Bee’s mum is a wicked cook and she loves feeding people, so she started frying things and we had a Tribe breakfast of some kind of omelette followed by hot chocolate with whipped cream and almond biscuits. Doodle had treats too, dog biscuits in gravy.
I couldn’t believe that I was having biscuits for breakfast for the second day running, and that so much had happened in between. But that’s Tribe for you. I don’t know why, but ever since we’ve been Tribers, life’s got livelier.
Bee’s Birthday
Saving Antarctica
It was Wednesday six p.m. and that meant it was the weekly Tribe meeting in the Tribehouse. Fifty was sitting on the safe, and we were all on the bench except Bee who was lecturing us about something. I wasn’t listening. I was working out how I could afford to buy a mountainboard without waiting until my birthday. I wished I had a June birthday like Bee’s.
TRIBERS’ STAR SIGNS
Bee is Gemini. They get on with Librans. They love talking and lots of them are on telly.
Jonno is Libra. They like peace and balance, and don’t like taking sides.
Copper Pie is Sagittarius, tactless and sporty.
Keener is Scorpio, a water sign. They can be obsessive.
Fifty is Pisces, another water sign. Can be dreamers. Two water signs together can almost be telepathic. (Explains the stealing thoughts phenomenon.)
I was about to ask Bee exactly when her birthday was when . . .
‘Let’s have a sponsored silence as well,’ she said.
I had no idea what she was talking about. ‘What for?’ I said.
‘For the charity day on Friday.’ We have one every term. It’s always the same.
‘But we wear home clothes and bring in a pound,’ I said.
Bee gave me her special withering look. ‘Who says we can’t do something else?’ I don’t disagree with Bee unless I absolutely have to, so I shut up.
‘Not speak all day?’ said Fifty.
‘Only while we we’re at school,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fun.’
‘It won’t,’ said Fifty. ‘I can’t be quiet all day.’ He was probably right.
‘OK. You can talk, but we’ll be silent. You can be our . . . translator.’
‘Translating what?’ said Fifty.
‘Sign language and . . . whatever.’ Bee made a stop-fussing face.
‘OK,’ said Fifty.
That’s often how things get decided. Bee suggests them, Bee persuades us, we agree. (Or we say nothing and she assumes we agree.)
‘Right. We need sponsor forms and sponsors,’ said Bee. ‘Lots.’
‘My dad won’t sponsor us. He hates sponsored anything. He says people should give money to charity because it’s the right thing to do, not because someone jumps out of a plane,’ said Jonno.
‘You’ll join in though, won’t you?’ said Bee.
Jonno nodded. ‘I’ll get Ravi to sponsor me.’ (Ravi is Jonno’s friend from where he used to live.)
‘Keener?’
‘I’ll get Mum.’ Bee waited. ‘And Dad . . . and Amy.’
That seemed to do the trick. Bee turned to Copper Pie. He was ready for her. ‘Big Jim next door, Mum, Dad.’
‘Fifty?’
‘Can I get sponsors for interpreting?’
She thought for a second, moved her fringe (which is more like a black-out blind) off her face, and said, ‘Rewind. Let’s just have one Tribe form. We’ll each have it for a day and see how much we can get. Agreed?’
‘But there’s only two days till Friday,’ I pointed out. Being able to count can be an advantage.
Bee paused. I grinned. Getting one over on her is rare.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Text any sponsors you get to Keener. He can keep the sponsor form. And can you make it too, Keener?’ She smiled her just-do-as-I-say smile. ‘Don’t forget to include the name of the charity.’
‘What is the name of the charity?’ I asked.
‘Twenty forty-one.’ The way Bee said it made me think I should know what twenty forty-one was. ‘Didn’t you listen to anything in assembly?’ she said, rolling her eyes. Asking how to spell it didn’t seem like a good move.
‘What sort of charity has a name that’s all numbers?’ asked Copper Pie.
‘A charity for sad people who like adding up,’ said Fifty.
‘They’re called mathematicians,’ said Jonno.
‘Or Keeners,’ said Fifty. Thanks!
‘Listen,’ said Bee. She sliced the air with a karate chop to shut us up.
