The Notion Potion

by Nick Vincent Murphy

  ‘Nah. Jermaine is holding me back for another year. Says I failed everything – even science! Can you believe that sack of nonsense?’ asked Declan with a smirk. ‘Maybe he’s right – maybe we will be spending the rest of our lives together in that flippin’ classroom! Anyway, I better run. I’m gonna try to flip over his car. Later, Moone!’

  He swaggered off, still wearing Liam’s jacket, and bouncing his old handball.

  ‘They’re holding him back again?!’ I asked in disbelief.

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ said Martin with a determined frown. ‘Ya know, Sean, there’s a reason that the Team Trepdem slogan is No man left behind!’

  ‘I thought your slogan was Rub-a dub-dub, let’s build a Tub Grub!’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s it!’ he replied. ‘What a great slogan! Rub-a dub-dub, let’s build a Tub Grub!’ he proclaimed, and then marched into the school.

  Moments later, he was back in his old classroom confronting his teacher.

  ‘You can’t hold Declan back another year. He deserves to graduate with the rest of us!’ implored Martin.

  Mr Jackson was clutching a hurley stick* and kept glancing out the window nervously. ‘Moone, in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re a little busy here. All hell is breaking loose outside, and Principal Maloney has lost something very dear to him.’

  The worried-looking principal was searching the classroom behind Martin. ‘It’s a newly upholstered, leather swivel-chair. I popped out to the bathroom, and then it was gone! How can it have just vanished?!’ he asked, bewildered.

  Martin turned back to his teacher. ‘You said that Declan failed science – but that was probably because he was spending so much time on our science project!’

  ‘What science project?’

  ‘For the Invention Convention!’

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense, Moone!’ snapped Mr Jackson as the Bonner brothers raced past the window, wearing traffic cones on their heads.

  ‘Jermaine, you never mentioned that your students took part in the Invention Convention,’ said the impressed principal.

  ‘Ehh . . .’

  Mr Jackson turned to Martin blankly. ‘Did they?’

  ‘We didn’t just take part, sir. We were Participants!’ the boy declared, ripping open his shirt.

  Unfortunately, Martin had forgotten to wear his ‘certificate chain’ that day, so his dramatic shirt-ripping simply exposed his bare belly, which was both confusing and disturbing.

  ‘Whoa, whoa, keep your shirt on, Moone,’ beseeched his disgusted teacher.

  ‘I’m confused,’ said the principal, ‘and not just by the shirt thing. Are you saying that Declan Mannion was involved in this too? The Declan Mannion?’

  ‘The one and only, sir,’ confirmed Martin.

  ‘Did you force him to do this? Blackmail him somehow?’

  ‘He forced us!’ retorted Martin. ‘Wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’s science-mad, that fella. And gold-mad.’

  The principal was still trying to wrap his head around all this. ‘So Declan voluntarily took part in an extra-curricular science activity?’

  ‘We couldn’t have done it without him!’ exclaimed Martin. ‘He held team meetings in his house, invested his own cash in the project, forged—’

  ‘Maybe don’t mention that part, buddy,’ I interjected.

  ‘Eh . . . Loaned us his own bath,’ continued Martin, ‘and used his dogs and hares to pull us all the way to Dublin!’

  Mr Jackson and Principal Maloney were so baffled that Martin had to recount the entire story of their adventure, but it wasn’t until he whipped out the team photograph that they finally started to believe him.

  Just then, Declan ambled past the classroom door, carrying a car wheel under his arm.

  ‘Declan!’ yelled the principal.

  Declan poked his head into the room and nodded to them. ‘Mr M, Jermaine, Moone face.’

  Principal Maloney grilled him about everything that Martin had told them, and asked if it was true.

  Declan hung his head.

  ‘Yeah I did it,’ he confessed. ‘I did it all. Was it for the gold? Maybe. Was it just to stop my dad enjoying his nightly baths? Possibly. Or was it just to get Liam Moone’s lovely coat? Probably. But whatever the reason, I became a dork for a while. I did science stuff out of school and hung with some eejits who all talk to invisible people. No offence, Martin. And Martin’s imaginary friend.’

  ‘None taken,’ we both replied.

  Principal Maloney gave a broad smile.

