A Thousand Water Bombs

by T. M. Alexander

  If I’d stopped to think about it I might have wondered why we hadn’t seen much of Copper Pie the week before the fair. But there was too much going on. Even when Callum and Jamie told us Copper Pie was doing a stall with them, I didn’t believe there was anything wrong. My faith in my friend was one hundred percent. And the others felt the same. We stood under the trees on our patch at break and this is how the conversation went:

  Bee: ‘Are they mad? Copper Pie with Callum – I don’t think so.’

  Jonno: ‘Maybe they took advantage of the fact he’s ill to make up a story.’

  Me: ‘As if we’d ever believe a Triber would pal up with enemy number one.’

  Fifty: ‘Same.’

  Me: ‘But I wish Copper Pie was here to tell them to get lost.’

  Fifty: ‘Same.’

  Bee: ‘I don’t feel as though I’ve seen him all week, but I know I have.’

  Jonno: ‘He was away yesterday.’

  Fifty: ‘And the days he was here we were stuck in the art room.’

  Me: ‘And he was playing football.’

  Fifty: ‘He could have helped, couldn’t he?’

  Jonno: ‘Do you blame him for not? You still look like you’re wearing lipstick.’

  Fifty: ‘I’m never ever using my mouth as a tool again. It hurts to drink.’

  Jonno: ‘Talking of which, shouldn’t we be finishing them off?’

  Bee: ‘No need. I’ve got a team in there doing it – with the Head’s approval.’

  Fifty: ‘I don’t know how you managed it but thank you, thank you.’

  He went down on his knees and did fake weeping. Everyone started laughing and that was the end of that. It was two days until the fair. The water bombs were ready and we’d got away with the email. I was looking forward to raking in the money and spending some on the Splat the Rat. I wasn’t even a teeny bit worried. Maybe if we’d talked about it some more we’d have realised something was up. If we’d put together the facts maybe we’d have worked it out. But we didn’t. So on Friday, when I saw Copper Pie hanging around by the gates as usual, I was pleased to see my old friend back at school.

  COPPER PIE’S FAMILY

  (MUM, DAD, C.P., CHARLIE)

  IN THE KITCHEN BEFORE SCHOOL

  Dad: Do you want to be a professional footballer or not?

  C.P.: I do. You know I do. But I can’t do it, Dad.

  Mum: Won’t. He means won’t.

  Charlie: Mummy —

  Mum: Shut up, Charlie.

  Dad: All this fuss about a few water bombs.

  C.P.: It’s not about that. It’s about doing the stall with Callum.

  Dad: Nothing wrong with Callum. He’s got a good eye for the ball.

  C.P.: But he’s not my friend.

  Dad: We’re talking about football here, boy. You don’t have to hold his hand.

  C.P.: But if I do the stall with Callum, I’ll let my best friends down.

  Mum: They’d let you down without a second thought, that lot.

  C.P.: That’s where you’re wrong. They wouldn’t. Ever.

  Dad: Don’t shout at your mother.

  C.P.: She’s shouting at me.

  Dad: Listen. You are doing the Save or Score with Callum and that’s final. Simon’s staying behind to watch you. When are you gonna get a chance like this again? He’s a flipping football scout and instead of heading back up north to see his family he’s STAYING BEHIND TO WATCH YOU. It’s about priorities, boy.

  Charlie: Daddy —

  Dad: Shut up, Charlie boy. This is serious. I haven’t told the school he’s been sick and kept him home to practise so your big brother can mess about with water bombs. I haven’t taken two days off work to stand in goal and coach your brother for nothing. Saturday could change his life. D’you hear me? Saturday could change his life.

  summer fair eve

  ‘You’ll never guess,’ I said to Copper Pie.

  ‘You’ll never guess what those two morons have been saying about you,’ said Fifty.

  ‘You’ll never guess the ridiculous story they’ve been putting about,’ said Bee.

  ‘You will never in a trillion years believe what Callum and Jamie have told the whole class,’ said Jonno.

  We waited for Copper Pie to ask us to tell him the crazy story . . . We waited for him to say, ‘Spill, guys. What’s been happening?’ But he didn’t. He looked at the floor. He moved a bit of dirt around with his foot. He put his hands in his pockets . . . and took them back out. Something was up. Even a geek like me could tell. Something was up.