‘2041 isn’t the sort of thing we usually have,’ said Fifty. ‘We usually have donkey sanctuaries.’
‘Who cares about donkeys?’ said Copper Pie.
‘Someone on the school council cared or it wouldn’t have been picked,’ I said.
BEE’S LECTURE ON 2041 (WHICH IS A DATE)
Antarctica is safe from hotels, chip shops and piles of rotting nappies because there’s a deal that everyone agreed to that protects it. But in 2041 the deal ends.
So Robert Swann set up a charity to make sure that the people who will be making the decision in 2041 realise how important it is for the whole world to keep Antarctica’s 5 million mile square of solid ice free and wild. He means us. It’s up to kids like us to tell everyone that tourists and rich people and idiots mustn’t be allowed to ruin the last bit of the world that’s totally natural.
‘So who on the school council cares about 2041?’ asked Jonno.
No idea, I thought.
Bee looked round at us all, smirking as though she knew something we didn’t.
‘It can’t have been you,’ said Jonno. ‘You’re not on the council.’
‘But it was chosen, wasn’t it?’ said Fifty.
Bee did a slow nod.
‘How come?’ I said.
‘She bribed them,’ said Copper Pie.
‘With ice creams,’ said Jonno.
‘Glacier mints,’ said Fifty, getting the joke before I did.
‘Penguins,’ said Copper Pie. ‘The chocolate ones.’
I tried to think of an Antarctic connection too – complete blank.
‘I didn’t bribe anyone,’ said Bee. ‘I told Amir the facts and he persuaded the council. So there.’
Amir is Bee’s buddy from Year 5. She’s trained him so that he’s even more of an eco-freak than she is.
‘I’ve got to go,’ said Copper Pie. He put out his hand ready for a Tribe handshake. We all slapped ours down on top. One, two three . . . our hands shot up in the air.
‘Get lots of sponsors, everyone,’ said Bee.
Silence
On Friday, the day of the sponsored silence, registration didn’t go that well. The first Triber’s name Miss Walsh called out was Fifty’s.
‘Good morning, Fifty.’
‘Good morning, Miss Walsh.’
The list went on and the next Triber she got to was Jonno.
‘Good morning, Jonno,’ she said.
Jonno nodded. Miss Walsh didn’t see so she said ‘Good morning’ a bit louder. Jonno nodded again, but when she looked up he’d finished. She stared at him. He nodded some more. Even though she could see him nodding, she waited for him to speak. We all knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Fifty tried to answer for him. ‘Jonno’s —’
‘Jonno can speak for himself, thank you,’ said our frosty teacher. I took the Tribe sponsor form out of my pocket. If I showed her she’d understand, but not before she’d shouted at me. I put it back and left it to our interpreter.
Fifty tried again. ‘Actually, he —’
‘What part of “Jonno can speak for himself” did you not understand?’ Miss Walsh retied her twisty bun. She does that when she’s cross. Someone needed to explain, and quickly. But only Fifty was allowed to speak. And he wasn’t allowed to speak because Miss Walsh wouldn’t let him.
Eventually she moved on to the next name on the register.
‘An especially good morning to you, Bee.’
There was n
o way out of this mess. Miss Walsh stared at Bee. Bee nodded. I turned and looked at Fifty. He shrugged. Shrugging was no use. He was meant to be doing the talking. Copper Pie obviously thought the same. He reached over to Fifty’s desk, yanked him out of his chair and pushed him forwards. Fifty looked down at the floor and spoke at five times normal speed.
‘We’re-having-a-sponsored-silence-to-raise-money-for-the-charity-with-all-the-numbers-and-I-can-speak-but-the-other-Tribers-can’t-so-they-can’t-say-“Good-morning”.’ He looked up. ‘Sorry.’
Miss Walsh put her head in her hands for a second – I think she was taking a few deep breaths – and carried on without bothering to say my name or Copper Pie’s. At the end she shut the register and said, ‘Charity day is an important day each term when we think about helping others. It would have helped me if the children involved in the sponsored silence had informed me rather than arriving at school already mute. And as the silence is taking place in school time, it should be agreed with the school.’ She turned to look at Fifty. ‘I’d like you, as the token talker, to go to the Head’s office and ask permission for the sponsored silence to take place.’ Miss Walsh is no fun.
