Revenge of the Spaghetti Hoops

by Mark Lowery

  A red light on the camera began to flash. Moments later a car pulled through the gates and on to the playground.

  Well, I say ‘car’. It was actually a highly polished, jet-black stretch limo – as long as four normal cars – with tinted windows and purple neon lights along the bottom of the doors.

  ‘OMG!’ said Rosie. ‘It must be a famous person. That American actor Marlon Grunt has six of these – one for each of his pet chimps.’

  A celebrity?

  Hmmm.

  I only know one celebrity and, trust me, he was the last person I wanted to see. A horrible feeling grew in my belly as the car glided across the playground and purred to a halt in front of us.

  Then I saw the registration plate: GR00V35.

  My skin puckered into goosebumps. My stomach churned.

  Oh no no no no, I thought. Please not … him. Anybody but him.

  The back door opened and smoke billowed out of the car. At first I thought it was on fire, but then I realised that it was stage smoke, designed to make a big entrance.

  ‘Children,’ said Mrs McDonald, ‘meet your new classmate. Or should I say, your old classmate …’

  And that’s when I knew that my worst fears had come true.

  ‘Oh, nuggets,’ I said.

  The smoke cleared to reveal a small, skinny boy with an enormous mop of curly hair. He was wearing a pair of skin-tight leather trousers with chains and buckles hanging off them. His purple velvet shirt was open all the way down to his belly button, showing off a shark’s-tooth necklace. Perched on top of his hair was a ridiculous hat with a feather sticking out of it.

  Jason Grooves.

  I did not need this in my life right now.

  Apart from me, everyone else cheered. Jason spun round six times on one foot, then pulled his hat down over his eyes and shrieked: ‘YOOOOW!’

  The cheering got louder.

  Gamble fell to his knees and bowed down in front of him. ‘We’re not worthy!’

  ‘Yes! A fellow celebrity!’ exclaimed Rosie Taylor. ‘Finally, someone else who isn’t a completely scuzz-tabulous, talentless tramp.’

  I shuffled behind everyone else, hoping that he might not see me.

  Jason Grooves took off his hat and ran his hand through his enormous hair. ‘What’s up, my brethren? JG’s back in the house.’

  As he said this, his piercing blue eyes met mine, and he stared directly at me. ‘Hello, Roman,’ he said eventually. His voice was cold and unpleasant, like an ice cube down the back of my trousers.

  I gulped.

  Jason Grooves

  Here’s all you need to know about Jason Grooves:

  – He used to go to our school until last year.

  – His real name isn’t Jason Grooves; it’s Kenneth Shufflebottom.

  – He changed his name when he went on Britain’s Really Talented (or BRT). This is the biggest thing on TV: a massive talent show with all sorts of comedians, dancers, acrobats, magicians and everything else.

  – Jason’s a singer and dancer, and he’s REALLY good. Everybody in the country thought he was one super-cool little dude, which is why he changed his name. Super-cool little dudes cannot be called Kenneth Shufflebottom, no matter how good they are at singing.

  – He had to leave our school halfway through the series because his fans were crowding round the gates every morning, trying to get pictures with him and ripping off chunks of his uniform to sell on eBay.

  – He reached the final of the whole competition, which was amazing. Everyone in the school went in to watch it in the hall, even though it was a Saturday night. It was really exciting – we all had banners and flags and T-shirts, and people from the TV show came to film us.

  – The only two acts left at the end were him and a juggling sheep called Boris. The sheep couldn’t actually juggle by the way. It just stood there, while its owner hid behind a black sheet and stuck her arms out under its body. It was pretty funny but also a bit lame. Everyone was certain that Jason would win.

  – But he didn’t win. He came second. This was a massive shock to the whole country. Oh, and I should say it was a little bit my fault.

  What happened was this:

  There were about five minutes to go until the voting lines closed. We were all nervously watching on the big screen in the school hall.

  The head judge – Simon Bowel – was onstage with Jason Grooves, Boris the juggling sheep and Boris’s owner. The presenters – Nat and Ned – said that the votes were neck and neck, and that they were going to pay one more visit to see the two finalists’ fans.

  First, they went to a man in a field with a load of sheep. The sheep didn’t really have anything to say, apart from baaaaa.

  Then they went to see Jason’s fans – in other words, us.

