There's a Dragon in my Dinner!

by Tom Nicoll

  “Where are you from?” I said, putting a bunch of action figures back up on my shelf.

  “China,” he replied. “I lived in a cave with my parents. There were mountains everywhere, it was great. Plenty of room for a young Mini-Dragon to learn to fly. It’s these walls you see, that’s the problem. No room.”

  “Yeah, must be the walls,” I said, laughing. “So if it was so great, why did you wind up here, then?”

  “Humans,” said Pan, suddenly sounding sad. “They knocked down our cave to build their huge buildings. My parents were OK, they could fly to safety in the mountains, but me… Well, you’ve seen my flying. I’ll admit there’s still a bit of work to do there. Normally Mini-Dragons don’t leave home until they turn ten, but Mum and Dad thought it best that I went to live with relatives. So they managed to smuggle me into a box of beansprouts and that’s how I ended up here in Mexico.”

  There was an awkward silence as I stared at Pan.

  “Did you say Mexico?”

  Pan nodded. “You know, it’s not as hot as I thought it would be.”

  “Um… I think you’d better take a look at this,” I said, picking up the globe that Pan had knocked over the night before. “This is Mexico,” I said, pointing to North America.

  Then I spun the globe around.

  “And this is where you are,” I said. “England.”

  Pan stared at the spot beneath my finger, scratching his head. “Hmm. I was starting to wonder when Auntie Maria and Uncle Fernando were going to show up. What am I going to do now?”

  “I guess you can stay with me,” I said hesitantly. “For a bit, I mean. Until we figure things out.”

  “Wow, thank you,” said Pan, throwing his tiny arms around my wrist.

  “Er, you’re welcome,” I said, patting him awkwardly on the head. “Wait a minute, though, if you’re from China, how come you can speak perfect English?”

  “Picked it up on the boat over,” said Pan matter-of-factly. “The crew watched a lot of English TV and Mini-Dragons are extremely fast learners.”

  Except when it comes to flying, I thought.

  It was nearly time for dinner when Pan had finished reading the last comic, making the tidying mission officially complete.

  I was just about to congratulate Pan on a job well done when I heard a terrible sound.

  “Oh no,” I groaned.

  “What’s a ding-dong?” asked Pan.

  “That’s the doorbell,” I said, closing my eyes. “And at this time on a Saturday it means only one thing: Toby.”

  “Come on, Crispo,” a voice shouted through the letter box. “Let me in, I’m starving. And the longer I’m out here, the less time there is for me to whoop you at Total Combat.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Pan, pressing his tiny head against the window.

  “That’s Toby from next door,” I said. “Tonight’s games night.”

  “Ooh, games night! That sounds fun,” said Pan, with a gleam in his eye.

  Games night is not fun. Games night is the opposite of fun. If you were to rank all the things to do in the entire universe in order of fun, this would be the end of that list:

  And yes, there are exactly 49,518 things to do in the entire universe. I know because I once got so bored during games night that I counted them all.

  My mum came up with games night after one of her yoga meditations. She felt sorry for our next-door neighbour Toby, who was always being left at home by his parents, who both have Mega-Important jobs in The City (wherever that is).

  The one thing to know about Toby is that he always gets what he wants.

  All the latest toys? Yep.

  A 97-inch television in his bedroom? Of course.

  His own credit card? He’s got five.

  Sure, I hear you say, but is he happy?

  Yes. Yes, he is. The best thing I can say about Toby is that he doesn’t go to the same school as me. He goes to the poshest, most expensive school in town. I’ve only ever seen it in brochures, but all the kids look just like Toby. Even some of the girls. Going there would be my worst nightmare.

  “Can I come?” asked Pan.

  I gave Pan a glance that said “Of course not, you’re a dragon!”, but he didn’t seem to understand, so I said, “Of course not, you’re a dragon!”

  Pan looked dejected.

  “Don’t be like that,” I said. “Trust me, Toby is the last person in the world you want to meet. Maybe once he’s gone we can play something, but until then, if you can just stay here… Please?”

