I am Still Not a Loser

by Jim Smith

  The sun was going down in the sky and from where I was sitting it was the same size as a Cola Flavour Not Bird. I held one of the sweets up against the sun and it glowed like a giant cola-flavoured star.

  ‘Screech!’ parked a car, missing my feet by a billimetre, and in its reflection I could see Bunky and Gordon Smugly talking and laughing.

  ‘Bunky! Salute!’ I shouted, holding up my glowing Not Bird.

  ‘Not now, Barry,’ said Bunky, and Gordon shook his head like a mum would about her annoying child.

  After the time it takes to watch about three episodes of Future Ratboy, me and Bunky left.

  ‘What in the world of unkeelness was that about?’ I said, happy to be getting away.

  ‘We’re having a sleepover round his on Friday night,’ said Bunky, flying a Cola Flavour Not Bird into his mouth.

  ‘Salute,’ I said, even though I wasn’t sure if I was invited.

  Unsuddenly it was Monday, which I haven’t got round to shortening yet, but when I do I’m thinking of calling it ‘M’.

  Bunky and me managed to dodge Mr Hodgepodge and Granny’s morning kiss, and getting a lift to school, which was good because I hadn’t been into Three Thumb Rita’s for a while and was worried she’d think I didn’t like her any more because of her third thumb.

  ‘Barry Loser, my number-one customer!’ she said as I came through the door playing it keel times ten. ‘I haven’t seen you for a few days.’

  ‘That’s cos he’s found a new favourite sweet!’ said Bunky, pulling out a packet of Feeko’s Cola Flavour Not Birds and holding it up to her face.

  ‘NOT!’ I said quickly, going over to the Thumb Sweets. I didn’t get my usual excited feeling looking at them, but I bought three packets anyway.

  I opened one and poked a thumb into my mouth. ‘Mmmmmm, I love the nail bit,’ I said, and I used my tongue to slot it into the hole where one of my teeth had fallen out the week before. ‘Look, I’ve got a thumb growing out of my gums!’ I said.

  ‘How’s your granny?’ said Rita, because they went to school together a million years ago. Granny has a photo of them when they were my age, but I don’t believe it’s real.

  ‘Wrinkly,’ I said, and Bunky snortled. After that we completely ran out of things to say, so me and Bunky left.

  I put the Thumb Sweets in my rucksack and ate Cola Flavour Not Birds for the whole morning at school, sneaking them into my mouth every time Mr Hodgepodge looked away, which was constantly, because he’s always staring at his photo of Granny Harumpadunk.

  Then it was lunchtime, even though I wasn’t hungry because I’d eaten nine million Not Birds.

  I didn’t have a packed lunch because my dad had forgotten to do the shopping, which had got him into trouble with my mum, so I joined the queue in the canteen with Bunky, who’s an expert at school dinners.

  ‘Make sure you get a good glass,’ said Bunky, taking one off the top of a stack and turning it upside down to look at the bottom. ‘Yes, a three!’ he said, holding it up to my face. I used my Future Ratboy super-rat-vision eyes to zoom in and saw the tiniest little three in the world, written on the bottom of the glass.

  I grabbed one and turned it upside down. ‘Ha, ha! Nine hundred and ninety-nine!’ I laughed, holding it up next to my face and smiling like I was in an advert for a scratched-up old glass.

  ‘Ooh, bad luck, Loser,’ said a smelly voice behind my shoulder and it echoed in the empty glass and went up my earhole and into my nose.

  Gordon Smugly had joined the queue and was reaching over me to grab a glass off the stack.

  ‘I don’t think he understands this game,’ I whispered into Bunky’s ear, and a bit of chewed-up Cola Flavour Not Bird flew into it.

  ‘Arrgh, thanks a lot, Barry,’ he said, but not as if he meant it.

  ‘Number one, naturally!’ said Gordon, holding his glass up, and from everybody’s jealous faces I realised that maybe nine hundred and ninety-nine wasn’t such a good number after all.

