(PS USE THE DOWNSTA IRS LOO!)
And then I put the note up on the wall above the loo in my, okay, the bathroom. Luke is going to be so embarrassed when he sees that because he’ll know it’s for him. I would hardly be writing a note to Gran or Mum about aiming their pee, would I?
When I left for school Mum was in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and already on her computer. Way back, before she got married (or ‘Parked my brain’, as she says) she was a journalist, apparently, and now she‘s reckons she’s writing articles again, but I don’t know who she thinks they’re for! I bet she was actually writing her blog – though what could she have to say that’s happened between last night, when she was last on it (for the whole evening, practically), and this morning? Woke up, walked downstairs, made myself coffee, annoyed my daughter as per usual? Soooo interesting.
Anyway Mum, whose hair is quite long (too long, I think, for an old woman) had swooped her hair up, all messily, into a sort of bun and stuck a pencil in it to keep it up. She’s done it loads of times and I never thought anything about it. But today it gave me a brilliant idea for what to do at school. Since making the whole class laugh with the my-plumber-dad-called-me-Tap thing, I’ve been trying to come up with more things to do that’ll make everyone laugh.
I want them all to know it wasn’t just a one-off. I loved it when everyone laughed because I’d got the better of the teacher. It’s definitely true that he just hadn’t known what to say. I don’t want to be mean. I don’t hate teachers. I’m not a proper horrible person. But I do want to stand out. I want to be noticed. I really want to be popular and the only way I can think of to be popular is to be the one at school who’ll say and do things no other kid would dare to say or do. It’s not like if I get A*s in everything and behave really well and do everything I’m told to do. I’m going to become cool. No one ever got cool that way and no one ever thinks those kinds of kids are cool. Just look at Grace.
Grace actually put her hand up when a teacher asked if anyone wanted to volunteer to be a playground litter picker-upper! Yuckarama, that is so mankenstein! She was the only one, of course. I can’t believe anyone would agree to do that. The school does give you extra merit points for doing it but still, it’s not worth it for how nerdy you’re going to look picking up rubbish with one of those sticks with a claw at the end. Oh man, there is no way I’d do that. That is so extra. Grace is always so extra, I’ve decided.
Anyway, I decided to put my genius pencil-plan to use during Ms Cameron’s class. I chose her class because she always flies off the handle at the smallest thing, even something tiny like someone asking if they can be excused to go to the toilet!
I didn’t tell Emz and A’isha I was going to do it, either. I decided it would be best if I just did it and then acted all normal and like, ‘What?’
Just before the class started I got three pencils, twizzled my hair round and round really tightly and then put it up into a bun, like Mum’s was this morning but much neater and tighter, and I stuck the pencils in at different angles and across each other to hold the hair in place. It looked almost like a fashion thing, like it was meant and could (almost) be an actual hair accessory you buy, which is exactly what I’d planned.
When we went into class, a few people were giving me, or rather my hair, weird looks, but I just ignored them. Without looking up from her desk, Ms Cameron told us all to pick up the prepared sheet that she’d put out and to start filling in the answers.
Oh no, she had to see my hair or my plan wasn’t going to work. I didn’t know what to do. At our table, Emz said, ‘What have you done with your hair?’ and then A’isha said, ‘You look like a Japanese woman. Miss is going to go mad.’
‘That’s the plan,’ I replied and we all started giggling.
Ms Cameron looked up. ‘Who’s making that noise?’ she barked at last.
‘Sorry, Miss,’ Emz said, and immediately started doing the work and so did A’isha.
And then Ms Cameron saw me, looked at my hair and asked, really snippily, ‘Tabitha Baird, what on earth have you done with your hair?’
Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me, waiting for what I was going to say. This is exactly what I’d hoped. It was brilliant knowing everyone was watching.
‘My hair, Miss? I don’t know what you mean.’ I stayed completely straight-faced, like I had no idea what she was talking about.
‘Your hair. You seem to have a number of pencils in your hair. It looks ridiculous. Those pencils should be stored in your pencil case, not in your hair,’ she continued, obviously quite pleased with her little joke about the correct place for storing pencils.
‘Ah, I see. Oh no, Miss, these aren’t those kind of pencils. These are pencils specifically for holding up your hair – it’s the latest fashion.’
