My Great Success and Other Failures

by Catherine Wilkins

  As soon as the mics are off and everyone is milling around not paying attention to us, Miriam addresses me irritably. “What was that?”

  “Um, my comic?” I offer.

  “You should have run that by me,” says Miriam crossly. “Everything like that has to be approved.”

  “Sorry,” I say, feeling immediately awful and small, after feeling so big when everyone was impressed by my words.

  “It’s very unprofessional,” she adds. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to do that?”

  “Hello there, the name’s Tanya Harris!” Suddenly Tanya is by my side, brashly offering her hand to be shaken by Miriam, who hesitates, then does shake it.

  “Hello,” says Miriam, still sounding cross.

  “I’m afraid that was my bad, Mrs M,” says Tanya. “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

  “Well, it wasn’t, and my name is Miriam. Please don’t call me Mrs M.”

  “Right you are,” says Tanya happily. “Well, you can’t blame a kid for trying.”

  “Well, you can, actually,” says Miriam. “I’ve got a schedule to stick to and I need to know what’s going on in order to keep on top of things. The whole thing falls apart if people start introducing amateurish theatrics.”

  “As I say, it’s my bad, and it won’t happen again,” says Tanya, unrepentant. “I take full responsibility. But you know, one person’s amateurish theatrics is another person’s enterprising. We all have to start somewhere.”

  “I suppose.” Miriam sighs and looks at Tanya with what could be a grudging respect. “So,” she says finally. “You’re a new venture that wants to join the world of capitalist enterprise, are you?”

  “Absolutely we are, yes,” says Tanya.

  “All right then,” says Miriam. “You can sell your comic in here just this once. But we get a twenty per cent cut of anything you make.”

  “Normally I would not accept a first offer,” says Tanya, somehow with a completely straight face. “But I can see you’re a busy woman, and I’d like to make amends, so you’ve got yourself a deal.” They shake hands again.

  “Great,” says Miriam dryly. “Well, I need to prep the next speaker. Nice interview, Jessica.” And with that she’s gone.

  I turn to Tanya with renewed awe. “Am I the best or am I the best?” she asks, grinning.

  “That was some mighty fine negotiating,” I tell her honestly. Tanya is brilliant at solving problems – which admittedly she has also created – but still. I am definitely impressed.

  And that event definitely went brilliantly, for me and the comic. High-fives all round.

  “Someone’s in the paper again!” Dad throws the local paper over to me. I look at the page he means and see a little article with the headline: “Local cartoonist makes splash at comic event.” There’s a picture of me talking to Miriam, and you can see some of the audience’s heads and my dolphin cartoon in the background on the screen.

  Wow, I didn’t know there’d be press there. I don’t remember any photos being taken. I read on. It’s a summary of some of the things I said in my interview. Cool.

  “Don’t get too big-headed,” warns Mum, looking up from the family laptop (where she has been tracking her Web page hits again).

  The phone rings. Ryan leaps to answer it and then hands it to Mum. “It’s sort of for you.”

  “Sort of?” Mum takes the phone and listens to the other person with a bemused look on her face. “Right, yes, OK. Thank you. We’ll have to get back to you on that.” She hangs up and looks at me. “Well, Jessica, opportunity knocks again!”

  Oh my God, oh my God. I’ve been asked to draw a comic strip for the local paper! It’s a dream come true! Talk about a legacy. Not that I care about that any more, obviously. I’m just saying. And anyway I didn’t start that whole legacy business.

  Apparently the journalist who was at the Comic-tacular event bought one of our comics! (We actually sold five in total, how amazing is that? We sold them for 20p each, so made one pound in total, but we had to give twenty per cent to Miriam, which was 20p, so we walked away with a cool 80p. Which I know isn’t really very much, but as Tanya kept repeating, you do have to start somewhere. And I could totally buy an ice lolly at my new school with my share, so I feel like a winner.)

