How to Get Famous

by Pete Johnson

  Well, the little chat lasted nearly an hour. They didn't just ask about the robbery either, they wanted to know all about me. I even told them how I'd auditioned to be in The Secret Garden. They were dead interested in that.

  They both kept laughing but in a good way, as if they were having a really great time. And that's what I love to do more than anything else: entertain people.

  Then Eunice wanted to take a photo of me. I shot upstairs to do my hair – funny how much better I suddenly felt – and to put on a smart shirt.

  'So I'll actually be in the local paper?'

  'Yeah, look out for yourself on Wednesday,' said Fred.

  'Hey, I'm sorry,' I said suddenly, 'but I never offered you a tea or coffee or a packet of chocolate biscuits . . . have something now.'

  'No time, I'm afraid,' said Fred. 'But we've enjoyed your company . . . and well done on what you did last night. Your prompt action saved the day.'

  Normally I love receiving compliments. Bring them on is what I say. But this one time I actually felt embarrassed. I have many amazing talents but being brave definitely isn't one of them. I've never been in a fight in my life, for instance. So what happened yesterday didn't seem to belong to me really.

  Still, it'll be good to see my distinguished features leaping out of the local rag. And although I can't see this as the start of a career doing brave things (I'm shivering at the very idea), a bit of publicity never hurt anyone.

  After my encounter with the press, I toddled up to bed and promptly fell asleep.

  SUNDAY APRIL 18TH

  Guess what! I really have got a bug. In fact, I've just been doing all sorts of disgusting things in the bathroom. Yes, I know – too much information.

  MONDAY APRIL 19TH

  I'm missing a day of school. Well, that's some consolation for still feeling so groggy.

  TUESDAY APRIL 20TH

  Georgia finished performing The Secret Garden yesterday and said she's really missing it now. Still, she's now joined a drama club they recommended and is going there every Sunday, and tonight she's having a meal with Alicia Kay and a producer from children's television. I thought I might have been invited along too. I even said jokingly to Georgia that maybe she could smuggle me in as her lucky mascot. 'I wish I could,' she said.

  I still haven't mentioned to Georgia about my little bit of crime-busting action on Friday. There just never seemed the right moment. But she'll see it in the local paper tomorrow. I hope it's not just a little piece on page 48 above an advert for weed-killers.

  You never know with the press though. One of our neighbours won twenty-five pounds in a poetry competition last year. I actually watched the reporter go in and interview him. Then nothing happened for over a month, and finally it was buried away somewhere: 'a damp squib', as my neighbour put it.

  So I am wise to the ways of the media. And I shan't get too excited. I'll just casually stroll into my newsagent's before I return to school tomorrow and, in a very relaxed way, leaf through the pages. It's no big deal.

  WEDNESDAY APRIL 21ST

  Woke up dead early today. Set off for school earlier than usual too. Then I dived into the newsagent's. The woman in charge was just unpacking the local newspapers as I went in. I snatched one up and hastily looked through it: nothing. Then I thought, maybe it's a smaller piece than I was expecting. And even a tiny offering is better than total obscurity, isn't it?

  So I rifled through every single headline and article – even went through the letters page: again, nothing.

  Now what on earth was the point of dragging me out of my bed of illness and keeping me talking for an entire hour, and then not even mentioning me once? The local paper was just playing with my mind.

  I bunged the paper back with great force. Then I froze with shock. It couldn't be. But it was. There I was, smack on the one page of the local paper I'd never looked at THE FRONT PAGE. I was sprawled right across it too with my hair looking a hideous mess (despite me brushing it just before the picture was taken) and a highly confused expression on my face.

  But it was me all right: underneath the headline.

  TWELVE-YEAR-OLD BOY

  STOPS ROBBERY.

  There was even a small bit about me auditioning for The Secret Garden. Then it went straight into the robbery and how I'd helped foil it, and Bea calling me her guardian angel . . .

  'Are you buying or not?' The shop owner's voice cut into my reading.

  'Of course I am,' I replied, 'because I'm on the front page.'

