Barry Loser: I Am Not A Loser

by Jim Smith

  ‘Something terrible’s happened,’ she cried. Looking back at the school doors I saw Mr Hodgepodge with Sharonella, who was crying, and everyone that’d just been chanting ‘fight!’ began running towards them, Darren included.

  ‘You’re lucky, Barry Loserface,’ he burped over his shoulder, which I suppose I sort of was apart from I’d just weed myself.

  I had to waddle home at full waddle speed with my trousers all wet from Fronkle wee before anyone noticed after that so it was only when Bunky came round later that I found out what had happened.

  ‘There’s gonna be a talent contest!’ he screamed through the letter box before I’d even opened the door.

  ‘Is that the terrible news?’ I said, looking through the spyhole to see if he knew I’d weed myself.

  ‘No, that was Sharonella. She slipped on a banana skin running to sign up for it,’ said Bunky. ‘First prize is a Future Ratboy costume! We could win it easily with Vending Machine Mum!’ I still hadn’t opened the door yet by the way.

  Once he got inside he started dancing around like me when I’d needed my wee, and telling everyone in sight about the talent contest, the only people in sight being me and my mum who he called ‘Mum’ by accident, embarrassingly for him.

  ‘Aren’t you excited?’ he said, his voice bouncing up and down.

  ‘Yeah, it’s keel, I’m just annoyed I didn’t get to punch Crocodile Face in the nose,’ I said, but I was lying. I was glad the fight had stopped, I just felt like a massive loser for weeing myself.

  ‘You should get him with one of your genius plans,’ said Bunky, and immediately my child geniusness came up with the most brilliant and amazing plan ever in the history of the world amen.

  The plan was that I’d tell Darren there was a new flavour of Fronkle coming out, which there wasn’t at all, and he’d get all excited and look like a loser when I told him it was a lie.

  ‘What do you reckon?’ I asked later round Granny’s house, after I’d told her and Bunky the plan.

  ‘It’s not your best,’ said Bunky. He was busy watching Future Ratboy on Granny’s old TV.

  ‘Blinky’s right, Barry. Can’t you come up with something better than that?’ said Granny. But I just ignored them both and watched Future Ratboy, which was brilliant as usual, like me.

  The next day at school the whole playground was full of everyone practising their rubbish acts for the talent contest, which was a complete waste of time for them all because it was obvious me and Bunky would win with Vending Machine Mum.

  Bunky and me found Darren round the back of the sports hall wearing an eye mask and throwing ringpulls at Stuart Shmendrix, who he’d tied on to a dustbin lid that was nailed to a traffic cone and was being spun round by Anton Mildew.

  ‘What’s all this unkeelness about?’ I said in my Future Ratboy voice, but also with a bit of action-hero edge because of the nonfight the day before.

  ‘It’s mine and Darren’s act for the talent contest!’ said Stuart, his voice going round and round.

  ‘I’m just helping them out. My act’s about the history of sandwiches,’ said Anton.

  ‘Whatev. Just thought you’d wanna know there’s a new Fronkle flavour coming out,’ I said. ‘My dad works there, he told me.’

  My dad doesn’t work there, by the way, he works in an office doing something I can’t remember.

  Darren stopped throwing ringpulls at Stuart and took his mask off. ‘What flavour?’ he said, trying not to sound too excited.

  ‘Banana,’ I said, because I’d just seen Sharonella limping past with her banana accident leg in plaster.

  ‘Yeaaa-hhh, ba-naaa-naaa,’ said Bunky, waving his arms and legs around to make it sound better.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ shouted Mr Koops’s voice all of a sudden. ‘Shmendrix, get down off that contraption.’

  Darren untied Stuart and he staggered into the playground like a lamp post that’s been bent in half.

  ‘Terribly sorry, Mr Koops, we were just practising our act for the talent contest,’ said Darren in his best voice.

  ‘No banana, Darrenofski. Give me a lap of the playground,’ Mr Koops shouted, and Darren jogged off, winking at me and doing a little dance like he needed a Banana Fronkle wee.

