For the next few days Gary avoided me. It wasn’t just him though. Everyone else did too.
I thought I’d hit rock bottom but I hadn’t, because things were about to get even worse.
Johnny Wilson had been organising an armwrestling competition at lunchtime behind the toilets, but I hadn’t gone because what was the point of trying to prove that my arm could push harder than someone else’s arm?
Besides, I wouldn’t have gone very well because I was pretty weak and had zero killer instinct.
But the main reason I didn’t want to go was because no one liked me anymore and I wouldn’t have been welcome.
Then, one recess, Johnny Wilson came up to me.
JOHNNY WILSON: Hey, Sam. You’re up at lunch.
SAM: Up what?
JOHNNY WILSON: Ha-dee-ha. You’re arm-wrestling.
SAM: Umm . . . thanks, but nah.
JOHNNY WILSON: Thanks, but yeah. You have to. It’s on the roster.
SAM: What roster?
JOHNNY WILSON: The roster I made. Anyway, you owe me, big time. It’s your fault I have to do extra maths after school. You’re lucky I kept my side of the bargain and stopped that guy who wanted to beat you up.
(JOHNNY WILSON STARES AT SAM)
SAM: (UNEASILY) What are you doing?
JOHNNY WILSON: Trying to work out whether to punch you.
SAM: Can I put in a vote for ‘no’?
JOHNNY WILSON: Whatever. You’re up today.
SAM: I really don’t want to arm-wrestle anyone.
JOHNNY WILSON: It’s better than the other option.
SAM: (SUSPICIOUSLY) What’s the other option?
JOHNNY WILSON: The organiser of the tournament beats you up.
SAM: You mean, if I don’t arm-wrestle in your tournament, you’re going to beat me up.
JOHNNY WILSON: (SMILES) Exactly.
SAM: You know that’s the same joke as before?
JOHNNY WILSON: (SHRUGS) So? I like it. Well?
SAM: (SIGHS) Who am I up against?
JOHNNY WILSON: Gary.
SAM: No way. Things are kinda weird between Gary and me at the moment.
JOHNNY WILSON: (FAKE SYMPATHETICALLY)
Really? What happened?
SAM: Well, I guess it started when . . .
JOHNNY WILSON: I don’t care. It’s you versus Gary. At lunch. And remember, if you don’t come, the guy who organises the tournament will . . .
SAM: It’s you! We both know it’s you! Just say it’s you!
At lunchtime I trudged down to the clearing behind the toilets. Almost everyone was there, apart from Mitzy Galafrinkus and Duncan Underwood, who now spent all his time staring at Swirly and being suspicious that people were trying to steal her.
There was a small table with two chairs opposite each other. Gary sat on one, and I sat on the other and everyone formed a circle around us. JOHNNY WILSON: (LOUDLY) Laaaadies and Gentlemen, welcome to the ‘Armed and Dangerous Arm-Wrestling Tournament’. Today we have Gary, The Kid Who Everyone Likes Now That He Has A Pool . . .
(EVERYONE CHEERS)
JOHNNY WILSON: . . . versus Sam, The Snivelling Teacher’s Pet.
(EVERYONE BOOS)
SAM: Can I have a different name?
JOHNNY WILSON: When I say ‘Go!’, Gary and Sam will arm-wrestle to the death! (PAUSE) Or at least until one of them pushes the other’s arm down to the table. If anyone lets go before that happens, they lose. Okay. Grab each other’s hands.
I had been avoiding looking at Gary, but as we clasped hands our eyes met. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. Like me, Gary was about as tough as melted ice-cream.
‘Go!’ shouted Johnny Wilson.
Everyone started barracking (for Gary) and shouting all this stuff I couldn’t hear properly.
RANDOM STUFF PEOPLE SHOUTED
‘Go!’
‘Smash ’im!’
‘Gar!’
‘Yam!’
(SOUNDED LIKE) ‘Violet crumble!’
(SOUNDED LIKE) ‘Google mash bones!’
Gary shouted, ‘You’re going down like a tomato in a lift!’, made a fierce face and pushed. Everyone cheered, but Gary’s ‘Fierce Face’ looked so silly I almost burst out laughing, and before I knew it he’d almost pushed my hand down to the table.