  The shop owner glanced at my picture. 'So you are . . . what have you been up to then?'

  'Oh, I only saved a woman's life and stopped a lot of money being stolen, that's all.' Then after I'd paid for it, I added, 'If you want me to come back and autograph a few copies, just let me know.'

  9.30 a.m.

  Felt dead proud walking into school. For the first time in my life I'd actually achieved something: I was in the local paper – and on the front page, no less. Suddenly, I was someone of importance.

  And you're thinking, I'll have marched into my form room and whacked the paper down on my desk so everyone could get an eyeful of my fame. But actually, I never said a word. And it wasn't because I'm modest. I haven't a modest bone in my body. No, I just temporarily went a bit shy.

  I kept sneaking glances at myself though, just to check I was still on the front page. And, yes, I was.

  Then in bustled Miss Lytton: face aglow with excitement, and she was carrying a local newspaper. 'You gave me a shock this morning, Tobey, all over the front page of the newspaper.'

  Everyone was now clamouring round to take a look – except me. I sat back, calm and very dignified.

  'Did you know you were going to be in the paper today?' asked Miss Lytton.

  'I had a sort of idea,' I replied with bewitching casualness.

  Then Miss Lytton had to tell everyone to sit down – and she read the article aloud.

  At the end a suspicious voice cried out, 'Did this actually happen?'

  'No, it's a total hoax,' I replied and then added, 'Of course it did.'

  'You look so rough in that picture,' called out someone else. And to be honest, I did.

  But then Miss Lytton declared, 'Well, that's not important . . . look at what he did.' Then she gave me this beautiful smile and whispered: 'Well done, Tobey.'

  At last my greatness has been recognized.

  11.45 a.m.

  Here's something you never want to happen at school: you're in the middle of a lesson when the door bursts open and a very familiar voice screeches, 'Excuse me, but is my son Tobey here? Ah yes, there he is. Could I borrow him, please?'

  This was an embarrassment of catastrophic proportions. And as I left people were whispering things like, 'Does Mummy want to give you a big juicy kiss then?' I was also a bit alarmed. Why on earth had Mum suddenly burst in on me like that?

  Outside the door her chins were wobbling furiously as she demanded, 'Why didn't you tell me what happened on Friday night?'

  'Because I didn't think you'd be interested.' It was just the first thing that came into my head: I hadn't meant to wound. Now I can't be certain – but I believe a little tear glinted in the corner of Mum's right eye.

  'Of course I'm interested,' she cried. When Mrs Wimberley (that's our next-door neighbour) brought the paper round I was very shocked – you could have been hurt.' Then she added, 'But I'm so proud of you.'

  My face nearly fell off with shock: one of my parents proud of me! But I just said lightly, 'Oh, it was nothing.' Then I added, 'Well, thanks for dropping by, great to catch up like this and miss some of my history lesson too, but it's probably best we carry on this conversation tonight.'

  'But I have just had the local television on the phone,' cried Mum. 'They want to do an interview with you here at school today. How do you feel about that?'

  How did I feel? I wasn't completely shocked. I mean, I always knew that some day in the future I'd appear on television. But now suddenly and quite u
nexpectedly, I was bang in the future, if you see what I mean.

  My moment had arrived.

  And I said to my mum, 'I feel just great about being interviewed by the telly.' Then a terrifying thought seized me. 'You haven't put them off, have you?'

  Mum swallowed.

  I looked her straight in the eye. 'Oh no, Mum, you haven't.'

  'I just said I'd have to talk to you and get permission from your headmaster.'

  'You'll get it,' I cried. 'He likes being in the paper – let alone on the telly – nearly as much as me.'

  'Well then, in this instance,' said Mum, 'I shall have no objection . . . and I'll sort everything out with your father as well.'

  'Mum,' I yelled, 'there are moments when you're not quite as gruesome as you are the rest of the time – thank you!'

  3.50 p.m.

  Nothing much has happened at school this afternoon. I just recorded my first-ever interview for telly, that's all!

