How to Get Famous

by Pete Johnson

  Trust Lank to find it. And he made a real meal of pointing out all my attempts at copying a star's autograph. Dark clouds of suspicion were now looming right over me.

  And then Lank, who thought he was a real Miss Marple, pointed out that the Depp autograph was written with my own pen. I explained that he'd borrowed it (and you know that's true), but Lank – who'd never got nearer to a movie star than a copy of Heat magazine – was saying that it's a well-known fact that stars always sign with their own pens.

  And all the time Lank was shrieking these accusations at me, a deadly stillness filled the room. I tried my best to remain composed, saying how Georgia and her mum could verify my story. But no one was really listening to me any more. They were too busy feeling mad that they'd ever taken me seriously.

  Then Miss Lytton bustled in to take the register, giving me a big beaming smile until Lank hurled my exercise book down in front of her, saying there was proof I'd faked the autograph.

  Miss Lytton didn't say a word, just gave me a look which said: 'You have disappointed me greatly.'

  4.00 p.m.

  Rest of the day was a train-wreck. And I wanted the ground to swallow me up. Not that anyone would have guessed that. I still kept grinning away at everyone and that's all I want to say about it really.

  TUESDAY 9TH MARCH

  I finally rang up Georgia and told her the daft thing I'd done. She groaned quite a lot and told me I had the brains of a rocking horse. But then she tried to be dead kind and said over and over, 'But it will be all right.' This actually made me feel even worse.

  WEDNESDAY 10TH MARCH

  I haven't actually been sent to Coventry; it's just that no one in my class, or year, or school, is speaking to me right now. They frown and mutter and tut a lot though. But that doesn't bother me at all, as my parents tut and sigh and frown at me every night too. So I'm immune to all that carry-on now.

  THURSDAY 11TH MARCH

  I'm writing this while shaking with rage. You know I have to do a really humiliating thing if I want to watch television, namely, ask my parents' permission. Well, tonight my dad just growled, 'No, we're not having that babble on.'

  'Dad,' I said, 'television is our window onto life today.'

  'Not my life, it isn't,' he snapped.

  I explained. 'Dad, television can be highly educational – it's bursting with general knowledge quizzes and competitions.'

  'Of course it is,' he replied with heavy sarcasm. 'Phone us up to guess how many sides there are on a triangle . . . and pay us five pounds for the privilege.'

  And right now all he and Mum watch on the telly is – the weather. Mum will actually call Dad when the weather forecast is on. He'll come lumbering in and the two of them will gaze at the screen frothing with excitement (the average age for watching this is: dead). But the second it's over, the TV is switched off again.

  Now that's not right, is it? Television should be freely available at all times, like air and water. And my parents have no business rationing it. In fact, they're violating my human rights. And I could have them carted off to prison. They're just lucky I'm too kind-hearted to do that.

  FRIDAY 12TH MARCH

  I went round Georgia's house for my tea tonight. She thought it best I didn't tell her mum how I'd defaced Johnny Depp's autograph. 'That's something I just don't think she would ever understand.'

  Then Georgia asked how life was at school.

  'Let's just say my brief burst of popularity on Monday has melted away like a pocketful of toffee.'

  'But people are talking to you again?'

  'Oh yeah, they call out the odd cheery phrase to me like: "you retard". It doesn't bother me at all. I just wish . . .'

  'Yes?' she prompted.

  'I wish it was Christmas tomorrow.'

  She smiled. 'Why's that?'

  'No particular reason. I just feel like it being Christmas, because it's my favourite time of the whole year and everyone's in a good mood – even my dad. And you get presents and there's no school and better telly.'

  'Robbie Williams loves Christmas,' said Georgia. 'And one night he bought twenty pounds of fake snow to cover his garden. Then he put up all these decorations and had Christmas all over again.'

  'Now there's class,' I said, 'but you can do that if you're a star. And I'm more determined than ever to be one.'

  Georgia gave my hand a little squeeze:

  'Get famous, Tobey.'

