“So proud!” beams Tammy. “It’s funny and it’s helped raise awareness of the issues. Result!”
This is so weird. My family’s never been proud of me before. Weary, yes. Uncomfortable, sure. Apologetic, of course. But proud is a whole new thing.
I mean, they’ve said they were proud in the past. But then they had to say that, didn’t they? It would be mean to tell your nine-year-old that the choice of green icing made their fairy cakes look like lumps of slime, and that’s why they sold badly at the cake sale for the old people’s home. Instead, you sort of have to say that they were “so perfect” no one wanted to “spoil them by eating them”, and that you’re very proud of said nine-year-old. (I am the nine-year-old in this scenario.)
I’ve come a long way since my green-cake fiasco. This time it’s like they really mean it. And even if they didn’t mean it, a whole bunch of strangers do. I am an Internet-endorsed satirist!
“Oh, hi, guys!” I address Natalie and Amelia casually in class the next morning.
“You sound happy,” observes Nat.
“Meee?” I’m very bad at hiding my glee, to be fair.
“Yes, you.” Nat raises an inquisitive eyebrow at me.
“Well, it’s like you said the other day in McDonald’s,” I say. “The sky is blue and we’ve got our whole lives ahead of us.”
“And?” prompts Amelia. “So?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say evasively, running my finger around my desk. “Just a little thing I like to call massive, unbelievable success in my chosen career!” I drop the blasé act and almost end up garbling that last bit as I’m so excited.
“What? What’s happened?” Nat looks pleased but confused.
I quickly pull out a printed screenshot of my cartoon on the home page of Newsworth. I thought it would be easier to bring that in rather than try and load the page on my phone. And it would be embarrassing if I’d already been replaced by a dog dressed as a spider or a sneezing panda or something.
“What’s all this then?” asks Amelia.
I explain, in quite a lot of detail, about how my satirical cartoon has become an Internet sensation. I’m looking forward to pointing out that perhaps drawing cartoons can be a worthy legacy after all while not actually rubbing their faces in it or anything. I can be very gracious like that.
“That’s really cool, Jess!” cries Nat.
“I know!” I squeal. “Isn’t it? I’m so excited. I still can’t believe it.”
“I thought you’d got a scholarship somewhere, or something,” says Amelia.
“What?” I say surprised.
“I mean, when you said something about a career—” She clocks my face and quickly says, “No but this is good too! That’s great you drew a thing and posted it to a website.”
“I didn’t just … that’s not what––”
“You are so good at drawing dolphins!” interrupts Nat, as if to appease me.
“It’s not just the dolphins, it’s the whole thing,” I say. Haven’t they been listening? Don’t they get that it’s satire? “And I didn’t upload it, my sister did. It’s part of a campaign. Other people – strangers – voted it the number-one thing on that website. Thousands of people like it!”
“All right, all right, we’ll let you put drawing cartoons as your legacy,” says Amelia, chuckling and shaking her head. As if that’s what this whole thing has been about. When really, that’s at least only half of what it’s been about.
“Look, I didn’t do this for my stupid legacy!” I say crossly.
“All right, don’t have drawing cartoons then,” says Amelia.
“No, look.” (How has this gone so badly?) “I’ll take cartoons as my legacy.” (If you don’t mind, thank you very much.) “But I didn’t make thousands of people like my cartoon just to impress you. It just happened and I think that’s cool.”
“We do too, Jess,” says Nat, smiling.
“Yes, it’s cool,” says Amelia. Unconvincingly.
Honestly. What’s wrong with these people? I mean, to be fair, Natalie seems suitably impressed. But Amelia is a bit of a killjoy. I suppose she’s never really seen the point of drawing cartoons though.
At least Joshua and Tanya will be pleased for me. They’ll understand the significance. They’ll appreciate that I am a genius of gigantic proportions who is setting the Internet ON FIRE.