  ‘Don’t you want to know?’ said Jonno.

  There was a silence where there should have been talking.

  ‘I think he already knows.’ Fifty’s five words were like five poison darts.

  ‘I’d like to hear it from him,’ said Bee, moving her hair out of her eyes and looking straight at Copper Pie. Her stare seemed to force his head up. And the answer was in his eyes.

  ‘Why?’ I said. ‘Why would you . . .?’

  My brain couldn’t compute the data. Copper Pie would never team up with Callum. I needed to hear it from him, like Bee said.

  ‘It’s only a stall at the fair,’ he said.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ I said, loudly. ‘It’s . . .’ I didn’t know what it was. But it was bad, really bad.

  ‘It’s betrayal,’ said Bee. ‘You’re out, Copper Pie. You’re out of Tribe. If you go off with Callum, you’re not one of us. You’re not a Triber.’

  He looked at us. We all shook our heads. Fifty was the first to turn away. Jonno and Bee followed, but I couldn’t leave it like that.

  ‘Copper Pie, why do you want to do it with Callum? I thought you were dead keen on the water bombs.’ I paused to see if he would answer. He didn’t. ‘I know you love football but it’s not worth it – losing Tribe to score a few goals at the summer fair.’

  ‘I know, Keener. I do. But Dad’s arranged for the scout to come and watch me. He set it all up. Rang Callum’s dad so I had someone good to play against. I’m stuck in the middle.’

  Do you know what empathy means? It means you imagine what it would be like to be in someone else’s shoes. I had a go. I tried to picture me, Keener, as a fantastic football player being given a chance to play in front of someone who could make me a champion. My feet were in Copper Pie’s football boots but all I could see was Callum’s sick grin and the Tribers on the sideline looking disgusted.

  ‘Couldn’t the scout watch you another day? When you’re playing a proper match? That would be better, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘But he’s hardly ever down this way. Dad says it’s my only chance.’

  If it was his only chance to be a star, maybe we should let him go off with the enemy?

  I had another think. This time I tried to imagine it was me and my one chance of glory: world surfing champion Kelly Slater was coming to watch me, but to catch the surf when it was cooking and have a chance of riding a fat wave I had to leave Tribe. It didn’t work, because I couldn’t think why I’d ever have to leave Tribe and anyway the others would think it was super cool to be talent-spotted by a surf dude.

  ‘Come on, Copper Pie,’ I said.

  ‘No. I’ll stay here.’ I didn’t want to leave him there but I did. I left him kicking the dirt . . . and arrived at our patch at the same time as Callum.

  ‘Hello Tribe. Looking forward to tomorrow? You can have a free go if you like. No chance of any of you winning a fiver against me and Copper Pie. But then you know how good he is, don’t you? Because he’s your mate.’

  It was unbearable.

  ‘Actually we’re cool with it,’ said Jonno. He really winds Callum up when he does that it’s-no-big-deal thing.

  ‘Liar,’ said Callum, as he walked off.

  ‘Well . . .’ I said.

  ‘Well what, Keener?’ said Bee.

  ‘I spoke to Copper Pie.’

  ‘We got that. And?’ I don’t know why she was being stressy with me. I hadn’t gone off with th
e enemy.

  ‘And it’s to do with the football scout.’

  I explained but I could see the Tribers weren’t about to run over and forgive him. And I could see why. As usual it was Jonno who put it into actual words.

  ‘You know the thing is, if he’d told us about the scout and his dad’s plan, we might have been all right about it, even though it’s with Callum. But he didn’t. He left Callum to tell us. That’s not what friends do. And it’s not what Tribers do.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Bee. ‘He knew all week, I reckon. That’s why he was avoiding us – kicking his ball and never tying water bombs. He’s chicken.’

  I didn’t like her saying that. Copper Pie a coward!

  ‘Same,’ said Fifty. ‘If he’d explained it to me before, I’d have said, “Go for it mate.” After all, he can do a stall with Callum and still detest him. I mean, he plays football with him every week and that’s never bothered us.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ said Bee.

  No one said anything. It was too awful to think he had to leave.

