Chapter One: Max and His Marvelous Mouth

Max Puddle was the best liar in Maplewood Primary.

Not just an ordinary liar—the kind who says “I didn’t eat the last cookie” with crumbs on their chin. No, Max was a professional, world-class, gold-medal liar. His lies were so outrageous, so ridiculous, that people laughed instead of scolding him.

One morning, when the teacher asked why his homework was missing, Max leaned back in his chair and said, “Oh, you’ll never believe it, Miss Carter. A giraffe leaned through my bedroom window, mistook my maths homework for a menu, and ate the whole thing with a side of socks.”

The whole class erupted in giggles. Even Miss Carter bit her lip to hide a smile.

The thing was, Max didn’t just lie. He performed. He waved his arms like a stage magician, pulled faces, and added details so silly that people couldn’t help but laugh.

By lunchtime, Max had retold the “homework giraffe” story three times, each version more ridiculous than the last. In one, the giraffe brought ketchup. In another, it wore sunglasses.

His best friend, Toby, shook his head in awe. “Max, you could sell ice to penguins. You should make a contest or something. You’d win for sure.”

Max’s ears perked up. A contest? A competition of lies? That sounded glorious.

At recess, Max stood on a bench in the playground and clapped his hands for attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, truth-tellers and fib-spinners! Welcome to the first ever… GREAT LYING CONTEST!”

Kids crowded around. Even a few of the older Year Six students wandered over, curious.

“The rules are simple,” Max announced, pacing like a circus ringmaster. “You must tell the most unbelievable, most hilarious, most ridiculous lie you can think of. The one that makes us laugh hardest—wins!”

Hands shot up. “What’s the prize?” asked Amelia, a sharp-eyed girl with pigtails.

Max hadn’t thought that far. He paused, then swept a dramatic bow. “The prize… is the Golden Spoon of Sneakiness!”

Everyone gasped. “What’s that?”

Max puffed out his chest. “Only the most magical spoon in the world. It can stir invisible soup. It can dig holes to Australia. It can even… tickle a dragon’s belly without getting burnt!”

Of course, no such spoon existed, but the kids cheered anyway. The contest was on.

One by one, children stepped forward with their lies. Amelia went first:

“My cat is secretly a millionaire. She has a diamond collar and drives a pink sports car.”

Giggles. Not bad.

Toby tried next:

“My dad is actually a superhero called Captain Custard. He saves people from drowning… in pudding.”

The crowd roared.

But when Max finally spoke, silence fell. He leaned close, lowered his voice, and said, “You think that’s good? Well, my grandma is the Queen of England. But she only rules at night. In the day, she disguises herself as a lunch lady and serves mashed potatoes to spies.”

The playground exploded with laughter. Kids doubled over, wheezing. Max grinned. The contest had begun, and he knew one thing for certain—he was born to win.

Chapter Two: Bigger, Bolder, Better Lies

The news of the Great Lying Contest spread through Maplewood Primary faster than a hamster on a skateboard. By the very next day, children from every class were whispering, plotting, and polishing their fibs like jewelers with precious gems.

Max strutted around the playground like the mayor of Mischief Town. Wherever he went, kids begged him to retell his “Queen Grandma” lie. He happily obliged, adding new twists each time. In one version, she kept spies in her handbag. In another, she commanded an army of potatoes.

“Face it, Toby,” Max whispered as they lined up for assembly. “Nobody can out-lie me. I’m the master. The king. The—”

“The liar,” Toby teased. “Don’t forget that bit.”

Max smirked. “Oh, Toby, you say liar, I say storyteller.”

That afternoon, Miss Carter announced a school-wide talent show for Friday. Singers, dancers, jugglers—everyone was welcome. Max’s eyes gleamed. A talent show was the perfect stage to prove his lying skills to the entire school.

But first came Round Two of the contest.

Amelia tried again. “My hamster isn’t really a hamster. He’s a secret agent with a moustache glued on. Last night he parachuted out of my window and landed on the roof of the candy store.”

The kids snorted. Not bad.

Then Toby stepped up. “Well, MY uncle has an Olympic medal in—wait for it—Extreme Snoring. His snores are so loud they once knocked a vase off a shelf in Australia.”

The crowd howled. Even Amelia clapped.