Fifty stood up and headed for the door. Since we stopped being Keener, Bee, Fifty, Copper Pie and Jonno and became Tribe we’d been in trouble for loads of stuff, mostly not our fault. I thought about the other times we’d been sent to the Head.
PERFECTLY REASONABLE THINGS THE TRIBERS HAVE DONE
(and had to explain to the Head)
We took over assembly to save an endangered stag beetle. It was about to be pulverised by a bulldozer to make way for a herb garden.
We recruited some younger kids to work as slaves filling one thousand water bombs for the summer fair. What’s wrong with that? We paid them.
We were caught teasing Marco about his lunch. But we weren’t teasing, we were just being nosy.
We uncovered a thief, but not everyone liked the way we ran our investigation.
The list would have been longer but Fifty came back. ‘The Head said “a Tribe that is silent would be a welcome change from a Tribe that makes more than its share of noise”.’ He smiled at Miss Walsh. ‘She sponsored us five pounds if we go all day without a squeak.’
Miss Walsh looked like she wanted to go home and cry on her pillow. I don’t think she should be a teacher. She should be a Samaritan who answers the phone to people who are upset or someone who stuffs red shiny hearts into the teddies at the Build-a-Bear Workshop.
Fifty sat down. Miss Walsh told us to get out our maths books.
‘OK, class. As you know, we’re spending the last half term of Year 6 going over the topics we’ve covered this year, so today it’s perimeters and areas.’ There was groaning. ‘We’re going to calculate the areas and perimeters of five things in the room, being careful to use the appropriate units.’
Alice’s hand shot up, as usual.
Miss Walsh sighed. ‘What is it, Alice?’
‘Can I measure the door?’
‘Yes, Alice.’
‘Can I do the bin?’ shouted out Jamie. Jamie has never learnt to put his hand up. He just shouts out.
‘No, you can’t,’ said Miss Walsh.
‘That’s not fair. If she can do the door, why can’t I do the bin?’
Miss Walsh spoke through gritted teeth. ‘You can’t do the bin because we haven’t learnt the formula for calculating the area of circles. We’ve done squares and rectangles and they’ve all had straight edges and right angles.’
‘Can I do the window?’ shouted Jamie. You could tell Miss Walsh had given up because she said ‘All right’ without even looking at him.
There were a few more minutes of instructions, like ‘record all the dimensions’ and ‘draw a sketch before you do the sum’, and finally we were ready to pick our five objects. I chose things I could reach without getting up. Callum, also known as the evil Hog, decided to irritate me by measuring my desk, which is the same size as his.
He whispered, ‘If you say nothing it means you wet the bed.’ I ignored him. He moved over to Bee’s desk and tried the same thing. She stamped on his foot. Miss Walsh saw.
‘Why did you do that, Bee?’
Bee picked up her pencil and wrote something on her maths book.
‘Didn’t,’ said Callum.
Didn’t what? I thought. Bee held up her book and shoved the writing towards Callum’s face, which meant I could see it too.
He tried to make me talk to stop me raising money to save the PLANET.
‘Callum, why don’t you find something to measure away from Bee?’ said Miss Walsh.
‘OK.’ Callum picked up his book and went over to where Jonno was measuring the whiteboard. He whispered something. Jonno picked up the whiteboard rubber and turned round to face Callum. He smiled, and started to rub Callum out, starting with his face. He didn’t actually touch him, he just mimed rubbing out as though Callum was a drawing we didn’t need any more. Callum stormed off to measure the window with his only friend, Jamie.
Callum was determined to spoil the sponsored silence, but it would take more than him to trip up Tribe. If we say we’re doing something, we’re doing it.
Happy Birthday
At break we hung around on our patch under the trees, apart from Copper Pie who was kicking a football against the wall. Jonno studied the tree stump – he’s always on the lookout for weevils. Bee stared at the rest of the kids mucking about in the playground while Fifty talked to himself. I got the sponsor form out to convince myself that a day of zipped-up mouths was worth the effort. Including the Head’s contribution we’d got forty-three pounds.