  ‘Let’s wait,’ said Jonno. ‘Let’s see if he does anything. He’s the one who’s deceived us.’

  So we waited. We waited all day. He didn’t come near our patch. He didn’t say one word to any of us. I walked home with Fifty, and as he headed off to his house he said, ‘Looks like this is it then. We’re down to four Tribers. See you, Keener.’

  ‘Bye,’ I said. I felt really, really unhappy. The sort of unhappy that makes you forget you’ve ever laughed, or had fun, or caught an uncatchable wave, or been excited. I walked slowly home, thinking, thinking, thinking. And in a way it worked, because by the time I got home I knew something. I knew that I wasn’t giving up on Copper Pie that easily. There were still twenty-two hours until the summer fair was declared officially open. That’s what I knew.

  lift-off minus 22 hours

  As I rocked from side to side in my hammock, thoughts went back and forwards and came back again. I was sure we could still be Tribe, as long as Copper Pie didn’t actually go through with it. But how to stop him?

  WAYS TO STOP THE SAVE OR SCORE

  Break Copper Pie’s leg (or any bone)

  Break Callum’s leg (or both of them)

  Get the scout to cancel his visit

  Get the summer fair cancelled - fire? (Fifty would love that. He could start it.)

  Spill something poisonous on the goal

  Hide the goal

  Puncture every football within ten miles of school

  Lock Copper Pie in the loos

  Change Copper Pie’s mind

  If only I could change Copper Pie’s mind.

  ‘I’m going round to Copper Pie’s,’ I shouted.

  I wasn’t the only one. At the end of my road I turned left and there was Fifty’s black curly hair bobbing along in front of me.

  ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘Same place as you, I guess,’ said Fifty.

  ‘Great minds —’

  ‘Think alike.’

  We did the fist of friendship. I was glad there were two of us. Failure didn’t seem so certain. And by the time we got to Copper Pie’s road there was one more. Bee was hanging around on the corner.

  ‘Hi guys.’

  ‘What are you doing here, Bee?’ said Fifty.

  ‘I don’t know . . . waiting, I suppose.’

  ‘Waiting for what?’ I said.

  ‘For you, I suppose.’ That didn’t make any sense. We didn’t know we were going to C.P.’s.

  ‘But we didn’t know we were coming,’ said Fifty.

  ‘Well, I must be controlling you then,’ she said.

  ‘So not funny, Bee,’ said Fifty. ‘You’re here for the same reason we are. To rescue our idiotic friend from the dark forces that have lured him to the other side.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Bee. ‘But now that I’m here I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Same,’ said Fifty.

  I looked towards Copper Pie’s house, hoping he might wander into the garden. I didn’t fancy knocking on the door in case I got his mum.

  ‘Shall we text him? Tell him to come out?’ I said.

  A red car roared past me at a hundred miles an hour, braked and swerved into Copper Pie’s drive. Out stepped the football scout, Simon. Seeing him again made me realise what we were up against. There was no way Copper Pie was going to give up his chance of stardom.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said.

  ‘I thought we were going to text?’ said Bee. ‘We might as well try.’

  ‘There’s no point,’ I said, nodding my head towards the man standing on the doorstep. ‘That’s the scout.’

  ‘He doesn’t look very impressive,’ said Fifty.

  ‘He doesn’t have to, does he? He’s not the one who kicks the ball,’ said Bee.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. I’d seen enough. We were no match for a top scout and a football-mad dad.

  Later, in bed, all I could think was that we’d decided no one can leave Tribe and no one can join. That’s what we decided. So was it the end? Was Tribe finished?

  a sell-out

  It all happened according to plan (as long as you ignored the fact that there were only four of us).

  The water bombs went down a storm, as predicted. We lined up the buckets of bombs by our table and made everyone queue in a zigzag (otherwise the queue would have wrapped round three other stalls). Amir went off to get more stock from the art room every time we ran out (we paid him obviously). We sold our first one to Lily at 2.01 p.m. and our last one to Flo’s friend, Joe, at 2.22 p.m. Allowing for the ones we had to give away as payment, and the ones we accidentally burst, and the ones we had for free, we made £73.19. (Quite how we ended up with nineteen pence I don’t know.)We could have sold more – there were plenty of people to aim for! I was lucky enough to see a high lob explode right on top of the Head’s hairdo. Miss Walsh got one in the face and Mr Morris was attacked from three directions in a co-ordinated attack. Flo got a soaking too. (Who would do a thing like that!) All the kids bought one, except Copper Pie, who was too busy (and wouldn’t have dared come up even if he hadn’t been).

