Very Popular Me

by James O'Loghlin

  Unfortunately, he thought it’d be wrong for him to actually write the words, so instead he dictated them to me.

  The next day I handed it in and Dad got an A+. I was really proud of him. Miss Lee even got me to stand up while she told the whole class how great ‘my’ project was.

  ‘Sam clearly has a great love of learning,’ she said. ‘I hope you can all follow his example.’

  At home, Mum (who didn’t know Dad had done all the work) was really proud of me.

  ‘An A+!’ she said. ‘Oh, Samuel, well done.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ I said, which was true.

  I knew what was coming next.

  ‘It’s so good you’re doing well at school,’ said Mum.

  Any second now.

  ‘If you work hard you might follow in my footsteps! Did you know I came top of my year?’

  ‘You have mentioned it before, Mum.’

  Mum had told me about 100 times.

  ‘Oh. Are you sure?’

  I wondered how Mum had been able to do so well at school when she had such a bad memory.

  9

  WHERE’S THE ZEBRA?

  Next morning, Miss Lee made us write a short story about a zebra and then asked some kids to read them out. Duncan Underwood, maths whiz, went first.

  DUNCAN UNDERWOOD: Once there was a zebra who liked maths. These are some of the maths problems he did. 546 x 126. He found out the answer was 68,796.

  212 x 789. He found out the answer was 167,268.

  675 . . .

  MISS LEE: Duncan. Is the rest of your story just maths problems?

  DUNCAN: Yes, miss. That’s what the zebra liked doing.

  MISS LEE: Well, that’s not really a story, is it?

  DUNCAN. But he likes maths, miss.

  MISS LEE: Oh . . . kay. Julia, let’s hear your story.

  JULIA DICARLO: Once there was a girl who went to Westfield and bought three dresses and four pairs of shoes and some eyeliner and had a Boost and then bought two more dresses and . . .

  MISS LEE: Is there a zebra in this story?

  JULIA DICARLO: Yes, miss. I’ll get to it.

  MISS LEE: Go on.

  JULIA DICARLO: And she bought a bracelet and a new phone case and a t-shirt with glittery gold letters that said ‘COOL’ and a fudge brownie and then she went home. (PAUSE) And she had a pet zebra. The end.

  MISS LEE: (SIGHS) Okay. Johnny.

  JOHNNY WILSON: I love zebras because once I killed one and cooked it and ate it and it tasted like steak. Yum. I love zebras. (JOHNNY SMIRKS)

  MISS LEE: (STARES AT THE FLOOR, TAKES A SLOW DEEP BREATH) Right. Sam?

  SAM: Zeke the zebra was scared. He could smell the lions on the wind, and he knew they were coming for him. He turned and . . .

  My story wasn’t anything special. It was just about this zebra escaping some lions by making friends with some elephants, who formed a circle around him to protect him. But for some reason Miss Lee loved it.

  MISS LEE: Oh, Sam, that was wonderful. You’re a born writer. Everyone, try to make your stories more like Sam’s.

  Everyone stared at me like they’d caught me farting in their drink bottle.

  The next day Miss Lee asked for a volunteer to go to Miss Durnam’s class to get some worksheets and, as usual, everyone put their hand up. It wasn’t that we wanted to help. We just wanted to get out of class for a bit.

  MISS LEE: Sam. You go.

  The day after that we were supposed to be doing maths but everyone, including me, was talking until eventually . . .

  MISS LEE: RIGHT, THAT’S IT! YOU’VE ALL BEEN PLAYING UP ALL MORNING AND DONE NO WORK. EVERYONE CAN STAY IN AT LUNCH! (EVERYONE GROANS)

  MISS LEE: Except you, Sam. You were being good, so you can go to lunch early.

  As I walked out of class with my lunch, I could feel everyone hating me. Then I heard the dreaded words.

  JOHNNY WILSON: (WHISPERS) Teacher’s pet.

  I went cold inside. No! Surely not. I wasn’t Miss Lee’s favourite, was I? If I was, it could be a disaster. People talked to me now. I had friends. I joined in games. And my popularity was heading even higher because I had a girlfriend and the school’s coolest marble. Being the teacher’s pet could wreck everything. No one liked the teacher’s pet.

  Outside, the only other kid in the playground was Mitzy Galafrinkus, who must have got an early mark too. Whatever class she was in, she cleaned the board, gave the teacher muffins and stayed back to tidy up the classroom.

  Teachers loved her, but no one else did. She had zero friends.

