Just Call Me Spaghetti-Hoop Boy

by Lara Williamson

  “It’s Ganymede,” I fire back, flinging myself forward like a human cannonball. “It’s the largest moon of Jupiter.” Minnie ducks and steps back, flicking to another page. With a puzzled look on her face, she asks what the big dark monster thing is. “It’s a rose,” my voice is brittle. “A beautiful rose.”

  Minnie bursts out laughing, her braces glinting in the light. “That’s no rose. That’s a big ugly black blob. And if it is a rose, it’s missing something important.”

  Fury bubbles inside me as I say it’s not missing anything, thank you very much. Then I lunge for the notebook again, but I’m too slow and now Minnie has seen the word ACE in big letters and read my birthdate and where I was born. Desperately I manage to grab Minnie’s hands and finally, as she screams about me damaging her freshly painted seashell-pink nails, the notebook is mine. I’ve got it between my fingers, but as I pull it away from Minnie there’s a sickening rip. The page with the rose is torn in half. “Look what you’ve done,” I spit. “You’ve wrecked my drawing, you dough ball.”

  “You did it yourself,” says Minnie, her cheeks fiery. “Anyway, why are you drawing roses? And what’s with writing your birthday? We all know when it is. And what does ACE mean? What’s going on?” From the look on Minnie’s face, I can tell she’s guessed I’m up to something – and if I know my sister, she isn’t going to stop until I’ve spilled the beans.

  That’s the thing about Minnie. She’s older and she likes to know everything and boss me around. To be honest, it wasn’t always like that. When we were younger we were the best of friends and we’d walk home from school together. But when she turned thirteen and I was nine, Dad got me interested in comics. After that everything went as wonky as a donkey in zero gravity. Minnie didn’t like Zorbitans, villains and heroes, and Dad wasn’t interested in listening to her talk make-up and fashion. Before long, Minnie stopped being nice to me.

  Idly I flick through my notebook, trying to look as casual as a pair of jogging bottoms. I stop at the torn page and declare, “There is nothing you should know. And there’s nothing strange about me drawing roses or writing down my birthdate. As for being ACE…well, that just means you’re the best. Look it up in the dictionary. I have. Nope, all this is perfectly normal behaviour in my humble opinion.”

  “What flipping planet are you on?” Minnie gapes at me.

  “The same planet as you, unfortunately,” I reply.

  Minnie lets out a little pig-like snort and then asks why I’ve written Pegasus Park Hospital in my notebook and put a question mark beside it.

  I shrug. “I was born in Pegasus Park, so I was probably born at that hospital.”

  “Oh yeah?” says Minnie, sucking all the air from my bedroom through her braces. “And how do you know that exactly?” There’s a second before I realize I’ve been rumbled by my big sister. She says she doesn’t know where I was born, so how do I? “Mum hasn’t mentioned it to us. She’s never discussed where they adopted you from. I didn’t think anyone knew which hospital you were born in.” Minnie’s eyes are like two tiny subtraction signs and I feel my stomach go wobbly like the jelly in a pork pie and I’m back-pedalling so much I could be on a bike heading backwards.

  “Um…” That’s the best I can manage, as I’m already weighed down under Minnie’s stony gaze.

  In the end, Minnie says she’s going to stage a sit-in in my bedroom until I tell her everything. She throws herself on my bed and flings her arms behind her head, closing her eyes. So eventually I tell Minnie I’m doing a school project about family trees. Opening one eye, Minnie tells me to continue.

  “Well, I know all about this family, so I thought I’d do my real family. I needed information, so I found an envelope with a certificate that told me my name, my mother’s name and where I was born. But that was it. That’s all the information I have. Nothing more, I promise. I just needed some facts for school.”

  There’s a pause and I swear I can almost see Minnie’s brain working. “Since finding the envelope, you haven’t gone looking for your mother, have you?” She’s sitting up now.

  I shrug again. “No.” I’m not lying because I haven’t looked for her yet. And I wouldn’t even be thinking of looking for her now except for the fact that Mum and Dad need me to go to make space for the jelly bean. I don’t think Minnie or Velvet know about the jelly bean yet and I can’t say anything because I’m not supposed to know either.

