by Helen Rutter
Everyone starts giggling. I can see that they are all looking ahead to find the Pips.
Mrs. Timpson pretends she can’t hear all the laughing and makes me keep going for ages. Alex, Josh, and Matthew just put their heads down and avoid looking at me. Skyla just keeps looking and waiting with a sad smile. It’s bad. I just want to go home. Go home and never see any of them ever again.
Afterwards in the corridor, all the girls are huddled up whispering. I assume they are talking about me, and then Kai Daniels pretends to bump into me and says, “Sorry, P-P-Pip.” All the girls laugh.
A few of them start calling me Pip all the time. Even some of the girls. Sophie asks to borrow an eraser in art, and when I give her one, she says, “Thanks, Pip.” Then cracks up like it’s the funniest thing ever.
I didn’t realize that things could actually get any worse. I start thinking about Sue and wonder if she is on the beach.
On Wednesday, it’s like Blakemore is actually getting worse at algebra. I asked him a question that he got right last week, and he can’t do it at all this week. It’s really annoying. I can’t teach him anything new if he forgets everything from before. I’m glad I don’t have his brain; it must be really frustrating.
When I say this to him, he slams his book down and says, “Well, I’m glad I haven’t got your stupid brain, P-P-Pip,” and storms out. I feel bad then.
Mr. Osho looks up from his marking. “What happened there, Billy? You two seemed to be getting along.”
Thinking about it, even when I was getting stuck on Great Expectations, Blakemore didn’t join in with the others. He looked a bit angry if anything.
“I d-d-don’t know why I said it, sir,” I tell Mr. Osho.
“What did you say to him, Billy?”
“Th-that I w-wouldn’t want his brain.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I d-d-don’t know what’s wrong w-w-with me, s-s-sir. I’m upsetting everyone.”
“That’s not like you at all, Billy, is it?”
I shake my head and put my face in my hands.
Mr. Osho continues, “Sometimes when things are getting too much, we take it out on the people nearest to us, even if it’s not on purpose. Everyone does it, Billy. It’s what you do from now that matters.”
“I don’t know what to do. I never know what to do,” I sob into my hands.
“You’ve had a lot going on, buddy. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
“I just can’t do anything right.”
“You will get yourself back on track—I have no doubt about that. Sometimes it just takes a bit of time,” he says. And as I sit there wondering what the right track is and whether I’ll ever be happy again, the bell goes and kids start pouring into the classroom. I have to wipe my eyes and get to my next class.
I nearly go over and say sorry to Blakemore but he doesn’t look up, so I just walk straight past his desk. Maybe I don’t need to say sorry anyway. I mean, after all of the things he’s done to me in the past, it’s not like I’m the bad guy, is it?
At lunchtime, the guys in the band are arguing. When Sam stomps into rehearsal, he’s in a terrible mood and is playing really badly. Then when he forgets the lyrics, he shouts, “I don’t want to be in this stupid band anymore. What’s the point?”
Ollie only makes it worse. “Come on, dude—I know you and Tia have split up, but don’t take it out on us!” He grins.
Sam turns on him. “It’s got nothing to do with that! You haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about. It’s this stupid band. We’re nowhere near ready for the show. Look at us. We’ve got an amateur on the bass and a little kid who can’t even speak on the drums. We should be called the Weirdos.”
No one in the band has ever mentioned my stutter before, so I had kind of tricked myself into thinking that they hadn’t even noticed. That’s the whole point of being a drummer, so that no one notices me.
I go red and try to hide my face by looking down at my sticks, I can feel something in my tummy building up. Phee is looking at the floor too. Ollie gets really cross then.
“That’s not cool, Sam. You’re making everyone feel bad. Look at them,” he says, pointing at me and Phee. “Go and sort yourself out.” Sam takes his guitar and storms out of the room.
As the door closes, I see a face looking through the little round window. It takes me a moment to realize who it is. Ellie! Why did she have to come now?! Why couldn’t she have seen any other rehearsal? It’s so unfair. I want to rewind and change everything. This is not how things are meant to be. It’s not part of the plan.