  'Get famous, Georgia,' I said, 'and then everything else will come right for us too.'

  Chapter Four

  SATURDAY 13TH MARCH

  2.30 p.m.

  My parents had gone out shopping so I was just innocently watching TV when Dad came back early.

  He burst in on me like some crazed policeman yelling, 'Now, what's going on in here?' If he'd gone on to tell me to walk to the door with my hands in the air, I wouldn't have been very surprised. 'As soon as our backs are turned,' he cried, 'we find you stuck in here staring at that screen – and on such a fine day too.'

  I replied, with amazing politeness, 'Would you kindly let me finish watching my programme in peace before you moan at me? It's a mystery, you see, and I have to find out—'

  'No,' cried my dad, 'I want you outside in the fresh air now.' Then he proceeded to switch off the television. After which he said I could do a job for him as well.

  So I was bundled outside with instructions to pick up a prescription for him at the chemist. And it wasn't even very warm anyway. Serve him right if I caught pneumonia. And how is it better to be out here, breathing in all the poisonous fumes from the many cars and lorries steaming past, than tucked up inside exercising my brain cells trying to solve a mystery on TV?

  Sometimes, the injustices of life are just too much for me.

  3.35 p.m.

  After picking up my dad's prescription I couldn't return to that drab hell-hole I can never again call home. So instead I cycled about to try and cheer myself up.

  I was having this great daydream in which I was being interviewed by all the presenters of Blue Peter, when wham!, my bike skidded on something and I was catapulted over the handlebars, landing with a massive bump on the road. I sat up very slowly as all the breath had been knocked out of me.

  Then I heard footsteps and this tiny, old lady with bright red hair came pattering towards me. 'Oh my dear,' she cried, 'are you all right? Should I call a doctor?'

  'No, I'm all right,' I gasped, 'just a bit winded.' But I let her help me to my feet. Then we discovered Dad's prescription bottle had smashed to smithereens. I don't know if it was the shock of seeing that, but I started swaying about a bit and the old lady insisted I rest awhile inside her abode.

  Well, I had nothing better to do and I'm now reclining on her large sofa while she's making me a cup of tea. Only I've just reminded myself I'm not supposed to go anywhere with strangers: ever. Still, she's harmless all right. But then I suddenly remembered this thriller I saw, where a little old lady only pretended to be kind. And after luring people into her house, she spiked their tea with poison. I think she stored all the dead bodies in her cellar.

  So I could be trapped here with a nutcase, who at this very moment is heaping huge spoonfuls of poison into my cup.

  What total rubbish! She's just being helpful and nice. And I bet she'd never switch the television set off in the middle of a mystery. So actually, she can adopt me if she wants.

  She's coming back now with the biggest mug of tea you've ever seen. Just to be on the safe side, it's best if I sip it extremely carefully as I'd hate this to be my last diary entry and die an unknown – Ha ha.

  4.25 p.m.

  Hooray, I'm still alive – well, you could look a bit pleased.

  But guess what – this old lady, Mrs Kay, has in fact got a big secret – which is even better than her being the local poisoner. For Mrs Kay – who said I must call her Enid now (she and I have been getting on dead well) – has got a famous niece: Alicia Kay.

  She played that tough policewo
man in The Bill, and always looked as if she had extremely bad indigestion. Then she portrayed a mysterious millionairess in that comedy which my dad only let me watch once, for some obscure reason. She's been in tons of other stuff too. You'll definitely recognize her face.

  Anyway, I spotted her in some of the pictures adorning Mrs Kay's wall. And soon she was telling me all about her niece's life in the limelight.

  This was fascinating, but then came some incredible news. Alicia Kay got her first acting break in a small theatre at Little Bridlington (which is about five miles from here), and as a thank you she's going to put on her own production there. In fact, one week today she will be auditioning children to be in a new version of the story, The Secret Garden.

  And she's going to invite all her celebrity chums along for the first night. Then Enid said, 'So this could be a wonderful chance for stars of the future to be discovered.'