  “All right,” said Pan. “I’m sure I’ll find something to do.”

  I began to close the door when a thought occurred to me. “And Pan?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “No flying!”

  “Thanks. I’ll try and smuggle some food up for you later.”

  “Oh, that’s OK,” said Pan. “I’m not hungry.”

  I closed the door and wondered to myself, what does a Mini-Dragon even eat?

  I knew exactly what a Toby ate: anything put in front of him. Toby had almost finished his dinner by the time I got downstairs. Mum and Dad were staring at him, fascinated, as if they were watching a nature documentary.

  “Oh, here he is – finally!” said Toby, spaghetti strands dripping from his mouth.

  How to describe what Toby looks like? Mum says it’s rude to use the word “fat”. She prefers the word “robust”. Toby is massively robust.

  “Your mum let me in, by the way. Probably would have died from hunger if I’d had to wait for you.”

  “Yeah, close one that…” Dad mumbled.

  Mum put a plate of spaghetti down in front of me. She leaned in and, glancing sideways at Toby, whispered in my ear, “He’s on his third helping. Any longer and I’m not sure I would have been able to keep it for you.”

  I smiled and tucked in. Toby and I didn’t agree on much, but Mum’s spaghetti being awesome was definitely one of the few things on the list.

  “So, Toby, will you be coming to Eric’s party next Saturday?” asked Mum.

  Please say no, please say no, please say no.

  “Thought I might swing by,” said Toby. “Help liven things up. You still getting that new Thunderbolt, Eric?”

  “As long as he keeps out of trouble,” said Dad.

  “Yeah, Mum bought me one of those last month,” yawned Toby. “But I said ‘One? What if that breaks? Then I’d have none.’ She saw sense and bought me another two just to be safe. Haven’t actually used any of them yet, though.”

  I noticed my mum frowning. “Well, Eric will definitely only be getting one. And that’s only if—”

  “I keep out of trouble,” I finished for her.

  “All right,” said Toby, shoving his plate aside. “Time for Eric’s weekly humiliation at Total Combat.”

  “Can I finish my dinner first?” I asked.

  Toby rolled his eyes as if I was the one being unreasonable, but reluctantly nodded.

  I was just wrapping the last strands of spaghetti around my fork when I saw it.

  A small scaly figure strolled casually past the kitchen door.

  I wolfed down the last forkful then bolted out of my chair just in time to see Pan’s tail disappearing into the sitting room.

  “Wow, someone’s in a hurry to lose tonight,” said Toby. “Hey, what’s that?”

  He was pointing at Pan.

  I froze.

  Funnily enough, so did Pan. He looked like a little dragon figurine as he sat on the end of the couch, facing the television.

  “Umm … a toy?” I said.

  “When did you get it?” he asked, looking at me suspiciously. Toby made it his business to know about every toy I had, so that he could get the same one or, preferably, something even better.

  “Actually, it’s Posy’s,” I fibbed.

  Toby didn’t look convinced. “Hardly seems like a toy for a two year old.”

  “It’s the only toy she has that she doesn’t eat,” I said.

&nb
sp; Toby considered this for a second then nodded. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Ugly little thing though, isn’t it? I prefer my dragons massive and with rocket launchers.”

  Pan remained still but I noticed that his expression had turned sour.

  “Maybe he’ll bring you luck,” laughed Toby, picking up his controller. “After last week, you could use it.”

  As long as Pan kept up the charade, I didn’t see the harm in him watching us play, so I grabbed my controller and sat down.

  As I mentioned before: games night is not fun. You might think because it involves video games it would be, but you’d be wrong. Playing against Toby is a chore. You don’t play to win, you play to lose. Otherwise you risk a repeat of last year’s infamous Soccer Stars Boxing Day incident where Toby went nuclear after I beat him 5–0. Even my dad considers it the worst football-related meltdown he’s ever seen.