  It was recorded inside this funny, glass bowl of a room. This is where the headmaster spends most of his time holding meetings and still more meetings – seems a crazy way to live your life to me. But anyway, the room was taken over by the world of television this afternoon and I even sat in the headmaster's chair – he wasn't sitting in it as well, of course. No, he vacated it in my honour.

  Just as the headmaster was leaving he straightened my tie and murmured, 'Be sure and mention the school's name.' I should have charged him actually for plugging his horrible school.

  Then the interview started and my mum – oh yeah, I've got to tell you about my mum – sat there in the corner of the room looking like . . . well, you know in those films when Stone Age men see fire for the first time and their little faces go all shocked and disbelieving. Well, that's exactly how my mum looked.

  Anyway, this really nice, jolly girl interviewed me – and the time just sprinted past. There was one shock though. Right at the end of the interview she said, 'Now your local paper tells us that you auditioned for The Secret Garden but got turned down. Is that right?'

  I nodded sadly.

  'And you also tried to get on to Cloud Nine, but no luck there either.'

  Playing up a bit now, I nodded even more miserably.

  'Well, I have some good news for you. We're going to let you do the opening to The Secret Garden rap now.'

  I was stunned. 'What, right now?'

  She nodded.

  Well, luckily I could remember it. And I did the first four lines before she raised a hand for me to stop. Then, grinning all over her face she said, 'What energy you've got, thanks so much, Tobey.'

  'No, thank you. I've had a great time chatting to you and I've missed lessons as well. What's not to like?'

  She laughed again. 'I'm here with the irrepressible Tobey Tyler – now, back to the studio.'

  Then she gulped down a cup of coffee and she and the camera crew rushed away. But I still had this electric excitement pulsing away inside me. I'd just loved being interviewed.

  Then, full of happiness and joy, I turned to Mum who was looking highly puzzled. 'Do you really think they will broadcast that?' she said.

  I can always rely on my parents to give me a shot of confidence.

  6.55 p.m.

  At precisely 6.51 I hit the television screen on the local news. I hovered by the TV (I was far too nervous to sit down). My parents were perched right on the edge of the couch, as if it was red hot, both of them looking so apprehensive. 'Don't be disappointed if you're only on for a couple of seconds,' said Dad.

  In fact, I was on screen for three whole glorious minutes and forty-one seconds. It is highly bizarre watching yourself, though. I can only say it's a bit like receiving a massive electric shock. They ended with my rap song and when they went back to the studio one of the presenters said about me: 'What a character that boy is.'

  As for my parents, they didn't say a word when I was on. 'So what did you think then?' I asked at the end. One of those ghastly silences that lasted several lifetimes followed.

  'You spoke very clearly,' said Mum. 'I could hear every word.'

  'So could I,' agreed Dad. 'I don't think you needed that little song at the end though. Felt that was unnecessary. But the young people watching might feel differently.' Then he looked at Mum for a moment before saying to me, 'Now we have some news for you. The theatre at which you showed such bravery rang us, and they wish to make a presentation to you.'

  'Cool, cool – so what are they going to present to me?'

  'I have no idea,' replied Dad. 'Maybe a clock?'

  'A clock?' I repeated contemptuously. 'I'm not retiring; well, actually I wouldn't mind retiring from school.'

  Mum said, 'The theatre is going to fix up a date for your presentation soon and I don't think it will be a clock actually. But your father and I would like to make a small presentation of our own.'

  Then she handed me a card. I ripped it open. It said 'CONGRATULATIONS' and inside: 'We're very proud, love Mum and Dad.'And a twenty-pound note flew out.

  'Hey, I'm rich. I really wasn't expecting this; Dad giving me money voluntarily. I ought to have this note framed. But I won't, I'll spend it with the greatest of ease.'

  'I thought you might,' said Dad dryly.

  9.30 p.m.

  Phone's been ringing all evening and even some of my neighbours have come round . . . all because of my TV appearance. Georgia said, 'Mum and me couldn't believe it. You on the telly – it totally blew our minds. You were fantastic, by the way: sitting back in your school uniform being all sparky.'