  Of course Enid didn't know she had a star of the future lounging opposite her, or perhaps she did, because she suddenly asked me, 'Are you interested in acting at all, Tobey?'

  'Oh, highly interested,' I replied promptly.

  'And have you done much acting on stage before?' she asked.

  'Oh, I love acting,' I replied, cleverly leading the conversation away from my actual acting credits, which I've already told you about. But I always felt I could be a top actor if I had the right part, which released all my talents.

  And then there was Georgia. Wouldn't it be great if she also got a role in The Secret Garden? And right then I saw us both acting our socks off, while the crowd erupted into wild applause.

  Enid then showed me the flyers for The Secret Garden auditions. I read:

  CALLING ALL YOUNG ACTORS

  How would you like to appear in a play?

  Well, here's your chance.

  Leading star of stage and television, ALICIA KAY,

  is putting on a new, highly original version of

  the children's classic novel,

  The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett.

  The whole story will be told through the three main

  characters: Mary, Dickon and Colin.

  So if you are between 10 and 14 years old and

  would like to play one of these parts come

  along to:

  A CASTING MORNING ON

  SATURDAY MARCH 20TH.

  We would like each person to perform a brief

  improvisation (no longer than two minutes) inspired by

  The Secret Garden.

  You might want to act out a scene from the story,

  or perform a monologue by the character you

  wish to play.

  BE AS IMAGINATIVE AS YOU LIKE.

  Each young person attending must be accompanied

  by an adult.

  Well, I read this through twice. Then a ripple of excitement rushed through me as I knew then – this was it: MY BIG CHANCE. I also realized it was no accident I'd skidded off my bike in front of Enid Kay's house. No, that was fate giving my life a huge nudge (and about time too, I say).

  I told Enid that whenever I have a spare million pounds I'll send it to her as a thank you for the part she's played in my future career – and then sailed away on my bike, feeling so happy and hopeful, the flyer tucked firmly in my back pocket.

  5.30 p.m.

  I sped round to Georgia's house, just as fast as my very shaky legs could take me. Then I flung my bike down and rang her doorbell with great energy. She opened the door to see me smiling wildly at her.

  'Georgia, I'm about to change your life.'

  'Well, it could do with some changing. So what's happened?'

  'Let me inside and I might even tell you.'

  We adjourned to a superbly decorated matchbox, also known as her bedroom. She was now looking at me in a very concerned sort of way. 'Why are you walking with a limp?'

  'Oh, it's my new image, the Long John Silver strut . . . no, if you really want to know, I fell off my bike.'

  'Oh no!' she cried. 'What happened?'

  'Basically, I flew off it.'

  'And have you seen a doctor? You seem very hyper, even for you.'

  'So will you be in a second. Look, forget about my bike-riding stunts. You see, this old lady called Enid saw me fall off my bike and invited me into her house. And she's only Alicia Kay's auntie . . . you know the one who used to be in the The Bill and looked permanently cross?'

  'Yes, I remember her. Oh, wow!'

  'But there's more. Now here is the big news.'

  And then I showed Georgia the flyer. You know when they say someone was open-mouthed with shock, well that describes Georgia perfectly. An army of flies could have moved into her mouth right then and still had room for all their relations.

  Finally she spluttered, 'But why didn't we know about this audition before?'

  'Well, the location is over five miles away.'

  'Even so . . . we should have . . . ' she began, and then she smiled. 'Still we know now, thanks to you. Oh, Tobey, you're a total legend.'

  'That's true.'

  'Oh, to act in The Secret Garden . . . ' she gasped.

  'Can you imagine us both prancing about on that stage together?' I said. And then we heard Georgia's mother put her key in the lock.

  Georgia sprang up. 'Is it all right if we tell my mum?'

  'Well, OK – but I think she's just a tiny bit old to start auditioning.' Georgia grinned and then we tore downstairs.

  'Mum,' said Georgia, 'Tobey's got something to tell you.'

  'What's that, love?' asked her mum.

