The main girl, Sass, didn’t say anything right away. She turned round to face her mates.
It was like waiting to find out whether you were guilty, and about to be sent to the dungeons, or free to go.
Was she going to make a deal? Cakes for peace.
Or would she choose combat?
Or, worst of all, would they snatch the cakes from us but carry on teasing anyway?
I didn’t move or breathe. I don’t think my heart was beating either. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Copper Pie swinging the bag slightly, as though he didn’t want her to forget what was in it. Like a threat. Nothing else moved.
Why was she taking so long? ‘So what do you think?’ she said to the rest of them.
I heard some mumbles but they didn’t make words.
Come on.
She slowly swivelled back round.
‘Well . . .’
I took a step back. I couldn’t help it. If they were going to attack I didn’t want to be in the front line.
I think she knew what I was thinking. It happens to me a lot. Maybe my thoughts are very loud.
I don’t see why someone being scared of you is funny, but she obviously thought it was. Her mouth curved up at the corners and she laughed.
‘I say we go for cakes. What do you think, girls?’
‘Definitely.’
‘For sure.’
‘NO WAY!’
Oh no! Who said that?
‘Only joking. I’m for cakes.’
They all agreed. Fantastic! No war.
We watched Bee offer round the cakes. Everyone took one. And then it was our turn. And it was totally weird. I don’t think any of us felt even a tiny bit scared of the Alley Cats. You can’t hang around eating a cake with yellow icing and a pink flower with a blue Smartie middle and be frightened of someone standing by you eating a cake with green icing and a white flower with a red Smartie middle. You just can’t.
It reminded me of that story about how the Germans and the English had a ceasefire on Christmas Day. One minute they were fighting and the next they were sharing their dinner and singing carols.
THE CHRISTMAS TRUCE
In World War I there were loads of German and English soldiers fighting in the trenches. On Christmas Eve 1914 both sides had been sent supplies like plum puddings and miniature Christmas trees but they couldn’t enjoy them because of the war. The front lines of each army were close enough to shout across, so some of the soldiers decided to call a ceasefire. Amazingly, they even climbed out of the trenches and joined each other in No Man’s Land, sharing food and drink and singing carols like ‘Silent Night’. After Christmas Day they went back to being enemies.
By the time we’d eaten all the cakes (Copper Pie had three), Bee had agreed to meet the Cats the next day with the recipe written out, including how to do the decorating.
Sass had said she was sorry. ‘No more teasing, we promise. Everyone is welcome in the alley.’
Copper Pie had shown his collection of toy guns and even let some of the girls have a go.
And Jonno had explained about Tribe and the initiation. They were all really interested, even though they’re at secondary school.
‘Being a Tribe sounds really wicked,’ said Sass. ‘Can I join?’
‘No, sorry,’ said Jonno.
‘Only joking,’ she said and gave him a sort of squeeze.
Jonno suddenly found something interesting to look at on the floor.
‘So where did you get the kooky idea to do cakes or war?’
We all did different versions of a shrug.
So Fifty spoke. ‘Well . . . Bee likes cooking and Copper Pie likes guns.’
‘I thought you were going to say something really clever,’ said Sass.
‘Like what?’ asked Bee.
‘Well, they say everything people do is because of love or fear. That’s like cakes or war, isn’t it? Love cakes. Fear war.’
I thought about that. It made sense. Tribe had made a good choice, even if it was accidental.
‘Time we were off,’ said Sass. ‘See you then, Tribers. And thanks for the cakes. Awesome.’
As Sass walked off with some of the others, Bee said, ‘I’m going to grow my hair that long.’
Girls!
Copper Pie put out his hand. I slapped mine on top. The noise made Sass turn round. She watched as Jonno and Bee and Fifty added theirs. We shouted, ‘One. Two. Three,’ and threw our hands in the air.
‘Is that a Tribe thing?’ shouted Sass.
‘Yep,’ said Copper Pie.
