The Day the Ear Fell Off

by T. M. Alexander

  ‘What if we’re told off for playing with water?’ said Fifty. ‘Hey, do you remember that water tray we had in Reception with the sailing boats?’

  ‘Grow up, Fifty,’ said Bee. ‘We can say we think it was the cleaners who did it.’

  ‘Sounds good to me. All bases covered. I’ve got to go. Come on, Bee.’ Copper Pie was up and ready to run.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Bee. ‘Who’s doing what?’

  ‘I’m always there early so I’ll guard the main door.’ Copper Pie’s suggestion got nods all round.

  ‘Makes sense. People are used to seeing you hanging around,’ Fifty said.

  ‘And me?’ said Bee.

  ‘How many other ways are there to get to the statue?’ Jonno asked.

  ‘Well, the stairs, obviously,’ she said. ‘And the canteen, but no one goes there first thing, so it’s really just if someone comes in the back door and doesn’t head for the staff room. I can cover both.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Jonno. ‘Best to be prepared.’

  ‘Looks like I’m water monitor then,’ said Fifty.

  ‘So we’re on ear duty,’ said Jonno, looking at me.

  ‘Right. Off we go then.’

  Copper Pie grabbed Bee’s arm but before they could skedaddle Jonno said, ‘Hey! Put it there,’ and held his hand out. Copper Pie slapped his hand down on top – it made a thwack. Bee did the same.

  ‘Come on, guys,’ said Jonno.

  My hand joined the tower, then Fifty’s. Jonno moved his hand up and down and counted, ‘One, two, three’, and then pushed all our hands up really hard so they flew high in the air.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ we all said.

  Tea was ready.

  ‘Have you got a best friend?’ asked Flo.

  ‘Yes, but he lives miles away in Scotland,’ said Jonno.

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘He’s called Ravi.’

  ‘That’s the name for pasta,’ she said.

  ‘That’s rude, Flo,’ I said.

  She ignored me.

  ‘Have you got a sister? asked Flo.

  ‘No. There’s only me,’ Jonno answered. ‘I’d like one though.’

  ‘Trust me, you wouldn’t,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be mean, Keener,’ said Fifty. ‘Flo’s an excellent sister. Look, she can make Play-Doh pigs.’ He pointed at the little models she’d arranged round her plate.

  ‘They’re not pigs, they’re babies,’ she said. ‘Muuuum! Fifty said my babies are . . .’

  We bolted our food and escaped to get on with ear creation in my room.

  I put away all my special models whenever someone comes round because I’d rather no one touched them, but because I hadn’t had any advance warning, they were all laid out on the floor in their special positions. I’ve got a whole army of vehicles with different weapons. We had to tiptoe carefully between them. Jonno was really interested. They’re all either Lego or made from junk. I showed him where the Spitfire is going to sit when it’s ready. He picked up my Deathmobile. I didn’t want him to but he was really careful so I forgot to be bothered and explained how the missiles fly out from underneath instead. He had a go at shooting Fifty, who was swinging in my hammock, but he hit my skimboard by mistake.

  ‘Cool board,’ Jonno said. ‘Can you surf?’

  ‘I can, but I like skimming better.’

  He’d never heard of it, so I said we’d take him with us next time my dad and I had a boy’s trip to Devon.

  Eventually Fifty reminded us we were meant to be ear making.

  ‘Right. What shall we use?’ I said.

  We started another long list of rubbish suggestions: cotton wool, tofu, mushrooms, buy a joke ear . . .

  ‘STOP!’ shouted Fifty. ‘We’re getting nowhere. How about we each have a go on our own and see which one’s best?’

  ‘Fine by me,’ I said.

  ‘OK,’ said Jonno.

  We decided to bring our three ears into school and let the group pick the winner. I was quite looking forward to a bit of sculpture.

  The doorbell rang. Mum shouted up to us, Jonno ran down, shouted ‘Bye’ and was gone.

  ‘I’m glad he went first,’ I said.

  ‘Why? He’s OK I think,’ said Fifty.

  ‘It’s not him. I just don’t know how I’m going to get to school by quarter past eight. Mum always drops me off.’

  ‘We could walk together.’

  ‘Will your mum let you?’

  He chewed his lip. ‘Well . . . she will if our class are having a walk-to-school day.’