  As soon as they started filming us, everyone went totally crackers – leaping up and down, screaming, waving flags. Kevin Ali Blargh Blargh Harrison was sick into someone’s special Jason Grooves hat. It was chaos.

  Finally, the reporter pointed a microphone at the nearest person.

  Unfortunately, that person was Rosie Taylor.

  ‘Hi, fans!’ she trilled. ‘Actually, I’m more talented than Jason and Boris put together, so vote for me inst–’

  The reporter wrestled the microphone off her and shoved it at the next person.

  Unfortunately, that person was me.

  ‘Tell the twenty million people at home what you think about your classmate, Jason Grooves,’ she said.

  The room hushed. The camera was right in front of my face.

  I was struck with nerves. ‘Well. I. Erm … Twenty million? Wow …’

  The whole nation was watching and waiting but my mouth was dry and my mind blank. There was a long, painful silence.

  The reporter motioned for me to speak. Meanwhile, I had Rosie trying to shove me out of the way, and Gamble on the floor next to me, violently yanking on my trouser leg and hissing: ‘Just tell her a joke. Have you heard about the man with five willies …?’

  And that’s when it happened.

  Rosie gave me one last push, which caused me to half spin round and trip over Gamble. I fell forward on to my hands and knees.

  Unfortunately, Gamble was still yanking on my trouser leg. As I fell, he pulled them right down round my ankles.

  The whole country was given a view of my big, shiny bottom.

  And that was that. It turned out that people didn’t want to vote for someone whose fan pulled a moony on national TV. There was a late surge of votes for Boris the juggling sheep and Jason did not win.

  Boris won a hundred thousand pounds and the trophy. Boris got to perform for the Royal Family at Christmas. Boris was on TV with his owner every five minutes. Boris was the main act on the BRT tour. And Boris got a movie made of his life.

  Meanwhile, I had to go into hiding and didn’t leave home for three weeks. There were TV and newspaper reporters camped outside my house, until they all got fed up and found something else to write about. It took me months to get over it.

  I hadn’t seen Jason Grooves since that night.

  Handshake

  Back in the playground, Jason stared at me with his cold eyes. Everybody else noticed, and they all shuffled out of the way so there was a clear path between the two of us. At the edge of my vision, I could see the camera pointing at me.

  Slowly, a smile spread across Jason’s face and he held out his arms. ‘Hey, Roman, don’t sweat it, man. I ain’t still mad with you.’

  Relief flooded through me. ‘Oh, thanks. I was wor–’

  ‘No hard feelings,’ he said, ‘Trust me, I blame the sheep one hundred per cent. C’mon. Let’s hug this out.’

  He strutted over and grabbed me. Even though he was being friendly, there was something about how tight and how long he hugged me that made my blood feel like it was turning to frozen jam.

  Then he looked over my shoulder. His face suddenly lit up and he exclaimed, ‘No way! It’s the V-Machine! Come here, babe
!’

  To my horror, he was talking to my best friend Vanya.

  The V-Machine? I thought. Babe?

  There was something I didn’t like about this.

  It got worse. They started doing a handshake.

  And not just a normal handshake either – one of those ones that lasts about six weeks. Their hands were a perfectly-synchronised blur of clicks, slaps, finger-wiggles, wrist-flicks and thumb-spins, finally finishing with a kind of jazz-hands pretend-explosion thing.

  ‘Smashed it, V!’ said Jason, before turning back to the rest of the class. ‘Yo. Who wants to know what it’s like being famous, aieee?’

  I stood there as Jason led everyone back indoors.

  ‘How cool is this?’ Vanya asked me, clapping her hands together. ‘I can’t believe he’s come back. Jason and I used to be best friends. We went to street-dance club together for years.’

  ‘Oh, that’s nice,’ I said, trudging behind her towards the classroom.

  There was a strange feeling in my belly. It was like I’d come home and found someone in my kitchen, wearing my pyjamas and eating my doughnuts.

  Love Interest

  In the classroom, we all sat down. Jason plonked himself on Mrs McDonald’s desk. ‘Mind me sitting here, big M?’

  Big M.

  Mrs McDonald waved her hand to say fine. If I’d sat on her desk like that, she’d have set her pet guinea pigs on me.