But Max had been preparing something grand. He cleared his throat dramatically. “Last summer, I went camping in the jungle. Who did I meet? Only the world’s first talking banana. He wore trousers. He gave me advice about math homework. And when I peeled him… there was another banana inside, also wearing trousers!”

The playground went silent—then erupted. Kids fell to the ground, rolling with laughter. A teacher poked her head out the staffroom window to see what the fuss was, but Max’s classmates quickly pretended to be discussing fractions.

By now, Max’s lies were becoming legend. But something else was happening too: kids started asking Max to lie for them.

“Can you tell Mr. Johnson that we were late because of a crocodile traffic jam?” one boy begged.

“Say I didn’t hand in my book report because it exploded,” another whispered.

At first, Max enjoyed it. He loved the attention, the way everyone relied on him for the funniest excuses. But slowly, without noticing, he started lying outside the contest.

When his mum asked why his shoes were muddy, he said, “Aliens challenged me to a football match.”

When Toby reminded him to bring lunch money, Max grinned and claimed, “Don’t need it—my invisible butler will pack me a feast.”

And when Miss Carter asked why he hadn’t done his spelling list, Max said smoothly, “Oh, a tornado came through and blew the letters clean off the page.”

The class laughed. Miss Carter didn’t.

“Max,” she said, arms folded, “if your lies keep escaping the playground, you’ll end up in a tangle you can’t escape.”

But Max only smiled. He was certain he could lie his way out of anything.

Chapter Three: When Lies Bite Back

By Wednesday, Max Puddle was living in two worlds.

In the contest world, he was the undisputed champion, spinning tales so wild that even the Year Sixes bowed to his imagination. Kids followed him around like fans at a rock concert.

But in the real world, things were starting to wobble.

On Monday evening, Max’s mum asked, “Why haven’t you tidied your room?”

Max puffed out his chest. “Because, Mother dearest, a herd of wild elephants charged through and knocked everything over.”

Mum raised an eyebrow. “Really? Funny, I don’t see any elephants.”

“They’re invisible elephants,” Max said quickly. “With ninja skills. Very rare.”

“Uh-huh,” Mum replied, her voice sharp enough to slice toast. “Well, tell your invisible elephants they’d better start helping you clean. Now.”

Max sighed. That hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped.

The next day at school, things got worse. Toby whispered, “Did you bring my football back?”

Max froze. He’d forgotten. “Of course! Only… it’s temporarily stuck on the roof of Buckingham Palace. The Queen said she’ll post it to me.”

Toby frowned. “Max, I lent you that ball two weeks ago. You’d better not be lying.”

“Me? Lying? Never!” Max laughed a little too loudly.

But Toby didn’t look convinced.

Then came the talent show rehearsal. Miss Carter asked Max what his act would be.

“Ah,” Max began, bowing deeply, “I shall perform the most incredible trick of all time. I’m going to juggle three flaming pineapples while standing on a hippo.”

The class gasped. Even Miss Carter blinked. “Max… are you sure?”

“Absolutely!” Max declared.

Only problem was—he had no pineapples. Or a hippo. Or any juggling skills whatsoever.

“Better start practicing,” Amelia teased, smirking.

Max laughed weakly. “Oh, I will. Don’t you worry.”

But inside, his stomach squirmed like a bag of worms.

That night, panic set in. How was he supposed to pull this off? He thought about telling the truth… but no, he couldn’t. Everyone admired him too much. He had a reputation.

By Thursday, the lies had begun to tangle like spaghetti. To Toby, he said he was secretly training with Olympic jugglers. To Amelia, he claimed the hippo was being delivered by special courier. To Miss Carter, he swore his uncle was a pineapple farmer.

And then disaster struck.

At lunch, the headteacher, Mr. Grimble, approached. “Max, I hear you’re juggling flaming pineapples tomorrow. The mayor will be attending the show. I do hope it’s safe.”

Max gulped. The mayor?! Oh no. Ohhh no.

“Safe as houses, sir!” Max said, forcing a grin.

Mr. Grimble gave him a long, suspicious look. “It had better be. We don’t want any… unfortunate incidents.”

Max nodded quickly, but his insides felt like jelly.

For the first time, the Master of Lies wondered if maybe, just maybe, he had gone too far.

