My Great Success and Other Failures

by Catherine Wilkins

  Mum’s only other complaint was that it might be “too much” for me to do a newspaper interview in the same week we get to go and visit our new school. But as I pointed out, she had no trouble making us walk for six miles when we got lost once in Cornwall, and that was much harder, if you think about it.

  Anyway. Totes normal as I ride the bus to school the next day. Definitely going to play it cool with everyone, as if I get asked to be in the local paper because of my awesome cartooning every day.

  “Oh my God, you won’t believe what’s happening!” I all but yell as I enter my form room and startle Natalie and Amelia out of yet another yearbook discussion. Well, I almost played it cool. Slightly stumbled at the very last playing it cool hurdle there.

  “Jeez, Jess, give us a heart attack, why don’t you?” says Nat crossly, as I bound over to them.

  I summon all the self-control I can muster, and exclaim as unsqueakily as I can, “I’m going to be interviewed in the local paper about that dolphin cartoon I did! Can you believe it?”

  “Really?” says Amelia, slightly incredulously, I have to say.

  “Yep!” I reply joyfully. “Isn’t it amazing!”

  “It certainly is,” she says.

  “That’s great, Jess, very exciting!” says Nat.

  I beam.

  “When will it be out?” asks Amelia.

  “Next week, I think,” I reply. “I expect they want to strike while the iron is hot, you know. I’m very zeitgeisty.”

  “Indeed,” says Amelia, unconvinced. “Well, that’s actually really good timing.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Well, there’s hardly any of school left, so if it’s like a bad photo or something you won’t get bullied. And then, by the time we start secondary school, no one will remember it anyway.”

  “God, I’m so nervous about visiting our secondary school!” exclaims Natalie.

  “I know,” says Amelia.

  “Why would it be a bad photo?” I stammer.

  “It probably won’t be,” says Amelia. “I’m just saying if.”

  Hmmmm.

  “I’m sure they’ll take a great photo, Jess,” Nat assures me. “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.”

  “I’m not embarrassed, I’m excited,” I declare, wilting.

  “That’s the spirit,” says Nat.

  “I’m not bothered about photos anyway,” I assert. “I might pull a funny face for all I care.”

  “I wouldn’t,” says Amelia.

  “You so won’t,” giggles Nat. “When it comes to it you’ll totally chicken out.”

  “I bet you five pounds you won’t do it,” chips in Amelia.

  “You’re on,” I tell them. “I am a creative. I live outside society’s rules.”

  “Your mum will never let you.” Nat is really giggling now.

  She might have a point there. Also I suppose it might be nice to have a nice photo. Especially if I’m holding the cartoon I drew. Maybe that could even be my photo for the yearbook?

  I mean, I don’t want to cut my nose off to spite my face. Or pull a face so weird it looks like someone has cut my nose off and my face is spited. Hmmm.

  “Well, we’ll see,” I say. “It might not be up to me. I might have to take artistic direction from the official photographer. Because an official photographer is taking my picture.”

  I’m not sure but I think I see Amelia roll her eyes. Ha. Jealous.

  Natalie and Amelia really do seem quite nervous about the upcoming trip to look around our new school, but I’m genuinely excited. I mean, it is huge and scary and intimidating and all that, but still, exciting. Lots of the best things are scary too.

  And they have vending machines. Tammy told me. You can buy cans of Coke there. How amazing is that? To be fair Tammy doesn’t think that’s amazing, because she’s anti-corporations. But I think it means I’ve arrived.

  “No way! That’s amazing! I can’t believe it,” exclaims Joshua as we sit outside the library.

  “I can,” says Tanya. “I totally predicted this with my business acumen, innit.”

  “Well done, Jessica,” says Lewis politely. Ha. Jealous too.

  It’s so fun telling people about my impending local newspaper fame.

  “Right then,” says Tanya. “We’d better prep you.”

  “Prep me?”

  “Let’s go over all the things you need to mention about the comic. You’re the public face of our brand now, remember?”

  “I am?”

