Fifty said, ‘You’ll blow them away, Flo,’ which she liked.
But it was Bee who made all the difference. ‘I’m proud of you, Flo,’ she said, and gave her a huge hug.
Flo should have been pleased but she started crying again. ‘I’m sorry about the medals,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I was nasty.’ I think she meant it.
‘We know,’ said Bee. ‘And we know you’ll never do anything like that again.’
The bell went. I watched Flo join her line and all of a sudden I was worried that after all her hard work Mr Dukes still might not let her Show and Tell. Flo turned round to me, winked and waved. In her other hand she had the plastic wallet and the velvet bag, ready for Show and Tell. It was going to be all right. Somehow or other she’d manage to get her turn this time, I was sure of it. I winked back at her.
Thinking about turns made me remember how she got to go in and see Father Christmas twice the time she didn’t like the first present he gave her.
FLO AND FATHER CHRISTMAS
Flo came out of the red tent at the shopping centre with a flat present. It was obviously a book. She tore the wrapping off and looked at it with disgust. She was three. ‘That’s lovely,’ said Mum. Flo ignored her and turned to the little girl next to her who’d got a doll with long blond hair and a sparkly silver dress. ‘I want that.’ The little girl was too shy or nice or whatever to say ‘no’ so Flo took the doll and shoved the book at her. Mum said, ‘Give that back, Flo.’ Flo ignored her. ‘NOW,’ said Mum. Flo threw the doll on the floor and the girl started crying. Mum tried to apologise. Flo marched straight past the elves who were meant to be in charge of the queue, and went back into the tent. By the time me and Mum were in the tent too, Flo was taking another present, not a flat one. She said, ‘Thank you very much, Father Christmas,’ and smiled her best smile. Inside the present was the doll she wanted. Flo was really pleased. I thought Mum should have told Flo off. But she didn’t. So it’s not Flo’s fault. It’s because she hasn’t been brought up properly.
And then I thought about how she used to jump up and down when I got home from school and flap her arms because she was so pleased to see me. I might have even liked her then.
Copper Pie gave me one of his friendly punches, the sort that takes five minutes to recover from. I turned round to see the Tribers’ faces all smiling back at me. It felt good, solving crimes and sorting out Flo. It felt like, whatever happened, Tribe would always be able to deal with it.
Chicken Piri-Piri
the mountain board
Mum was chatting in the playground after school, as usual. She knows all the mums. And all the kids.
‘Who’s the new boy?’ she asked me. As usual Flo answered, even though he’s in my class.
‘He’s called Marco and he’s —’
‘Portuguese,’ I managed to say before she did.
‘Perhaps we should invite him for tea?’ Mum always wants to help people settle in: neighbours, new kids, new people at work . . . That’s how we met Jonno. My mum met his mum at the doctor’s surgery (Mum is the doctor. Jonno’s mum was registering as a new patient), and the next thing I knew this strange kid was climbing into our car. It worked out fine (in the end), but I wasn’t keen on trying it again. Marco hadn’t exactly made a good impression on his first day.
‘No can do, Mum,’ I said. ‘Tribe meeting tonight.’
‘He could come the day after,’ said Flo.
‘It’s tomorrow, Flo. And no he can’t,’ I said, ‘because it’s Mum’s late surgery on Thursday, isn’t it? So we’ll be with Amy.’
Amy does tea on Thursdays. She’s a terrible sister but at least she can cook.
‘What about the day after the day after?’ said Flo.
No chance! I ignored her, shouted ‘Bye’, and headed off with the other Tribers, leaving Mum to take Flo home in the car.
There were only four of us, because Bee had rushed off to puppy training class.
‘It’s about time someone learnt what to do with Doodle,’ said Jonno, who was the one who suggested it to Bee in the first place.
‘They could mince him,’ said Copper Pie, which was not funny. I don’t like Doodle either, but the thought of a minced dog made me gag.
‘You’re sick, Copper Pie,’ said Jonno.
It was sunny and we weren’t in a hurry to get home so we decided to go via the park (which is code for via the ice cream van).