“Oh my God! That’s amazing!” exclaims Joshua.
See?
“Brilliant!” agrees Tanya. “That’s epic, Toons!”
I knew it. Proper reactions.
“High five!” says Joshua. He high-fives me.
“Thanks,” I reply, unable to stop grinning.
“Blimey,” says Lewis more sedately, but I think that means he’s impressed too. He very rarely compliments me.
“I always said you was talented, right from day one,” states Tanya.
“So cool!” Joshua grins.
“I know!” I just about manage not to squeal again. I’m so happy. I love it when everyone thinks I’m brilliant, because I’ve done something brilliant. It’s probably one of my favourite things.
“It’s bizarre though,” says Lewis. “Who would have thought some random dolphins would be so popular?”
Random dolphins? God, don’t be too happy for me, Lewis, I think sarcastically. “Well, I guess people like dolphins,” I say modestly. Not to mention my biting wit, I add secretly. It’s really great how self-effacing and grounded I still am.
“I would have thought robots or something would be more popular,” Lewis continues to muse. Lewis draws quite a lot of robots, now I think about it. Maybe he’s jealous.
“Don’t worry, Lewis, your time will come,” I say sweetly. Lewis scowls at me before he manages to control his face.
“The whole thing might be a bit odd,” he says, looking right at me. “But I think it’ll be great for the comic.”
“The comic?” I query.
“Oh yeah!” cries Tanya. “Not just a hat rack, eh, Lewis? Good thinking. This could be really great publicity for the comic!”
“Yeah, it could really help us,” nods Joshua. “Well done, Lewis.”
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Really great publicity for them? Well done, Lewis? Who is the genius here? I mean, hello? This is my moment.
I let them have their moment when they were acting in The Wizard. I said things like “Well done, Joshua, you were really funny as the Scarecrow,” and “That was amazing, Tanya, you’re hilarious!”
What I didn’t do was immediately follow that up with, “Hey, maybe you could plug issue six in the middle of your monologue? Eyes on the prize, guys.”
Why do they have to make this all about them? Why can’t they just tell me I’m brilliant for five minutes? (Although, to be fair, they have said that.) But why can’t they say it a bit more before they start asking for favours?
“It’s a really great cartoon,” says Lewis.
“Thank you,” I reply graciously. That’s more like it. Maybe I have been a bit quick to judge.
“How did you load it up there?” he asks.
“I don’t know. My sister posted it on the site.”
“Find out how she did it,” says Lewis bossily.
“Good thinking,” says Tanya. “Gather the info, Toons.”
“Uh-huh,” I say as politely as I can. “Why, exactly?”
Joshua carries on as if I haven’t spoken. “Guys, we should think very carefully about how we launch ourselves online. I’m not sure we’re completely ready yet.”
“I say we strike while the iron is hot,” says Tanya. “It’s good PR and that. We can say ‘From the girl who brought you the dolphin cartoon comes a brand-new online comic’ or something. You know.”
“Yeah, actually, that’s good,” says Joshua.
So that’s what my cartoon is, is it? A marketing tool? I can’t help but feel slightly sidelined.
“Oh, well done, Toons!” Tanya claps me hard on the back, making me cough. “Yo
u never cease to amaze me! You’re always on. You’re a maverick, you are. Always full of surprises. I love it.”
And that does make me feel better. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe it’s fair enough that a successful cartoon by one of us should help plug all of us. Maybe I’d expect it too if it was the other way round.
And they couldn’t really plug the comic in the middle of the school play, could they? So that is different. I might really be able to make a difference to the comic’s fortunes. And that’s quite cool. And also, it kind of gives me power. Not that I care about that kind of thing.
“It’s lucky your dolphin cartoon suits our brand,” says Lewis then.
What? Why can’t he just stop talking?
My dolphin cartoon – if it is anyone’s brand – is my brand. And, some might say (and they might be right), that the comic is my brand because it was my funny cartoons that set the tone of the whole thing. Not the other way round. I mean, Tanya kind of guided me a bit, but still.