  And if I didn’t un-pet myself fast, I could become just like her.

  10

  LOSING MY MARBLES

  As well as worrying about becoming the teacher’s pet, being a marble celebrity wasn’t turning out to be as great as I’d hoped. Everyone wanted to play me for Swirly all the time, but if I played for her I might lose her, and I COULDN’T lose her because:

  Then I wouldn’t be a marble celebrity anymore. And;

  I loved Swirly.

  Like, I really loved her, maybe a bit too much, like a four-year-old who loves their favourite stuffed bear, and when they lose it they completely flip out and won’t stop screaming. I loved Swirly so much that I’d started putting up my hand to go to the toilet even when I didn’t need to, just so I could lock myself in a cubicle and stare into her deep, mysterious swirls.

  (IN THE PLAYGROUND AT LUNCHTIME. SAM IS STARING AT HiS MARBLE. GARY APPROACHES.)

  GARY: Sam.

  SAM: (HOLDS MARBLE TO HIS CHEST SUSPICIOUSLY) What? I’m not playing you for her, okay.

  GARY: Yeah, about that. Sam, remember how you and I didn’t used to have any friends?

  SAM: Yeah? So?

  GARY: And now we do. But you’re spending more and more time sitting on your own staring at your marble.

  SAM: Only because she’s nice to look at. It’s no big deal.

  GARY: Can’t you see what’s happening?

  SAM: Nothing’s happening.

  GARY: (SIGH) Okay, let’s try this. Hey, Sam, it’s really hot today and a few kids are coming over to my place for a swim after school. Wanna come?

  SAM: Ah, I would but I gotta do something.

  GARY: What’s that?

  SAM: What’s what?

  GARY: What is it that you’ve got to do?

  SAM: Oh, just, umm . . . something.

  GARY: What, Sam?

  SAM: Just have to . . . go home and stare at my marble.

  GARY: You mean, like you’re doing now.

  SAM: No, I’m not staring at my marble now, Gary, because I have to talk to you! I want to stare at my marble, but I can’t, because if I take my eyes off you, you might grab her, or look at her, and you can’t do that. No one can look at her! Except me. (PAUSE)

  GARY: Sam, that marble’s taking over your life. You’ve got to get rid of it.

  SAM: No! Never. I can’t!

  GARY: (SIGHS) Okay, fine.

  SAM: (RELIEVED) Thanks, buddy. I’ll come for a swim another time. After I’ve done my staring.

  GARY: But if you keep ignoring everyone, soon you won’t have any friends again.

  That night I lay in bed thinking about what Gary had said. Deep down, I knew he was right. If I wanted to stay popular, I couldn’t spend all my time staring at a marble. No one likes an obsessed marble freak. The next morning before school, I walked to the marble fields I’d been avoiding for the past week.

  As soon as the other kids saw me a hush fell over the field. Then they all rushed towards me, shouting out their offers. I just said ‘yes’ to the first one. It was Duncan Underwood and it was a pretty good offer.

  DUNCAN UNDERWOOD: Play me for Swirly and I’ll give you three Tom Boulders, four Clearies and two cans of Fanta IF YOU LOSE! I’ll give you all that IF YOU LOSE! Please! And if you win, you can have my whole marble collection, my new trainers, my sister’s computer and my dog.

  SAM: Fine. But you can keep the dog. We’re getting a b
aby instead.

  DUNCAN UNDERWOOD: (WITH INTENSE GLEAM IN HIS EYE) Yes!

  Everyone crowded around to watch us play. I wouldn’t exactly say I let Duncan win, but I didn’t try that hard and he beat me.

  After the game everyone formed a circle around us. It was hard to hand over Swirly, but I knew it was the right thing to do.

  SAM: (SIGHS. TO SWIRLY) Goodbye, my beautiful, dangerous friend.

  As I gave Swirly to Duncan, I could feel everyone’s attention shift from me to him. From now on it would be Duncan who got all the marble attention, not me.

  SAM: Just be careful, Duncan. I found that I started to become . . .

  DUNCAN: (SNATCHES SWIRLY AND STARES AT HER) My precious. At last!

  SAM: Like I was saying, it . . .

  DUNCAN: (CLUTCHES SWIRLY TO HIS CHEST) Get away from me! It’s mine now! All mine! (STROKES SWIRLY)

  (SAM SLOWLY TRUDGES AWAY, HEAD DOWN, AS KIDS CROWD AROUND DUNCAN, SHOUTING OUT OFFERS TO PLAY. GARY APPROACHES SAM.)