Lily came over and brought out a present from behind her back. ‘Happy Birthday, Bee.’ It was about the size of an apple, wrapped in silver paper.
I almost spoke, but stopped myself just in time. Why hadn’t Bee reminded us it was her birthday?
Bee mouthed ‘Thank you’ and took the silver apple.
Jonno stood up and made a no-one-mentioned-a-birth-day face. (I realised that someone else had remembered – Miss Walsh gave Bee a special ‘Good morning’ but I was too busy being silent to notice.) Inside the silver paper was a lime-green rubber ball with a hole with jagged edges attached to a keyring. Bee held it up and made what-is-it? signs.
Lily laughed. ‘It’s for storing your dog-poo bags when you take Doodle for a walk. And it’s Fairtrade.’ Bee laughed, but without the sound, and clipped the keyring on to her watch-strap and gave Lily a thumbs up. Lily went back to the world where people actually speak, leaving us back in the world of nothing. We had a conversation about Bee’s birthday by writing messages on our phones. After loads of tapping it turned out that Bee hadn’t mentioned her birthday because she wasn’t having a party, and she wasn’t having a party because her parents couldn’t afford go-karting or laser quest or whatever. Jonno suggested she had a tea party. Bee thought for a bit, then asked if he meant it, and we all wrote yes. So Fifty got the job of calling Bee’s mum and asking if we could all come over for a last-minute birthday tea.
‘OK,’ said Fifty after he ended the call. ‘Bee’s mum and dad are going to the opening of some new Italian restaurant at seven-thirty but her brothers will come over and look after us – not that we need babysitting!’ Fifty grinned. ‘We can watch a film afterwards.’ There was clapping. Fifty carried on. ‘And Bee’s mum said,’ (out came his Italian accent) ‘“Thank you for persuading Beatrice to celebrate her birthday”.’
Bee stuck her tongue out. She doesn’t like being teased about her Italian family.
‘And she said to invite Lily, as well as all the Tribers.’
The four of us trooped over to where Copper Pie was kicking the ball repeatedly against the same spot on the wall, like a machine. Fifty filled him in. He grinned and stuck out his fist for the fist of friendship. Fifty went off to tell Lily. All we had left to do was text our mums we wouldn’t be in for tea.
The day had got a whole lot better. We couldn’t ta
lk all day at school but we’d be together all evening. Birthdays are good, even other people’s.
A Rich Stranger
In history, not being allowed to speak was a bonus. Miss Walsh fired questions at everyone while I daydreamed that I got a massive cheque through the post from a stranger that I once helped (not that I’ve ever helped a stranger).
TRIBERS’ DAYDREAMS
COPPER PIE: Includes these words, in any order: football, win, score, hero.
FIFTY: Lead role in a play where he gets to dress up in old-fashioned clothes, like a Tudor or something, and sing.
BEE: Serious reporter on location in the Gobi desert talking about some eco-success like saving the last remaining Bactrians (twohumped camels).
KEENER: ‘In this clip Keener executes the most high-performance manoeuvre possible on a surfboard: a rodeo flip.’
JONNO: A big family meal with all of his brothers and sisters, maybe seven or eight, and noise and chips and bad manners.
I didn’t take any notice of what was going on until Copper Pie stood up, picked a few things up off the floor by his chair, walked over to Callum and sprinkled them over his head.
‘What on earth!’ spluttered Miss Walsh. Copper Pie pointed at Callum, did a throwing action and slapped himself on the back of the head. He did it three times with his face going more like the colour of his hair every time. He was really angry (but quite funny to watch). Luckily Fifty had got the hang of translating. He stood up and defended Copper Pie like a barrister stating the case in front of a judge.
‘I believe Copper Pie to have been hit on the back of the head by various missiles.’ Fifty bent down to study the evidence. ‘Including rubbers, screwed-up paper and what looks like extra-large bogeys, thrown by Callum.’
Labradoodle on the Loose Page 5