‘I’m having a screwball with as much chocolate sauce as I can put on before the van man snatches it back,’ said Fifty. ‘Distract him for me, Keener. Get him talking about those kids with the stunt bikes.’The ice cream man hates the stunt bikers!
‘I haven’t got any money,’ said Copper Pie. He never has. We sub him. I’ve always got money. Mum says I must grow it, but actually it’s because Dad gives me his change, Grandad gives me a tenner whenever he sees me and every Saturday I check all the lockers after swimming to get the pound coins left by people too lazy to pick them up (or too forgetful).
‘Two 99s, please.’
Copper Pie held them while I searched for the right money. Out of nowhere came a buzzing whirring noise, like a remote control bee. It got louder and I looked around frantically trying to work out if I was about to be stung or dive-bombed or whatever. C.P. was doing the same. Fifty was clearly deaf because he just carried on troughing. It was like when you hear a siren but you can’t tell if it’s behind you or in front. I called over to Jonno who was waiting for his orange lolly (weird choice) to see what he thought it was.
‘Can you hear —’
I didn’t get to finish my sentence. A blur on a mountain board shot across the road and headed straight down the path towards us. He was going about a thousand miles an hour, shouting something like, ‘SADAMANAIRA’ over and over again. I jumped backwards to get out of the way. Copper Pie tried to do the same but got his foot caught in the strap of the rucksack I’d slung on the ground and fell back through the swing gate that leads into the play area. Luckily he managed to keep the cornets the right way up even though he was flat on his back with the gate clanging against his head.
Copper Pie tried to look up. ‘What the —?’
‘It’s him,’ I said, pointing at the shape that was already at the bottom of the slope. ‘The new kid.’
Fifty hadn’t noticed anything. He was happily licking the rim of the plastic cone the screwball comes in, standing on the grass, exactly where he had been all along. That’s what’s happens when he gets sugar. Puts him in a coma.
‘Amazing,’ said Jonno. ‘How fast do you think he was going?’
‘Too fast,’ I said.
‘You sound like the traffic police.’
‘I was nearly mown down by an out of control vehicle. What do you expect?’
Copper Pie was still on the ground, holding the ice creams in the air. ‘Anyone going to help me up?’
Jonno grabbed him under his arms and tilted him to vertical.
‘He’d better watch it,’ said Copper Pie.
‘Who?’ said Fifty, recovering from his sugar overload.
‘That new boy. He’s a marked man.’
road trip
The puppy training made Bee late for the Tribe meeting. But she didn’t miss anything because when she arrived Jonno was still going on about how fast Marco went on his board. He was obviously impressed.
‘Bee, the new kid was nearly flying on the way home,’ said Jonno. ‘I’ve seen Ed go pretty fast on his board but Marco’s way better.’
‘Marco? said Bee.
I nodded. ‘But what Jonno means is that he nearly flattened us.’
‘Yeah, Marco’s a marked man,’ said Copper Pie.
‘What are you talking about?’ said Bee.
‘He was on a mountain board, going like a train,’ said Jonno. ‘Wish I could do that. He got to the bottom of the slope in the park in a nanosecond.’
‘You’re not meant to be congratulating him,’ I said. ‘He’s a lunatic. If he’d hit
us we’d have been dog food.’
‘Keener, it was only a skateboard, not a tank.’ Thanks Fifty!
THE INVISIBLE TANK
AN INTERESTING FACT FROM KEENER
It sounds like a stupid joke, or something on a magic show, but it’s not. The Army have honestly truly made an invisible tank. It’s amazing. There are pictures of it on the internet and a quote from a soldier saying he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t been there.
They use cameras and projectors to beam images of the landscape on to the tank and it ‘disappears’. The soldier looked across the fields and just saw grass and trees - but he was actually staring down the barrel of a tank gun.
That’s clever.
‘But it didn’t sound like a skateboard. It sounded like a . . . a fleet of skateboards at least,’ I said.
‘Wonder how he learnt to handle a board like that?’ said Jonno.
‘Who cares?’ said Bee.
‘Practice,’ I said. ‘It’s all about balance. Your body learns it. The more you do it, the better you are.’
‘Says the surf dude.’ Fifty made it sound as though I was showing off.