‘Cool,’ she yelled.
‘Yeah, it is,’ we shouted back.
late home
Bee was full of it on the way home.
‘We freed the alley. All the kids can use it now. Yeah!’ She punched the air.
She said that the reason Tribe succeeds is because we believe in it. We’re still the same kids we were before but, because of Tribe, we’re powerful. It’s made us different.
‘So what shall we do next?’ she said. ‘Now that we’ve proved ourselves.’
‘Go home and have tea,’ said Copper Pie. ‘Initiations make you hungry.’
‘Not possible. You’re full of cake,’ she said. ‘Seriously, guys, what’s our next job?’
‘Bee, we can’t expect to change something every day,’ said Fifty.
‘Why not?’
‘Because we’d be too tired,’ he said and we all laughed.
‘What’s next,’ said Jonno, ‘is explaining to Miss Walsh that we got my birthday wrong.’
‘When is your birthday?’ asked Fifty.
‘October eleventh. We were only six months too early.’
‘Easy mistake to make,’ said Fifty.
At the end of the high street, Fifty and I went straight on and the others went left.
‘Bye,’ we all shouted.
The turn to Fifty’s house is before mine so I walked the last part on my own. I had lots to think about. I knew what Bee meant about being in Tribe. It was like wearing armour or being given a lion’s heart. My mind wandered, like it does in dreams. I thought about a tribe in South America that Jonno told me about that doesn’t have a word for ‘worry’, so no one worries. That would suit me. They don’t have words for numbers either, so Copper Pie would like it because there’s no counting. And I thought about how good it is now there are five of us. And about how Copper Pie is the Triber I’ve known the longest because he saved me from Annabel Ellis at nursery.
‘The agreement was that you would walk straight home. I have been sitting here with Flo trying not to worry. The first day you’re allowed to . . .’
Mum went on and on but nothing went in. I stared at the evil grin on my nasty little sister’s face. She loves trouble, as long as she’s not in it.
Scowl away, Flo, I’m so not bothered.
When Mum finally stopped I said, ‘Sorry’, went up to my room and laid in my hammock.
What a great day! Nothing could take away the feeling, not even Mum’s telling off.
So she didn’t know what had come over me . . .
So I was acting out of character . . .
Exactly, I wanted to say.
Surely new me was better than old me. I realised I hadn’t held my breath for days. I hadn’t had any bad dreams either. I felt like a snake, who’d shed its skin and started again as . . .
Keener of Tribe – full of good ideas, not wet blanket.
Keener of Tribe – trailblazer (of the route to school and back).
Keener of Tribe – warrior, not worrier.
Could it get any better?
Bribes, Beetles, Bark and Bobotie
being a Triber
It’s funny how quickly exciting things become normal. When I first got my phone I was always changing ringtone and texting and playing the games but now . . . I’m still glad I’ve got one, but it’s not like when it was new. It’s the same with walking home. I felt so grown up the first few times but now it
’s just part of a regular school day.
Being a Triber is normal too. We meet once a week (Wednesdays) at my house because:
Fifty’s mum’s too nosy so we can’t go there.
Jonno says his dad doesn’t like other people’s kids.
Bee likes everyone else’s house better than hers, and everyone’s scared of Copper Pie’s mum. (She shouts.)
We’d like somewhere else to meet, like a proper hut, but no one’s got one. We might build one. Fifty’s garden is huge and messy. He’s done a deal with his mum: if we clear the bottom of it, which is a jungle of nasty pointy bushes and junk and smelly stuff, then we can have a go. Copper Pie wanted to do it right away but it’s not really a couple-of-nights-after-school type of job. My dad said ‘Maybe we could do it one weekend,’ but he needs to talk to Fifty’s mum first. So . . . headquarters is still my room and when we’re ‘in the field’ we use our patch under the trees at school.