  Suddenly everywhere I went Darren was there not calling me a loser or throwing ringpulls at me.

  Like on my walk to school, he suddenly appeared behind me all snuffly and panting because he’d had to run to catch up.

  ‘Any news on the Banana Fronkle?’ he said, drinking his morning Fronkle.

  I could just imagine his crocodile nose drooping to the floor with disappointment when I told him there was no such thing.

  ‘I’ve written an email to Fronkle head office asking if they could send me a sample but I haven’t heard back yet,’ he burped, being careful that it didn’t go in my ear.

  I almost felt sorry for him, except I could remember what a horrible little fatbelly he’d been to me all those times. This was the person that’d told everyone I had grandparent-parents and ruined my Vending Machine Mum show with his poo breath and sung ‘Barry Loser’s a Loser’ to the tune of ‘Happy Birthday’.

  We chatted about the talent contest for the rest of the walk and how Stuart Shmendrix had been feeling really dizzy recently, for some reason. Darren thought it might be his fish-finger eyebrows making his eyes not know which way round they were, and I said maybe he’d end up like Mr Hodgepodge, all cross-eyed, and we laughed.

  ‘How’s your Vending Machine Mum practicing coming along?’ said Darren at lunch the next day. He’d squidged himself next to me, which I didn’t mind because Anton Mildew had been eating a sandwich in my ear while talking to his invisible friend opposite, which was really annoying.

  ‘We know it off by heart already,’ I said, looking over at Bunky, who was picking his nose and eating it for pudding.

  ‘Yeah, we’re just playing it keel,’ said Bunky. He smiled and you could see a bit of bogie stuck on his tooth.

  ‘You two are so great in it, you’ll definitely win,’ said Darren. ‘Have you heard anything else about Banana Fronkle?’

  ‘Put it this way,’ I said, ‘don’t eat too many bananas the day of the talent contest’.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Darren, looking confused.

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t want to ruin your appetite.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Yeah, what for?’ Bunky joined in.

  ‘Banana Fronkle,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I get you,’ said Darren, and he did a wink, but I don’t think he did get me, especially as there’s no such thing as Banana Fronkle.

  Instead of practising Vending Machine Mum, me and Bunky had our best week of annoying Mrs Trumpet Face ever.

  On Tuesday we spotted her in the supermarket on our way home from school and hid in the aisle behind the washing powder she was looking at.

  When she picked up a box Bunky’s face was behind it and she jumped and dropped it and the powder went all over her kids.

  ‘Trumpet Faccccceeeee!’ we screamed as we ran out laughing, everybody in the whole supermarket thinking how keel we were.

  Then on Thursday night we stood outside her window for three hours until we realised she was out. Just as we were leaving she arrived home in her car, which we walked next to singing ‘Trumpet Face is a Loser’ to the Future Ratboy tune as she parked it.

  It was exciting going to school for the talent contest the next evening what with all the parents there, and I felt keel standing around backstage with Bunky, waiting to go on like we were famous.

  ‘Good luck, Snookyflumps!’ my mum said, giving me a hug, which I squirmed out of and walked away from as fast as possible before someone heard.

  Mr Hodgepodge, who’d organised the whole thing, was rushing around with a clipboard with nothing on it and telling everybody it was going to be all right, even though he looked more nervous than anyone.

  ‘Do not panic, people,’ he was saying as Granny pop
ped her head round the curtain to wish us luck.

  ‘Mrs Harumpadunk!’ he said, and his eyebrows went about seven and a half centimetres further up his forehead than normal.

  ‘Ooh, Mr Hedgehog, I do like a man in control of a situation,’ said Granny. She stroked her blue frizzy hair but her hand got stuck in it because it’s so wiry.

  ‘Some of us are just born leaders, Mrs Harumpadunk,’ said Mr Hodgepodge, leaning on the lever that controlled the trapdoor. There was a clunk and then the sound of a scream disappearing down a hole. ‘Anyway, things to do!’ he said and wobbled off towards the stage.