  ‘That means I get to choose who I sit next to,’ said Gordon once we’d got our food. ‘Bunky, would you care to join me?’

  ‘Who gets The Poo Chair?’ said Darren, farting and burping his way up to the table with his can of Fronkle and chips.

  ‘That would be our friend Mr Loser, I believe,’ said Gordon. ‘Unless someone got an even rubbisher number?’

  So that was how Bunky ended up sitting next to Gordon at the top of the table, with me at the end on the only chair that has a cushiony seat, which was actually quite comfy thank you very much indeed amen.

  What I didn’t realise about the cushiony chair is that it’s the oldest, most farted-into chair in the whole school, and that includes Mr Hodgepodge’s.

  At first I was quite enjoying sitting on it, and I did a little blowoff to celebrate, feeling it seep into the fabric.

  Then as I got more comfortable and the cushion bit heated up from my bum being on it, I noticed a disgusting smell seeping up from between my legs, and it wasn’t my blowoff.

  ‘Poooo-weeee, Barry, you’re getting more like your Grandpa Hodgepodge every day,’ said Anton Mildew, who was sitting two seats away from me with a gap in-between us. There’s always a gap next to Anton because of his invisible friend.

  ‘Ah, the cushion awakes!’ said Gordon, leaning forwards. He sliced a pea in half and pushed it on to his fork next to a Cola-Flavour-Not-Bird-sized piece of potato.

  He brought the mouthful up to the hole in the middle of his face and slotted it in, then changed his mind and took it out again.

  ‘Looks like The Poo Chair has found its rightful owner!’ he snortled to himself, and everyone else laughed, but not like they thought it was that funny.

  ‘Whaaat-evvvv,’ I said, which is LONG for ‘Whatev’.

  ‘You’re quite the one for shortening words, aren’t you, Barry?’ said Gordon, putting the food into his mouth and taking it out again.

  ‘What’s that, Gordo?’ I said, which is short for Gordon, and Anton Mildew did a snortle, nudging his invisible friend.

  ‘I wonder what BARRY’s short for. If HARRY is short for HAROLD . . .’ said Gordon, and he put the food back in his mouth and stopped, like when you pause someone ugly on a DVD.

  ‘It’s short for KEEL,’ I said, and I did a smile like I was in an advert for how keel I was.

  ‘I was thinking something more like BAROLD,’ said Gordon, and he bit the food off his fork. ‘Yes, Barold Loser. That suits you just fine,’ he said, and everyone at the table laughed, Bunky included.

  For the whole rest of the week, every time Mr Hodgepodge called me Barry, Gordon Smugly shouted, ‘Barold!’ and everyone laughed, Mr Hodgepodge included.

  Then it was Fri, which I’d sort of been dreading, seeing as I was sleeping over at Gordon’s, even though I wasn’t sure if I was invited.

  I felt like a bit of a loser, walking to his house after school behind Bunky, with my Future Ratboy sleeping bag and fully packed rucksack, which I’d hidden my cuddly Not Bird in.

  I’d made sure it was switched off, because I didn’t want it saying ‘NOT’ after everything everyone said, which is what it does when it’s turned on.

  Halfway down Gordon’s road, I spotted an empty packet of Cola Flavour Not Birds, sitting in the gutter like a plastic leaf.

  ‘Salute!’ I shouted to Bunky.

  ‘Could you perhaps stop making me salute things all the while?’ said Bunky, trying to sound like Gordon.

  ‘Sorr-rry,’ I said, doing a mini-twirl-salute to the packet and running to catch up.

  ‘I don’t think Gordon invited you by the way,’ said Bunky as he pressed the doorbell, and the noise of the buzzer made all the little hairs on my body stand up on end.

  ‘Oh no, not HIM,’ Gordon Smugly’s voice said from behind the door. He opened it and smiled at Bunky. ‘Do come in,’ he said, and we walked into his house, me last.

  Gordon’s house was so big that you could probably fit my whole one inside his kitchen.