  I’ve actually become quite good at making it look like I’m trying to win. It’s not just a case of pressing random buttons, you have to throw in a few special moves, block a few attacks, sell it like you care.

  After building up an eight-game losing streak, though, my mind had started to wander to thoughts of how Pan could have ended up on my couch watching me get digitally beaten up when he was supposed to be in Mexico.

  And then I saw that he wasn’t watching. Pan had vanished. Just as confusingly, I was no longer losing at the game. Not even close. I was destroying Toby. And I had no idea how, until I looked down and saw Pan in my lap, furiously tap-dancing across the buttons.

  Even though the score was still only 8–1, Toby went ballistic. He didn’t even notice Pan as he stormed out of the door screaming, “MRS CRISP! MRS CRISP! ERIC’S CHEATING AGAIN!”

  I looked down. Pan grinned back at me.

  “Did I mention,” he said, “that Mini-Dragons are excellent at video games?”

  Thankfully Mum hadn’t really believed Toby when he told her that I had cheated and, since he couldn’t prove it, the matter had been dropped. So I hadn’t got a second strike, which was good. Unfortunately the universe decided to punish me anyway, when the next day Mum announced that the back garden needed weeding before my birthday party next weekend. And guess who was nominated to do it?

  Bingo.

  So that’s why I was spending my Sunday trying to pull the toughest weed in the entire world out of the ground.

  “This is boring,” said Pan, who had sneaked outside to stretch his tail for a bit. He was sitting on an upturned plant pot, kicking his little legs aimlessly off the side. “Want to play video games instead? Or read comics? Or, well, anything that isn’t this?”

  “I’m not doing this because I enjoy it,” I said. “I’m doing it because if I don’t then my birthday party next Saturday won’t be happening. At least, that’s what Mum says. She might be bluffing, but it’s not worth the risk.”

  “Ooh, I love parties,” said Pan. “We had one for my last birthday, it was so much fun. We played all kinds of things, like Pass the Boulder, What’s that Rock?, Pin the Tail on the Dragon, Musical Stones, Duck Duck Dragon and Hot-Scotch. Will you be playing those games?”

  “Probably not those exact games, no,” I said.

  “Can I come?” he asked.

  I hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Pan.”

  “Why not?” he asked, looking a bit hurt.

  “Well … this might come as a surprise to you, but most people think dragons don’t exist.”

  Pan looked shocked. “Even Mini-Dragons?”

  I nodded. “Especially Mini-Dragons. They’d be … frightened.”

  Pan gave this some thought then said, “Well, I suppose I can look quite intimidating.”

  “Exactly,” I said. The truth was that I had watched enough movies to know that any time an alien or a magical creature makes friends with a kid, there’s always someone who tries to kidnap it for their mad experiments. I didn’t want to alarm Pan over this, but I thought it best if the number of people who knew about him was kept at one.

  But there might be another way.

  “What if you do that thing where you freeze,” I said. “Maybe I could keep you close by at the party and pretend you’re a toy or something.”

  Pan perked up a little at this. “That could work. Although I’ll have to practise at controlling it – it usually only happens when I’m scared— I mean, IN DANGER! It only happens when I’m in danger.”

  “So that’s why you froze when Toby was around, and when you first met me?” I said.

  “Mini-Dragons are excellent at detecting threats,” he said. “And I quickly realized you’re not one. Toby, on the other hand…”

  “You know, it might not be a good idea for you to be out here,” I said. “Someone might see you.”

  Pan looked up at our massive garden fence. “I think I’ll be OK. And I checked, your parents are inside—”

  “Eric!” shouted Mum.

  My heart almost popped out of my chest. Instinctively, I grabbed Pan and shoved him under an empty plant pot.

  “Jayden’s here,” said Mum.

  “Who’s Jayden?” asked the plant pot.

  “My best friend,” I whispered.

  “Hey, Eric,” said Jayden, pushing his sunglasses back. Jayden almost always wore shorts and T-shirts, even when it wasn’t ideal – like in winter. But they were perfect clothes for gardening.