When I look back up at the window, she’s gone.
Ollie tells us not to worry about Sam. He says that Sam will be over it in a few days, but it’s too late. The feeling in my tummy has moved into my chest—it feels so tight like I can’t breathe and am being squashed. Suddenly out of nowhere, it comes out. Sick. I’m sick all over the drums, my sticks, my uniform, and everything.
Ollie shouts, “Oh my god, Billy!” and Phee moves away. She looks disgusted.
Some kids shout from the beanbags, “Erggh, Pip’s vommed,” and then start making retching noises.
I throw my sticks down and run. Down the hall, past Ellie and her friends and out of the door. I keep going until I’m breathing hard and kind of fall on to the grass by the tennis courts.
“I hate it!” I scream into the rain and the wind. “I don’t want to be me anymore,” I sob into the grass. “I don’t want to be Billy Plimpton anymore.” I keep saying it over and over again. “I don’t want to be Billy Plimpton.” Until I feel a hand on my back.
It’s Ellie.
She just sits down on the wet grass next to me and doesn’t say anything. Eventually I wipe my face and sit up, and we both stare at the empty tennis courts for what seems like forever.
“It’s crap sometimes, isn’t it?” she says.
I just nod and wipe my nose with my sicky sleeve. I don’t really care that she’s seeing me like this. I don’t really care about anything anymore.
She tells me, “My dad always says, ‘If you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and keep your chin up, eventually the view changes.’ ” Then she puts her arm around my shoulder and leans her head on to mine, and I ever so slightly feel the view begin to change.
Sometimes I tuck my knees into my chest and lean forward.
That’s just how I roll.
I’ve been putting one foot in front of the other, and it has gotten me here. This is what the view looks like now.
Ollie was right. Sam came back to rehearsal two days later, and we’ve started practicing again. But it doesn’t feel right anymore. It’s awkward. Phee feels the same, I can tell. She looks even more embarrassed than she normally does. I really miss playing board games with Alex, Josh, and Matthew. Now they just look up at me rehearsing every now and then, but look away every time I catch them. Even Skyla seems to be chatting to me less. When she found out about me ditching the Regulars, she said, “Wow, that’s not like you.”
“Well, maybe I want to be d-d-d-different,” I said.
“You are different, Billy. You haven’t told me a joke for ages. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, of course I am. I’m in T-T-T-Teenplay!”
“Okay,” she said, and walked off down the hall.
I feel really lonely all the time now, even though I’ve got the band. I really, really miss Granny Bread. I have a weird feeling in my tummy all the time, and I’m always worried I might be sick again. I’m trying my hardest to ignore it, and just trying to keep putting the next foot down and keep my chin up.
After school, I decide to walk past the Oaks, I don’t know why. Maybe I think it might bring me closer to Granny Bread again. Make me feel less lonely. As I’m looking up at the red bricks and the neat grass outside, I see a face peering out of one of the ground-floor windows, waving at me. For a tiny second, I think it’s Granny Bread, and then I look again and see Mrs. Gibbens. She looks pleased to see me, and
I know that she has been sitting there all day, every day, just like Granny Bread said. Hoping to see Scraggles. As I’m waving back at her, I picture Scraggles’s face looking out from my pin board, and I head over to her window. By the time I get there, she’s managed to open it and has her scrawny arm reached out towards me.
“Billy! You poor love,” she says as she grabs on to my hand. “We all miss her so much.” She has tears welled up in her eyes. “You poor, poor love. I know what it’s like to miss someone, Billy. It’s not fair is it?”
“N-n-no it’s n-n-not fair,” I say, trying to ignore the tight feeling in my throat that’s stopping me from swallowing.
“She was the closest thing I had to family since Scraggles. She really was a lovely woman, so kind. Come and see me, Billy, whenever you want. I would love that.”
In this moment, I know exactly what I need to do.
I promise Mrs. Gibbens that I will come back and see her … and then I run. I run home as fast as I can and head straight upstairs to my room.