And then I hear myself say that out loud. “Actually, Lewis, I don’t think it’s ‘our brand’. I think it’s my unique brand that luckily for you I bring to the comic as well.”
Everyone pauses for a microsecond. I guess that did sound kind of arrogant. Slightly.
“Right. Yeah,” says Tanya, narrowing her eyes at me before deciding to let it go. “It’s all brilliant branding. OK, Toons, so you should plug us every chance you get. Interviews, what have you. Plug our comic. We can start the whisper campaign, get people interested.”
“Interviews?” I query.
“Whatever comes up,” nods Tanya.
“OK,” I promise dutifully. Ha, as if I’ll be giving interviews. I love Tanya’s optimism though.
“This is gonna be great, Toons!” Tanya beams.
“Yeah!” I agree. It is. I’m great. That’s the main take-home message here.
And I’m more than happy to plug the comic if any opportunities present themselves. After all, I love the comic. I’m a big, successful person now. I have a responsibility to help the little guy. I’m definitely going to be one of those nice famous people you sometimes hear about, the ones who don’t forget where they started. It’s all about roots.
“Monster attack!” Ryan rolls over on the living-room floor and grabs my feet.
“Attack, Lady, attack! Eat the feet!” he commands the dog, who rolls over as well and starts sniffing my feet.
“Ryan,” I say tiredly, removing my legs from the theatre of conflict and tucking them under me on the sofa. “I’m trying to watch TV.”
“She’s getting away! After her!” Ryan jumps up next to me and encourages Lady to do the same by patting the sofa. Lady jumps up and sits on my other side.
“Ryan, Mum doesn’t let Lady on the sofa, remember?”
Lady promptly gets herself comfy and lies down with her head in my lap, looking wistful. It’s really cute, and obviously I’m in no mood to move her now.
“Lady, you’re a rubbish monster,” sighs Ryan. At least he’s stopped putting the space helmet on her. Though to be fair, she didn’t seem to mind.
I stroke Lady’s head. “She’s my monster now,” I tell him.
“Never!” cries my little brother. “I’ll get you, and you should know that the only thing that can stop me is being tickled, so whatever you do, don’t tickle me.”
Oh great, not this again. “OK,” I say.
“I mean it,” insists Ryan. “Don’t tickle me, Jessica.”
“I won’t.”
“Ever,” he adds. “No tickling.”
“Fine,” I say. Then, “What, you mean like this?” and I start tickling him with my free hand.
He squeals with delight and rolls out of the way where I can’t reach him. Then we hear my mother calling from the kitchen. Uh-oh, what now?
“Dinner’s nearly ready, kids, so why don’t you do something useful like lay the table? I just need to finish something on the computer.”
Hey. What’s Mum doing on the computer? I clamber off the sofa and head into the kitchen where Ryan has made a start on chucking cutlery on to the table.
I look at the computer curiously, and see it’s open on the food blog that Tammy set up. Mum is looking at her own Web page. Hmmm.
“Going well, is it?” I ask, nodding at the computer.
“What do you mean?” Mum looks confused for a second. “Oh, this? Yes, actually.” She beams proudly. “It’s had rather a lot of hits, if you must know. And some lovely comments. I’m quite the chef about town, it seems.”
“That’s great, Mum,” I say. “So what’s for dinner?”
“Hmm? Oh, tuna pie. It’s off the website.”
I’ve seen Mum make this. It’s literally tinned tuna, tinned soup and crisps all mixed together. Sometimes she adds sweetcorn if she’s feeling flashy, and then it all goes into the oven. It’s definitely one of the more budget dishes from her budget range.
“Has it gone down well?” I enquire.
“Very,” says Mum.
I suppose if the aim is to spend as little as possible, the tuna pie is going to be impressive. It’s not about Michelin stars, it’s about maximising profit per square nutrient. Or something.