  Jayden looked at me with suspicion. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” he asked.

  “Can’t believe you roped me into this,” grumbled Jayden. “Look at my hands, they’re gross.” I sprang back as he tried to prove his point by rubbing them in my hair.

  “Get off,” I laughed.

  “Still, a job well done, I’d say,” said Jayden, admiring a tiny patch of soil.

  “Um … you know we’re not finished, right?” I said, motioning towards the huge area of garden still to do.

  Jayden was stunned. “But we’ve been at this for hours!”

  “It’s been fifteen minutes.”

  Jayden let out a huge sigh and reluctantly reached for his trowel.

  Even with Jayden helping, things didn’t seem to be getting done much more quickly, but at least it wasn’t as boring. We had a good laugh about Toby trying to get me in trouble. I left out the part about the Mini-Dragon.

  Jayden shook his head. “I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again – that boy’s a nightmare. Hey, where do you want this?”

  I let out a gasp. Jayden had picked up the plant pot with Pan inside it.

  As he pointed it towards me, I could see Pan looking alarmed, his arms and legs pressed up against the side, to stop him from falling out.

  “What?” asked Jayden, noticing my expression.

  “Er … that’s where it goes!” I blurted out, pointing to where it had just been.

  “OK,” said Jayden. “Odd place to leave it, if you ask me, but whatever.”

  Jayden put the plant pot back and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  I also felt guilty for not telling him about Pan. He is my best friend after all. I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea or not. I would have to give it some thought.

  Mum made us some sandwiches for lunch and, after we’d finished, Jayden hurried home before I made him garden again. Feeling guilty about how long he had been hiding, I brought out a sandwich for Pan. When I lifted the plant pot I found him curled up at the bottom of it, asleep. I had to admit, he looked pretty cute.

  Then he belched.

  “Excuse me!” he said, rubbing his eyes.

  “You can come out now,” I said. “Jayden’s gone. Here, I brought you this – thought you might be hungry.”

  Pan shook his head. “No, thank you, I’m fine,” he said. “So Jayden, he’s your friend. Like Toby?”

  I burst out laughing. “No, not like Toby,” I said. “A friend is someone you actually enjoy spending time with.”

  “Ah…” said Pan. “Like me and you.”


  “Um, yeah, I guess,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed.

  “You guys laughed a lot,” noted Pan.

  “Jayden’s pretty funny,” I said.

  “Mini-Dragons are funny, too. Here, pull on this,” said Pan, holding out a claw. Without thinking I gave it a tug, at which point Pan let out a massive fart. At the same time a blast of fire left Pan’s mouth, lighting up the fart in a small but awesome ball of flame.

  I looked at Pan. Pan looked at me. Then we fell on to the grass laughing. “That was pretty funny, I’ll give you that,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye. “And your fire-breathing is definitely better than your flying.”

  I was about to request a repeat performance when I froze, like a Mini- Dragon sensing danger.

  There, standing in my garden, his jaw on the ground, was Toby.

  I stood there, staring at Toby. What had he seen? What had he heard? I hadn’t decided yet whether Jayden knowing about Pan was a good idea, but I had no doubt that Toby knowing was definitely bad.

  “I should have guessed!” said Toby, folding his arms.

  “Toby, I can explain!” I said. I looked around at Pan, who was in frozen mode, not that it would do us any good now.

  “Don’t waste your breath, Crispo,” he said, puffing out his chest. “I should have known that it wasn’t your sister’s dragon.”

  “Toby, listen—”

  “You just didn’t want me playing with your cool new toy,” he said.

  I opened my mouth to reply, then paused. Did Toby still think Pan was a toy?

  “You’re so selfish, Crispo. After all I do for you. I always let you look at my new stuff!”

  Wow, he really did think Pan was a toy.

  “I heard some muttering just before I came in,” said Toby. “So it talks, huh? That’s not so impressive, but the fire-breathing thing – even I have to admit, I’ve never seen that in an action toy before. Well, it looks like today’s your lucky day, Crispo!”