I could hear a few people start to laugh.
‘Don’t be silly. Take them out now.’
‘But I can’t, Miss, they’re holding my hairdo – my bun – up. It took me all morning to do this before I came to school.’
Ms Cameron looked at me for a minute, obviously trying to decide what to do. I could feel the whole class waiting for what was going to happen next. I didn’t flinch. I just stared back at her doing my absolute best I-don’t-understand-what-the-problem-is face.
Miss was obviously expecting me to crumble before she did and when I didn’t I could tell she was getting crosser and crosser. You could hear a pin drop.
Eventually she practically barked, ‘Tabitha, take those pencils out of your hair immediately!’
I waited a minute and then said, ‘Miss, I’m not being rude, but maybe you aren’t completely up on modern fashion. I’ve seen this bun done on telly and everything.’
The whole class burst out laughing. Ms Cameron looked like she was going to explode. I just stared back at her, all nicely. I even managed to look around at the others who were laughing and do a what-are-you-all-laughing-about? face.
‘I will not put up with this cheek, Tabitha. Leave my class this minute,’ Miss eventually managed to splutter.
As I stood up I said, ‘Okay, if you’re sure, but, you know, it’s just a teen fashion look – it’s all the rage,’ and the whole class laughed again.
I had to wait outside until the lesson was over and that was a bit boring. But when everyone came out, oh man, everyone, including people I’d never really spoken to before, said things like, ‘That was so funny,’ and, ‘Oooh, you really got Miss there,’ and one boy even high-fived me.
Emz and A’isha came out of the class last. ‘Tab, you are so brave. That was so daring. How did you manage not to crack up?’ A’isha said.
It felt so good to have them say those things. I think I have definitely found the way to be cool and I’m loving it. Ms Cameron gave me a half-hour detention after school tomorrow, though, which is super boring, but worth it because the hair thing was so great.
I got home and asked Gran if she wanted me to take Basil out for a walk. Mum nearly splurted coffee out of her mouth all over her computer on the kitchen table. I tried to take the mick by sarcastically imitating Mum’s splurting, but nearly choked on the apple I was eating instead. (I’m trying not to eat biscuits and stuff like that when I get back from school. It is soooo hard.)
‘Where’s my usual daughter gone?!’ she cried. Hah, hah, very funny. ‘Are you an alien? Have you abducted my permanently stroppy daughter and replaced her with this nice, helpful one?’ Mum went on, talking very slowly, pretending she had to speak like that so that the alien – i.e. me – would understand her.
‘Mum, stop being so incredibly annoying!’ I shouted at her. (She deserved it.) ‘I am being nice to Gran. Can’t you just leave it? Can’t I be nice to Gran and take Basil for a walk without you being so stupid and sarcastic?’
Gran laughed and Mum hissed, ‘Not helpful,’ under her breath, but I heard. I love it when Gran annoys Mum, because then Mum gets a taste of her own medicine.
Gran just i
gnored Mum and started talking to Basil, telling him what a lucky boy he was to go out walking with me.
As usual Mum, who literally, physically cannot not have a go at me whenever she gets a chance, said, ‘I’m just very surprised at Tabitha’s sudden willingness to take you out, Basil. Last time she said she’d rather – what was it? – oh yes, have boiling hot oil poured into her ears than take you for a walk. I wonder if there’s another dog you like, or perhaps Tabitha likes another dog’s walker … Has my darling little pudding made a little friend?!’
‘Shut up, Mum. This is not funny!’ I shouted back.
Mum just said, ‘Oh no, darling, I was talking to Basil, not you.’
But I knew she was talking to me and just pretending to be talking to Basil to make me even more annoyed.
Gran then butted in, ‘Kat, don’t talk to Basil. You know he doesn’t understand you, do you, Basil? You only understand your mummy, isn’t that right, my own little lad?’
And, at last, that got Mum annoyed. She hates it when Gran talks to Basil like he’s her actual child and like she loves him more than her – it’s hilarious.
Gran obviously wanted to wind Mum up because she said to Basil, as she was putting yet another ridiculous hat on him (this one was a sort of baby’s bonnet – like that was going to stay on once I’d left!), ‘Ooh, Basil, your sister is jealous of you.’