  “Course. You said you’d plug us in interviews and that.”

  “Oh, yes, right, OK.” Though to be fair, I didn’t think there would be any interviews then. It’s already snowballed.

  “I think you should big up the comedy side of it,” advises Joshua. “People love funny things; that will get people interested.”

  “Yeah,” agrees Tanya. “And say that we’re entrepreneurs; that makes us sound good too.”

  “OK,” I agree. “Um, what if they don’t really want to talk about the comic? I mean, I’ll probably have to answer their questions, won’t I?” (And also talk about me.)

  “That’s why you gotta use your skilz, Toons,” instructs Tanya. “Make like you’re Megan Flyer flogging your new tunes on a chat show.”

  “Sure, um, I think,” I say non-committally.

  “Joshua and I will show you,” says Tanya. “Joshyboy, ask us a question.”

  “Where do you get your crazy ideas from?” asks Joshua.

  “Well,” answers Tanya, “I work on a comic with three other people and sometimes we all come up with ideas together. Our comic is great. It’s launching online soon etc. etc.”

  “But that isn’t how I get my crazy ideas,” I say.

  “Not the point, Toons,” replies Tanya. “You gotta stay on-message. Joshua, another one.”

  “How did you feel when you found out your cartoon had been voted to the top of the website Newsworth?” asks Joshua.

  “Really great,” answers Tanya. “I was nearly as excited as the day I decided to launch a hilarious online comic with my school friends. Do you get it yet?”

  “Yes,” I reply. “I think I get the picture. It’s, um… not very subtle, is it?”

  “Not meant to be,” reasons Tanya. “That’s capitalism for ya.”

  I have to say, I think these guys are slightly taking the biscuit. But luckily for them, I’m feeling pretty magnanimous about it. I haven’t lost touch with my roots; I still remember what it was like before I hit the big time. I’ll throw these kids a bone.

  “OK, I think that’s them! They’re here!” calls out Dad excitedly. “Ready?”

  “Yes, yes,” I say, feeling everyone is making slightly too much fuss about this.

  Mum and Auntie Joan talked for literally twenty minutes about what top I should wear. I wanted to wear my favourite one but Mum thinks it’s too small. Then Auntie Joan said that was the fashion, and Mum said, “Jessica doesn’t care about fashion”, which I did sort of have to agree with.

  But then it turned into a discussion about how Mum should buy me more clothes, so I don’t have to wear things that are too small. And then Mum got quite annoyed with Auntie Joan, and accused her of having no idea how quickly children grow. Then my dad made everyone a cup of tea.

  I hear Dad saying, “Come through, come right this way” in his telephone voice as he ushers the photographer and journalist into the living room where the rest of us are waiting. Mum did extra hoovering, especially. “Jessica, this is Pamela and this is Greg the photographer, from the paper.”

  We all shake hands and Dad establishes that everyone wants tea before disappearing into the kitchen.

  “Hello, I’m Ryan.” My brother offers his hand to be shaken as well. Pamela and Greg politely oblige, and everyone sits down.

  “This is Lady,” Ryan continues his introductions. “She’s a family dog, but she’s more mine really.”

  “That’s nice,” says Pamela.

&
nbsp; “OK, Ryan.” Mum signals for Ryan to go over and sit next to her. He ignores her.

  “She likes me the best,” he explains. “Lady can shake your hand too if you like?”

  “Ryan,” repeats Mum.

  “Hang on, Mum,” says Ryan crossly. “Lady: shake.” Lady does nothing. “Sometimes you have to help her.” He picks up Lady’s paw and places it in the journalist’s hand. “There you go. See? She can shake.”

  “Yeah, really impressive, Ryan,” I say. “Next stop, Crufts.”

  Pamela and Greg smile.

  “Well, she can roll over on command,” continues Ryan. “Mostly.”

  “Ryan, come and sit here with me, please,” says Mum more forcefully. “These nice people haven’t come to see you play with Lady, they’ve come to interview Jessica about her cartoon.”