I didn’t want to be in the stupid armwrestling tournament, and I especially didn’t want to be in it against Gary, but now that I was, there was no way I was going to let him beat me, especially not after the ‘Not Invited Over For A Swim Incident’. Plus, winners got cheered, and I needed every boost to my popularity I could get.
With my arm just centimetres from the table and defeat, I summoned all my mighty strength (not actually that mighty, but then again I was versing Gary, not Thor) and pushed back. Gary had gravity on his side, but centimetre by centimetre, straining every muscle (actually, just the ones in my right arm), I inched (centimetred?) my way back until our arms were level, back in our starting position.
I stared at Gary, probably doing a bit of ‘Fierce Face’ myself, and I could see he was gone. His ‘Fierce Face’ had become ‘Panicking Wide Eyes’.
I pushed as hard as I could and started to force his hand down towards the table. About halfway down Gary fought back and stopped me, but I dug deep and shoved. Gary’s elbow twisted and his eyes widened. I could tell his arm was in an awkward position, and if I pushed down, he’d get hurt. But I’d also win.
(INSIDE SAM’S HEAD, GOOD SAM AND BAD SAM ARGUE)
BAD SAM: Push! Do it!
GOOD SAM: No. You’ll hurt him!
BAD SAM: So? He hurt you first.
GOOD SAM: No, he didn’t.
BAD SAM: Yes, he did. He hurt your feelings by not inviting you over for a swim, and that’s much worse than a sore arm.
GOOD SAM: But Gary’s your friend.
BAD SAM: Is he? He dumped you, remember. What sort of a friend does that? He deserves this. You need to do what’s good for you. If you win, it’ll make you more popular. Everyone loves a winner.
GOOD SAM: Are you sure?
BAD SAM: Definitely. Push his arm down and everyone will like you again. Come on, you big baby. It’s him or us.
GOOD SAM: But . . .
BAD SAM: You know I’m right, wimp boy.
GOOD SAM: But . . .
Bad Sam had won. One of us had to lose. Why shouldn’t it be Gary, especially given how he’d dumped me? My popularity had been destroyed by Miss Lee, so why shouldn’t I do what I could to get it back?
I’d had one loss after another. I’d lost Swirly, Amy, my popularity, and at home all Mum cared about was the baby. Now, I finally had a chance to win. A surge of energy burst out of me and I pushed down hard. Gary stared, panicking, and tried to let go, but I gripped his hand tight and slammed it onto the table.
Gary clutched his shoulder and screamed, but the sound was drowned out by everyone cheering. I got up and moved around the table to see if he was okay, but Johnny Wilson pulled me away and held my arm above my head.
JOHNNY WILSON: The winner! Snivelling Teacher’s Pet Sam!
(EVERYONE CHEERS)
It felt good when everyone cheered, but not as good as I thought it would. And then everyone stopped cheering and wandered off and I realised that winning the arm-wrestle wasn’t going to change anything. Tomorrow there’d be another arm-wrestle and someone else would win and everyone would forget me and cheer them, and then the next day it would be someone else.
GOOD SAM: You said everyone would like us if we beat Gary.
BAD SAM: They did like us . . . for about three seconds. I never said how long they’d like us for.
GOOD SAM: You’re bad.
BAD SAM: Yep. It’s in the name.
I went over to Gary, who was slowly getting up, holding his shoulder. I wanted to say sorry but before I could, he gave me a nasty look and stomped off.
If our friendship had been in trouble before, things were probably worse now.
24
&n
bsp; THE TRUTH HURTS
I couldn’t face class, not after I’d hurt my best friend, so I went to Sick Bay. I don’t know why they called it that because it’s actually just a bench in the corridor outside the front office with a bucket next to it in case you vomit. I guess ‘Sick Bay’ sounds a lot better than ‘A Bench In The Corridor Outside The Front Office With A Bucket Next To It In Case You Vomit’.
There wasn’t a nurse or anyone else to take care of you at ‘Sick Bay’/‘A Bench In The Corridor Outside The Front Office With A Bucket Next To It In Case You Vomit’. You just sat there until either your parents picked you up, or you died.
When Mum came to get me, I lied and told her I felt sick. I don’t lie to Mum often, and I’m usually pretty bad at it. For example, last weekend:
(MUM, DAD, ABBY AND SAM IN THE CAR)
MUM: Did you wash your face before we left like I asked, Samuel?
