One by one, people got up and did their thing.
Andy Roberts did his magic tricks. They were all right (you could kind of see the flowers up his sleeve).
Two girls from Year 4 sang a Disney song standing on stilts.
Jamie Woon’s mouse got stage fright and fainted.
Marcia Brown & Lucy Cheung did a full-on gymnastics routine to that song ‘Danger Zone’ wearing matching sparkling leotards and ribbons and everything. It was pretty amazing. At the end they shot purple glitter from cannons out over the audience and everyone went crazy.
Except me.
I just sat there, purple glitter raining down all around me, knowing it was almost my time.
There was only one act left to go. One more act that had to follow the best, most spectacular and most glittery gymnastic routine ever.
Dominic Clarke. Waiting on the end of the front row for his turn.
As the glitter settled and quiet fell across the audience, I seized my moment.
I jumped out of my seat, climbed up on to the stage and tapped the microphone.
‘Hell— erm . . . Hello?’
A sea of faces stared up at me. I could feel my own pulse throbbing in my skin. This was it. Come on, Jay. Stick to the plan.
‘Hello. Everyone. There’s something I have to say.’
I scanned the confused faces, looking for someone. Someone important.
Danny Jones was sitting halfway back on the right. I looked right at him. This boy that I’d hurt. That I’d lied to. My friend.
See, sometimes the best thing to say is exactly what you mean, and nothing else.
I took a deep breath.
‘I’m sorry.’
There was the murmur from the crowd. I kept my eyes on Danny. He stared back at me. I thought of everything that I wanted to tell him. All the things I wanted to say.
‘I’m sorry.’
Danny just stared.
I forced myself not even to blink as I stared back.
Then he smiled. Danny Jones smiled.
I smiled back.
People in the audience were looking at each other now, like, ‘Why is he apologizing to us?’ But it didn’t matter. This was the plan, and it wasn’t over.
I looked across at Mr Bukowski, who was standing next to the stage behind the curtain, triggering music for the acts. He smiled a friendly shaven-bear smile and nodded.
Then I looked down at Dominic, sitting on the end of the first row, looking more confused than anyone. I stared right at him. My oldest friend. I took another deep breath.
‘I’m so sorry.’
Everything seemed to freeze, as I hung there in hope, waiting for him to respond. Please. Please. Please.
Then Dom smiled.
That perfect crooked smile I hadn’t seen for weeks. The smile that mattered the most. And right then, it felt like lightning kissed my heart.
But I wasn’t done. There was one more thing left to do.
I gestured to Dom to come up on stage with me. As he climbed up, I looked at Mr Bukowski and nodded. He gave me a thumbs up and pressed PLAY.
There was crackle through the speakers.
‘I’m sorry, everyone . . . but what you’re about to see . . . just might blow your mind.’
I glanced at Dom, now standing next to me as the horns from James Brown’s ‘Cold Sweat (Part One)’ blasted out full volume. I grabbed the microphone and puffed up my chest.
‘Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! And teachers! Prepared to be smacked in the face, and ears, by the power of . . . FULL FORCE!’
Dominic nudged me. ‘Yo. What do we do?’
I grinned my biggest grin. ‘We dance!’ I punched the air. ‘Full Foooooorce!’
Then me and best friend, closed our eyes, and did . . .
the . . .
worst . . .
dance . . .
routine . . .
EVER . . .
SEEN.
And embarrassed ourselves more than anyone ever has since schools were first invented – and became school legends.
And that is how my junior school life ended.
That is how I won back the trust of my oldest friend.
And how I made a new one in Danny Jones.
And how I learned the true meaning of the word ‘cool’.
To me, real cool isn’t getting the most attention, or being the most popular.
REAL cool is doing the things you love to do, with the people who matter the most.
A lot happened in those few weeks. Enough to almost fill a book. And you’d think that would be that, wouldn’t you?
But that’s the funny thing about stories.
Sometimes, what you think is the end is actually just the beginning.
Later that evening, after dinner, as me and Donna cleared the plates from the table, Mum stood with her glass of wine looking out of the living-room window.
Word had somehow spread to Wakens Tip High School about Full Force’s insanely bad talent-show debut, and Donna was asking for details, in between giggling.
‘So your eyes were closed the whole time?’
I laughed along with her. ‘Yep. Then, when the song finished and I opened them . . . Well, have you ever seen a couple of hundred people dumbstruck?’
She started filling up the sink. ‘I can’t say that I have. How did it feel?’
My whole body was glowing as I remembered Dominic’s face. ‘It felt awesome.’
‘Holy French toast!’ Mum shouted from the living room. ‘Come and look at this!’
There was a crowd of people on Mr Benn’s lawn next door. One man in a brown jacket was on his knees holding an expensive camera, and there, standing on his front doorstep, in between two grinning women in purple bathing suits, was Mr Benn, holding a giant cheque.
I felt my jaw drop open.
‘I think he’s won the lottery,’ said Mum.
‘That says two-point-three million!’ said Donna, her eyes wide as headlights.
I looked at Mr Benn. At the photographer. Then at Mum, and Donna.
I didn’t say anything, but I knew that I’d thought it up, imagined it, the scene on Mr Benn’s lawn right now, before it happened. I knew that much. What did it mean? I didn’t know.
What I knew was, primary school was finished. A big chunk of my life done. And in front of me lay a long summer, and then a whole new life at secondary school. I had absolutely no idea what was coming, but I felt a crackle . . .
deep down in my stomach . . .
starting . . .
to . . .
move.
Steven Camden is one of the UK’s most acclaimed spoken word artists. He writes for stage, page and screen, teaches storytelling and leads creative projects all over the place.
He has performed his work all around the world from Manchester to Melbourne and Kuala Lumpur to California. He moved to London for a girl, but Birmingham is where he’s from.
He also has a thing for polar bears.
In 2019, his first poetry collection for children, Everything All at Once, won the CLiPPA award.
Chanté Timothy is an illustrator who creates work that often explores different themes of diversity. She loves experimenting with movement, expression and storytelling through her characters.
Chanté’s first book debut called A Black Woman Did That by Malaika Adero in 2020 helped kick-start her passion for children’s book illustration.
Drawing for as long as she can remember, she’d always been that strange kid who’d ask for paper and pen to entertain herself instead of playing with dolls.
Also by Steven Camden
Everything All At Once
Spoken Stories
First published 2021 by Macmillan Children’s Books
This electronic edition published 2021 by Macmillan Children’s Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
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ISBN 978-1-5290-1099-2
Text copyright © Steven Camden 2021
Illustrations copyright © Chanté Timothy 2021
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