  ‘Well, Declan, if you’re the sort of student who can work with a team to build a mobile flavour bath, transport it to Dublin with a pack of greyhounds and hares, while fending off a flock of hungry birds, and then take part in the biggest science competition in the country, then you’re certainly ready for secondary school.’

  Declan looked stunned as the principal shook his hand. ‘Congratulations, Mr Mannion. Today is your last day.’

  ‘EOPS!’ Martin whooped with glee, punching the air.

  Mr Jackson smirked. ‘Looks like we’re finally getting divorced, Declan.’

  ‘About time, Jermaine. Here’s a break-up present,’ he said, handing him the tyre.

  ‘What do I need this for?’ asked a confused Mr Jackson.

  ‘To go home,’ Declan said bluntly. ‘C’mon, Moone. Let’s roll.’

  They turned to go.

  ‘Declan, one last thing,’ started the principal. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen my—’

  Declan tossed him a crowbar. ‘You’ll need this to find it, Mr M. Just follow your nose.’

  And with that, he and Martin strolled out of their classroom for the very last time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  GRADUATION

  Martin and Declan walked down the corridor while the sounds of chaos and destruction emanated from the yard outside. Declan was quiet, and still seemed a bit stunned.

  ‘I’m not sure what you did back there,’ he said, ‘but you seem to have got me out of this place.’

  Martin shrugged. ‘Think nothing of it, Mr Mannion.’

  ‘Listen, Moone, I’ve never thanked anyone for anything before.’

  Martin smiled, waiting to soak up some sweet, sweet gratitude.

  ‘And I’m not about to start now,’ continued Declan.

  Martin’s smile disappeared. ‘Understood.’

  ‘But you’ve done me a favour, Moone. And some day I shall repay that favour. When you least expect it . . . ’ he warned.

  Martin gave a confused nod, unsure if he was being thanked or threatened. ‘OK. I’ll . . . look forward to it?’ he replied uncertainly.

  They walked on.

  ‘Ya know, Moone, normally I fly solo, so this team thing was kinda weird for me. But it was also . . . kinda fun. Maybe we should all get together again sometime. And do something less nerdy. Like rob a bank or something,’ suggested Declan.

  Martin gave a thoughtful nod. ‘Maybe . . .’

  Declan stopped at a door that led outside. ‘Well, I better go. I started a fire out there and I should really keep an eye on it.’

  ‘Good thinking. Ya wouldn’t want it to blow out.’

  Declan took off Liam’s jacket and tossed him the handball. ‘I think these belong to your old man,’ he said, and then strolled outside. ‘Keep it real, Moone face!’

  ‘Actually I prefer to keep it imaginary!’ chirped Martin.

  Declan gave a confused glance back, and then wandered off.

  The door slammed shut, and we were on our own again.

  I looked to Martin, proud of the little eejit. ‘Well, you wanted to do something big before you left, and I think you might have just done it, buddy. Your invention adventure just got Declan Mannion graduated. And this school will never be the same without him.’

  Martin grinned. ‘Not quite as good as a blown-up toilet, but not bad, I suppose.’

  We turned and then noticed where we were standing – right back where this had all started.
/>
  ‘Bye-bye, Winners Wall,’ murmured Martin, as he gazed at the shiny trophies and framed photographs of triumphant teams.

  I looked to the corner above it. ‘The mould has grown. Your chin’s gotten a lot bigger.’

  ‘Well, if that’s the only version of Martin Moone that’s going to be up on that wall, then that’s fine by me. I couldn’t give two hoots about winning any more,’ he declared.

  I nodded, and we both continued to stare at the wall.

  ‘Still, though . . . it would be nice to be up there,’ I said wistfully.

  He turned to me, with a mischievous look in his eye. ‘Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?’

  ‘Always!’

  Martin glanced around, whipped out the photo again, and wedged it into one of the picture frames, covering up some old football team.

  He gazed proudly at the snap of Team Trepdem.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ he said with a grin.

  We strolled outside and found ourselves walking through utter chaos. Declan was stoking a fire where a gang of sixth-classers were burning their school uniforms. Several younger kids were kicking Mr Jackson’s car, which had been flipped on to its side and spray-painted with the words ‘Drive this!’