  Anyway, the journalist especially liked the cartoon I drew of the bee dressed as a wasp at the bee fancydress party. He showed it to some other people at the paper, and they had a meeting and all agreed it might be fun to give me a trial run, drawing a cartoon for them every week, starting with the bee one. They want to publish my bee cartoon in the paper! Under my name. Like I’m a real cartoonist.

  This is literally the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me. I’ve arrived. I have landed my dream job at the age of eleven. And it really is a job too. I am going to be paid twenty pounds per cartoon! Twenty whole pounds!

  Mum and Dad are making me put at least half of it into a savings account as a condition of letting me to do it, but still, that’s ten whole pounds a week to spend lavishly on McDonald’s milkshakes if I so choose. Gone are my days of begging for scraps from the table or a slurp of Natalie’s milkshake. No, sir, I’ve hit the big time.

  Joshua, Tanya and Lewis took it really well. I was slightly worried they might be annoyed and say I hadn’t bigged up the comic enough, or that Lewis might demand to know where his offer of a comic strip was, but they’re all still really happy about selling five copies of the comic. And as Tanya said, what makes one of us look good makes all of us look good. And I was really nice and tactful in the way I told them.

  Admittedly, I was a bit more overly gleeful when I told Natalie and Amelia, but only because they were so cartoons-aren’t-a-thing before. I don’t think I could have more conclusively proved cartoons are-actually-a-thing unless I had made a cartoons T-shirt that said, “We Are Too a Thing” on it.

  But, gleefulness aside, success hasn’t changed me. It definitely hasn’t gone to my head. And when the inevitable TV show is made about my life, I’ll totally suggest my comic friends as writers. I mean, if you let someone write or star on your TV show, they should totally just be grateful about it. Right? Ha, I’m mainly kidding.

  The best part is, I’m allowed to have a little party in the back garden to celebrate my success. (I have to let Ryan come though.)

  Auntie Joan comes too and puts some money towards the food, so my parents decide to have a barbecue! This is seriously the best my life has ever got.

  I invite Natalie, Amelia, Joshua, Tanya, Lewis, Emily, Megan, Fatimah, Cherry and Shantair, and then Mum says that’s enough. I only really invited Lewis so that Joshua wouldn’t be the only boy, but we are still colleagues after all.

  I feel like I haven’t had a party round my house for ages. This is so much fun. It’s a lovely sunny day, everyone is excited that school is almost over and everyone seems to be having a good time.

  “Ahoy there,” says Mr VanDerk, appearing on the other side of the fence.

  “Hello!” Dad waves back jovially through the smoke billowing from the barbecue.

  “I think it might have been nice of you to warn us you were going to have a barbecue,” says Mr VanDerk. “That smoke is going all over our clean washing.”

  “Yes, it’s the wind,” explains Dad.

  “Well, I rather think it’s the smoke, actually,” says Mr VanDerk.

  Auntie Joan stops playing catch with Ryan, to better listen to their conversation.

  “Oh well,” says Dad cheerfully. “Can’t be helped.”

  “That’s very inconsiderate,” says Mr VanDerk.

  “Is it?” asks Auntie Joan, stepping towards Mr VanDerk. “I seem to remember you had a barbecue the last time I was here, and I don’t think you tipped us off about our washing.”

  Mr VanDerk looks fl ustered at being challenged. “Well, I hardly think a tit-for-tat attitude is helpful. And anyway the smoke blows away from your side.”

  “I’m not sure you understand how
wind works,” says Auntie Joan flatly.

  Natalie, Amelia and I catch each other’s eyes. Is this going to turn into a big fight in front of all my friends? But at that moment my mum comes out with a tray of home-made burgers.

  “Here we go! Ready for the barbecue. My own special recipe!” She surveys the Joan and Mr VanDerk stand-off and strides over to them. “Hello there. Would you like to find out for yourself why I have the third-most-successful food blog in the county?” (I can’t believe she knows statistics like that. Talk about a big head.)

  “No, thank you,” replies Mr VanDerk curtly.