  “They probably want to see Lady a bit though,” reasons Ryan, but he does at least go over to my mum this time. “You haven’t asked them what they want.”

  “Lady is a lovely dog,” pipes up Pamela, “but your mum’s right; we’ve really come to talk to Jessica.”

  “OK,” says Ryan reasonably. “You can interview me about Lady afterwards if you like.”

  “We’ll see. If there’s time,” says Pamela kindly.

  “I can tell you all about how I trained her,” Ryan carries on.

  I know I’m supposed to be making a good impression on the journalist and not quarrelling with Ryan or anything, but my head is exploding with what an idiot he’s being.

  “What training, Ryan?” I blurt out. “You’ve just presented her as the amazing dog that doesn’t do anything she’s told.”

  “She knows her name,” he argues. “Lady!”

  Instead of looking round or wagging her tail, Lady makes a noise that sounds like a sigh, and then lies down. “She’s just tired,” says Ryan apologetically.

  “Well, I bet no one can wait to get tickets to the live show,” I say sarcastically. “Ryan and the dog who feels tired.”

  Everyone chuckles. I feel a tiny bit bad and hope I haven’t actually upset Ryan. But then he is being annoying.

  “So, Jessica,” says Pamela, turning to me at last. “What is it that inspires you to draw cartoons?” She gets out her pad and presses a button on a tiny tape recorder.

  “Well,” I reply, “I love comedy. My hero is Matt Groening. I want to be a cartoonist when I grow up. In fact, I already work on a comic with my friends––”

  “Oh sorry, I’m not sure this thing is working. Does that light look on to you?” interrupts Pamela.

  “Um. Kind of,” I say.

  “You know what, I’ll use my phone. You’re happy to be recorded?” She asks this of the room in general. Joan, Mum and I nod. Pamela gets out her phone and fiddles with it. “So you were saying, you like Matt Groening?”

  “He’s my hero,” I say again. “I want to be a funny cartoonist just like him when I grow up. Apart from The Simpsons and Futurama, he draws comic strips of rabbits that are really funny. In fact, I’ve actually already set up a comic with some school friends––”

  “Tea!” Dad re-enters the room with a tray of tea and biscuits.

  “Oh, lovely,” says Greg the photographer.

  Pamela fiddles with her phone again and Dad starts delightedly serving everyone. We have splashed out on two different types of biscuit, after all.

  “I tell you what, shall I do the photos while everyone’s drinking tea?” asks Greg.

  “That’s a good idea,” says Pamela, biting happily into a chocolate digestive. She has no idea how lucky she is we’re over our belt-tightening phase.

  Greg takes a few close-up pictures of me holding up a piece of paper with a screen grab of my cartoon at the top of Newsworth, and then Ryan starts acting up again.

  “Mummy, I don’t think it’s fair that Lady isn’t in the picture,” he whines. “I think she feels left out.”

  Yeah sure, I think. Lady feels left out. Honestly, Ryan is so transparent.

  “Lady’s fine, Ryan,” says Mum.

  “She’s sad,” protests Ryan. “You’re making her feel sad.”

  “I tell you what,” says Greg. “It might be nice to get a bit more of a family action shot, as it were. Perhaps one of the children and the dog sitting together on the carpet, drawing pictures?”

  “That’s a lovely idea,” says Auntie Joan.

  “OK,” I say. Ryan is lucky I’m so selfless and happy to share my moment of glory with him. “Do you know where the colouring stuff is, Ryan?” I ask.

  “Yes, I’ll go and get it.” Ryan leaps up and disappears from the room in a flash, forgetting instantly how sad Lady is.

  Soon Ryan and I are sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by paper and pens, with Lady lying next to us. Ryan and I have to “act natural” but pretend I’m teaching him to draw, so I end up showing him how to draw Homer Simpson. I think Pamela and Greg are quite impressed with my skills. And Ryan behaves perfectly the whole rest of the time.

  “It comes out tomorrow,” I tell Natalie and Amelia as we sit down in the coach that’s taking us to our new school for the day. We managed to find seats right at the back, so we can all sit together.