  Sparky. I liked that.

  'And you just seemed so totally at ease,' she went on.

  'I was, because that was where I belonged – not in double maths.'

  'Why didn't you tell me about catching those robbers though?'

  'Well it was your big night,' I said.

  'Oh, don't be silly.'

  'No, I thought if I start spouting about my bit of action, you'll only think I'm showing off. And that's something I never ever do.'

  'No, never,' she laughed.

  'Anyway, enough about me. Let's spend five seconds talking about you. How did you get on with that talent-spotting producer woman?'

  'Well, I'd just started talking when her head suddenly fell forward right into her soup.'

  'What?'

  'No, I'm exaggerating now. But she seemed very tired and not terribly interested in anything I had to say. I think she was just there as a favour to Alicia.'

  'Oh, it's first-name terms now, is it?'

  'Oh yeah. But even she was a bit depressing. She said acting's nowhere near as glamorous as people think and lots of actors stagger on understudying for years without getting that big break. She also said you shouldn't go into acting just because you want to be famous. That's the worst possible reason.'

  'Sounds like a great night out,' I said.

  'I think she was trying to help me by giving me all the facts. But anyway, I taped you tonight, so that tape should be worth a thousand or two one day, because you were fantastic,' said Georgia. 'A star was born tonight, all right.'

  10.30 p.m.

  The only trouble with such a historymaking day like today is that you know tomorrow can only be a big anti-climax.

  THURSDAY APRIL 22ND

  4.15 p.m.

  WARNING: make sure you are sitting down when you read this next announcement, otherwise you will faint with sheer happiness.

  CLOUD NINE HAS JUST CALLED. THEY WANT ME TO BE ON THE SHOW.

  Chapter Thirteen

  5.12 p.m.

  After writing down that sensational piece of news I had to stop as my hands were shaking all over the place. So I rang Georgia instead. When she heard, she immediately let out this ear-piercing shriek down the phone. And I screamed right back at her.

  But hold on – I've just realized something. I haven't given you all the earth-shattering details . . .

  When I got in from school, Mum was talking away on the phone. I didn't eavesdrop as she'
s usually saying stuff like: 'I had a go at the kitchen cupboards today.' (Don't ask me what that means.) But today as I hurried past her into the kitchen I did catch two words of Mum's conversation which held me spellbound: 'Cloud Nine.'

  Then she went on, 'Well, I'll write that down on my pad now so I shan't forget it. Thank you for calling. Goodbye.'

  By the time she'd put the phone down I was standing a millimetre away from her about to explode with curiosity.

  'Mum, you haven't just been talking to the TV show Cloud Nine, have you?'

  'Yes, that's right; they left a message for you.' She was saying this in such a casual everyday way it made everything even more dream-like. 'They're looking for a surprise extra contestant for tomorrow's show and wonder if you'd be interested.'

  'Me . . . they actually spoke my name?'

  'Apparently they saw you on the news yesterday and heard how you auditioned for their show and think you should be given another chance. They'd like you to perform The Secret Garden rap.'

  'But that's incredible, especially as they only saw a tiny part of it on the news.'

  'Yes, I was rather surprised myself. But the gentleman was quite insistent; they want that on their Friday evening show. They will send a car for you at four o'clock on Friday . . . '

  'A car . . . ? Mum, this is outstandingly brilliant!'

  'I'm to ring them back if you're interested and if your father and I give our permission.'

  I stared at her. 'But you do, don't you?'

  Mum patted my hand. 'When your father comes in we'll discuss it.'

  'But we can't hang about that long. Dad takes about a month to decide what toothpaste he wants.'

  'I told the researcher I'd call him back at seven o'clock and he said that was quite convenient,' said Mum.

  'Well, when you have this discussion, may I be there too?'

  Mum nodded. 'Of course. The three of us will talk it through then. And don't forget, your father and I have your best interests in mind.'

  I'm not reassured. In fact, I'm in agony. I'm so close to everything my life was meant to be coming true. But my parents could still mess things up. Up to now I've been highly patient and tolerant of them.