My Brilliant Life and Other Disasters

by Catherine Wilkins

  “Oh, right, cool,” says Scarlett, as if drawing a line under the conversation.

  “Hey, draw something else,” Cassy asks her.

  “Sure thing,” says Scarlett, and she sketches a few more pictures, to general oohs and aahs from her captive audience. No one asks me to draw anything.

  “I get loads of my inspiration from the underground scene,” says Scarlett.

  And what exactly is the underground scene? I wonder. I’m guessing she doesn’t mean the tube map. But no one asks her a question that pushes that issue.

  Honestly, I think as we’re getting into our sleeping bags later on. First Amelia moves here and steals my best friend, and now her stupid cousin comes along and steals my whole identity. They might actually be the worst family in the world.

  I feel less aggrieved in the morning. I’m quite impressed with the power of sleep. I realise I still have everything I want. I have Natalie back, we’re doing the wildlife project together and I have my very own comic with its own audience. I don’t need the CAC half of GUF to like me as well. Scarlett can’t hurt me. I’ll probably never see her again.

  I’m supposed to be spending all of Sunday with Natalie, so I’m slightly disappointed when Amelia succeeds in convincing Nat to accompany her and Scarlett to the mall to show Scarlett all our town’s shops. This effectively means I’m trapped into spending more time with Scarlett, but at least I feel more able to rise above any jealousy now.

  Trudging around a mall with people I don’t really like as they witter on about what looks good and what looks, like, lame, is not my cup of tea, but I manage to zone out and think about what cartoons I would like to draw next for the comic.

  “They have some really lovely stuff in here, Jess.” Natalie’s voice snaps me back to attention in the accessories shop. Everyone is looking at bracelets, necklaces and hats.

  “Love this,” says Scarlett, trying on a funky, knitted hat. “This would go really well with my vintage Gucci belt.” She gestures at her waist.

  “I thought you said your belt was Prada?” I say, confused.

  “Did I?” says Scarlett absently.

  “Yeah, last night you said it was vintage Prada because it was your mum’s,” I confirm.

  “Oh, I think I must have meant another belt,” says Scarlett, unfazed, and she tries on another hat.

  But something strikes me as odd about that. If you were so pleased with your amazing designer belt, surely you wouldn’t just forget which brand of amazing designer-ness it was? I mean, surely that’s the whole point of spending insane money on an everyday item? It makes it special so you remember? It starts to make me think they’re not even designer at all. There’s something odd about Scarlett. (And she says OMG.)

  Nat puts a silver necklace with a star pendant round my neck. “This looks good on you, Jess,” she says.

  “I don’t need it,” I reply, glancing in the mirror. “I’ve already got the best friends necklace you gave me. I don’t need two necklaces.”

  “Oh, I have loads of necklaces,” responds Scarlett.

  “You can never have too many,” agrees Amelia.

  “You can have two necklaces,” says Nat. “Besides, it’s really pretty on you.”

  “The prettiest thing you can wear is a smile,” I reply sagely, quoting my Auntie Joan.

  Nat laughs. “The prettiest thing you can wear is a smile and this necklace,” she counters. “You should totally buy it.”

  I don’t have any money. There is no way I’m buying the necklace even if I am starting to slightly like it a bit. “Thanks, Nat, but I might think about it and come back if I still like it later,” I say and take it off, knowing full well I am never going to come back for it. My family are tightening our belts and I have to be immune to consumerism. Kind of.

  As we leave the shop (after the others have all bought some hair clips and bracelets) I hear someone shouting my nickname.

  “Oi-oi! It’s Toons!” I look round and see Michael, Joshua’s friend, with Joshua and some of the rest of the basketball team, loitering by a bench. Hey, what are they doing here? I grin.

  I still never know quite what to make of them. I always used to feel nervous of larger groups of boys, in case they shouted “Ooh, chess club” or other names at me. But since meeting these basketball boys through Joshua, after Tanya circulated my cartoons, they’ve always been really nice to me. Part of me still sometimes feels a bit nervous, none the less.

  “Do you know them?” whispers Scarlett.

  “Yes, well, Jess does really,” Nat whispers back.