/>   ‘Mama, Papa, this is Bunky, the one I told you about,’ said Gordon to his mum and dad, and I looked at Bunky to see if he wanted to do a snortle about the Mama-Papa bit but he was too busy smiling all smugly to notice.

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ said Mrs Smugly, who was rushing around getting ready to go out.

  She was wearing a necklace made out of wooden beads the size of mini scotch eggs.

  ‘Don’t forget to feed Spencer,’ said Mr Smugly, and I imagined Gordon spoon-feeding their butler, putting the food into his mouth and taking it out before he could take a bite. Then I saw a cat bowl with Spencer written on it.

  ‘We’re just next door if anything terrible happens,’ said Mrs Smugly, and she kissed Gordon on his horrible cheek, leaving a massive bright-red lipstick mark on it.

  ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!’ said Mr Smugly, and he kissed Gordon right where the lipstick mark was, which made his lips go red like he’d put make-up on for his night out.

  The front door slammed and Mr and Mrs Smugly were gone.

  ‘Can of Fronkle, Bunky?’ said Gordon, opening the fridge, which was completely full of all the keelest stuff, unlike mine, since my mum and dad were still arguing over whose turn it was to go shopping.

  He poured the can into a glass and got some ice cubes out of the freezer and plopped a couple into the drink.

  ‘Here you go, Bunky,’ he said, passing him the glass in front of my nose.

  ‘Can I have an ice cube?’ I said, because my mum always tells me to ask for water instead of Fronkle when I’m at someone’s house, and ice cubes are just frozen water.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Gordon, and he put them back in the freezer.

  ‘Where’s your toilet?’ I asked, because I needed a wee, but also to get away from Gordon for a bit.

  ‘Follow your nose,’ said Gordon, so I followed my nose, which found the toilet really easily, thank you very much amen.

  ‘You’re my friend, aren’t you, Noseypoos,’ I said into the bathroom mirror to cheer myself up, but it didn’t work because I could hear Gordon and Bunky outside the door, giggling.

  ‘Having fun with Noseypoos?’ said Gordon when I came out, but that wasn’t what bothered me. He had my rucksack, and it was open.

  ‘I can’t believe you brought THIS!’ said Bunky. He was holding my cuddly Not Bird up in one hand and the glass of Fronkle in the other. ‘Let’s turn it on,’ he said, and started fiddling around and spilling Fronkle all over it.

  ‘Give it back, Bunky,’ I said, and for a millisecond I saw him do his guilty face, then Gordon grabbed the Not Bird and turned it on.

  ‘Barry LOSER is keel,’ said Gordon, holding the Not Bird up to my face.

  ‘NOT!’ it screeched.

  ‘Barry Loser is keel!’ said Bunky, because he’s too stupid to think of anything himself.

  ‘NOT!’ screeched Not Bird again.

  ‘I invited Barry LOSER to my house,’ said Gordon, and him and Bunky joined in with Not Bird, shouting, ‘NNNNOOOOOOTTTTTTT!’

  I grabbed Not Bird and my rucksack and walked to the front door at Future Ratboy trying-not-to-cry speed and fiddled with the lock, trying to open it.

  ‘There’s a knack,’ said Gordon, and he reached over and opened it really easily. ‘I believe this is yours,’ he said, passing me my Future Ratboy sleeping bag.

  I tried to stuff it into my rucksack with my Not Bird and all my stupid Thumb Sweets, and the torch I’d packed in case we were going to have a midnight feast, but it wouldn’t fit, so I put it under my arm and walked home, with Noseypoos as my only friend.

  Because that day had been a Fri, the next one was a Sat, so I woke up half expecting to find Bunky sitting downstairs watching TV as per usual, even though I knew he would still be at Gordon’s.

  What I completely and utterly DIDN’T expect to find sitting in the living room was Bunky’s mum in her pink tracksuit and glow-in-the-dark yellow leg warmers.

  ‘Ooh, hello Barry, I thought you’d be out with Bunky and Gordon,’ she said, stretching her leg on the coffee table.