And to be fair, I actually really like Mum’s tuna pie. I just don’t want her to get too big-headed. She already has quite an inflated sense of her own importance. You’d never catch me doing that.
The phone rings and Mum goes to answer it, muttering darkly about people who move the telephone pad being the living end…
“Yes, hello? Yes. Really? Really? Well… I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask her. And discuss it. Yes, do give me your number.” Then she mouths to us, “Get me a pad now!” Ryan hands Mum a water bill. “OK, yes. I’ve got it, thanks. Bye.”
“What was all that about?” I ask, finishing putting out the plates.
“That was the local paper,” says Mum, looking a bit shell-shocked. “They’ve heard about your cartoon. They want to run a little feature on you.”
Oh my God, oh my God. The local paper want to run a feature on me! I’m staying totally cool about this and not letting it go to my head at all.
OK, so I have been picturing how Nat, Amelia, Harriet VanDerk, my comic friends and basically everyone at school will look when they find out that I am a superstar, but apart from that, I’m staying totally cool about it.
What’s nice as well is that my family are being uncharacteristically cool about it. They’re really impressed and proud of me! It’s such a weird feeling. Dinner has become a discussion all about me.
I mean, Mum does seem to be a bit preoccupied with the idea that I’m too young to have my picture in the paper, but I’m sure the publicity agent I’m clearly going to need to hire soon can talk her round. Haha, joking. Mainly joking anyway. I might need a publicity agent soon. You never know.
“Mum, I’ve already been in the paper once when Dad went up that tree, remember?”
“That was different, that was all of us together,” says Mum. “I’m just worried you might be a bit exposed on your own. You know, you might get unwanted attention.”
“I like the attention,” I say. “I like it when people like my cartoons.”
“That isn’t quite what I––”
“I think it should be Jessica’s decision,” interrupts Dad. “It’s only the local paper; it’ll be tomorrow’s fish and chips wrappers anyway.”
I’m going to assume Dad is saying that for Mum’s benefit and not to belittle my glorious achievement.
“Actually, things stay online forever now,” replies Mum.
Honestly, one food blog and she thinks she’s an expert on the Internet. Two days ago she didn’t even know what a meme was.
“Can I have fish and chips?” says Ryan.
“Ryan, you’re already eating fish,” I point out.
“And what about Ryan?” Mum leaps on this. “We don’t want him to feel left out, do we?”
“Mum,” I say tiredly, trying not to so
und too annoyed. “You can’t make me share everything with Ryan for the rest of my life. What if I become Prime Minister, would you try to make me job-share with Ryan?”
“You’ll have to start working much harder at school if you want to become Prime Minister,” scoffs Mum, never off duty from getting in a dig about my school report.
“Let’s not get too far off the subject,” says Dad. “I think this is a wonderful thing that has happened to our talented daughter, and a cause for celebration.”
That’s more like it.
“I know it is,” agrees Mum. “I think that too, of course. I’m just a bit worried about, you know… There’s a downside to fame. And Jessica is still so young.”
“Muuuuum,” I implore.
“Well,” says Mum. “I’m going to call Joan and see what she thinks.”
Of course Auntie Joan thinks I should do it! Has Mum even met her own sister? Once upon a time Joan would have immediately taken the opposite view to my dad, but Auntie Joan loves Dad since he lived up a tree.
Joan is very much from the “showing spirit = being brilliant” school of thought. I think her scorn for authority has definitely influenced Tammy. Anyway, I don’t mind because Auntie Joan is loads of fun. And she’s also the reason that my mum says yes, I can do the newspaper interview!
Joan even wants to come and help “prepare” me. She does publicity and admin for a national orchestra and so she knows all about how these things are meant to go down. I think Mum felt reassured that Joan would be in charge. And I told you I’d need to hire a publicist!
My Great Success and Other Failures Page 4