  I wave back at them and they come over to us. Michael hi-fives me, and then (as if he didn’t mean to be quite this civil) he playfully shoves me away. I laugh and say, “Oi.”

  “Hello, hello,” says Joshua, smiling.

  “Hey, Joshua,” I reply.

  “Oh, so this is Josh,” says Scarlett. Joshua, I think crossly. Get his name right.

  “Who’s your friend?” asks Michael. “And what happened to her hands?” He gestures to Scarlett’s henna tattoos.

  “Oi, love, you’ve got pen on you. Did you know?” says someone called Damon. Some of the boys laugh.

  “Sorry, ignore them,” says Joshua. “Hi, I’m Joshua.”

  “Scarlett,” says Scarlett, extending her hand and shaking his. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Have you?” Joshua looks surprised and glances at me. That is a lie, I think, annoyed. She has heard one thing about him.

  “Yes. You like Spiderman, don’t you?” continues Scarlett. And that is the one thing, there.

  “Yeah!” says Joshua, looking slightly relieved. “I love Spiderman.”

  “Me too,” says Scarlett, giving Joshua what I might have to describe as a winning smile.

  “Really?” he says. “Peter Parker or Miles Morales?”

  “Oh, I like both, Josh,” says Scarlett.

  “Blimey, a girl who knows about Spiderman,” says Joshua, sounding annoyingly impressed.

  His name is not Josh, it’s Joshua! I want to shout. Where are the Ting Tings when you need them? That’s not his name! Scarlett can’t give Joshua a nickname before I do. She’s only just met him.

  “So what are you gents up to?” Scarlett just starts effortlessly chatting away to the boys, and soon Michael and Damon seem to have forgotten they found her hands so amusing, and are engrossed in conversation. Considering Scarlett is only eleven like us, she’s very confident.

  Joshua and I catch up about our weekends. It’s quite fun to hear about his basketball practice, and I tell him about my crazy auntie.

  “Sounds like she’d make a good sheep character,” he jokes.

  “Yeah,” I agree. Though truthfully, I’m not sure I’d dare. Just in case she ever found out. The wrath induced by a dropped crisp packet would be nothing compared to that.

  “Oh, Jess, before I forget, do you want to come to this comic convention thing with me?” asks Joshua. “Lewis was going to come, but now he can’t. It’s next Saturday. Should be a laugh, and my dad will drive us.”

  I sneak a glance at Scarlett. I can’t be sure but I might have seen a small flicker in her expression when Joshua mentioned the word comic. I don’t know if she can hear us. I don’t want her to hear us.

  “Yeah, cool, why not?” I say, trying not to get distracted. “I mean, I’ll have to check with my mum but I’m sure it will be fine.” This could be fun.

  “Great,” Joshua smiles. Then he starts chatting about his new idea for the next Roland comic strip. It sounds brilliant, but I kind of don’t want to talk about it too much in earshot of Scarlett.

  At the moment Joshua doesn’t know that Scarlett draws cartoons, and she doesn’t know he’s involved in the comic. And something is making me want to keep it that way.

  “Sounds really funny,” I say. “Let’s talk about it on Monday.”

  “Yeah, definitely talk about it on Monday,” agrees Joshua. “Have you had any more ideas for the comic?”
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br />   “What’s all this about a comic?” asks Scarlett, ending her conversation and butting into ours.

  Nooooo, I think helplessly as Joshua starts explaining. Scarlett declares herself very impressed, and predictably reveals that she also considers herself a cartoonist. Nooooo! I’m the cartoonist! I want to shout. Shut up, Scarlett. The position is filled.

  Joshua tells her about his Roland strip, and then starts describing how funny my Miss Price sheep cartoon was, till Scarlett says she doesn’t “get it”. So Joshua explains about Miss Price in French lessons, and then Scarlett says, “Oh, right,” and sort of half-laughs. “Maybe you had to be there,” she adds.

  “Other people think it’s funny,” I hear myself blurt out.