Chapter Four: The Web of Trouble

Friday dawned bright and loud with the buzz of the school talent show. Kids marched into Maplewood Primary clutching guitars, skipping ropes, magic kits, and one suspiciously large tuba.

Max Puddle walked in empty-handed. He had no pineapples. No hippo. Not even a single juggling ball. But he did have one thing: fear. It clung to him like glue.

In the corridor, Toby caught up to him. “So… did the Olympic jugglers teach you their secret moves?”

“Er… of course,” Max stammered. “They said I was a natural. World-class, really.”

Amelia smirked. “And where’s this hippo courier, then? Parked outside with a parking ticket?”

“Uh, yes. Exactly,” Max said. “Very hard to fit a hippo in a school playground, you know.”

He laughed nervously, but Toby and Amelia exchanged looks. They weren’t buying it.

By mid-morning, his lies were unraveling faster than a cheap jumper.

First, Miss Carter asked, “Max, could your pineapple-farmer uncle deliver the fruit straight to the hall? The kitchen needs them after your act.”

“Er…” Max swallowed. “He’s… away. On a pineapple emergency. In Hawaii.”

Then, Mr. Grimble stormed in. “Where is this hippo? I had a call from the mayor’s secretary asking about the special insurance paperwork!”

Max froze. Insurance?! He hadn’t thought of that. “Oh, the hippo… she’s stuck in traffic,” he blurted. “Terrible traffic jam. Caused by elephants. Invisible ones.”

Mr. Grimble narrowed his eyes. “Invisible elephants?”

“Yes, sir. Very rare.”

The headteacher muttered something about “needing a holiday” and stomped away.

Max slumped against the lockers. His chest felt tight. His mind spun. Everywhere he turned, his lies were catching up with him.

And then came the biggest problem of all.

At lunchtime, Toby cornered him by the bike sheds, holding the muddy football Max had “lost” at Buckingham Palace.

“My brother found this in your shed,” Toby said flatly.

Max’s face burned. “Oh. Right. That. Well, the Queen sent it back early. Express delivery.”

Toby crossed his arms. “Max, I’m your best friend. Why couldn’t you just tell me the truth?”

For once, Max had no words. The golden spoon of sneakiness, the crowds of laughter, the thrill of spinning stories—suddenly it all seemed small compared to Toby’s disappointed frown.

But it was too late. The talent show was only an hour away. The hall was filling with parents, teachers, and the mayor himself, who arrived wearing a shiny chain of office and carrying a clipboard.

Max peeked from behind the stage curtain. Jugglers tossed bright balls. A girl sang beautifully. A boy tap-danced like his shoes were on fire. The audience clapped and cheered.

And then Miss Carter called out, “Next up—Max Puddle with his flaming pineapple juggling act!”

The spotlight hit him like a laser. Max’s knees wobbled. His mouth went dry.

This was it. The moment when every lie, every fib, every ridiculous story he’d ever told would come crashing down around him.

Chapter Five: The Big Disaster

Max stepped onto the stage, blinking into the blinding spotlight. The hall was packed. Parents fanned themselves with programs. Teachers perched on chairs like nervous owls. The mayor sat in the front row, scribbling something important-looking on his clipboard.

Behind him, Toby gave a small, hopeful thumbs-up. Amelia smirked like she was watching the start of a disaster movie.

Max cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests, and mayors with extremely shiny chains…” His voice wobbled. “Tonight, you will witness the impossible! The astounding! The—uh—totally safe—juggling of three flaming pineapples while balanced on a hippopotamus!”

Gasps. Whispers. Even Miss Carter pressed a hand to her forehead.

Max glanced around. No hippo. No pineapples. Just a lonely wooden stage, a heavy red curtain, and a crowd waiting with wide, expectant eyes.

He needed a miracle. Or at least… another lie.

“Now,” Max boomed, “my hippo has been delayed due to a minor… invisible elephant traffic jam. Very tragic. So instead, she will perform her balancing act from outside the school! If you listen closely, you might hear her!”

The hall fell silent. Somewhere outside, a dog barked.

“See?” Max said desperately. “That’s her warming up.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the audience, but it wasn’t the good kind. It was the nervous, pitying kind.