I keep everything to do with Tribe in my safe. It’s quite full already. There’s the file with loads of fact sheets about us, a bit like Tribe Top Trumps. We’re always adding new sheets. Some of them are funny, like things we did in Reception, and some of them aren’t.
FUNNY THINGS TRIBERS DID IN RECEPTION
BEE: The Head told her off for talking in assembly. She shouted, ‘I wasn’t talking to you’ – she was only four.
COPPER PIE: Walked home on his own after lunch because he didn’t like the pudding.
FIFTY: Came to school with his Thomas the Tank pyjamas under his school uniform (the ones that still fit him).
KEENER: Missed the whole of PE washing his hands in the loos because he’d got glue on them.
JONNO: Held the silky label in the back of his shorts all the time because he liked the feel of it.
There’s my notebook where we keep a record of everything we do – not eating and sleeping and going to the park, but important things, like when we mended the statue that Copper Pie destroyed with his catapult.
There’s a paint tin to keep Tribe funds in. We all get different pocket money so everyone gives what they’ve got spare. We’re saving up to buy things for the hut. And if we don’t get the hut, we’re going to have a Tribe Christmas party instead. And if we can’t wait that long, we’ll have a summer holiday one. Or we might just buy chocolate.
At the back, rolled up and tied with an orange and brown ribbon (Bee said it looked tribal), is a list of our rules and our manifesto. Bee wrote it. We argued about it for a while because it made us sound like we were going to change the world, and then we gave in, rolled it up and it’s been there ever since.
The safe needs a five-digit code to open it. It used to be 77777 but I’ve changed it to 87423 – the numbers you’d press if you tried to spell TRIBE on a phone. Clever.
We do the fist of friendship whenever we meet – we make a fist and punch each other’s knuckles. It means respect. And when we leave (or when something good happens) we do the Tribe handshake. We agreed that you have to know the opening and closing actions to be part of Tribe – it’s a rule. And no one knows both of them except us so no one else can join and that’s good.
It would be better if Tribe was a total secret, but we told the Alley Cats and a few of them have brothers and sisters in our school so we blew it really.
It’s funny how we’ve gone from being totally average to something special. It’s actually quite annoying for two reasons . . . no, three reasons.
1. Other kids want to join. We spend ages explaining that it’s not join-able. You’re a Triber or you’re not. And they’re not.
2. Callum, who used to ignore us, is now set on making our lives difficult. He seems to think we’re a threat to his position as King of the Playground.
3. As so many people are interested in us, we have to be really careful not to let anyone hear when we’re talking about Tribe business.
Fifty said something yesterday that summed it all up: ‘It’s strange how we used to be in the middle, not liked or disliked, not unpopular but not very popular, and now we’re either worshipped’ (an exaggeration I thought but I’m writing down exactly what he said), ‘or hated. Like Marmite.’
Bee said, ‘That’s what comes with fame. If you’re well-known, everyone has to have an opinion about you.’
I don’t think she minds being in the spotlight, but I don’t like it at all. Mum says it’ll die down. (Yes, I told my mum. She got suspicious because I was being so secretive and kept hiding things in my safe as she barged into my room. I think she thought I was hiding cigarettes or stuff I’d stolen. As if? This is Keener, remember?) Well, I hope it dies down soon, I thought. But that was before morning assembly, when it became clear that Tribe was going to be in the limelight for a while longer.
a shock in assembly
It was whole school assembly and we were near the back, as usual, all in a line together: me, Copper Pie, Bee, Fifty and then Jonno.
The theme (there’s always a theme) was sharing. There was a reading and the Year 3s did a play that was rubbish, except for my little sister Flo, who had everyone in stitches. She shouted her lines out so loud that everyone had to cover their ears and if anyone else hesitated, even for a second, she said their lines too. She’s a nightmare.
Last of all, there were the school notices which are things like cake sales and reminders not to leave the school grounds until picked up by a parent unless you have a letter giving you permission. Yawn!