  ‘If you’re not doing anything you can help me with the shopping,’ my mum said, giving my dad an evil stare through the window. After that I watched from the garden with him as my mum and Mrs Bunky did their dance workout.

  They’d found a video on the internet of some woman in her front room dancing around and shouting like she thought she was an actual instructor.

  In one bit her cat walked into the room and she accidentally trod on it, which made me and my dad laugh, even though we weren’t really enjoying our Sats all that much.

  When Bunky’s mum had gone and my mum had had her cup of tea and a biscuit, we drove to Feeko’s Supermarket, which is probably the most boring sentence I’ve ever said.

  I didn’t enjoy Feeko’s this time, walking behind my mum, who has to go through the whole clothes department in slow motion before you even get to the actual shopping bit.

  ‘That’s nice isn’t it – two forty-nine,’ she was saying, holding up a clothes hanger with something boring hanging off it, when I looked through a gap in one of the shelves and saw a scene that made me feel like I’d smashed on to the floor like a bottle of dropped ketchup.

  Bunky and Gordon were at the Cola Flavour Not Birds display, filling up a whole basket with MY favourite sweets. Gordon said something that I couldn’t hear, then shouted ‘NOT!’ and Bunky cracked up and saluted him with his twirly-hand-salute.

  ‘Ooh look, it’s Bunky,’ said my mum, giving me a nudge, and I wondered if her and Bunky’s mum had had a chat about why we weren’t hanging out together, because there’d been a bit after their workout when they were talking all seriously and looking at me and my dad through the window.

  I ignored her and kept my eyes looking down for the whole rest of the shopping so that I wouldn’t see Bunky and Gordon, which was actually quite fun because they’ve started putting adverts on the floor in Feeko’s now.

  I was reading one for Feeko’s Noodles where the N and S had rubbed off so it just said ‘OODLE’, when I looked up and realised I was on my own.

  An old grandad was next to me, counting his coins to see if he had enough to buy a scotch egg. The coins were in a little old falling-apart brown envelope, and I would’ve felt a bit sorry for him if he hadn’t had what looked like a million disgusting, mouldy, half-sucked Thumb Sweets growing out of his face and hands.

  ‘MUUUUUUMMMMMM!’ I screamed, zigzagging down the aisles like a runaway trolley.

  I found her at the self-checkout machine, moaning about how long it was taking to beep everything through by herself, and I grabbed her leg warmer until I stopped shaking like a Feeko’s jelly, which I’d just seen an advert on the floor for, by the way.

  ‘You. Are. So. Un. Keel,’ said a smug, ugly robot voice, and Gordon Smugly glided past like a hoverpoo.

  ‘Hello, Barold,’ said Bunky, chewing on a Cola Flavour Not Bird and giggling.

  ‘What. Ev,’ I said in my self-checkout robot voice, and carried on hugging my mum’s leg.

  Annoyingly, my mum was doing HER self-checkout voice all the way home from Feeko’s, partly to try and cheer me up, but also because she’d picked up a leaflet for a competition to become The Voice of Feeko’s Self-Checkout Machine.

  ‘That’ll be two forty-nine,’ she said, pretending be a taxi driver as I got out of the car at home. Usually I’d do a fake laugh to keep her happy, but my Sat had been so rubbish that I didn’t even smile.

  I tried to get out of going to school on Monday morning by pretending I had Zeditis, which is an illness Future Ratboy had in an episode of Future Ratboy once.

  It’s where you snore actual Zs like people do in cartoons, and when you wake up your whole room is full of Zs and you can’t get out of bed.

  ‘I think it’s Zeditis,’ I croaked from under the duvet.

  ‘It’s either that or Gordon-Smuglyitis,’ said my mum, giving me a hug through the duvet, then whipping it off and tickling
me until I nearly weed myself with laughter.

  I was glad my mum made me go into school in the end, because I’d completely forgotten that Mr Hodgepodge had organised a trip to Mogden Museum.