  “Put all this out of your head,” says Minnie, her eyeballs searing holes through mine and then destroying the wall behind me and burning through the Earth’s crust. “You’ve already got Mum and Dad. What more do you need? Mum and Dad are the best. They’re the most brilliant parents on the planet.” Minnie glares at me defiantly.

  I tell Minnie I know that. And she’s right, Mum and Dad are the best and I feel bad for wanting more. But I can’t help it. It’s impossible to forget that you’ve got a mother out there who you don’t know, especially when you need to go and live with her. Minnie will never understand how that feels. How could she, when she’s got a forever home and knows that she won’t have to leave? Plus, unlike me, Minnie knows what her mum and dad look like. Mum and Minnie are like mirror images, except Minnie’s got more fake tan and bigger eyebrows. Oh, and she wears skinny jeans and crop tops. Mum doesn’t like crop tops. She says they draw attention to your muffin top. Velvet looks a bit like Dad, without the bald head and tattoo. But I look like no one. I’ve got red hair and everyone else in the family has brown. Even Dad’s was brown before it disappeared. “Your hair is like the finest spun copper thread,” Mum used to tell me. She said it was special, but I didn’t want special hair, I wanted hair like everyone else’s.

  I explain more about the project to Minnie and how we’re going to make our trees. “It’s about us more than anything and how we fit at the top of our tree. It wasn’t about me finding anyone in real life. That’s not what Mrs Chatterjee said. It’s just a project.”

  Quiet descends and it feels like we’ve just walked into the chiller aisle at the supermarket. After mulling it over, Minnie breaks the silence. “You’d better not be thinking about anything else. And even if you do find out any more information for this daft project, then you can’t act on it. Just because you found out your real mother’s name, that doesn’t mean she’s wonderful, you know. Don’t you go around thinking she’s Mrs Perfect.”

  “But she could be,” I mutter indignantly, suddenly protective of a mother I don’t even know.

  “Don’t ever think you’re going to go out and find her and she’ll welcome you with open arms. You’re completely bonkers if you get into all this. It’s a can of snakes.” Minnie’s voice gets higher.

  “Worms.” I instantly regret correcting Minnie because now she’s got a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp.

  “No, Adam. It’s a can of snakes. It’s so much bigger than worms. But like you said, it’s only a project and you haven’t looked for her and you’re not going to bother.” With a flourish, Minnie adds, “I knew you were up to something that night of the storm because I saw you rummaging about in Mum and Dad’s drawers.” I swallow because I did see a shadow at the door that night. “You were looking for the envelope, weren’t you?”

  I squirm as bossyboots Minnie rises from my bed and sashays over to the door. “Promise me that what you’re telling me is true. This is just a project and you’re not looking for this woman. If you don’t, I’ll tell Mum you were snooping.”

  I promise but my hands are in my pockets and my fingers are crossed. Everyone knows that if you cross your fingers it cancels out a promise.

  That evening, as I’m trying to put the two pieces of my torn rose drawing together, I think about my real mother again. Roses are beautiful – it’s true what I said to Minnie earlier. I stand up and pad over to the window.

  “Roses are beautiful,” I repeat, pressing my nose flat against the glass. Outside there’s a full moon rolling across the sky like a giant pearl sliding over black velvet.
Stars prick the darkness and I reach out and imagine catching one in my hand. The lights in the windows of the other tower blocks wink and I know the lights in our tower block are winking back. Pegasus Park stretches out before me and I can see the high street with Dad’s Surelock Homes shop, Sharkey’s corner shop and Good Buy, Mr Chips. My school is in the distance and then I spy the hills that surround the town like a protective green lasso.

  As the moon washes my bedroom in liquid silver I glance back at my drawing of the rose and I realize what Minnie meant earlier when she said that it was missing something important. At the time I didn’t give it any thought because I was angry, but now, looking at the drawing, I know Minnie’s right. There is something missing. Thorns! A rose always has thorns.

  Monday morning starts off just like the last. There’s sticky paste pretending to be porridge for breakfast, Minnie’s giving me dagger-eyes over the table because she’s angry about something I’ve said, Dad’s talking about how it’ll be a busy day because he’s offering a Monday special – ten per cent off keys. Velvet is whispering to Sausage Roll under the table and after Mum has signed my permission slip she stares into the distance for ages. I think she’s in one of her moods again. It’s only when I ask for a spoon that Mum snaps out of it. She says she’s sorry and it’s because she’s got a lot on her mind. “Ignore me,” adds Mum.