‘It’s better than being a pyromaniac,’ I said.
Fifty immediately got out his fire steel and started making sparks.
‘Not in the hut,’ said Bee. ‘It’s made of wood. We’ll go up like fireworks.’
‘That’ll encourage him,’ I said. There is only one possible career for Fifty: arsonist.
‘I’ve never been surfing. It looks impossible. How can you stand on a slippy board on water that’s moving?’ asked Jonno.
‘I’ll teach you,’ I said. Dad’s asked me loads of times if I want a friend to come along. ‘You can come with me and my dad.’
‘You’ll have to teach all of us,’ said Bee. ‘I can’t stay at home all the time with Mum following me round the house and stopping for a weep every time she finds something one of the twins left behind.’
‘I’ll stay with your mum and the mutt,’ said Fifty. ‘The sea’s too cold. And it’s for fish and mermaids, not me.’
‘Bee’s right,’ said Jonno. ‘We should all go. Would your dad take us?’
‘I could ask,’ I said. It might be fun, I thought. A Tribe road trip.
chicken piri-piri
It was a completely normal Thursday. We were all sitting in our class listening to Miss Walsh droning on about perimeters and areas. Well, most of us were. Alice was picking a scab on her elbow, and I was trying not to watch, because I don’t like blood. Her blood would be preferable to mine, but I’d rather not see any blood at all. Any second it was going to start gushing and then her hand would go up, which is where it is most of the time – asking questions, moaning, needing the loo. Then someone would be sent with her to the nurse to get a plaster and Alice would be happy because a plaster gets you attention. I should be a psychiatrist, I thought. Or do what Fifty’s mum does – get paid for making people happier.
Up flew Roddy’s hand. He never puts his hand up, because he doesn’t know the answer to anything, doesn’t ever have any questions, and generally doesn’t need the loo.
‘Yes, Roddy?’
‘There’s a terrible smell, Miss. I feel sick.’
‘Try not to think about it,’ said Miss Walsh. ‘I’ll open a window. It is a bit stuffy in here.’
‘He’s right, there —’
Miss Walsh put the palm of her hand up. It means stop.
‘Hand up before you speak, please Jamie. We don’t have shouting out in the classroom.’
It was a silly thing to say because we do have shouting out in our classroom. Jamie had just done it, hadn’t he?
‘There is a —’
Miss Walsh did the ‘stop’ thing to Jamie again.
‘But I’ve got my hand up, Miss, so now I can speak, can’t I?’
‘No, Jamie. You put your hand up and then wait for me to either nod or look at you so you know it’s your turn.’
We go through this at least once a week. Jamie can’t get the hang of it. Quite why Callum, who is pretty clever, hangs out with dozy Jamie I don’t know. Oh yes I do! It’s because no one else likes them.
Jamie put his hand down. Alice put her hand up. So did Roddy.
‘Please Miss, my arm’s bleeding.’
Jamie stood up. ‘That’s not fair. She spoke and you didn’t nod and I still haven’t spoked.’
‘Spoke-n is the word. And Alice spoke before I nodded because she’s bleeding and that’s an emergency. Sit down, please.’
People were starting to laugh.
‘Mine’s an emergency too,’ said Jamie, still standing.
Alice’s shoulders were wobbling which I think meant she was starting to cry. ‘It won’t stop, Miss.’
‘SHE DID IT AGAIN. SHE SPOKED,’ Jamie shouted. Not a good move.
‘How dare you raise your voice!’ said Miss Walsh in a raised voice. ‘Sit.’
He sat.
Out came the tissue box. ‘Alice, here, hold this tissue on it for now. You can go and see the nurse at break if it’s still bleeding.’
Miss Walsh retied the messy ponytail-bun-thing on the back of her head. She does that when she’s in a tizz. Tom’s hand went up. He sits next to Roddy.
‘We are wasting time here. Please put your hands down unless it’s an emergency.’