  “Would you like to try one, Harriet?” Mum calls over to where she’s sitting on a cushion under a tree reading a book in Mandarin. She’s not far from where Nat, Amelia and I are standing but I hadn’t noticed her there.

  “No, thank you,” Harriet replies without looking up. Then under her breath, “I don’t want to get food poisoning.”

  “OK then!” Mum calls back. “More for us. Joan, give me a hand with these, will you?” And then Mum skilfully leads Joan away from the VanDerks and defuses the conflict.

  “We heard what you just said,” Amelia tells Harriet.

  “I can’t help it if I have high standards,” says Harriet loftily.

  “Shame those high standards don’t extend to your clothes,” sneers Amelia.

  Natalie giggles. I sigh. It would be easier to back Amelia up if she didn’t have a go at Harriet for (what I, at least, consider to be) the wrong reasons.

  “I have better things to care about,” replies Harriet. “Clothes are nearly as dull as the inane conversation you were just having.”

  “Why were you eavesdropping on us then? If we’re so dull?” asks Nat. We were only talking about the end-of-school disco but still, it’s not nice to know someone’s been sneakily listening in on you.

  “I’m actually trying to get some peace and quiet, if you don’t mind,” says Harriet pompously. “It’s hardly my fault I live next door to a family of chimps and their idiot friends.”

  I just manage to control myself. “Ignore Harriet, guys,” I say calmly. “She’s just trying to get a reaction and spoil my party.”

  But Amelia hates backing down or feeling like she’s been in any way bested. And Harriet seems pretty determined to have a fight. She’s being much ruder from the safety of her garden than she ever is at school.

  “Oh, is that what this is?” says Harriet sarcastically. “A party? I thought it was a scene from Planet of the Apes.” Sticking with the monkey theme then. The joke’s on her; I really like monkeys.

  “Yes, we’re celebrating Jessica’s artistic success,” boasts Amelia, who is actually probably the least impressed by my cartooning skills out of all my friends but I guess it’s a chance to goad Harriet. “But I suppose you wouldn’t know much about that, would you?”

  “No, I tend to avoid doodles that sheep on the Internet think are good,” agrees Harriet disdainfully.

  “Yeah, it’s so great,” continues Amelia. “Jess has been given her own comic strip in the local paper. So awesome for her to have her great talent recognised like that. First she designs brilliant sets for the play; now this. She’s definitely the best artist in our school.”

  “What?” Harriet stands up, annoyed. “No way. No way has Jessica got her own cartoon comic strip in the paper.”

  “’Fraid so,” I say.

  I feel slightly awkward because Amelia only brings up my art stuff because she knows it bothers Harriet where slights about fashion and stuff won’t. I don’t want to be used as bait, but now I’m kind of going along with this.

  “You’re lying! You’re not talented enough,” protests Harriet.

  Then again, if Harriet wants a battle, she should prepare to lose.

  “Well, some people think differently,” I reply. “And my pay cheque proves it.”

  “They’re paying you?” gasps Harriet.

  “Yep. Real money,” I state happily. “Some kids get a paper round to make extra cash; I just write for them.”

  OK, I don’t know why I added that last bit. It was a bit smug and undignified, but still. Harriet started it. Even if Amelia was the one to make it go nuclear.

  “Unbelievable,” says Harriet, and stomps off into her house, slamming the back door.

  “Hey, guys, can I get you a milkshake?” I ask, feeling flush in McDonald’s after school.

  “Won’t that wipe out most of your money?” asks Nat.

  Yes, I realise. “No,” I lie. “I’m rich now. Rich, I tells you. Sit down, I’ll bring them over.” I am no longer a charity case, that’s the main thing.

  I pull the local paper out of my bag while I wait in the queue and admire my handiwork. My wasp and bee cartoon looks totally professional in black and white. This is awesome.

  “Ah, this is the life!” I sit down at the table with our milkshakes a moment later and sigh contentedly.