  ‘OK,’ said Trevor, ‘you can ask Jason anything. But we’re filming this, so remember, we have six rules for the perfect TV show. One …’

  He put his hand behind his ear and everyone called out: ‘Act natural.’

  Trevor gave the thumbs up. ‘And rule two … keep it exciting! Roll camera!’

  Rosie put her hand up straight away. ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’

  Everyone giggled. Jason clicked his fingers. ‘I know lots of girls.’

  ‘Do you want a girlfriend?’ said Rosie, more forcefully.

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Can I be your girlfriend?’

  ‘Er …’

  ‘Can we get married? How many children do you want? I want six. Their names will be: Rosie, Rosie 2, Handbag-Blingerella if it’s a girl or Billy-Bling-Bob if it’s a boy, Rosie 3, HashtagMillionaireDiamondStyle. And instead of a name, the last one will just have its own emoji.’

  Good grief.

  ‘Ha ha, cut,’ said Trevor, ‘And that’s the third rule for the perfect TV show. Make sure there’s a love interest.’

  ‘What’s a love interest?’ I asked.

  ‘You know,’ said Trevor, ‘two people who like each other.’

  A few people made kissy kissy sounds.

  ‘Obvs I’ll be Jason’s love interest,’ said Rosie Taylor. ‘Some people say I’m the prettiest girl in Europe.’

  I tried not to laugh here but I couldn’t help it. I don’t want to be cruel but Rosie has a face like a chewed sausage.

  She glared at me. ‘This is my big chance of fame, Roman. Don’t you dare ruin it.’

  ‘We’ll decide on love interests later. Next question,’ said Trevor, trying to move on.

  Gamble shouted out, ‘Oi, Jason. Do you want me to beat up Boris the juggling sheep for you?’

  Mrs McDonald pinched the top of her nose.

  ‘What a nut-job,’ sighed Miss Clegg.

  Jason Grooves suddenly looked very cross. ‘Yo. I’d like that a lot. That sheep is a sweaty little butt cabbage and the only reason it beat Jason Grooves was because …’

  ‘Cut!’ said Trevor, looking a little annoyed. ‘We’ve talked about this, Jason. You can’t moan about the sheep during your TV show. We need the people watching at home to like you. And they won’t like you if you complain about the sheep. Rule four of a great TV show – we need to like the hero, remember. People hate people who hate animals.’

  ‘Woolly-brained fool,’ muttered Jason under his breath. ‘Couldn’t even juggle.’

  Wow. He really did not like that sheep.

  There was a long silence, then Vanya put her hand up. ‘I still don’t get why you’re filming us.’

  Trevor smiled patiently and motioned for the camera to stop. ‘Well. Everyone in the country loved Jason on BRT.’

  ‘For real,’ said Jason, which I think meant yes they did. He was calm again now that people were talking about how great he was.

  ‘But,’ continued Trevor, ‘unfortunately, he didn’t win the final.’

  Jason frowned. ‘Thanks to that sh–’

  Trevor raised an eyebrow to shut him up. ‘The sheep’s been all over the TV and internet ever since. People might’ve forgotten how amazing Jason is.’

  ‘We haven’t forgotten,’ smiled Mrs McDonald.

  ‘Thanks M-Dog,’ said Jason.

  M-Dog!

  Mrs McDonald gave a wiggle of excitement.

  ‘So that’s why we need the TV show and that’s why it has to be amazing,’ continued Trevor. ‘If we make a bad show, it won’t get on to the TV. So who’s gonna make this the best TV show ever?’

  Everyone cheered.

  ‘Who’s gonna do exactly what they’re told at all times?’

  Everyone cheered again.

  I didn’t cheer though. I didn’t like this at all. What did he mean by ‘do exactly what we’re told’?

  Normal Kid

  ‘I still don’t get it,’ I said.

  Trevor sighed. ‘We’re going to release Jason’s first music album in a few months. Before then, we’ve got to remind the world how great he is. People will watch this TV show, fall in love with him again, listen to his music, go to his concerts, buy his cuddly toys.’

  ‘Cuddly toys?’ I asked.

  ‘Boom!’ nodded Jason. ‘I got a range of personalised merchandise, all available on my website – Jason Grooves toys, Jason Grooves bubble bath, Jason Grooves T-shirts …’

  ‘Jason Grooves toilet roll?’ I offered.