“What are you doing rushing around, Billy? I haven’t seen you move this fast for weeks,” Mom says as I dash back downstairs holding the photo in my hands.
“I have to find this dog,” I say, catching my breath.
“What are you talking about? Whose dog?”
“It doesn’t matter. How would you find a missing a dog?”
“You are not bringing a dog back here, Billy. We have talked about this before; there is absolutely no way …” But I can’t hear the rest of it as I’m grabbing my bag and out of the door too fast.
On my way to the library, I wonder if I should ask Skyla to help me, but I don’t really think she’s my friend anymore, so I decide that this is something I’ll have to do on my own. When I get there, I ask to use the photocopier, and a man with a bald head comes and helps me. I only have a dollar in my wallet, which won’t get me many copies, but it’s a start.
“Okay, what are we copying today?” he asks. When I hand over the photograph, he says, “What a cutie pie! Only trouble is, the color is so dark and faded it’s unlikely to come out that well. Shall we give it a try and see?”
I nod and watch as the bright light flashes and moves across the photograph. The paper that slides out is useless—you can’t see Scraggles at all, just dark, fuzzy blackness. My shoulders slump, and I let out a big sigh.
“Don’t worry, fella, we will figure something out. What’s it for?”
“My g-g-g-granny’s f-f-f-f-friend has l-l-l-lost her dog.”
“Aw, and you’re trying to find it?”
“Yes. I w-was g-g-g-g-going to make a p-p-poster.”
“Have you tried the local shelters?”
“No,” I say, perking up.
“Well, have a little google and you can give them a call, I know there is one called Millbrook not far from here, but there may be others. I’m sure you will find him. Good luck!”
I make a list of seven different places that I can try. As I take out my phone from my bag, I nearly stop myself and just email them instead. Using the phone is still my number one nightmare! I can’t hang around waiting for emails, though—that could take weeks. I need to talk to someone now.
“Hello, Millbrook Dogs and Cats Home,” says an incredibly chirpy voice.
“H-H-H-Hello, I’m l-l-l-l-l-l-looking for a d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-dog,” I begin.
“When did your dog go missing?” says the voice, now sounding full of concern.
Ten minutes later, I’m running in the direction of Millbrook Dogs and Cats Home, clutching the photograph. The lady said that a few months ago there was a dog that was found who fits my description of Scraggles.
“Bring the photograph in and we can see if it is a match,” the woman told me.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll come now.”
“We close in half an hour, so be as quick as you can!”
I end up completely lost and running twice around a park before I see the sign with a picture of a dog and a cat on it. By the time I run through the doors, the shelter is just about to close and I am sweating and exhausted.
“You made it!” says the chirpy voice from the phone. I look up to see a lady with thick glasses and her hair all wrapped up in a colorful headscarf, smiling at me from the reception desk. When I show her the picture, she immediately grins and says, “That’s him all right. What a sweet boy he was.”
“Was?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, looking through her glasses with eyes full of worry. Oh no, I think, please don’t let him have died. How will I tell Mrs. Gibbens? Then she continues, “We hold the dogs for four weeks, in case their owners are looking for them, and after that time, we put them up for adoption. In this case, it took no time at all for us to find a new home. We were sad to see him go.”
“B-but wh-wh-what about Mrs. G-Gibbens?” I say. “She misses him s-s-s-so much.”
“Mrs. Gibbens is your granny’s friend, yes?”
I nod, wondering what to do. What was I even hoping for? The Oaks doesn’t allow dogs for health reasons, and the new owners won’t want to give him up. All of a sudden, I feel really young and stupid for not having thought it all through. I put my head in my hands.
“How about I get us some juice and cookies and you can tell me all about it and then we can make a plan?” the woman offers. “Sound good?”
I nod and try to smile.
“My name is Patsy Arnold,” she says, holding out her hand.
“My name is Billy Plimpton,” I say as I shake it.
Sheepdog: All forty sheep accounted for, sir.
Farmer: But I only have thirty-six sheep.
Sheepdog: I rounded them up, sir.
