

‘I can’t believe you let a bird choose the camp site,’ said Miffy Armstrong.

‘There’s a good reason for it,’ explained the teacher. ‘Dodger has the ability to locate GPS black spots.’

‘GPS dreadlocks?’ said Harold McHagil. ‘I’d like to see that.’

‘He said black spots, you funny bunny,’ said Scarlett Geeves, with a chuckle.

‘I’m confused,’ said Miffy. ‘What do GPS black spots have to do with anything?’

‘My dear Miffy,’ said Mr Bambuckle, ‘I would love to tell you more, but that would be taking away the fun of the chase. You’ll work it out when the time comes.’

‘The chase?’ Miffy shrugged her shoulders, though she could tell by her teacher’s tone that he was plotting something quite extraordinary. It sent a tingle down her spine, and as far as tingles go, this one was particularly delicious.

The bus slowed down and turned left, bumping over another stone bridge that crossed the river. The road straightened out and stretched deep into the forest. Albert adjusted his glasses and squinted outside, determined to find a landmark that sparked a map-reading memory.

The black bitumen soon turned to dirt, and the road curved around to the left, taking it back towards the river. The trees – tall and impressive – cast shadows that blinked over the windscreen.

‘I need someone to take the wheel for a moment,’ said Mr Bambuckle. ‘Slugger, would you be so kind?’

Slugger Choppers, a bulky boy with arms as thick as the trees outside, lumbered to the front of the bus. ‘Me?’

‘That’s right, Slugger. I believe you have experience.’

Slugger’s mind flashed back to a few weeks earlier when he had taken advantage of a government typo that allowed anyone older than eight the same rights as eighteen-year-olds. He had spent an entire day behind the wheel of a 42-seater. ‘Yeah, I can drive for you.’

Mr Bambuckle slid out from his seat and stood near the door while Slugger took control.

‘What’s happening?’ said Evie Nightingale, a small girl who was easily frightened.

‘I have an urgent matter to attend to,’ said Mr Bambuckle. ‘Slugger, would you please?’ He tapped the door.

‘Open it?’ said Slugger.

‘That’s right.’

Slugger shrugged and pressed a button on the dash. Wipers suddenly swished across the windscreen. ‘Oops.’

He tried another control.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, baby, you make my heart go wiiiiiiiiiild.

‘That’s the radio, Slugger,’ said Mr Bambuckle.

Slugger’s meaty fists fumbled over the dash as he punched yet another button. The toilet at the back of the bus flushed loudly. ‘I’ll get it in a minute,’ he apologised.

‘Try the orange switch,’ said the teacher patiently.

The door swung open and Mr Bambuckle stepped out of the moving vehicle.

The students gasped.

‘Is he okay?’

‘I can’t see him!’

‘Where did he go?’

‘Did we run over him?’

Before they had time to fully register what had happened, Mr Bambuckle stepped back onto the bus – seemingly out of thin air. ‘All is well, dear children. It appears Dodger had flown into some difficulty.’

The blue jay fluttered its wings, perched on the teacher’s shoulder. He chirped sweetly.

‘Dodger!’ cried Sammy. ‘Is he all right, Mr Bambuckle?’

The teacher nodded. ‘Yes, though the speckled-dagger vulture can be rather nasty this late in the afternoon. I managed to get there just in time.’

Albert shot his hand up. ‘I’ve read over twenty-seven books about birds and there’s no such thing as a speckled-dagger vulture.’

Vinnie White, a tall girl with curly brown hair, laughed. ‘Over twenty-seven books! What does that even mean?’

‘Twenty-eight,’ said Albert. ‘And there is no such bird.’

‘That’s because it hasn’t been discovered yet,’ said Mr Bambuckle.

While Albert would usually argue a point, he was beginning to trust his teacher’s knowledge. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You learn something new every day.’

Dodger fluttered off Mr Bambuckle’s shoulder and looped around the inside of the bus. The students clapped as the blue jay performed some difficult spins and dives.

‘He really is a beautiful bird,’ said Slugger, who usually reserved words like ‘beautiful’ for cooking.

‘He most certainly is,’ agreed Mr Bambuckle. ‘And, Slugger, keep an eye on the road as you’re no longer on it.’

‘Argh!’

The bus slammed to a halt, inches from a giant, twisted gum tree.

‘We’re very close to those branches …’ said Carrot.

‘We’re here!’ announced Mr Bambuckle. ‘Kindly unpack your belongings and set up your tents before dark.’

The students stepped off the bus and into a clearing. The twisted gum, which stood impressively in the centre of the small camp site, was surrounded by soft grass that carpeted the ground. To one side of the tree, about a dozen fallen logs formed a circle around what was clearly a fire pit. On the other side, a pebbly path led from the edge of the scrub to the river. The rest of the clearing was surrounded by deep green forest. It was picturesque.

Once everyone was unpacked, Slugger reversed the bus back to the dirt road and parked it there.

‘You’re not just a talented cook,’ said Mr Bambuckle. ‘Nice manoeuvre.’

Slugger beamed, his cheeks flushing the colour of sautéed radishes.

Damon Dunst approached the teacher, a sheepish look on his face. ‘Umm … bit of a problem …’

‘I am always here to help,’ said Mr Bambuckle. ‘Just tell me what it is.’

Damon scratched the side of his head. ‘I kinda forgot to pack a tent.’