  I thought this was an OK joke but there was total silence. Then Jason laughed coldly. ‘Very funny, Roman. You’re a funny guy, you know that?’

  Trevor seemed to think about it though. ‘Hmmm. Toilet roll. We’re always looking for new products …’

  ‘What’s the TV show going to be called?’ asked someone.

  Trevor clicked his fingers and pointed. ‘Jason: Grooving On as Normal. It’s all about how Jason’s going back to school. We need to show what a nice, normal kid he is.’

  ‘Normal?’ asked Rosie. ‘Who wants to be normal?’

  Trevor shrugged. ‘Nobody likes a show-off. Remember rule one of a great TV show: act natural.’

  Rosie slipped off her panda-skin jacket.

  ‘I’m still a normal kid, just like you,’ said Jason.

  At that moment his phone rang and he whipped it out. It was a golden iPhone – the latest model – with JG written in diamonds on the back.

  ‘We don’t allow ph–’ began Mrs McDonald.

  Jason silenced her by holding up a finger. ‘I gotta take this. It’s Simon Bowel.’

  ‘Oooooh!’ said everyone.

  I mentioned Simon Bowel earlier. He’s the head judge on BRT. You know, the guy with the square head and the hairy chest, and the trousers pulled up to his armpits. Everyone in the country knows him.

  Normal kid?

  Jason didn’t seem too normal to me. Normal kids don’t ride in stretch limousines, or have TV shows made about them, or take calls from famous TV stars.

  Or start doing handshakes with other people’s best friends, for that matter.

  ‘OMG!’ cried Rosie. ‘Jason knows Simon Bowel. Hashtag: I HAVE to marry him now.’

  Jason winked at her as he chatted quietly on the phone at the side of the room. Rosie made a strange gurgling noise like a blocked toilet.

  ‘Simon Bowel’s paying for this whole TV show,’ explained Trevor, ‘and he’s giving the school loads of money to film here. He’ll decide if the TV show is good enough to be on telly. So he’s the boss of all of us.’

&nb
sp; He kind of laughed at this, but it seemed like he didn’t really find it funny at all.

  Helicopter

  ‘Right then,’ said Mrs McDonald, ‘first lesson is swimming. The pool’s being drained tomorrow for the summer, so this will be your last ever lesson here.’

  Most people went awwwwww.

  I didn’t. I’m not a big fan of the school pool. It’s freezing cold and the size of a shoe box. Plus, I’m about as good at swimming as a broken sofa with Miss Clegg sitting on it.

  ‘Did you say, drained tomorrow?’ asked Gamble.

  Mrs McDonald squinted at him. ‘Yes, Darren. Why do you ask?’

  Miss Clegg sniffed. ‘I expect cos it’s the only bath he ever gets.’

  This was probably true, but it wasn’t nice. ‘Shut your gob, you stinky old toilet-snorkeller,’ snapped Gamble.

  ‘Swimming?’ said Trevor to Mrs McDonald, flicking through notes on his iPad. ‘You didn’t say anything about that. Jason hasn’t brought his kit.’

  ‘You can borrow my undies, Jason,’ said Darren, ‘I’ll go commando.’

  ‘You know, I’m all right …’ said Jason.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Trevor, a little stressed. ‘I’ll call for the helicopter to bring his shorts over.’

  Jason nodded. ‘Simon Bowel said I could use his chopper anytime I wanted.’

  ‘How cool’s that?’ said Vanya to me. ‘I’ve never been in a helicopter before.’

  Huh, I thought, Just a normal kid in his normal helicopter.

  ‘You can have a ride in it sometime, V,’ said Jason.

  Vanya smiled and Rosie glared at her.

  We had to wait for the helicopter for ages. In the meantime, we had to listen to Jason’s stories about the BRT tour. He and the other acts from the show had spent the last six months performing every night in front of thousands of people all around the country.

  ‘I felt the love of the crowd every night,’ he said. ‘But you wanna know what really sucked?’

  ‘What?’ asked Rosie, who was leaning so close to him that she was practically inside his mouth.

  ‘That dumb sheep!’ he cried, suddenly mad. ‘It got its own bus to travel on. It got the best dressing rooms. Everyone treated it like a god, but–’