  “Oh, I’m sure they do,” says Scarlett, giving me a smile that I know is just for Joshua’s benefit, so he won’t see how vile she really is. “But, like, comedy is subjective, so don’t feel bad if you can’t please everyone. Like, I think Josh’s Roland strip sounds really funny, but I think your sheep sounds a bit lame. Sorreee!”

  WHAT? I’m momentarily blinded by rage, but I hold it together. “Uh, well, it made the front cover, so I think that speaks for itself,” I retort pompously.

  “Riiight.” Scarlett acts nonplussed, then she turns brightly to Joshua again. “So, anyway, if you ever want something fresh, let me know.” Nooooooo.

  “Sure, sounds good,” says Joshua. Double noooooooo.

  “Here, I’ll give you my card,” says Scarlett, handing Josh something. Scarlett has a card. Of course she does. Infinity noooooooo. Get off my turf, you witch! I want to scream.

  I’m just considering the various consequences of (a) starting to cry, (b) hitting Scarlett with a giant bat or (c) trying to create a distraction by shouting “Fire!” when Amelia unexpectedly comes to my aid.

  “Scarlett, babes, have you seen the time?” she says. “We should probably get moving soon.” Thank goodness Amelia still finds comics boring. Though, really, the damage has already been done.

  “Oh, yes, we should,” agrees Scarlett. “And I want to pop into Boots before we head back. I can’t be late for my dad or he’ll go all Dr Jekyll on me and turn into an angry nutcase.”

  “Oh, actually Dr Jekyll was the nice one,” I hear myself say.

  “What?” says Scarlett. Everyone looks at me.

  “Do you mean that book, The Strange Case Of Dr Jekyll And Mr Hyde? Cos Dr Jekyll was the nice one. When he drank the potion he turned into Mr Hyde, who was the monster.” I’m enjoying myself now and decide to elaborate. “I assume you were trying to liken your dad to a monster just then? Because, actually, you just called him an upstanding citizen.”

  Now who’s the ignoramus? In your face, Scarlett! I raise one eyebrow, just to underline my victory. I know I’m being petty but hey…

  Amelia looks as though she’s wondering how on earth I knew that, but doesn’t comment. To give credit where it’s due, I picked it up on one of Auntie Joan’s “educational trips”. One of the last times she visited she insisted on dragging Ryan and me to the library to stave off “brain rot” on our way to becoming “damn idiots”.

  Ryan was allowed to choose a children’s book but Joan insisted I pick mine from the “Classics” section as I was “getting older” now. I had protested but was ignored. In the end I chose The Strange Case Of Dr Jekyll And Mr Hyde because it looked the shortest. But I did end up reading it, and actually really enjoyed it.

  “Well, anyway,” says Scarlett dismissively, as if I have made some kind of weird faux pas rather than an insightful point. And we say goodbye to the boys and head off to Boots.

  As we look at some bath products that smell like foods, my insides are doing cartwheels of anger and confusion. I try and enjoy sniffing the strawberry soap, coconut shampoo, cherry shower gel and chocolate bubble bath, but all I can think about is that I might have found someone I hate more than Amelia and Harriet VanDerk put together.

  And then, as Amelia and Natalie marvel over how much the smell of the chocolate bubble bath is making them want a real chocolate bar, I see Scarlett slip one of the strawberry soaps into her bag. I’m too shocked to say anything.

  “Time to go,” she announces.

  We all leave and go home.

  I knew there was something wrong with Scarlett. She’s not just Amelia mark 2 with added drawing skills; she’s actually a criminal. I have witnessed a crime. I could go on Crimewatch.

  I am a witness! Like in that film Witness. Sure, it was just a tiny soap and the odds are I wouldn’t get a new identity or go into witness protection because of it, but taking it was against the law and Scarlett is therefore a villainous delinquent.

  I can’t wait to tell everyone. Except … maybe the time to do that was at the mall? She could easily hide the evidence now. But then, is my not coming forward further perverting the course of justice? Or maybe I should keep it under my hat for now, but then if Scarlett gets any more annoying I can bust out what a petty thief she is?

  What is that noise? I’m taken out of my reverie by some high-pitched notes. It sounds eerily like “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, but played on a xylophone or something. Honestly, it’s bad enough having Scarlett distracting me from working on the wildlife project without a strange noise coming from outside as well.