SAM: Yes, Mum.
MUM: Are you sure?
SAM: Yes. (PAUSE) So if there is any dirt on my face, then it must be dirt that got on after I washed it, because I washed it.
(FOR THE NEXT THREE MINUTES SAM STARES HARD AT THE BACK OF MUM’S SEAT AND SLOWLY TURNS RED)
SAM: Mum.
MUM: Yes, Samuel.
SAM: I actually didn’t wash my face.
MUM: Oh, Samuel!
I don’t know why I confessed. After I’d lied I felt all weird and dizzy and like everyone was staring at me, even though Mum and Dad were in the front and I was in the back. I guess I felt guilty and panicked.
SAM: (HEAD DOWN) Sorry, Mum.
MUM: I’m disappointed that you didn’t wash your face. But I’m even more disappointed that you lied to me.
SAM: Sorry, Mum. (PAUSE) But at least I told you the truth just now.
DAD: He did tell the truth just now.
MUM: I’m still disappointed.
(A MINUTE PASSES)
MUM: (SIGHS) But at least you told the truth just now. If you hadn’t told me the truth at all . . . well then I would have been even more disappointed.
SAM: (SLOWLY) But if I hadn’t told you the truth at all . . . then you wouldn’t have known I hadn’t washed my face, so you wouldn’t have been disappointed.
MUM: (SHAKES HEAD) Oh, Samuel. Honestly. If you don’t wash your face you’ll get blackheads.
SAM: Yeah, but I just meant that if . . .
DAD: Probably best to be quiet now, Sam. (TRIES TO CHANGE SUBJECT) Gosh, look at that interesting . . . tree.
When Mum picked me up from Sick Bay, I managed to convince her I was sick by holding my tummy and moaning a lot. Next morning, I didn’t want to go to school and have to deal with all the teacher’s-pet and friend-hurting stuff, so I cracked a sickie.
CRACKING A SICKIE TIP #1 – DON’T ACT LIKE YOU WANT A DAY OFF
Looking too eager to stay home makes parents suspicious. I had to make it seem like me staying home was Mum’s idea.
(SAM ARRIVES AT BREAKFAST)
SAM: Morning. (RUBS TUMMY AND LOOKS PAINED)
MUM: Are you all right? Are you still feeling sick?
SAM: I’m nearly better . . . it’s nothing.
MUM: Are you okay for school?
SAM: I’m fine.
(SAM SITS, PICKS UP GLASS OF ORANGE JUICE AND THEN DROPS IT)
SAM: Oh, no! So sorry, Mum. I’ll get a cloth.
(SAM GETS UP, THEN STOPS AND HOLDS THE CHAIR)
MUM: Samuel?
SAM: Sorry. Just a little dizzy. Where’s that cloth?
MUM: Are you sure you’re okay?
SAM: I’m fine. (STARTS WALKING TO THE KITCHEN THEN STAGGERS AND GRABS THE WALL) Whoa.
MUM: That’s it. You’re staying home.
SAM: But, Mum, I’ve got an important maths test today. It’s algebra. I can’t miss it. When I grow up I’m probably going to use algebra every day.
MUM: Darling, you’re not well.
SAM: But algebra’s important.
MUM: It’s not more important than your health, darling. Maybe we should go to the doctor?
SAM: (LOUDLY) No! I mean, I probably just need to lie down for a while. (UNDER HIS BREATH) Until you take Abby out. Then, hello Netflix and Milo.
MUM: I’ll be able to look after you properly because Abby and I are home all day too. And if you’re not feeling better in a couple of hours we’ll go to the doctor.
SAM: Yay! (UNDER HIS BREATH) Rats.
CRACKING A SICKIE TIP #2 – DON’T ACT SO SICK YOUR PARENTS TAKE YOU TO THE DOCTOR
Once I made the mistake of acting too sick, and Mum made me go to the doctor. Fooling a doctor is a lot harder than fooling Mum.
DOCTOR: Tell me about these dizzy spells.
SAM: Umm . . . I just get dizzy.
MUM: Samuel didn’t want to stay home. He wanted to go to school to do his spelling test. He’s very brave.
DOCTOR: I see. A spelling test. Hmmm. I better take a blood sample. I’ll get the needle. It’s a pretty big one. Is that okay?
SAM: I feel better! I can probably go to school now.