  Trevor charged past us, pushing Loopy Lou in a wheelbarrow and blaring rap music from a boom box. Principal Maloney was trying to prise open the manhole, and Mr Jackson was charging after students with his hurley stick. He spotted the Bonner brothers trying to graffiti the word ‘graffiti’ on the wall, but they’d completely misspelled it.

  ‘Ya stupid fools. That isn’t how ya spell “graffiti”!’ he roared, and chased them away.

  At the far side of the yard, Martin turned to look back at the drab old building where he’d spent so much of his young life.

  ‘Bye-bye, school,’ he mumbled softly.

  Padraic charged past us, waving the Roscommon flag. He’d clearly embraced his destructive side at last, as he’d burned his uniform and was back in his underpants.

  ‘We’ve done it, Martin! We’ve taken over the asylum!’ he screamed with glee.

  ‘Viva la Revolution!’ cheered Crunchie Haystacks, who cartwheeled behind him.

  I laughed and led Martin away. ‘Come on, Mayhem. Let’s get you home.’

  ‘Ya know what I might have tonight?’ he asked as we ambled out through the school gates.

  ‘A lovely bath?’ I guessed.

  ‘Bingo! But I’m also a bit peckish,’ he added. ‘Do we still have that chicken soup Taste Tank?’

  ‘No, I think that one fell off on the way home,’ I told him. ‘But peanut butter is still fully stocked.’

  ‘A bath of peanut butter,’ he pondered thoughtfully. ‘Yes, that’ll do, Sean,’ said the Moone boy. ‘That’ll do me nicely.’

  THE END

  FOOTNOTES

  * MOCK LEAVING CERT – a trial exam carried out by students about to do their final school exams. If they do badly, they are severely ridiculed by teachers, parents and pets. Or mocked.

  * PROUD AS PUNCH – punch is a fruit-based drink which is full of fruit. So it is, in fact, full of itself.

  * OFF-PISTE – a skiing term, referring to a skier leaving the normal route of the slope. This often results in a collision, leaving the person in question piste-off.

  * THE PENNY DROPPED – when someone finally understands something. The phrase dates back to the time when our brains were coin-operated. To understand something, you’d drop a penny into your ear. Or if you were in maths class, you’d simply wedge your wallet up your nose.

  * PRIMARY SCHOOL – school from Junior-Trouser-Wetting to Can-Almost-Grow-A-Tache.

  * SECONDARY SCHOOL – school from First Zits to First Ear Hair.

  * ARE YA RIGHT? – Irish slang for ‘Are you ready?’ If you’re not ready, then you might get left behind – so if you don’t want to be left, then always be right.

  * TRANSLATION – ‘Chop-chop!’

  * CLAUSTROPHOBIC – a fear of confined spaces. The word ‘phobia’ comes from the Greek word for ‘fear’. ‘Claus’, of course, refers to Santa. The term ‘claustrophobia’ was first coined when an elf named Agamemnon found himself trapped inside Santa’s sack the day after Christmas. It was along year for the poor fella.

  * UMPTEENTH – a number without a number. Its actual value is a mystery. Although it’s probably high. Or low.

  * GAVE OUT TO – this might sound generous, but it just means ‘yelled at’. The Irish are a very charitable people, so even when they shout at someone, it’s described like it’s a gift.

  * CRÊPES – pancakes. There’s a little hat on the ‘E’ because it’s a French word, and most French words like to wear stylish hats – unlike Swedish words who prefer to balance apples on their heads – Ö.

  * BOUNTY BAR – also known as ‘the taste of paradise’. Unless you’re allergic to coconuts or chocolate, in which case it’s the taste of dangerous swelling, cold sweats and a short stay in hospital.

  * CROISSANT – long ago, a boy annoyed his mum’s sister, so she flung a piece of dough at him. It landed in the oven, got accidentally cooked, and turned into a delicious pastry – which the boy named after his ‘cross aunt’. (He also invented a tart called a ‘clumsy uncle’, but it was less successful.)

  * MUCKER – a city dweller’s name for a rural person. A rural person’s name for a city dweller is a ‘Mr Clean Boots’.

  * PROFITEROLES – cream-filled, chocolate-covered pastry puffs. If you feel that the one downside to an eclair is that you can’t quite jam it all into your mouth in one go, then say hello to profiteroles!

  * JACKANAPES – a cheeky monkey. You might think it should be ‘jackanape’, but it isn’t. It’s one jackanapes. Two jackanapeses. Three jackanupials. And that’s it – there’s never been more than three.