  Minnie takes Mum at her word and begins talking about how her drama rehearsals are going and that the boy playing her husband is lovely. “He’s called Callum and he’s a brilliant actor,” gushes Minnie. “I think we’re the perfect couple. Mr Bravo says we’re like two star-crossed lovers.”

  “I thought you were doing Macbeth, not Romeo and Juliet?” says Dad, picking some fluff off his T-shirt. Minnie gapes at Dad and everyone can see how much porridge is in her mouth. “You don’t call it that,” she gasps. “You call it ‘the Scottish play’.” And she gets up and turns around three times and spits, much to Mum’s horror. We all look at the tiny wet patch of porridge dribbling over the edge of the kitchen counter. “It’s to counteract the bad luck from saying—”

  “Macbeth,” interrupts Velvet cheerfully.

  Mum holds up her hand and says Minnie can go outside if she wants to spit again. Minnie pouts. “Doesn’t anyone understand how this is a story of tragedy? There’s a storm one night…” Minnie’s gaze falls on me. “And it’s as if the main character of the Scottish play’s fate is sealed. Yes, he’s ambitious and he wants more than he’s already got. Even though what he’s got is good and he should be content with it. Anyway, he gets what he wants in the end but he pays a big price. Oh, silly man.” Minnie’s shaking her head like a dog with a flea in its ear.

  “Whoa,” exclaims Dad. “That’s a bit deep for breakfast time.”

  Minnie gives a rueful smile. “Well, Dad,” she says, like a world authority on the entire works of Shakespeare, “this is a classic story that has parallels with our lives today. I simply thought I would share this knowledge with you all.” Once more, Minnie stares at me as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “What I’m trying to say is, sometimes we should all consider what we have in our lives without looking for more. Looking for more can end in catastrophe.”

  There’s an awkward silence.

  I just stare deeply into my watch, which still isn’t working. I give it a little tap and then hold it up to my ear. Minnie glares at me and asks where I got the watch from. When I tell her it was Granddad Fred’s, she looks at Mum and Dad and then back at me. There is the feeling of impending doom as Minnie grimaces, rises from the table and stalks towards the door.

  Dad gives a tiny round of applause, saying, “Great performance.”

  It’s obvious from Minnie’s face that she wasn’t giving one. She slams the door – and if Dad had any hair, it would have blown right back.

  Mum sighs, picks up her cereal bowl and takes it to the sink, before taking a dishcloth to the spittle on the work surface.

  I don’t care what Minnie has said about Macbeth. Minnie doesn’t know what it feels like to be adopted. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be happy but always feel like a tiny bit of you is missing. Minnie doesn’t understand anything. And that’s why nothing Minnie says is going to stop me.

  It happens by surprise. I suppose all superheroes could say that. They don’t expect to be eating fish-finger sandwiches when the Batphone rings, or to come across a person trapped under a car while they’re out walking the dog, or to be in the bank getting some money out for a new pair of pants when a group of crooks in balaclavas appear, holding a swag bag ready to be filled with cash.

  Anyway, I’m walking to school and there’s a fine grey veil of mist over everything. As I make my way along the pavement I can hear the thump-thump-thump of music. In the distance I see the lights of a car and as I turn to my right I can make out Tyler, the guy who jumped in to save me at the swimming pool.

  From the corner of my eye I see the car is now hurtling towards us. Suddenly Tyler steps down from the pavement and I swear he’s going to be hit and, without thinking, my arm shoots out and I grab him by the neck of the blazer and pull. He falls backwards as the car whizzes past us both, honking its horn. I look down at my feet and Tyler is lying there in a heap. He stares up at me, slack-jawed, before taking off his massive headphones. “What the heck did you do that for?”

  “I saved your life.” My voice wobbles. My fingers are trembling. “You were nearly hit by a Mini.”