We got the Bannerdale’s Got Talent Show lineup yesterday. It was posted on the pin board outside the dining hall. We are on right at the end, straight after Molly Hollwell. She’s in my food tech class. She’s really short and has hair so long that she can sit on it. She is dancing with her dog. There are no other bands playing, only people singing with backing tracks, which is cheating, in my opinion. There are lots of dancers, a magician, and a contortionist. There are no comedians. I checked. As the only band, we will make a big impression.
On my way to our last rehearsal, I see Ellie. She’s walking down the hallway towards me. I want to turn and run the other way, but she’s already waving. I haven’t seen her since the vomit and the view of the tennis courts.
“Hi, Billy! Just the boy I want to see.”
“R-r-really?”
“Yes. I saw the talent show lineup and saw that you’re still doing it? I just wanted to find you to say good luck!”
“Oh, wow. Okay.”
“Good luck!”
With a wave she’s gone, her red hair bouncing up the corridor.
The whole school is coming to the show, and everyone’s getting really excited, talking about it nonstop.
I can’t believe it’s tomorrow. There’s going to be a raffle booth and holiday crepes made with lemon, sugar, and cloves. The art department is making a big backdrop with stars all over it. The local news is coming to film it again, and Dad is the cameraman!
Everyone in the band is wearing Christmas sweaters, and after school Mom takes me shopping to get mine. We go sweater shopping every year. It’s kind of like a tradition of ours now, I suppose. She wants me to get a stupid knitted Christmas tree with pom-poms all over it, but I say, “No way.” There is nothing rock-and-roll about a pom-pom. I get a black sweater with a silver T. rex in a red Santa hat on it. I think it’s pretty good for a Christmas sweater. Chloe gets a pink one with a reindeer on it. In my opinion, pink is not a Christmas color, but Chloe won’t listen. She keeps telling me to shut up, until Mom uses her whispery-angry voice on us. “Neither is black, Billy! Just leave your sister alone.”
After that, we go for hot chocolate, and Mom asks if we want to go and see Santa. I say, “No!” but Chloe is desperate, so I have to wait in line for half an hour to see some sad-looking elves and
a pretend Father Christmas in a tiny room covered in cotton wool. He asks what we want for Christmas, and obviously Chloe says a pony. She has asked for a pony every year since she was three. She doesn’t seem to get that it’s never going to happen.
When he asks me, “What about you, young man? What’s on your Christmas list?” I want to tell him that we are just there for my sister, and that I’m too old, but I feel bad so tell him I want a record player and some vinyl. He says, “Wow, no one has ever asked me for that before! You’re a cool little kid. I’ll definitely try to get you that!” He doesn’t sound like Father Christmas at all—he has a Scottish accent and I can see a tattoo on his arm under his baggy red sleeve—but I don’t really mind.
On our way home, Mom whispers, “Thanks for talking to Santa. I know you’re too old for it all now.”
“That’s all right, Mom. I kind of enjoyed it.” And I did, I wasn’t lying. It was nice to be out with Mom and Chloe. To do the same thing that we do every year. It felt safe, like nothing really changes. Even when it feels like everything has.
On the way back on the bus, my phone rings, and I see Millbrook’s number pop up.
“Hi, P-Patsy,” I say, trying to keep Mom and Chloe from hearing. I can already see them looking my way. When Patsy tells me that everything is set and that the plan is on, I whisper, “Awesome. I’ll see you there.”
Two hours later, I’m standing around the corner from the Oaks, jiggling up and down to stay warm. I got here a bit early to check that Mrs. Gibbens was looking out of her window as usual. Sure enough, when I peek around the hedge, I can just make out her sad face. I’m getting excited now. It feels great to be doing something that will make her so happy. I can hear snuffling as Patsy and Scraggles head up the road towards me. Scraggles immediately starts pulling at the leash to sniff my legs and rub his fuzzy little body against me.
“Hello, Scraggles!” I say, and he looks at me with his funny squashed-up face and I instantly know why Mrs. Gibbens loves him so much. “Hello, boy. You are about to make someone very happy. Yes, you are!”