  I go over to my window and look out. Ryan is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the front garden playing his xylophone (so it is indeed a xylophone). There’s an upside-down cap in front of him. Oh my God, he’s busking! He’s busking in our front garden. He’s even put some loose change in the hat.

  “Thank you, thank you very much!” he calls out to no one in particular, finishing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”. “Roll up! Roll up!” he shouts, and then launches into “Three Blind Mice”. This is unbelievable. I can’t help but admire him, though I’m pretty sure the repetitive nature of this high-pitched noise is going to get annoying pretty soon.

  Sure enough, as I’m watching, a front door opens. “Hello there, young man,” says Mr VanDerk. “What’s all this noise you’re making on a Sunday?” Typical VanDerk reaction; it’s hardly loads of noise. And their kids are always practising piano that we can hear through the walls and we don’t complain. To their faces.

  “Hello!” says Ryan jovially. “I’m busking for money to buy Kit Kats. Would you like to pay me?”

  “I’ll pay you to stop!” says Mr VanDerk, and then chortles at his own joke.

  I’m thinking of running downstairs to prevent Mr VanDerk doing irreparable damage to Ryan’s self-esteem when our front door opens and my mum’s voice joins the mix.

  “What is going on here?”

  “Hi, Mummy. I’m busking for money so we can afford to buy Kit Kats again,” explains Ryan helpfully.

  I can well imagine my mum’s mortification at these words being spoken in front of a VanDerk. My parents like to pretend that everything is brilliant to the VanDerks, and this will have directly derailed their careful lies about how successful we are.

  “Don’t be silly, darling,” says my mum. “Come inside, please.”

  But Mr VanDerk doesn’t miss his opportunity to gloat. “Oh dear,” he says. “They often overhear things they shouldn’t, don’t they?”

  “But, Mummy, I’m busking!” Ryan sounds bewildered at being moved on.

  “Inside now,” says my mum tersely. Ryan huffily gets up and takes his things inside.

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure things will pick up,” simpers Mr VanDerk.

  “Well, I’d love to stay and chat but I must get back inside,” my mum replies.

  The front door closes but this is only the start of the incident.

  “What do you mean, he was busking outside?” I hear my dad say. Then everything gets muffled. I go towards my door to hear better.

  “But, Daddy, I did listen. It’s not dangerous in the front garden,” I hear Ryan explain.

  “This is your doing, Joan!” my mum accuses my aunt.

  “I don’t
see what the problem is,” replies Joan. “It’s great he’s trying to make something of himself.Better than watching TV.”

  “He’s not trying to make something of himself!” My mum’s voice is getting louder. “He’s embarrassing our family in front of the neighbours. I don’t want the whole street knowing our business!”

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” retorts Joan, whose voice is also rising. “If your neighbours are that small-minded, that’s their problem!”

  “Joan, we have to live with these people!” replies my mum, sounding outraged.

  “Calm down,” says my dad, trying to soothe them both. “Let’s keep our voices down. How about some tea? I’ll put the kettle on.”

  My dad’s noble attempt to mollify the situation seems, in fact, to be what finally ignites the fuse and sets off the explosion. Yikes.

  If this was a cartoon, Ryan’s busking would be a trail of gunpowder; my aunt and my mum reacting would be a cellar full of dynamite; and my dad telling them to calm down would be a lit match landing on the gunpowder which just so happens to lead to the cellar full of dynamite.

  There is a tap at my door. I open it to find Ryan standing there looking confused and upset.

  “Lego pirates?” I suggest, and he nods gratefully, disappearing into his room to retrieve his pirate ship and base camp.

  I don’t know when it started, but there’s something weirdly comforting about playing Lego pirates with Ryan. It’s like the outside world might change and be crazy, but there’ll always be Lego pirates.

  When I was feeling upset last term because of Natalie, it was really quite fun to just forget about all that and play a simple game of Lego pirates with Ryan. Plus it led to some ideas I wouldn’t otherwise have had. The least I can do is return the favour when it’s Ryan in the doghouse.