  GARY: You did the right thing.

  SAM: Maybe. But when I had her, everyone liked me.

  GARY: Did they?

  SAM: (FROWNS) Yeah. I was king of the marble field. They loved me.

  GARY: Right. That’s why they’re all here now, making sure you’re okay.

  I looked at everyone crowding around Duncan, and realised Gary was right. Everyone wanted Swirly, so when I had her, they had acted like they liked me. Now that Duncan had her, they were going to act like they liked him.

  When I handed Swirly to Duncan, I’d thought that everyone’s attention had transferred from me to him, but I was wrong. Their attention stayed exactly where it had always been. On the marble.

  11

  PONIES AND CLIMATE CHANGE

  For the next few days I found myself putting my hand in my pocket, searching for Swirly, and avoiding the marble field. Slowly, however, the cravings decreased, and soon, I’d almost forgotten her.

  Besides, I had Amy now. I didn’t have room for two women in my life. Okay, Swirly wasn’t actually a woman, she was a marble, I understood that, of course I did but . . . you know what I mean.

  Amy had said that part of the reason she’d picked me was because of my marble, so now that it was gone, I had to make even more sure I was a good boyfriend, or else she might replace me.

  So what would a good boyfriend do? They’d probably call their girlfriend on the weekend. It wasn’t as good as going for a long walk along the beach, but it was a lot easier. And if Amy was going to be my girlfriend, I had to get to know her better. I didn’t even know what her favourite colour was!

  Mum had a contact list for all the kids in my class on the fridge so that every second afternoon she could pretend to notice it and say, ‘Oh, look, Samuel. There’s that list of all the telephone numbers of everyone in your class. Maybe you should invite someone over for a play? Shall we do that? Invite someone over for a play? Hmm?’

  I found Amy’s landline and picked up the phone. But then I got scared – what if I couldn’t think of anything to say?

  I decided to make a list of conversation topics.

  CONVERSATION TOPICS FOR PHONE CALL #1 WITH AMY

  Who’s better – Spiderman or Batman?

  Spiderman, obviously, because he has superpowers, whereas Batman’s just a rich guy in a cape. But Amy might have a different opinion, and we might be able to have an ‘Interesting Discussion’ about it.

  But was Amy even interested in superheroes? Maybe she was interested in Wonder Woman. What did I know about Wonder Woman? She had a magic something. Earring? Hairband? Lasso! That was it. Maybe I could start with: ‘Hey wouldn’t it be cool to have a magic lasso like Wonder Woman?’

  Lame.

  Forget superheroes. Instead, I made a list of things I thought girls my age might be interested in, but I was just kind of guessing from stuff I’d seen on TV or at the movies.

  CONVERSATION TOPICS FOR PHONE CALL #1 WITH AMY

  Who’s better – Spiderman or Batman?

  What do you think of Wonder Woman’s magic earring/hairband/ lasso?

  Ponies. Awesome or overrated?

  Shopping for clothes. Why can’t parents just give us money and let us do it ourselves?

  And why can’t they stop nagging us about leaving lights on?

  How can we save the world from climate change and other stuff?

  I put the last one in because I wanted Amy to think that, sure, I was funny and entertaining, but I also had a serious side.

  I looked over my list, took a deep breath and dialled.

  FEMALE VOICE: Hello?

  SAM: HellolwaswonderingifIcouldspeaktoAmyplease.Ot’sSamhere.

  FEMALE VOICE: Can you slow down? I can’t understand a word you’re saying.

  SAM: Sorry. (TAKES BIG BREATH) Can I speak to Amy, please? It’s Sam.

  FEMALE VOICE: I’ll get her. (OFF) Amy. Phone. It’s a nervous boy with a high-pitched voice.

  AMY: Hello?

  SAM: (TRIES TO MAKE VOICE DEEP AND COOL) Hey, Aim.

  AMY: It’s Amy. Not Aim. Who’s this?

  SAM: Sam.

  AMY: Sam?

  SAM: From school.

  AMY: (SUSPICIOUSLY) What do you want?

  SAM: (LOOKS AT HIS LIST) So . . . umm . . . Ponies. Awesome or overrated?

  AMY: What?

  SAM: Ponies. What do you think? And shopping for clothes. What’s with parents always coming with us? Wouldn’t it be better if they just gave us the money and dropped us off at the shops?

  AMY: I . . . guess . . .