  'I think it's best if you take a deep breath,' I said, 'just in case you should collapse.'

  Georgia's mum had this little smile on her face; she often has when I'm talking. She thinks I'm a bit of a lunatic.

  But as I started telling her my news, that smile just fell off her face. And when she'd seen the flyer too, well then she jumped to her feet. 'Now, this is splendid, oh, what a chance for you both.' She scampered off and returned a couple of minutes later with this big old copy of The Secret Garden. 'It was always one of my favourite stories when I was a girl and I've never let it out of my sight. But now,' she turned to Georgia, 'it is yours.'

  'Oh, Mum, thank you!' she cried.

  'Now you've both got a wonderful opportunity,' said her mum, 'but if you're to succeed, do you know what you need to do?'

  'Bribe the judges?' I suggested.

  'Work hard and then even harder. And you must begin by studying the book.'

  Then I thought she was expecting Georgia and me to read it together. But instead, I was – in the nicest possible way – being chucked out.

  'I think you'll read it better on your own,' said Georgia's mum, 'and there's not a moment to waste.'

  I was a little bit hurt at being asked to vacate the premises so speedily. But just as I was leaving, Georgia did give me this really dazzling smile as she said, 'This is it, Tobey: our big chance.'

  I just had one problem: I didn't actually have a copy of The Secret Garden. And I needed to know who was who urgently. Would I want to be Colin or Dickon?

  I slipped into the library and found one copy of it. It had a dead embarrassing cover. There was this girl with her hair down to her legs looking all droopy, while a robin chirped away merrily on her shoulder.

  I explained to the girl at the counter. 'I've got to read this book for research. Can't say any more right now,' I added, with a mysterious smile, 'but I'll have this baby read before dawn breaks over the horizon.' I could tell she was impressed.

  Then came the bit I was dreading – going home. And my parents were in meltdown because I'd been gone so long. I pointed out that I had left them a message on voicemail. This silenced them slightly as they're still not exactly sure how to pick up voicemail and are embarrassed about that.

  But then Dad demanded in a loud, aggressive manner what I had done with his prescription.

  I replied, 'Please, Dad, will you be mad with me in a quieter voic
e, as I've just had an accident?' Then Mum noticed my now rather cool limp and asked me anxiously what had happened.

  I filled them in on my lucky accident and the auditions for The Secret Garden. And do you know what my mum said? 'Well, it's good to try these things, Tobey, but I expect the standard will be very high.'

  In other words, don't hope to get picked as you haven't got a chance in a million. Cheers, Mum!

  Then Dad chimed in, 'I know these companies are always looking for people to help backstage.'

  So that's how Dad sees me – with a mop and bucket, cleaning up after everyone else has gone. With such confident parents, how can I go wrong?

  Mum went on. 'Tobey, acting's not just showing off, you know.'

  'I don't ever show off,' I cried.

  Then Dad nearly cracked a rib from laughing so much. Tears of mirth were falling down my mum's face too.

  I said, 'I shall end this conversation now, as I have a book to read and memorize. And I'd be grateful if you don't play the weather forecast too loudly.'

  11.50 p.m.

  Just finished The Secret Garden. I was going to skip large chunks of it but I didn't, as it's all right actually. Even though that Mary's a right misery when she arrives, isn't she? She's like a female version of my dad actually.

  Still, both her parents did die in a cholera epidemic in India, so you can see why she turned a bit sour. And then she goes and stays in this big, old house in Yorkshire, with an uncle who never wants to see her.

  It's just lucky that country-lad Dickon, the animal-tamer, pops up. At first it was Dickon I wanted to portray – I quite fancied myself playing a pipe with all the animals grooving around to my beat. But no, Colin's the one for me.

  He's Mary's cousin, and he's also an invalid and can hardly walk, so practically all his scenes are in bed. This means I can just lie back on my pillows concentrating on my acting – which is handy.

  But also Colin starts off all miserable and bad-tempered, yelling at everyone (he and Mary have a screaming match, which Georgia and I will love doing).