  ‘But we’re not.’

  ‘Looks like we are now,’ he said.

  I’m not keen on lying to Mum but this was an emergency. If I was going to be in on the ear surgery, I couldn’t go in the car with Mum and Flo.

  ‘Can you say it to my mum before you go?’ I asked. ‘She likes you.’

  ‘I’ll say it when mine comes to get me. Sort it out with both of them at the same time.’

  You see, if I’m the wimp in the group, Fifty is the quick thinker and people handler. He knows the right thing to say and the way to say it.

  Both our mums were pleased to hear about the walk-to-school campaign, but a bit surprised we hadn’t mentioned it before. I decided not to think about the possibility of Mum mentioning it to any other parents, or to Miss Walsh.

  ‘So I’ll drop him off at eight as they seem to want to make the most of the early morning!’ Fifty’s mum said as she left.

  FIFTY SAYING GOODNIGHT TO HIS LITTLE SISTER

  Fifty: Who’s my lovely lickle ickle sister?

  Probably Rose: Ba.

  Fifty: Did you like your bath?

  Probably Rose: Ba.

  Fifty: Shall I tell you what your big brother’s been doing?

  Probably Rose: Ba.

  Fifty: I’ve been making an ear.

  Probably Rose: Ba.

  Fifty: You know Copper Pie? The one with the red hair who always turns you upside down and says you like it?

  Probably Rose: Ba ba.

  Fifty: He broke the school statue but we’re going to mend it.

  Probably Rose: Ba.

  Fifty: Are you going to bye byes now you’ve had your milky-milk?

  Probably Rose: Yog-ert.

  Fifty: Did you say yoghurt?

  Probably Rose: Yog-ert.

  Fifty: MUM! Probably Rose can speak! Probably Rose can speak!

  operation: save Copper Pie

  Fifty wanted to see mine on the way to school but I wouldn’t let him.

  ‘I bet you haven’t even made one.’

  ‘I have, I’m just not showing it.’

  ‘Keener, come on.’

  ‘No. No. No.’

  He gave up . . . eventually, and started on his favourite subject.

  ‘Guess what?’ he said.

  ‘Guesswhats’ are always something to do with his little sister. He’s mad about her. I’ve told him, ‘They start off cute and end up like Flo – poison,’ but he doesn’t believe me. I get daily reports on eating lumps without choking, turning over, clapping . . . and other startlingly brilliant achievements.

  ‘Hang on, I’m thinking,’ I said. ‘Don’t tell me – Probably Rose has learned to tie her shoelaces?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘Mastered chess?’

  His bottom lip was sticking out – he doesn’t like being teased about Rose.

  ‘Go on then,’ I said. ‘What’s she done now?’

  ‘She can speak.’ His big blue eyes were all excited and his curly hair was bouncing up and down.

  Yeah, right!

  ‘Fifty, she says “ba” all the time. That’s not speaking – that’s noise.’

  ‘No, really. She said “Yoghurt”.’

  ‘No way.’

  We talked about Jonno after that – it was a safer subject. (Safer than the sparks Fifty was making with the firesteel that he’s not meant to bring to school! Actually, he’d make a good firesteel sal
esman: Start a fire, anywhere. A slow firm strike against the steel produces a spark of up to 3000°C.)

  ‘Shall we let him come on our patch now?’ Fifty asked me.

  ‘Could do. Depends on the others.’ I tried to sound not bothered but inside I was hoping Jonno could be one of us. We have loads of conversations that start with, ‘What shall we do?’ That wouldn’t happen with Jonno.

  The other three were already at the bus stop.

  ‘At last. The bus drivers keep stopping to let us on and we have to wave them past,’ said Bee. ‘Let’s go.’

  We stopped at the bench inside the school gates.

  ‘Right, it’s ear-picking time,’ said Fifty.

  ‘I hate ear-pickers,’ said Bee. ‘The yellow stuff is so smelly.’

  ‘Says the girl who can pick her nose with her tongue,’ said Fifty.

  ‘But I choose not to.’

  ‘Come on, ears out,’ said Copper Pie.