  * TAOISEACH – pronounced ‘tea-shook’, as the first prime minister of Ireland always wanted his tea shaken, not stirred.

  * PIÑATA – a Mexican punching bag filled with sweets. With their hot chilies, Mexicans love to give their food a bit of kick, so it makes sense that they also like to give their dessert a bit of punch.

  * THE A TEAM – an underground crime-fighting force. Their mysterious endeavours were compromised when a documentary was made about them and broadcast on television throughout the 1980s and 1990s. They were then easily found and arrested by two policemen who watched the show.

  * WILY – shrewd, astute and especially deceitful. Originally named after a gentleman named Willy, who was as canny as a fox, but a terrible speller.

  * HARES – sworn enemies of greyhounds. Cousins of rabbits, but larger and faster, unless they’re racing a tortoise, which tends to make them overconfident and sleepy.

  * BOOKIE – short for ‘bookmaker’, even though they don’t actually make books, as I discovered when I asked one to make The Blunder Years. Instead I ended up betting on a horse called ‘Only A Big Eejit Would Bet On Me’, which I thought was just a funny name, but turned out to be amazingly accurate.

  * PARBOILED – a cooking term meaning ‘partboiled’. There’s no ‘t’ because cooks use fewer letters depending on how boiled it is. ‘Parbled’ = more than half. ‘Pbled’ = very well boiled. ‘Ble’ = mush.

  * LAMBORGHINI – the Cristiano Ronaldo* of cars. Fast, shiny, expensive, and a little bit ridiculous.

  * CRISTIANO RONALDO – the SUV* of soccer players. Reliable, with a spectacular boot, but tends to tip over a lot.

  * SUV – oh, just google it, ya lazybones!

  * BACK TO THE FUTURE – a film about time-travelling, setting roads on fire, and the dangers of kissing your mammy.

  * WINNING STREAK – an Irish TV game-show where the victor sprints around in the nude holding a giant cheque.

  * FUNK – it can mean ‘gloominess’, a cool type of music, or a bad smell. So it’s a bit like a sad, stinky slacker who plays guitar.

  * PERISHABLE – likely to go bad. Mouldy bad, not evil bad – although if you leave m
ayonnaise in the sun for long enough it’ll eventually turn into a portal to the Underworld.

  * TRIVIAL PURSUIT – aboard game where chunks of cheese are awarded for answering questions. This fun interrogation was invented by cheesemongers, the nosiest of all mongers.

  * LISTLESS – lacking energy or enthusiasm.

  * LISTLESS – being without a list.

  * DIDGERIDOO – an Australian musical instrument. If you blow through one end, it makes a low, calming sound. But if you blow through the other end, it makes a high-pitched terrifying sound, and it’s then known as a Didgeridon’t.

  * LAVA LAMP – a lamp with blobs of lava bubbling inside it. It was invented when a snow globe got accidentally left inside a pizza oven.

  * KIT AND CABOODLE – an expression that means ‘everything and more’. Coined by the wealthy Russian twins, Caboodle and Kit Shebang, who owned most things.

  * BARNEY – a term used to describe an argument. Named after a Londoner called Barney Squabble. He was such a tricky gentleman that his name coined two terms for fightin’.

  * PRESS – in Ireland, a cupboard is called a ‘press’ because we hoard so much junk that the door must be pressed hard to stay shut.

  * PUBERTY – when children start turning into big hairy adults with smelly armpits. The term was first coined by the sister of a boy called Berty who didn’t realize that it was time to start using deodorant. She held her nose and shouted, ‘Peww, Berty!

  * TANGY – sharp and bitter. Like a dangerously pointy lemon.

  * LAYMAN’S TERMS – when an expert has to explain something complicated to a non-expert, they often use ‘layman’s terms’. It’s the process of making simple a complicated idea to a man who is laying down, or even half asleep.

  * HANDBALL – a ball used in the sport of handball*.

  * HANDBALL – very similar to football. But instead of feet, soft goal-nets and the sound of cheering fans, it involves hands, concrete walls and the cheers of absolutely nobody.

  * AERODYNAMIC – when air flows around an object smoothly so it can move faster. This was found to be important after the surprising slowness of the world’s first racing car, which was a perfect cube.