It gets worse.

WAY worse.

On Sunday, Hugo calls us to tell us all of our upcoming gigs have been cancelled.

On Monday, all the shops in town ditch our music for The Killer Wails’ new album:

Then on Tuesday…

But Friday is the WORST:

‘So what now?’ says Gilleon. Even his fringe looks sad.

‘I guess we go back to being regular kids,’ I say with a shrug.

‘No more concerts,’ sighs Hunter. ‘No more VIP lounges and celebrity interviews.’

‘No more tour bus,’ says Gilleon with a sniffle. ‘I’m really going to miss that jaw-cuzzi.’

‘Not all bad news,’ says Gnash. ‘Still have us. Friends forever, JAWSOME or no JAWSOME!’

I smile at Gnash. ‘You’re right, buddy,’ I say. ‘No one can take that away.’

Even though Gnash makes a good point, I’m feeling miserable as a blobfish when I sail into school the following Monday.

I find Hunter, Gilleon and Gnash hanging out by the tuckshop. Hunter is gnawing on a table.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask her as I sit down. ‘Why aren’t you eating something from the tuckshop?’

‘It’s closed,’ she says through a mouthful of wood.

‘Munch ’n’ Crunch Larry not here today,’ explains Gnash.

‘Oh.’ I look around and frown. It’s not only Munch ’n’ Crunch Larry who isn’t here. The entire schoolyard is empty.

No one on the sea-monkey bars.

No cool kids by the fin-ball courts.

Not even anyone lined up at the loo block.

‘Er … it is a school day, right?’ I ask the others.

Hunter flips open her diary – or what’s left of it, anyway.

‘It’s definitely Monday,’ she says.

‘School holidays?’ says Gill.

‘Not yet.’

‘Fish-mas?’ says Gnash.

‘Nope. That’s next month.’

Gnash looks sad. ‘Oh. Gnash love Santa Jaws.’

‘Maybe everyone’s at home with lobsterpox?’ suggests Gilleon.

‘There was a big outbreak over in Oysterville last week.’

‘Yeah, that’s gotta be it,’ I say, looking around the playground. I can’t help but shiver. I’ve never seen our schoolyard so quiet. It’s otterly creepy.

The bell rings and we all swim over to our classroom.

There’s no one there, either.

‘Okay, something sea-spicious is definitely going on,’ says Gill. ‘No students, and now no teachers. This is more bizarre than an episode of Stranger Fins!’

We sail around the school, checking every classroom. We check the library, the teachers’ lounge, the gym.

All empty!

The last place we check is the principal’s office.

‘Look!’ gasps Gilleon. ‘Someone’s inside.’

He’s right. My shoulders sag with relief. Principal Flotsam is sitting at his desk, looking at his computer screen.

We bust through the door.

‘Principal Flotsam!’ shouts Hunter. ‘There’s an emergency! The entire school is deserted …’

She trails off as the principal’s chair slowly turns to face us.

We all gasp.

Principal Flotsam’s eyes roll back in his head. Drool spills from his jaws. ‘Guuh,’ he moans, waving his fins. It’s like he can’t even see us!

‘Oh, no!’ cries Hunter. ‘Principal Flotsam has been turned into a …