  Secretly I was sure mine would win. I’d cut up a grey cardboard egg box that had a rough crumbly look to it, similar to the bits of ear from Copper Pie’s pocket that I’d kept for reference. Using my glue gun, I’d stuck on a lobe at the bottom, a flap at the top and a rim all the way round. I’d even made a fold so the ear could be glued on easily.

  ‘Ta da,’ said Fifty as he pulled out a plasticine ear. And then, ‘Oh!’ as he realised the turquoise was showing through where the grey paint had flaked off.

  That was his chance gone. I thought I’d wait till last for maximum glory but Jonno seemed to be doing the same.

  ‘Come on,’ said Bee.

  I brought out my box, slowly opened the lid and displayed my perfect ear. I got a clap from Bee. ‘It’s wicked.’ My thoughts exactly.

  Jonno reached into his trouser pocket and out came a grey rubber ear. ‘I cut it off my elephant.’

  ‘No way,’ said Copper Pie. ‘That’s sick. You severed his ear!’

  C.P. likes elephants (particularly Trumpet, his cuddly toy!).

  ‘It’s not sick. It’s genius. Look.’ Fifty snatched it and held it up by his head. It did actually look quite human-earish in a big lobe way.

  ‘OK. Time to vote and get sticking. One vote each.’

  Copper Pie voted for me, and so did I. Fifty voted for Jonno and so did Bee (traitors). That just left Jonno.

  ‘I’ll go for Keener’s.’

  I win. I win! It was brilliant . . . for about a second, but then I realised that I’d only really won because I voted for myself. Jonno must have thought his was best so he was just being nice, or creeping, by voting for mine.

  ‘Actually, I vote for Jonno’s.’

  ‘Too late. We’re going with egg-box-ear,’ said Jonno.

  ‘Positions, everyone,’ said Copper Pie, as we walked to the double doors of the school entrance. You can tell he’s football captain (although he nearly wasn’t after the kicking-the-goalie episode).

  Bee sat on the bottom step of the staircase. ‘I’ve got a view of both the other entrances from here.’

  Fifty went to get the water. Jonno and I went over to Charles Stratton. His head and shoulders sit on a special wooden platform, a bit like what posh people have in their hallways for plants. Jonno pulled out a piece of sandpaper, reached up and smoothed the skin in preparation for the transplant (he’d thought of everything). I got out the ear, put my all-purpose extra strong glue on the folded piece and when, at the last minute, my hands started to shake, Jonno took over and pressed the ear in place.

  I stepped back to have a good look. It was weird. If you stared at the ear it was clearly wrong, but if you stared at his huge conk, or at his curled up lips or his concrete hair, the ear just blended in.

  Fifty came back saying, ‘I haven’t got anything to put the water . . .’, then started whooping when he saw the ear. Copper Pie must have heard because he abandoned his post.

  ‘Not bad.’ He had a closer look. ‘Not bad at all.’

  ‘Go egg-box-ear!’ said Bee.

  ‘Best example of glue ear I’ve ever treated,’ said Jonno. (Fifty didn’t get it so I told him glue ear is what little kids get. Snot in the ears basically.)

  No need for the doormen or the cover story. The job was done. Time for a quick exit.

  ‘Let’s scram before anyone . . .’ said Jonno.

  We legged it to the trees, slipstreaming Copper Pie as usual.

  ‘Put it here,’ said Jonno and we did the piling-on-hands-thing again. This time with strange noises: Yeowww, Yessssirree, and Way-to-go.

  Everyone was a bit over-excited. I looked round at my friends. It felt good. All we had to do was get to assembly without anyone raising the alarm.

  ‘Make sure you don’t keep looking at it or other people will too,’ whispered Jonno a bit later, as we went down the stairs. ‘Pass it on.’

  As I said it to Fifty, a sick feeling started to replace the nice one.

  What if I hadn’t put enough glue on and it had fallen off already?

  What if someone knocked it?

  What if Jonno was wrong and everyone spotted the fake ear and started pointing and laughing?

  What if . . .

  I heard the word ‘breathe’. It was Fifty. I breathed.

  As we turned the corner to line up outside the hall, I kept my eyes well away from Charles Stratton. And well away from the others. So far so good.

  There was the usual shoving as we took our place along the wall, and some talking, which isn’t allowed.

  ‘Quiet now,’ said Miss Walsh as she swung round the corner with Callum carrying her stuff – he’s a complete creep. And the most-hated boy in our class. And the best sportsman, after Copper Pie.

  I looked at her. Would she notice?

  She looked up at the clock above the hall doors.

  ‘While we wait for the Head and the other classes, let’s think about what the school would have been like three hundred years ago when Charles Stratton set it up.’ She waved her hand across his face.

  All eyes were on the head and shoulders of our founder. Except mine, because I couldn’t look.

  I waited for the first shouts of, ‘Miss, his ear’s not right,’ or worse, ‘Miss, he’s got an egg carton not an ear and it looks like Keener made it.’

  None came. There were thirty kids staring at his face and not one of them seemed to realise he had an egg-box-ear. My panic gave way to an overwhelming urge to laugh. Idiots.

  I felt a pinch and turned to see Bee purple in the face and blown up like a balloon. She obviously didn’t dare open her mouth. I quickly looked away but there weren’t many safe places to look. Copper Pie was bent over making little squeaky sounds. Jonno was staring at the ceiling, which I assumed was his way of not losing his cool. Fifty had his hand over his eyes but his shoulders were going up and down so I assume he was doing one of those silent deep-inside laughs that make you cry.

  Please let the Head come very very soon. Other kids were starting to notice the five weird children: shady eyes, bent over, stargazer, blueberry face and me, flibbertigibbet. (I like that word. I think it means silly but it sounds like it means someone who flits between lots of things, which is what my eyes were doing.)

  The door creaked. At last, the other classes. And the Head.

  Miss Walsh opened the hall door and our class began to troop in, followed by the others. Unbelievably no one, not one person, spotted the false ear.

  Assembly was dull (not that I’d have been able to concentrate if it was interesting. It was too fantastic that we’d fooled EVERYONE). It was all about Earth Day. Evidently it’s our generation that will have to save the planet. Fat chance. When the Head had finished her sermon, Jonno put up his hand and asked to be excused. Strange. People can usually hold on long enough to last through assembly. Must have been the excitement of the early morning adventure. He got back just as we started filing out.

  I risked one last look at Charles. Did I have a shock? It was almost me who blew it by shouting and pointing. The egg-box-ear was gone
! A rubber elephant ear was in its place. I searched out Jonno with my eyes. He winked. I winked back. I knew why he’d done it. It wasn’t because he wanted us to use his ear. He wanted to show that even a cauliflower floret would have worked. I couldn’t wait for break to see if the others had noticed.

  ‘Bee!’

  Oh no! Why was the Head shouting at Bee? I looked round to see if it was a mistake. Maybe there was a real bee buzzing about.

  ‘Could you wait there with, er . . . let me see . . .’ The Head saw me staring. ‘Keener. Yes, you.’

  No. Not me. I can’t lie to the Head. How does she know it was us?

  I wished I’d excused myself like Jonno and stayed in the loo till break.

  Bee and I watched everyone else disappear. The Head was chatting to Mr Morris so we did as we were told and waited, right by the statue. My heart was pumping at double time making my face go red and my armpits soggy. I wanted to tell on Copper Pie, explain about the catapult, but knew I couldn’t. Me and Bee would have to take the blame.

  HOW WE GOT THE TEACHERS TO USE OUR NICKNAMES

  Miss Walsh is newish. On her first day she asked us all to tell her a bit about ourselves including our proper names and what we like to be called. She meant, if you’re Michael, would you rather be Mike? When it was C.P.’s turn he said, ‘I’m George but I’d like you to call me Copper Pie.

  She thought it was a joke and giggled, but Bee said (in a very serious voice), ‘Miss, why are you teasing our friend?’ C.P. lifted up the lid, put his head in his desk and pretended to be very upset. (He was actually trying not to laugh out loud.) Miss Walsh didn’t know what to do and he wouldn’t bring his head out so in the end she agreed to call him Copper Pie.

  Then it was Fifty’s turn. ‘My name is Thomas but I’m known as Fifty.’ He lifted the lid of his desk up a weeny bit so she quickly said, ‘Fine.’ All I had to do was follow the others. (I’m not telling you what my other name is because it’s ridiculous.) After a while the Head started using our ‘chosen names’ (that’s what she calls them) too. She probably can’t remember our real ones.