So I was home, free to spend all day feeling sorry for myself. I lay in bed, staring out the window at the wall I played tennis and cricket and tip against. The wall just stood there looking superior, and I knew exactly what it was thinking – that I was a stupid loser teacher’s pet who no one liked who’d just hurt his best friend.
SAM: Shut up, you stupid wall! It’s easy for you, just standing there all day. Why don’t you try living my life for a while and see how you like it?
(MUM ENTERS)
MUM: Samuel? Are you talking to the wall?
SAM: Oh . . . ahh . . .
MUM: Are you feeling any better?
SAM: Not really.
MUM: (SITS ON BED) There’s something the matter, isn’t there? You look like someone ran over your dog. (PUTS HER HAND TO HER MOUTH) Oh, Miriam, don’t say that. That’s mean to dogs. (LOOKS OVER HER SHOULDER) Do you think the neighbour’s dog heard? Dogs have very good hearing.
SAM: Yes, Mum. It can understand English and now it’s crying because you hurt its feelings.
MUM: Oh, you are funny. But you’re not happy, are you? Why don’t you tell Mum all about it?
I wanted to tell Mum that she didn’t have to call herself ‘Mum’ because I knew who she was, and it made me feel like a baby, but when I opened my mouth I found myself telling her about how I was unpopular again and Gary dumping me and how I hurt him. I was just about to tell her how it was all because I’d become the teacher’s pet, but before I could I suddenly started crying a bit, and then I was crying really hard and snot was dripping out my nose and I was doing that weird thing when you’re crying and you can’t breathe properly, so you suck in all these little uneven breaths.
Mum put her arm around me and told me everything was going to be all right. I knew there was no way that she could know that, but it still made me feel a bit better.
She got her handkerchief, held it over my nose and told me to blow. That was something she used to do when I was little, but she hadn’t done it for ages, and when she did, for some reason, it made me cry even more.
Then Mum did something really unusual. She stopped talking, and we just sat there for ages with her arms around me and eventually I stopped crying.
‘I just want to be popular again,’ I moaned.
‘You will be, darling,’ said Mum.
‘How? I haven’t got anything to make me popular.’
‘Yes, you have. You’ve got the best thing of all,’ said Mum, pulling me tighter.
‘What?’
‘Yourself. You’re the nicest boy in the world, and soon everyone will realise it.’
I knew that every Mum thinks their kid is the nicest one in the world but even so, it was good to hear her say it.
25
SQUIGGLES AND BLOBS
The next day I went back to school. I avoided Gary. In fact, I avoided everyone, and they made it easy to do by avoiding me too.
In class, Miss Lee was tea
ching us about abstract art. She said abstract art uses a visual language of shape, form, colour and lines to create art that didn’t reference real objects, but to me it just looked like a load of random squiggles and blobs.
Our homework was to create our own piece of abstract art and I knew Miss Lee would give me top marks for whatever rubbish I put in, because I was the teacher’s pet, and then everyone would hate me even more.
Then I remembered the last thing Mitzy had said to me: ‘If she thinks everything you do is perfect, then use that.’
That afternoon, when Abby was lying on a blanket in the living room, I put a piece of paper next to her, then rolled her onto her side so she was facing it. Then I got some baby food in a bowl and put it next to her.
Ten minutes later I rescued the piece of paper and this is what it looked like.
And that’s what I handed in to Miss Lee the next day.
Next day I got it back with this comment:
‘Wonderful work, Sam! I sense a questioning mind trying to make sense of a confusing world. Clever use of splotching and smudging techniques and everyday materials to create a raw, powerful piece. 10 out of 10!’
She’d fallen into my trap. At lunch, I waited until everyone had left.
SAM: Could I talk to you about my artwork, please?
MISS LEE: Certainly, Sam. I hope you do more of them. It was very expressive.
SAM: Thing is, I didn’t actually do it. I just let my baby sister drool and smear baby food over it.
MISS LEE: (SILENCE)
SAM: And you gave me ten out of ten.
MISS LEE: (SILENCE)
SAM: For a baby’s drool.
MISS LEE: Why did you hand in your sister’s work, Sam?
SAM: I wouldn’t call it ‘work’ exactly, but I did it because I wanted to prove that you give me good marks, no matter what I do.
Very Popular Me Page 7