I am Still Not a Loser

by Jim Smith

  ‘Ooh, that sounds like fun!’ said Three Thumb Rita when I popped in to buy five more packets of Thumb Sweets to keep her happy, even though I’d gone off them even more since the scotch-egg man in the supermarket with the weird face and hands.

  ‘Maybe it’ll give you some ideas for your Halloween costume!’ she said, and I looked at her and thought about how she looked a bit like a witch, except a nice one.

  I’d been trying to work out what to wear for Halloween for a while, seeing as it was at the end of the week, but now I didn’t have any friends there didn’t seem much point.

  ‘Have fun!’ said Rita as I walked out, and she gave me a double thumbs up, apart from it was a triple, because of her extra thumb.

  While I’m talking about thumbs, what’s weird is that I had a Future Ratboy plaster on the one on my left hand. My mum stuck it on to make me feel better about Bunky and Gordon, which sounds a bit stupid but it actually worked.

  ‘A Future Ratman sticking plaster? What will they think of next!’ said Granny’s voice out of nowhere. Then I realised it’d come out of her wrinkly old body, which was standing next to the coach that everyone was getting into to go to the museum.

  ‘What in the name of oodle are you doing here?’ I said, replacing the word ‘keel’ with ‘oodle’ because after hearing Gordon say ‘keel’ in Feeko’s on Sat I’d realised it was completely un-oodle.

  ‘I invited her!’ said Mr Hodgepodge, leaning his face on Granny’s shoulder so that she looked like a two-headed Granny Harumpadunk.

  ‘Oh, well that’s just OODLE,’ I said, and got on to the coach.

  The first two faces I saw the moment I got inside were Bunky’s and Gordon’s. They were sitting next to each other, playing on Gordon’s phone like a two-headed Gordon Smugly.

  ‘Morning, Barold,’ said Gordon, and Bunky looked up from the phone and snortled.

  ‘Oh, is it morning?’ I said, looking around as if I hadn’t realised. ‘Thanks for clearing that up for me, Gordon, I was just about to have my dinner and go to beddypoos.’

  ‘What, with your cuddly Not Bird?’ said Gordon, and Bunky snortled again, even though I know he sleeps with a bit of old blanket called Mr Ponkles.

  I walked past them, making sure Bunky saw my thumb-in-plaster so that he’d feel sorry for me, and headed to the back of the coach where Darren Darrenofski was sitting.

  ‘Barry! Come and sit next to me!’ burped Darren, doing a blowoff at the same time.

  Anton Mildew and his invisible friend were in the seats in front of me and Darren, so we spent most of the trip scraping the back of Anton’s neck with Darren’s ruler.

  ‘You won’t like Invis when he’s angry,’ said Anton through the gap between the seats, his face all squidged like it was stuck between lift doors.

  ‘I don’t like him FULL STOP,’ said Darren, and he drew a full stop on Anton’s forehead with a blue felt-tip pen.

  I don’t know why we bothered getting the coach at all, because Mogden Museum is only a ten-minute walk from school, so we got there in about three seconds.

  As I walked through the car park to the museum, a bit of gravel got stuck on the bottom of my shoe and started scraping every time I put my foot down, which was about once every half a second.

  ‘Scrape,’ said Darren, every time I did a scrape. It was really annoying, but also made me do a snortle, which was nice because I hadn’t been doing that many snortles since I’d stopped hanging out with Bunky.

  ‘Snortle, snortle,’ said a voice that sounded like Gordon’s. I turned round and it was Gordon, not that I was surprised, because the voice really had sounded exactly like his. ‘Let me guess, something’s happened that’s the FUNNIEST THING IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD AMEN,’ he said, now sounding more like me than himself.

  ‘Yeah, I just remembered your cat’s called Spencer,’ I said, scraping along.

  ‘What’s that, SCRAPE NUMBER TWO HUNDRED MILLION IN THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE?’ Gordon shouted, and I felt like a loser because that’s the sort of oodle thing I’d say, except all of a sudden it sounded really un-oodle.

  ‘Yeah, why don’t you do a salute to your shoe or something!’ said Bunky, and I was about to give him a super-reverse-twizzle-salute when the door to the museum creaked open and we all did a massive gasp.

  We were gasping because inside the door stood the shortest, fattest dinosaur any of us had ever seen, especially as none of us had ever seen one in real life before.

  ‘Roooaaarrrr!’ it said, and we all hid behind Mr Hodgepodge, who was hiding behind Granny Harumpadunk.

  ‘I want my Mr Ponkles!’ screamed Bunky, and I snortled to myself because by now I’d realised that dinosaurs don’t wear baggy old trousers and have badges on their jumpers that say ‘Hi, I’m Benjamin Bottle and I’ll be your guide for today!’

  The dinosaur took off his mask and we all gasped again, because underneath was the biggest nose ever in the history of noses amen.

  ‘Hi, I’m Benjamin Bottle and I’ll be your guide for today!’ said the dinosaur-man, and his voice was so oodle, it was as if his nose had sweets inside instead of bogies.

  ‘Hello, Hodge!’ said Benjamin Bottle, high fiving Mr Hodgepodge, who completely missed because he’s got cross-eyes.

  ‘Benjy!’ said Mr Hodgepodge, thinking he was all oodle because he had a friend. ‘Kids, this is my friend Benjamin Bottle,’ he said as we walked in, and we all rolled our eyes because we’d already worked that out.

  ‘Today we’re going to learn about Mogden’s ancient history, starting with the dinosaurs!’ said Benjamin Bottle as we walked into the first room.

  ‘Sounds like a trip down memory lane for you, Mr Hodgepodge,’ said Gordon, and everyone laughed. I looked over at Mr Hodgepodge and saw Granny Harumpadunk give him a little peck on the cheek.

  ‘Who can tell me the name of this one?’ asked Benjamin Bottle, pointing at a dinosaur skeleton in the middle of the room that looked exactly like Darren Darrenofski except without his skin on.

  ‘Darren Darrensaurus?’ I said, excited because it was so funny.

  ‘Barrylosersaurus Rex more like!’ said Bunky, copying my joke, and everyone laughed.

  ‘Now now, children, this is serious stuff,’ said Mr Hodgepodge, and I felt sorry for him because he’d planned this whole trip and no one was taking it seriously. ‘Just imagine, these creatures were roaming Mogden millions of years ago!’ he said, doing an impression of a dinosaur walking around with cross-eyes.

  ‘Did they still have a Feeko’s Supermarket back then?’ asked Anton Mildew, looking up at the dinosaur’s hands. He was probably imagining it carrying a shopping bag home with his dinner in it or something.

  ‘No, Anton, they did not have a Feeko’s,’ said Mr Hodgepodge. ‘The whole of Mogden would have been a swamp,’ he said, then he added, ‘Or something,’ and looked over at Benjamin Bottle because he didn’t really know what he was talking about.

  ‘Yes that’s right, Hodge, Mogden was one big swamp for millions of years,’ said Benjamin Bottle, shuffling off into the next room, which was empty apart from a big glass box in the middle.

  ‘The swamp was where this man lived – and died . . .’ he said, nodding his head towards the box.

  I ran up to the glass and peered through, and I almost did a scream like the time in Feeko’s when I bumped into the old grandad with the Thumb Sweets growing out of his face.

  Lying down on a bit of fake plastic mud was a completely shrivelled-up old man, his mouth wide open so that you could see his teeth, which were yellow like the bits of corn on the cob you get in dog poos. His eyes were open too, but there was nothing inside the holes.

  ‘This is Mogden Man,’ whispered Benjamin Bottle, crouching down so that he was our height, even though he’s only about a centimetre taller anyway.

  ‘But what happened to him?’ asked Anton, hiding behind his invisible friend.

  ‘Nobody knows how he died,’ whispered Benjamin Bottle, ‘just that the swamp kept
his body preserved for thousands of years, like a jar of Feeko’s pickled onions . . .’

  ‘Ooh, pickled onions! I could just have one now!’ said Granny Harumpadunk, who was on the other side of the glass box. It looked like she was inside it, which wouldn’t have surprised me, what with how wrinkly she is.

  ‘I’d sack whoever cleans this place,’ said Gordon Smugly, signing his stupid name in the dust on the glass box.

  I rolled my eyes, because it felt a bit stupid to be talking about dust when there’s a million-year-old dead man lying there with his mouth wide open, and Benjamin Bottle gave me a wink, and we headed off into the next room.

  Instead of being empty with one glass box in the middle, this room was empty with glass boxes all the way round the edge. Inside the boxes were millions of those things I can never remember the name of, all different colours and sizes.

  ‘What’s all this craziness about?’ said Gordon, reminding me of Professor Smugly from my nightmare, and I wondered if the museum had any glass boxes with hoverpoos in them.

  ‘Caterpillars!’ shouted Benjamin Bottle, going right up to Gordon’s face so their noses were touching. ‘They love a swamp. Mogden used to be teeming with them!’

  ‘And no, they didn’t go to Feeko’s, Anton,’ said Mr Hodgepodge. ‘Although I did see one in the garden last week.’

  ‘Oh yes, they’re still around. Big pink squidgy one bit me just the other day,’ whispered Benjamin Bottle, winking at me. His face was still right up against Gordon’s. ‘Chomp!’ he shouted, holding his hand up.

  He’d bent his little finger over, but from where Gordon was standing it looked like it’d been bitten off.

  I thought of Three Thumb Rita and how Benjamin Bottle was a bit like her, except he was a man, and had ten fingers instead of eleven, even though he was pretending he had nine right now.

  ‘That couldn’t happen!’ said Gordon, but not smugly, more scaredly, and it made me come up with one of my brilliant and amazing ideas.

  ‘Oh yes it could!’ I shouted, holding up my Future Ratboy thumb-in-plaster. ‘A thingymajig bit ME yesterday and my THUMB fell off! I had to stick it back on with a plaster!’

  ‘Did you get your cuddly Not Bird to kiss it better?’ said Gordon, gliding over like a hoverpoo, but one that’s still a bit scared. He looked at my plaster and his eyebrows went up about fifteen centimetres. ‘Er, Barold, what in the name of keelness are you doing wearing a Future Ratboy plaster when Bunky and I are his number-one fans?’ he shouted.

  ‘This!’ I said, and I Future-Ratboy-plastered his stupid mouth shut.

  I don’t think Gordon believed me about my thumb falling off, but it felt good to make him look like a loser, even though he ripped the plaster off straight away.

  After that, we went into about three hundred more rooms and by the end of the trip I’d seen so many keel things, nothing could shock me any more.

  That was until I started walking home on my own after the coach had dropped us back at school. It was pitch black apart from the moon, which was hanging in the sky like an enormous white chocolate Not Bird with a chunk bitten out of it.

  ‘Don’t worry Noseypoos, we’ll be home soon,’ I was saying as I scraped along with the bit of gravel in my shoe, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. ‘DON’T KILL ME!’ I screamed, turning round, thinking it was Mogden Man, but no one was there.

  Then I looked three centimetres to the left and saw Anton Mildew, who still had the blue full stop on his forehead, by the way.

  ‘I won’t, but Invis might,’ he said, looking a bit scared himself. ‘He’s still angry at you from the coach.’

  ‘Sorry, Invis,’ I said, and we walked back to my house. ‘Mum, Dad, this is Anton and Invis,’ I said when we got inside. ‘Can they stay for dinner?’

  ‘As long as they like scotch eggs,’ said my mum, because that’s all we had left in the fridge since her and my dad were STILL arguing about whose turn it was to do the shopping.

  ‘Our favourite!’ said Anton, putting his arm round Invis, and I rolled my eyes to my mum like mums do to each other.

  It was quite oodle hanging out with Anton and Invis, because they’re really easy to boss around. ‘Salute how oodle my room is,’ I said when we went upstairs, and they both immediately saluted, although not as well as Bunky used to.

  At eight o’clock Anton’s mum phoned up, crying about where he was, so my dad drove him and Invis home.

  ‘See you both tomorrow!’ I shouted as they drove off, even though you can’t see Invis because he’s invisible.

  The next day at school, everyone except for me was getting excited about what they were wearing to go trick-or-treating for Halloween, which was on Fri.

  ‘Gordon’s got a brand new Future Ratboy outfit!’ Bunky was saying as me and my new best friends, Anton and Invis, walked past in the playground at lunch.

  ‘And Bunky’s going as Not Bird!’ said Gordon, and I rolled my eyes like mums do to themselves, because me and Bunky used to go trick-or-treating as Future Ratboy and Not Bird.

  ‘What are you going as, Mr Scrapey-foot McLoser?’ Gordon shouted at me, because I still hadn’t taken the bit of gravel out of my shoe yet.

  ‘I’m dressing up as your mum,’ I shouted back, and I thought about how that actually wasn’t a bad idea, seeing as I could make her necklace out of scotch eggs.

  ‘Do you wanna come trick-or-treating with me and Invis?’ asked Anton as we walked off, me all scrapily. ‘He’s going as an invisible dinosaur!’

  ‘Whatev,’ I said, which was short for ‘Yes, definitely.’

  In Drama on Weds I tried to make Bunky feel bad for going off with Gordon by dressing up as Three Thumb Rita. I put an old mop on my head and stuffed the Poo Chair cushion up my jumper and stuck one of my million spare Thumb Sweets on to my right hand.

  ‘Ooh, hello Barry, I haven’t seen you for a while,’ I said, as Anton pretended to walk into my shop. He was playing me, except he didn’t look as oodle. ‘Where’s your best friend, Blinky? Bonky?’

  ‘I don’t know, Rita, he’s . . . he’s disappeared,’ said Anton, looking down, sadly. I was quite impressed with how he said it, seeing as I’d only just given him the lines. ‘I see you have adverts on your floor now,’ he said. ‘What’s that “Smuglies” one for?’

  ‘Smuglies are my newest sweets,’ I said, pretending to pass him a packet. ‘They’re much better than my old ones!’

  ‘But I’ve been eating the old ones my whole life,’ said Anton. ‘Should I really leave them and go off with some new sweet that I don’t even know?’

  ‘GOOD POINT, BARRY, NO YOU SHOULDN’T,’ I said loudly and clearly towards where Bunky was sitting, ‘YOU SHOULD CARRY ON HANGING OUT WITH YOUR OLD FAVOURITE SWEETS.’

  I looked over but he was playing on Gordon’s phone and chewing on a Cola Flavour Not Bird.

  ‘Very interesting,’ said Mr Hodgepodge, giving me a funny look, which wasn’t surprising seeing as I had a mop on my head. ‘What do you think, class?’

  ‘I think Barold might be going a bit mad!’ said Gordon, and everyone laughed.

  I kept my eyes looking down for the whole rest of the week so that I didn’t see Gordon and Bunky, who were always walking around together, saying ‘keel’ and doing salutes.

  ‘I’m sorry, love,’ said my mum, passing me a toffee apple and giving me a little cuddle. It was Halloween night and I was dressed as the scotch egg man from Feeko’s, with all my old Thumb Sweets stuck all over my face and hands. My dad was in the garden barbecuing sausages because he’d finally given in and gone shopping.

  The doorbell rang and Mrs Mildew came in with Anton and Invis. Anton was dressed completely as himself, apart from the faded blue felt-tip full stop on his forehead.

  ‘Haven’t we met before?’ said my mum, passing Mrs Mildew a toffee apple but not giving her a cuddle. ‘There’s something very familiar about you.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Mrs Mildew, and my dad’s face appeared at t
he window with a sausage next to it.

  ‘The dance workout lady!’ he mouthed, waggling the sausage around.

  I looked up at Mrs Mildew, and started laughing for what felt like the first time in ages, because she was the dance workout lady from the internet that’d trodden on her cat.

  ‘Oh, Timothy is fine, just a bit of a limp,’ she said when I asked how the cat was, and I wondered why everyone at my school gave their cats human names.

  After that we all had burnt sausages together and I drew a million more blue felt-tip-pen full stops on to Anton’s face and sellotaped eyebrow-sausages on to his glasses, and we headed out to go trick-or-treating.