  First on were Anton Mildew and his invisible friend, whose lecture about sandwiches was the most boring thing ever in the history of the universe amen and that includes the wallpaper exhibition my mum made us go to.

  I was standing there thinking how amazing I was, while also being really nervous about my act, when Mr Hodgepodge came up to me all sweating and eyes rolling.

  ‘Barry, some idiot’s set the trapdoor off and Fay Snoggles fell through it. You’re good at things like this. Any ideas?’

  ‘You could climb down and get her?’ I said in my Future Ratboy obvious-answer-to-stupid-question voice.

  ‘Brilliant! Off you go,’ he said and he pushed me on to the stage before I could say, ‘Don’t cut my ear lobes off,’ which wouldn’t have made much sense but who cares.

  The trapdoor was right in the middle of the stage and I didn’t want my mum to see me and shout out ‘Woooohooooo, Snookyflumps!’ so I hid behind Anton’s sandwich explainer board and tiptoed towards it as the crowd listened to his talk.

  ‘That board just moved!’ shouted someone in the audience who sounded like Darren’s dad, but I couldn’t be sure because I’d already slipped through the trapdoor and under the floorboards.

  The crowd’s applause for Anton’s lecture was muffled and smelled of damp and was pitch black, although some of that was probably down to me being where I was.

  ‘Fay? Can you hear me?’ I whisper-shouted. ‘It’s Barry! I’ve come to rescue you but only because Mr Hodgepodge made me.’

  Above me someone fat was clomping on to the stage.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for The Cool Girlz!’ Mr Hodgepodge’s voice said, and I looked through a tiny hole and saw right up one of Sharonella’s nostrils, which was full of bogies as per usual.

  ‘I’m on in two acts’ time!’ I whisper-shouted into the darkness, but nobody answered. ‘Fay! Fay! Fay! Fay! Fay! Fay! Fay! Fay! Fay! Fay!’ I said in every direction, turning around like Stuart Shmendrix on his dustbin lid.

  In the end I decided that Fay must have been eaten by a giant sabre-toothed woodlouse and I walked over to where I thought Bunky was standing so that he could help me get out before it ate me too. I could tell when I’d got to him because I could hear his stupid laugh vibrating through the floorboards.

  I knocked where I thought his foot was.

  ‘Invisigrandad? Is that you?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, because I was running out of time. ‘Barry’s in big trouble. He’s stuck under the stage and needs you to get him out.’

  ‘Ha ha, nice one, Invisigrandad, you almost got me there even though you didn’t at all,’ said Bunky. ‘Fay, come and listen to this!’

  ‘What?’ said Fay’s voice, as if it was right next to me.

  ‘Fay, meet Invisigrandad,’ said Bunky, and I looked up through a hole in the floorboards and there was Fay Snoggles, next to Bunky and not at all underneath the stage like me.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, but I ignored her and stormed off into the darkness really scared because I was all on my own with the sabre-toothed woodlouse.

  The Cool Girlz’s rubbish dance act was coming to an end above my head.

  ‘Behold as Sharonella flies through the air like a fly, does three somersaults then lands on Donnatella’s shoulders!’ said Tracy Pilchard’s voice. There was a big gasp from the audience, then a massive thud.

  ‘Helpingtons,’ cried Donnatella, who sounded like she was underneath something heavy, like a Sharonella.

  ‘I’m sorry, Donnatella,’ Sharonella cried as she was carried off, and Tracy Pilchard did a bow, which I could tell because all her plastic jewellery was rattling.

  My act was in one act’s time now and I was beginning to panic a bit.

  ‘Somebody get me out of heerrreee!’ I screamed, but the crowd was clapping too loud to hear. Above me, crocodile face Darren Darrenofski was trotting on to the stage with Stuart Shmendrix.

  ‘Ladies and gentlelosers, I will now throw these sharpened ringpulls at Mr Shmendrix’s body as it rotates on the dustbin lid of death!’ Darren said.

  Mr Hodgepodge’s eyebrows must have disappeared over the top of his head or something because now I could hear Granny chuckle to herself somewhere in the front row.