  “I’m so nervous,” breathes Nat.

  “Don’t be, I’m sure I’ll come out of it looking great,” I quip.

  “Not your stupid interview – visiting our new school!” replies Nat.

  “I know, I’m joking,” I say, disappointed to have to explain this. I know that it was a naff joke, but I thought Nat would at least appreciate I’m trying to cheer her up and distract her from her nerves.

  We’ve been allowed to wear home clothes and everything, which I am very pleased about. I love a mufti day.

  “We’re all in the same boat,” says Amelia.

  “Yeah,” I agree.

  “Well, you say that,” says Nat, “but I think, because I’m an actress, I’m quite sensitive. So I think I feel things more deeply than you two. It’s harder for me.”

  Amelia and I look at each other and roll our eyes. I fight the urge to giggle. Natalie is really sticking with this whole actress thing. I thought she might chill out once the play finished. I mean, I’m going to be in the local paper, and I’m way more grounded than her. Oh, well.

  “We need something to look forward to,” says Amelia. “As a treat to make up for all the trauma.”

  “What trauma?” I splutter. “It’s normal to start secondary school.”

  “Yeah, and it’s normal for that to be a bit traumatic,” says Amelia.

  “Yeah,” Nat agrees. “This is a very trying time in our lives.” The coach starts moving. “Oh my God!”

  “I’m excited,” I say obstinately.

  “I know! Let’s get milkshakes at McDonald’s afterwards,” suggests Amelia.

  “Yes!” Nat practically squeals. “We should definitely get milkshakes afterwards.”

  Oh great. My family just blew all our spare money on chocolate biscuits to impress the local press, so there’s none left in the kitty for me to get such fripperies. I’ll have to be a charity case again. Or not come.

  “You’ll come, won’t you, Jess?” says Nat then.

  “Of course,” I reply automatically. So charity case it is then. Urrrggghhh. I should be above this now. I’m famous. Kind of. But what’s the point of being voted to the top of Newsworth if you still can’t afford a humble milkshake?

  Still, in all fairness, we did buy those biscuits because of me and my cartoon. I suppose I should accept my role in emptying the coffers. I guess you can’t win them all.

  Our new school is huge. Huuuuuge. I cannot emphasise how big it is. I think it will take me the minimum of a month to find my way around it. I am definitely going to get lost here.

  It’s so big because it absorbs most of the children from all the local primary schools. I mean, not everyone, but probably the majority.

  I think nearly all of our Year Six are coming here, with just a handful of people goi
ng off to different places. We’re the nearest school to it, actually. We even have the same name. We’re Hillfern Juniors and this school is Hillfern Seniors.

  I’ve been here before on the open day a while ago. I remember being really impressed with the Art block and the Science labs. There are Bunsen burners and test tubes, and we’ll get to do actual experiments. How cool is that? I hope we have Science as one of our practice lessons today.

  We’re not doing Science. Or Art. We spend nearly two hours in a lesson calling itself PSHCE, which apparently stands for “Personal, Social, Health, Career and Economic Education” but seems like a bit of a doss.

  We got divided into groups with all the different schools mixed up. I’m in the same class-group as Natalie and Amelia, but I end up sitting next to a girl from St Mary’s called Keshma. Keshma is really nice and it turns out we both have little brothers who are sometimes annoying.

  To be fair, PSHCE is kind of interesting. Our teacher, Miss Jacobs, is lovely and wants to encourage us to discuss various issues and get to know each other. She says she really wants to make us think. It feels a bit weird being asked what our opinions are for once, but I like it.

  Then, after morning break – which is amazing by the way; there’s a canteen where you can get crisps and iced buns and everything – we go back into our PSHCE lesson for a balloon debate.

  The title “balloon debate” is misleading. I thought we were going to have a discussion about whether balloons are good for the environment or something. But it turns out we had to pretend a whole bunch of famous people were in a hot-air balloon that’s sinking fast, and they’ll all die unless one person is chucked out. Harsh.