Tom’s and Roddy’s hands stayed up. Jamie put his up again. Then so did Alice. It was too much. Copper Pie snorted and let out a huge belly laugh. Bee joined in. I tried to keep a straight face but when I noticed Fifty clutching his tummy and groaning I couldn’t keep it in any more. And neither could he. I looked around. Luckily almost everyone else was wetting themselves too. Except for Marco, who was sitting next to Tom and Roddy, looking totally confused. Fair enough. His English isn’t bad but it isn’t very good either. He probably thought it was stand-up comedy or a lesson in joke-telling. Jonno was doing that shuddery silent laughing, it made his frizzy hair shake, and he was crying so much he’d taken his glasses off!
‘SILENCE!’
We tried. It’s not easy to shut up when something’s that funny.
‘Tom. Roddy. What is it?’
‘The smell, Miss,’ they both said at the same time.
‘Told you,’ said Jamie. He was heading for trouble. No doubt.
Miss Walsh did a raging bull flare of her nostrils, strode past my row and the one behind, stopped by Roddy and sniffed.
‘Right, children. Yes, there is a smell. It’s some sort of cooking smell, probably coming from the kitchen. And it’s not at all offensive, so put your hands down.’
The hands went down. The giggling trailed off. I looked down at my desk, because if I’d caught the eye of any of the Tribers I’d have been doubled up with laughter again. Miss Walsh tried to go on with the lesson but it was pointless. No one was listening.
The bell went for the end of morning school. She picked up her bag and scarpered. I don’t think she should have chosen teaching. It’s fine when everyone’s behaving properly but if there’s even a hint of trouble she’s useless.
‘Best lesson we’ve had in ages,’ said Fifty.
‘Best laugh I’ve had in ages,’ said Jonno. ‘What is it with Jamie? He’s like a magnet for trouble.’
‘Can you smell anything?’ said Bee.
‘No,’ I said.
The class was nearly empty. Copper Pie started smelling everyone’s desks like a bloodhound trying to get the scent of a fox. I thought he was trying to be funny but . . .
‘Here it is,’ he said.
He stood between where Roddy and Marco sit.
‘What?’ said Bee.
‘The smell. Keep up, Bee.’
She went over. ‘So, there’s a cooking smell. So what?’
‘I know what it is,’ said Copper Pie.
‘Go on then,’ said Fifty.
‘Chicken piri-piri. I love it.’
As soon as he said it, I could smell that he was right. I’ve never tried
it but we went to this chicken place for Amy’s birthday and the sauce smelled exactly like the smell in our classroom. Before I could say anything, Bee opened Roddy’s desk, sniffed it and shut it.
‘You’re not allowed to do that,’ I said.
I got a shut-up-Keener look. She tried Marco’s desk next.
‘Mystery solved.’ She held up a plastic bag. Inside there was a tub but the lid can’t have been tight enough because there was a puddle of dark orange sauce with lumpy bits, like sick, in the corner of the bag.
‘Chicken piri-piri and rice,’ said Copper Pie. ‘Told you.’
‘KEVOCESTAFAZENDOCOMMAMEMOLCHO?’ screamed Marco the marked man with the motorised mountain board and matching motor mouth. I jumped a mile. He jumped over two desks, snatched the bag off Bee, made a face that could kill a crow (to borrow Copper Pie’s dad’s expression), ran off and slammed the classroom door behind him. It was all over in a second.
He’s going to be the death of me, I thought. We’d had two close shaves in less than twenty-four hours. I decided it might be an idea to stay away from Marco.
‘I think we should steer clear of our Portuguese classmate for a while,’ said Fifty, hearing my thoughts again.
‘Agreed,’ said all the Tribers together.
Unfortunately, someone else decided exactly the opposite.
bunking off
After lunch there was a space where there should have been a body.
‘Has anyone seen Marco?’ asked Miss Walsh.
I studied the scratches on my desk.
‘No, Miss,’ said Alice. She had a whacking great bandage on her elbow covering the minuscule scabby bit she’d picked.
‘Anyone else?’
There were murmurs: no idea, not seen him.
‘Right, could you all get out your extended writing books and carry on with the piece we started on Tuesday. You’ve all got a beginning so today we’re going to try and move the story along by introducing the problem and a decision. Use the planning sheet to remind you. I won’t be long.’
A Thousand Water Bombs Page 12