  The audience gasped as Darren threw the ringpulls and I imagined them shaving past Stuart’s upside-down face and thunking into the metal behind him.

  I could picture Anton Mildew watching from the side of the stage with his sandwich explainer board and I felt sorry for him, especially seeing as me and Bunky were on next, not that we were, because I was stuck underneath the stage about to be eaten by the woodlouse.

  There was only one person that could help me now, and that was Granny Harumpadunk. I made my way over to the front bit of the stage and started looking for a hole to see her through.

  There were two perfect ones right near the floor but to see through them I had to get down on my hands and knees so that my lips were touching the ground. They brushed past a bit of hundred-year-old chewing gum which still smelt of mint but also dust and ant poo.

  ‘Is Barry’s dad here?’ I heard Darren say to Bunky as he came off the stage and I did a chuckle to myself, even though I was still really scared of the woodlouse.

  ‘Yeah, and he’s got a six pack of Banana Fronkle!’ said Bunky, and I heard Darren do a little dance and ask for a high five, but by now Bunky must have been beginning to wonder where I was, because he didn’t give one back.

  I poked my eyes through the little holes and looked around like one of those paintings in a haunted house. Annoyingly all I could see of the crowd were their feet.

  My granny wears really boring normal shoes and there were about a million of them. I was just about to give up when I spotted Ethel’s fat sandal toes pointing right at me. I’ve never been so happy to see her disgusting smelly feet in my life.

  ‘Granny!’ I shouted, putting my mouth up to the holes. As I guessed, she was sitting next to Ethel.

  ‘Barry? Is that you?’ she said, putting her nostrils right up to my eyes. I looked up them and saw her dried up old granny bogies and sighed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Granny, I’m stuck down here and my act’s on next!’ I said. ‘The trapdoor lever is backstage. Get to it as fast as you can!’

  ‘OK, love, I’ll just get my bits,’ she said, and I could see her boring shoes shuffle back to her chair at about one mile an hour.

  I ran over to where Bunky was and knocked under his foot again. ‘Bunky, this is Invisigrandad. Listen very carefully. If you get this wrong I’m gonna stick your nose in a letter box.’

  Above me I heard Mr Hodgepodge’s loserish voice. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the next act has been called off because Barry Loser has mysteriously disappeared.’

  I was standing on the little platform underneath the trapdoor just about to use my girly screamvoice when there was a scraping on the floorboards.

  ‘What’s all this crazy business, Bunky? You can’t do the act on your own,’ mufflewhispered Mr Hodgepodge.

  ‘Orders of Invisigrandad,’ said Bunky, and the scraping stopped right above my head.

  ‘Operation Reveal the Coolness!’ Granny shouted, and suddenly the trapdoor flipped open and my Vending Machine Mum costume dropped on to my head and the platform started to rise.

  Looking out at the audience as I came through the floor I saw ever
yone I knew in the whole wide world and I felt pretty keel, chewing on my hundred-year-old chewing gum.

  ‘I can’t remember my lines,’ Bunky whisperlaughed next to me, and my heartbeat started echoing inside the cardboard box.

  I stared out at the audience and saw everyone’s eyes looking back at me, apart from Mr Hodgepodge’s, which were pointing at the fire extinguisher and a light switch.

  ‘It was an ordinary night at number Twenty Two Smelly Poo Bum Road . . .’ I said in my clearest voice, which is the first line of Vending Machine Mum and everyone in the audience laughed and I smiled with relief inside my costume.

  Luckily the school is near an airport and there was a massive plane flying over for the whole of Bunky’s main talking bit, so the audience couldn’t tell that he was singing the Future Ratboy theme tune instead of doing his lines.

  I even saw my mum wipe her eye with Dad’s hanky at the bit where the me character is just lying there watching Future Ratboy, while the mum hoovers around him at the same time as cooking him chicken kiev with chips and peas and doing the ironing.

  ‘That’s my Snookyflumps!’ she cried as we walked offstage to applause, me slapping Bunky on the back and saying ‘Good work, Snooky,’ to make people think it was HIS nickname and not mine.