  The swap stall didn’t last long either. The whole of the table was piled high with tat ( Jonno’s word: means things no one needs) apart from where Flo’s supermarket till sat (for the water bomb money). But from the minute the gates opened there were five rows of people all trying to grab stuff. Bee and Jonno tried to control what was given and what was taken in exchange (to make sure no one gave a mouldy tennis ball and took a brand new skateboard – not that there was one) but it was bedlam. Alice and a Year 3 girl had a tug-of-war over a sparkly skipping rope, Mr Morris swiped a butterfly net from some kid that thought it was a fishing net and two little boys had a scrap over a pottery wheel. (No point. Flo had one. It never worked.) Anonymous hands kept appearing from behind bodies and snatching. And there was shouting:

  I saw that first.

  Pass me the orange rubbery thing.

  Is it for cooking?

  Urghh! It’s all sticky.

  It’s a tea cosy, not a hat. Idiot – it’s a hot water bottle cover.

  Get off. That’s not a swap. It’s my walking stick.

  And then someone spotted the old-fashioned pram, filled it up to the top with stuff from the stall and sauntered off without giving anything. That was the final straw. Bee chased after her. We all watched.

  ‘Excuse me. The idea of our stall is that you donate something you don’t need any more and take something in its place.’ Bee stared down at the pramful of loot.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ said the woman. She put her hand in her jeans pocket and pulled out a 50p piece. ‘There you go.’

  Bee was stunned, and for once, lost for words. The pram lady wandered off. Back at the stall the Give and Take had turned into more of a Shove and Steal. Poor Jonno got elbowed in the face by someone lunging for the French horn, and clonked on the head by a fruit bowl that someone was trying to pass to an old man at t
he other end.

  ‘Let’s leave them to it,’ he said.

  ‘We can’t,’ said Bee. ‘They’ll take everything.’

  ‘Isn’t that the point?’ he said.

  Just then the lady who’d taken the pram appeared back at the stall. I had a good look at her in case she was a professional thief and the police needed a report: jeans, green jumper, parrot earrings.

  ‘I’ll take the lot off you for a tenner,’ she said.

  ‘No way, ’ said Bee. ‘This is about recycling. It’s not for sale.’

  ‘Are you joking?’ she said. ‘Listen to her, Ray.’ She nudged the man next to her. I stopped serving so I didn’t miss what was coming.

  ‘We’ll give you twelve quid. Put it in your recycling tin,’ he said.

  Jonno held out the fruit bowl that the old man at the end had put back. ‘Twenty-five pounds and it’s all yours. It’s worth at least that.’

  ‘What are you doing, Jonno?’ Bee hissed.

  ‘Getting rid of this lot – they don’t care about the planet.’

  I scanned the crowd – it was still three deep. People grabbing things with their sticky fingers, dropping them, putting them back, picking them up again, desperately trying to get the plastic flowers or the soap dish before someone else did.

  ‘I’m with Jonno,’ I said.

  ‘Same,’ said Fifty.

  ‘Twenty,’ said Ray.

  ‘Twenty-five and I’ll throw in the fruit bowl,’ said Jonno.

  ‘No. Twenty’s my top.’

  ‘Strictly speaking you still owe us for the pramload she took earlier,’ said Bee.

  Ooh! It was getting nasty.

  ‘I paid you,’ she said.

  ‘50p. Big deal. It’s people like you —’

  ‘I’d stop there if I were you,’ said Ray.

  ‘We didn’t come here to be insulted.’The woman’s parrot earrings began to swing wildly

  ‘Why did you come then?’

  ‘Leave it, Bee. Twenty-five pounds and I’ll put it all in boxes for you,’ said Jonno.

  Bee turned round and walked off with her nose in the air. Jonno put his hand out for the money. Everyone was waiting to see if Ray was going to pay up. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wad of notes and peeled off two tens and a five.