  Tyler blinks and says he heard nothing, and I tell him that’s because he had two big cushions on his ears. No one would hear a Tyrannosaurus rex coming with those on. Scrabbling to his feet, Tyler says I might have a point, but he’s sure he would have seen the car eventually. And I agree, yes, he would have seen it – a second before it hit him. Begrudgingly Tyler says okay, I’ve saved his life, but he saved mine too so it’s quits. His mouth is set in a firm line.

  “Quits,” I say, smiling. And it’s like a light bulb has just gone on inside my head. All I can think is, I’m a SUPERHERO! I’m ACE and I DID IT! I’m EXCELLENT. There’s a whole fireworks display going off inside my brain. Everyone is going to love me. Mum’s going to be over the moon when she hears this – she’s going to smile so much her jaws will ache. And when I find my real mother, I can tell her what a great human being I am too, and she’s going to think I’m so brilliant that she’ll want me to move in with her.

  As Tyler crosses the road safely, I let out a tiny whoop of joy and then I stick my arm in the air and shout “Kazoo!”

  A man gives me a funny look as he walks past, and I drop my arm quickly before continuing, “A kazoo is an instrument.” I whistle as I cross the road, taking care not to step out in front of any oncoming traffic. The last thing I need right now is to be hit by a speeding car myself.

  As I walk into the school playground I’m convinced that I’m surrounded by a golden glow of greatness – I’m swimming in a sea of super, ecstatic about my own excellence, floating in a fog of fabulousness. Basically I am a superhero now. I’m one hundred per cent certain I’ll look different. To prove this, I wave at Mrs Chatterjee, who is on playground duty, and she waves back. See, she can tell I’m excellent. She knows. I salute the kids in Year Four and they salute me back. I give a tiny smile to The Beast who is standing near the holly bush and The Beast looks confused but then smiles back and waves at me. Like I always thought, everyone loves a superhero. It’s excellent being this excellent.

  Unfortunately, nothing changes in class, because no one mentions the golden glow. In fact, after she’s collected the library permission slips, Mrs Chatterjee is busy giving us a test on history and telling us to get on with it, and no matter how many times I try to smile at her she’s ignoring my brilliance.

  “What’s with the goofy grin?” asks Tiny Eric, staring at me. “Did you get some good luck in the end? That’s the only reason I can think of for that silly smile.”

  “I might have,” I whisper mysteriously. “Hey, what’s the answer
to By population, which is the largest city in Scotland?”

  “Pegasus Park?” hisses Tiny Eric. When I say that’s not in Scotland, he adds, “Okay, Edinburgh then. And what was the good luck? You haven’t told me yet and best friends are supposed to tell each other everything.”

  “Can’t you see?” I puff up my chest and feel my school shirt strain. “I’m a superhero now. It happened this morning. You won’t believe this but I saved a life. What’s the answer to What is the longest river in the world?”

  “Huh? You saved someone? I think it’s the Amazon,” says Tiny Eric. “It sounds like the lucky four-leaf clover did the job. You believed.” When I say I stopped someone getting hit by a car but still need some more luck, he tells me not to exhaust the magic. And he asks me why I wanted to be a superhero in the first place.

  “Everyone loves a superhero,” I reply, like it’s no big deal and I’m used to it already. “That’s why I asked you to draw me as a hero. I was born to be one and now I’ve achieved it, everything will be perfect. Mum will be happy. Everyone will be.” Tiny Eric lets out a little snort and Mrs Chatterjee looks over at us and then down at the test questions, saying that this is the last one. After a few seconds I lean over and whisper to Tiny Eric, “Russia, Lithuania, Belarus, Slovakia, Ukraine, the Czech Republic and Germany all share a border with which country?”

  “It’s Poland,” says Tiny Eric, turning away.

  Mrs Chatterjee thanks Tiny Eric for giving everyone the answer. “When I give a test, I ask the questions and you write down the answers. What you don’t do is whisper the answers to each other. Tiny Eric, since you are already an expert on Poland, perhaps you could share a few interesting details about it with the class.”

  Tiny Eric glares at me and then stands up. Mrs Chatterjee tells everyone to pin back their ears, as if that’s going to be easy. “Warsaw is the capital of Poland.” Mrs Chatterjee nods. “The national symbol is the white eagle and Marie Curie was Polish. One of Poland’s most popular dishes is gołąbki, which means little pigeons.”