  SAM: But I also think climate change is a serious issue and we need to take action.

  AMY: Why did you call me?

  SAM: You know. Just to chat because . . .

  AMY: Because what?

  SAM: Because . . . (DEEP BREATH) you’re my girlfriend. (LONG SILENCE)

  AMY: That’s really just a school thing. So everyone will think I’m cool.

  SAM: (PAUSE) Oh.

  AMY: I thought you got that. (OFF, WHISPERING) Mum, can you call me?

  FEMALE VOICE: (OFF) What?

  AMY: (OFF, WHISPERING) Just call me!

  FEMALE VOICE: (OFF) Oh! Right. Umm . . .

  Amy! Can you help me . . . umm . . . move the . . . cupboard?

  AMY: Sure, Mum. Sorry. Gotta go. (HANGS UP)

  SAM: Wait! What’s your favourite colour?

  It hadn’t gone go as well as I’d hoped, but at least we’d talked and I’d managed to mention climate change. It was bound to be awkward at first. Things would get easier once we knew each other’s favourite colour.

  12

  WHAT AM I?

  In every kid’s life there are big steps on the road to independence. Being able to cut up your own food with a knife and fork is a big step, riding your bike to school for the first time is another, and of course you can’t really live your own life until you can tie your shoelaces.

  And then there’s babysitters. Why do they even call them that? If all they did was sit, they wouldn’t be much use.

  SMALL CHILD: Want milky.

  BABYSITTER: I’m sorry, small child, but I can’t get you milk. You see, I’m a babysitter. I sit. What you need is a baby-milk-getter.

  (SATURDAY EVENING 7.00 PM. LIVING ROOM.)

  MUM: Are you ready for the babysitter, Samuel? Your father’s taking me out to a lovely restaurant. It’s our last chance before the baby comes. I’m sooo excited. We’re going on a date!

  SAM: Can you not call it a date? It sounds gross. You’re my parents.

  MUM: But it is a date. Your father’s wearing his best trousers! I want to dress up too, but I’m too fat to fit it into any of my dresses.

  SAM: Mum, you’re not fat. You’re pregnant.

  MUM: Thank you, darling. That’s sweet.

  SAM: It’s just a fact.

  MUM: (SUDDENLY ALARMED) But what if we run out of things to talk about at dinner?

  SAM: You never run out of things to talk about, Mum.


  MUM: Aww. What a nice thing to say.

  SAM: (UNDER HIS BREATH) Was it? (ALOUD) If you get stuck, just talk about climate change. Let him see your serious side.

  MUM: (THOUGHTFULLY) What a good idea. Now, the babysitter’s name is . . .

  SAM: Mum. I’m twelve. I don’t need a babysitter. I’m not a baby, and I don’t need anyone to sit on me.

  MUM: Oh, you’re so funny. But of course you need a babysitter. You’re just a little boy.

  SAM: I’m not a little boy. I’ll be able to drive a car soon.

  MUM: In five years.

  SAM: Like I said. Soon . . . ish. Can you cancel the babysitter? Please. I’ll be fine.

  Mum stared at me and for a moment I thought she was going to agree.

  MUM: (AGITATED) I’m about to have a baby, Samuel. I can’t deal with any more changes at the moment. You’re still little! (SHE TAKES A DEEP BREATH AND PUTS ON A CHEERY FRONT) Besides, it’ll be fun with the babysitter. You can show her how you look after your doll. You are practising with it, aren’t you? For when the baby comes?

  SAM: (SOFTLY) No, because the doll’s stupid.

  MUM: Pardon?

  SAM: Yes, Mum.

  Mum went off to get ready while I sulked on the couch. I was sick of her treating me like I was a kid, because I wasn’t one anymore. I was a . . . a . . .

  What was I?

  Teenager? Not yet.

  Young adult? Nope.

  Pre-teen? Stupid name.

  Tween? Yuck!

  Post-tween? Is that even a thing?

  Adolescent? No idea what that means, t Old kid?

  Middle-aged child?

  Wheelbarrow?

  I knew I wasn’t a wheelbarrow. But what was I?

  This babysitter hardly looked up from her phone, so I retreated to my room and tried to work out how I could stop Miss Lee making me the teacher’s pet, because if she kept doing it my popularity was going to be as dead as a decapitated daffodil.

  Miss Lee thought I was nice because I’d helped her on her first day. Then Dad’s train project convinced her I was a good student (that plan backfired), and that was enough. It was like a maths equation: