The Day the Ear Fell Off
Page 15
We all clapped. She smiled and clapped too. And then she said, ‘Yog-ert,’ and pointed at the fridge.
Fifty’s mum got up and fetched a strawberry and vanilla yoghurt. Before she’d finished peeling off the shiny lid, Rose had her mouth open ready for the first spoon.
‘It seems Rose is in charge,’ she said. ‘So you’d better tell your dad to get that shed, Copper Pie. It looks as though building is about to begin.’
the Tribers all want to say one last thing
Bee: ‘Tribe should save more things. The stag beetle was a cinch. We could try and save something bigger, more important . . .’
Fifty: ‘Like a triceratops?’
Everyone started laughing.
Jonno: ‘A woolly mammoth?’
Copper Pie: ‘I like them.’
Keener: ‘A velociraptor?’
Bee: ‘Ha ha, very funny, my name’s Bugs Bunny. But I bet we can find something else, maybe not an animal, maybe a special building or a person . . .’
Jonno: ‘Ravi – you know, my best friend from Glasgow – he says we should spread the word. Using the internet. He reckons that every school should have a Tribe. And we could all join together and do good things everywhere. All over the world. An army of kids.’
Fifty: ‘Sounds good to me. We could have our own site and they could pay to join. We’d make a fortune.’
Copper Pie: ‘There’s nothing we can’t do. We forced the Head to throw out the kitchen garden, didn’t we? Yes, Tribe can do anything. We should take on Callum. We could make that thing you had at Jonno’s . . . bootybooty, make bootybooty out of him.’
Bee: ‘Or just mince.’
Fifty: ‘But first we need to build our headquarters in the garden. Does anyone have a clue how to go about it?’
Keener: ‘Building our HQ is definitely important but we’re not meant to be making squillions from an internet business and we’re not meant to be conquering the playground – we’re Tribe, remember. What we are meant to be doing is written on that rolled up bit of paper in the safe. And it’s no good going around rescuing beetles, mending statues and feeding Alley Cats if we don’t do all the ordinary stuff too. Tribe needs to get organised or it’ll be time for the summer fair and we won’t get round to making the identity cards and filling up the time capsule. And what if there’s another emergency? And you know, we should really have a logo . . . All important things have —’
Bee: ‘Enough, Keener! The last word is mine. Whatever’s coming next, bring it on. That’s what I say. Bring it on.’
She put her hand out and four others followed.
SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP.
‘One! Two! Three! Go Tribe!’
The End
(for now)
Here’s a sneak peek at the next Tribe story!
the school summer fair
‘Can you believe it?’ said Fifty.
I shook my head.
Fifty was staring at Copper Pie, who had just blasted a ball into the top left-hand corner of the goal. He did a high five with his partner on the stall, none other than Callum – the meanest and nastiest boy in our class. In the whole school probably. The world. The universe, etc.
‘Can you believe he’s gone over to the dark side?’
I shook my head again. There weren’t any words for how I felt.
I looked across for the hundredth time. How could Copper Pie, my oldest friend, be running a stall at the summer fair with Callum? Copper Pie was the one who saved me from being bitten by Annabel Ellis in nursery, the one who tickled me to stop me from holding my breath and fainting in the nativity play, the one who ate my lunch every time I didn’t like it.
If anyone had told me that he would desert me, desert Tribe, I’d have said they were lying. No way would he ever, ever leave: that’s what I would have said. But I was wrong.
I’d been looking forward to the summer fair for ages. We all had. In Year 6, you’re allowed to have your own stall. The five members of Tribe (me, Fifty, Jonno, Bee and Copper Pie) had agreed what we were doing but at the last minute Copper Pie had switched allegiance to do ‘Save or Score’ with Callum.
For a pound, you could choose either three shots at Callum in goal or three turns in goal trying to stop Copper Pie scoring. Their sign said, Save three goals or score three and win a fiver.
And to make it worse, their stall had the biggest queue. There were masses of dads and toddlers and a few girls and even some mums waiting for a turn. Every time there was a good save or an awesome shot the crowds oooh-ed and aaaaah-ed. Copper Pie was in full Manchester United strip, like Ronaldo. Callum was in a Liverpool shirt with Stevie G written on the back. I wished they weren’t the centre of attention, showing off in front of the rest of Tribe. It didn’t seem fair. We, the loyal ones, were doing a stall together, the way you should do if you’re friends.
If you want to understand how I felt, imagine your mum has left you and chosen another family – a better one, tidier or funnier or better looking. Imagine watching her having a great time with them, while you stood at the side and watched.
I wanted to bang my head against something hard, except that it would hurt. I wanted to smack Copper Pie in the face and yell, but I’ve never hit anyone and I didn’t want to start with him because he’s a lot more experienced with his fists. I turned away and looked back at Fifty. He sighed. We didn’t need words to know what the other one was thinking.
Bee and Jonno were sitting cross-legged under our table, talking to each other. I thought about joining them, but I didn’t. I stayed where I was and watched all the people enjoying themselves.
We’d run out of things to sell on our stall. In fact we had run out twenty-two minutes after the fair started. It didn’t matter – we’d made loads of money.
I thought about having a go on ‘Splat the Rat’. I’m good at that. If you watch the people who go before you, you can work out how many seconds it takes the rat to slide down the pipe. When it’s your turn, all you have to do is count and, when you reach the magic number, wham the stick at the space below the pipe. Everyone else waits for the rat to poke its nose out, but by then it’s too late.
I decided not to have a go. I knew it wouldn’t make me feel any better. How could it? Tribe couldn’t carry on without Copper Pie. I can’t explain why. It’s not as though he was the leader or anything – we don’t have one. But he was part of its beginning and we agreed no one could leave and no one could join. So it was broken. Tribe was broken.
Will Tribe survive?
Find out in Tribe: A Thousand Water Bombs
ISBN: 978 1 84812 294 9
Get to know
the Tribers at:
www.tribes.co.uk