  “Uh, Jess, you should maybe look at this,” says Natalie, reading something on her phone.

  “What?” I ask. She holds her phone out.

  “It’s sort of about you and your dolphin cartoon.”

  I take the phone and zoom in. On the screen is a picture of my cartoon – and a picture of another dolphin cartoon, which looks, well, identical. But the other dolphin cartoon is an advert for home insurance. Under the home insurance ad, a caption says, “Insure your home against fire, theft and floods.”

  I scroll back up the page and see the title of the article is “Did Eleven-Year-Old Steal Insurance Ad?” Uh-oh. That’s not good.

  “Is this…?” I stammer. “Are they…?”

  “They’re saying you copied it, yes,” says Nat.

  “Noooooo!” I wail. “But I didn’t.” This is definitely not good.

  “Well, you know you didn’t copy it,” says Nat. “So that’s all that matters, really.”

  It turns out that isn’t all that matters at all.

  When I get home, Dad tells me the paper have rung and dropped my weekly cartoon. He said they sounded quite annoyed. They’re even going to run a story on how disappointed they are in me in the next edition.

  “But I didn’t steal it!” I tell him.

  “Don’t worry,” says Dad. “I’m sure it will all blow over.”

  But will it all blow over? And even if it does, will my new job blow back to me?

  It seems everything has got pretty serious pretty quickly. It’s spiralling out of control. And no one seems to be interested in my side of the story.

  Apparently the “story” has been picked up by various blogs, and there is general Internet chatter about how the youth of today can’t be trusted.

  On top of that, a trip to the mall shows that my picture in the stationery shop has been taken down. I can’t bring myself to go inside, I’m too sad. Plus I’m worried Bev might want her pens back and I’ve used some of them.

  As what might eventually be known as the Dolphin Fiasco gets worse, school gets worse too. Everyone knows about it, and I feel like they’re whispering and staring at me, even when they’re not.

  At least my friends have been really supportive. Joshua said he knew I was innocent because the cartoon is totally my style. Tanya said she was going to start a petition to clear my name, and even Lewis didn’t complain I’d brought the precious comic under disrepute.

  “Let’s go to McDonald’s after school again,” says Nat. “Get milkshakes and cheer you up.”

  My heart sinks as the financial implications of this slaps me in the face. I am forced to remember that I briefly had some money, and then relive how I lost it again. Uuurrrggghhh.

  “Thanks, but I might just go home,” I say sullenly.

  “Don’t let it get to you,” says Amelia.

  “Yeah, it could happen to anyone,” says Nat.

  Could it?

  “But it’s so unfair,” I sigh. “I didn’t steal it.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I catch Natalie and Amelia exchanging a slight look
, and I’m so fragile and paranoid that I call them on it.

  “What?” I ask. “What was that look about?”

  “Well, it’s just…” says Natalie. She glances at Amelia again and then looks guiltily back at me.

  “What?” I demand.

  “I’m not saying you did it on purpose,” she adds quickly, “but you know, maybe you subconsciously copied it somehow. You know, without realising it.”

  “Yeah,” continues Amelia. “Maybe you saw it somewhere online, and then forgot that you saw it, and then your subconscious made you draw it.”

  “That isn’t what happened,” I say incredulously.

  “You don’t know that for sure though, do you?” says Nat. “Your brain could have tricked you.”

  “It is a bit suspicious otherwise,” says Amelia. “The cartoons are very similar.”

  “Thanks!” I say sarcastically. “Are you trying to make me think I’m going mad?”

  I hate everyone mistrusting me like this. This is so horrible. I can’t believe how badly things have gone.

  I was so looking forward to school ending on a brilliant high, but now I’ll be leaving under a cloud of shame. And everyone will remember me as the girl who stole a cartoon. I sigh inwardly.

  Still, what a legacy, eh? I’m kind of notorious. Like a Guy Fawkes or something. Part of me can’t help but be darkly amused that I have at least cracked that. And at least things can’t get any worse.