‘We have commissioned a survey of the outside areas of the school with a view to increasing the variety of play offered. The initial feedback suggests that, although providing a pleasant backdrop, the trees by the netball court both cast too much shade and waste valuable space that could, for example, be used as a quiet area with seating and tables.’
There was the sound of everyone in the school gasping, followed by a breeze caused by everyone turning their heads to stare at us.
‘As part of our commitment to the environment, we will in turn plant some new trees along the borders by the school gates.’
What was she on about?
There was a painful few minutes of being nudged and nudging. And whispers: our den . . . no way . . . nowhere left . . . challenge the decision . . . they can’t . . .
‘We will consult school council which sits this Thursday, so if you have any suggestions be sure to tell your class representative.’
‘Well, that’s the end of you lot, isn’t it?’ said Callum on the way back to class. ‘You’ll never survive in the playground with the rest of us.’
I didn’t have an answer but Jonno did. ‘You don’t need to worry about us, Callum. We’ll stick together and of course you’ll keep your eye on us.’
Callum grunted and scuttled away.
There was no chance to discuss the devastating news until break. I suppose it gave us all time to have a think. Except Copper Pie, who doesn’t believe in thinking, only action . . .
‘We refuse to move. That’s what we do. Sit under the trees until they agree to leave them right where they are.’
‘It’s called a “sit-in”. It’s what people who live in lovely thatched cottages with rose bushes do if they’re bang in the way of where some horrible, greedy man wants to build a motorway,’ said Bee.
‘I can’t see that working,’ said Fifty. ‘We’re kids. They’d just send five big policemen with dogs to pick us up and throw us in the back of a Black Maria.’
‘A what?’ said Bee.
‘You know, one of those mega-big police vans with blacked-out windows. So you can’t see the cops beating up homeless people and drug dealers,’ said Copper Pie.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Bee. ‘You watch too much of the wrong telly.’
‘There’s no such thing as wrong telly,’ Copper Pie said back.
‘Bee, you should run a school for young offenders. You’d sort them out all right,’ said Jonno.
‘I would too. It’s common sense. Work them hard all day, outside in the fresh
air doing something worthwhile, give them a big nutritious meal at night – homegrown organic food – and then a comfy bed. They’d be too tired and happy to commit a crime.’
BEE’S FACT FILE
• Know-all (who really does know a lot) about global warming and recycling toothpaste tubes and starving children in other countries and animal testing and E numbers.
• Is always right (she thinks).
• HATES the dark
• HATES pink
• HATES being tickled
• HATES birds
FAMILY STUFF
Twin brothers who still live at home even though they’re big
Her mum LOVES shopping
Her dad HATES her mum going shopping
‘They’d nick each other’s food and bully the weedy ones,’ said Copper Pie.
‘Only if they were all like you,’ said Bee.
‘Shut up, you two. This is completely different from anything Tribe’s faced before. We’re up against the Head. It’s not an equal fight so we need to be clever. We need to find a way to make the school council want to keep the playground as it is,’ said Fifty, my law-abiding friend.
‘But the school council is made up of geeks,’ said C.P.
‘And the only people who would want the trees to stay are us,’ I said.
‘It would help if they were nice trees,’ said Jonno.
We were in trouble. Jonno didn’t have any ideas either. Maybe we were going to lose our territory.
‘Come on. There must be lots of eco-reasons why they should stay,’ said Bee.
‘Like what? The Head said they were going to plant new trees,’ said Fifty.
‘We can’t just give up,’ I said. ‘We need sensible ideas.’
‘Time for a brainstorm,’ said Fifty.
‘Qué?’ said Bee.
‘It means we all suggest things and no one’s allowed to say anything bad about any of them. Mum says that knowing no one is going to laugh at what you say frees up your thinking.’
‘OK, brainstorm it is. But only if no one mentions nappies, bogies or cardboard ears,’ said Bee.
The Day the Ear Fell Off Page 9