“And as for the flaming pineapples—” Max grabbed three oranges from the refreshments table and held them aloft. “Behold! Disguised in orange skins for safety!”

He tried to juggle. One orange hit his nose. Another bounced off the mayor’s shoe. The third rolled under the stage and disappeared.

The audience erupted—not with applause, but with chaos.

“Where’s the fire?” someone shouted.

“Where’s the hippo?” cried another.

Amelia cupped her hands around her mouth. “WHERE’S YOUR PINEAPPLE-FARMING UNCLE, MAX?”

The mayor scribbled furiously on his clipboard. Miss Carter groaned into her hands. Mr. Grimble looked as though steam might actually shoot out of his ears.

Max’s face burned hotter than lava. He wanted the floorboards to open up and swallow him whole.

And then, to make matters worse, Toby stood up. “He’s lying! Max doesn’t have pineapples or a hippo. He just makes it all up!”

The hall gasped. Dozens of eyes swung back to Max.

He tried to laugh it off. “Me? Lie? Ha ha! No, no, you’ve all misunderstood—”

But the crowd wasn’t laughing anymore. Not the way they used to. The magic of his stories had fizzled out, leaving only embarrassment and disappointment.

The mayor snapped his clipboard shut. “Young man, this is highly irregular. No hippo? No pineapples? Do you realize I postponed an important ribbon-cutting ceremony for this?”

“I… I…” Max stammered. Words failed him for the first time in his life.

And then, under the weight of a hundred disappointed stares, the Master of Lies did something he had never done before.

He told the truth.

“I made it all up,” Max said, his voice small. “There’s no hippo. No pineapples. No juggling. I just wanted everyone to think I was amazing.”

The hall went silent. Even the mayor stopped scowling.

Max swallowed hard. His cheeks burned. His stomach twisted. He had never felt so small.

For the first time, Max Puddle wished he had never opened his marvelous, lying mouth.

Chapter Six: The Lesson Learned

The silence in the hall felt heavier than a bag of bricks. Max stood frozen on the stage, clutching one squashed orange, his ears burning red.

Then something surprising happened. Toby stood up again—not to scold, but to clap.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

A few giggles bubbled through the audience. Amelia rolled her eyes but clapped too. Then the Year Sixes joined in, stamping their feet. Soon the whole hall thundered with applause, not because Max had amazed them, but because he had finally done the bravest, hardest trick of all—he’d told the truth.

Miss Carter stepped onto the stage and put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, Max. That wasn’t the performance we expected… but perhaps it was the one we needed.”

Max blinked. “I thought you’d all hate me.”

“Not hate,” Miss Carter said gently. “Disappointed, maybe. But we can forgive an honest mistake faster than a clever lie.”

The mayor adjusted his shiny chain, looking slightly less grumpy. “Young man, you’ve wasted my afternoon. But…”—he hesitated—“you’ve also given me the funniest story I’ll be telling at dinner tonight.”

The audience laughed, and Max’s chest loosened a little.

After the show, Toby nudged him. “So. No hippos, then?”

“No hippos,” Max admitted. “Or pineapples. Or juggling. Just me, being… a prat.”

Toby grinned. “At least you finally told the truth. That’s worth more than a Golden Spoon of Sneakiness.”

Amelia smirked. “Although if you ever get a hippo, I’m first in line for a ride.”

They laughed together, and for the first time in days, Max didn’t feel like he had to invent something bigger, better, or sillier to be liked.

The next week, the Great Lying Contest fizzled out. Nobody really cared about it anymore. Instead, Max started a new club—the Tall Tale Club. Kids could tell wild, ridiculous stories, but everyone knew it was just for fun, not for fibbing their way out of homework or chores.

Max still had his marvelous mouth, but now he used it to create, not deceive. He wrote silly plays for his friends, made up bedtime stories for his little sister, and even helped Toby with his speech for assembly by adding just the right amount of humor.

He still stretched the truth sometimes—he was Max, after all—but he never forgot the night on stage when his lies collapsed like a wobbly tower of jelly.

Because he’d learned something more powerful than any lie:

A laugh built on honesty lasts longer than a cheer built on a fib.

And so, Max Puddle—the greatest liar in Maplewood Primary—became something even better.

Max Puddle, the greatest storyteller.