Then Mum screamed, ‘Mum, stop it. He is a dog, he is not a human being, he is not my brother!’ and then Basil started barking (but I think that was really because I was jangling his lead underneath the flap of my coat so that Mum couldn’t see.)
Gran said, ‘Stop it now, Kat. Grow up, you’re upsetting Basil!’
Mum gritted her teeth and growled at Basil and then stormed out of the room. It was so funny. Mum is such a baby around Basil. She is properly jealous of him.
Gran brought Basil over to me and clipped his lead on. ‘Honestly, my two, they’re like cat and dog, the way they fight.’
That’s Gran’s favourite joke, because Mum is called Kat, short for Katherine. So she says ‘cat’ but means ‘Kat’. She probably only called Mum Katherine so she could shorten it to Kat because when someone says ‘cat’ you always immediately think of dogs, don’t you? Gran’s always had dogs and Mum reckons Gran has always preferred every single dog she’s had to her.
I don’t think that can be actually true. Although it is true that Gran definitely pretends to love Basil more than Mum. I feel a bit sorry for Mum. Yuck. I don’t like feeling sorry for Mum – must stop that. Must remember at all times that Mum is THE most annoying person in the entire universe – apart from Luke, who shares joint first prize with Mum. Therefore I don’t ever, ever have to feel sorry for either of them because they are the TOP most annoying people in the world.
So I took Basil out and, yes, maybe I was hoping to see Snap-Dog Boy, but I was also trying to be nice to Gran, okay? But that does not mean Mum was right. I went the same way as last time, up round near Emz’s road, and I didn’t see Snap-Dog Boy at all. Then, just as I was heading home and, I admit, feeling a little disappointed, I spotted him on the other side of the road.
He was running with his dog so I realised there was going to be no chance of organising an accidental bumping-into-him again.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to miss this chance. And then, almost without knowing I was going to do it, I called out, ‘Hello, Snap-Dog!’
To make matters worse, I don’t think he heard me the first time, so rather than be relieved he hadn’t heard me, for some reason I shouted it again but louder.
That time he stopped and looked over but obviously didn’t know who I was. Oh man, I thought I’d die of embarrassment. What an idiot! He’d stopped and was now looking at me, so I couldn’t just walk away and pretend I’d never called anything out, which I obviously now wished I hadn’t!
I had to do something, so I pointed at his dog and then mine and called out (again!), ‘You said “snap” the other day. Hah, hah! Same dogs, snap!’
I felt like such a complete moron. I mean, what kind of nutter calls out to someone who is running and who they’ve never even spoken to properly in the first place? He must think I am THE most pathetic person in the entire world. He must think I’m so desperate for friends I have to call out to people who are miles away and running, just to make lame conversation about having similar dogs.
He sort of smiled and shouted back, ‘Oh yeah,’ and then, ‘Okay, see you around, I’ve got to keep running,’ and sped off down the road.
I wished I hadn’t called out at all but seeing as I did it was really good that he said, ‘See you around,’ wasn’t it? Obviously he’s expecting (hoping, maybe?) to see me around. That’s good, isn’t it? That’s the sort of thing you say to people you know you’ll see around, don’t you? So that means he’s thought about it, about seeing me around. I mean, if he hadn’t ever thought about seeing me again he wouldn’t have said that, would he?
When I got home I went on Facebook to see if I could find Snap-Dog Boy, even though Mum would go mad if she knew I was on it. She says it’s where creepy, weird men try to find young girls. She knows nothing about the privacy settings and how people actually get access to your page or anything, and there’s no point in trying to explain it to her – she just would not get it. Grown-ups just go on and on about being aware of ‘online vulnerability’ and ‘internet risk’, which is hilarious as no grown-up knows how to use the internet as well as me and my friends do.
Actually Luke knows his way around a computer and the internet better than anyone. I guess he would though, because being such a nerdy geek he spends most of his life on one.
It turned out to be quite hard to find someone when you don’t know their name – surprise, surprise, he doesn’t call himself Snap-Dog Boy on Facebook. That’s if he is even on there. He must be. Everyone is.
In fact, there is no one called Snap-Dog Boy on Facebook anywhere in the world – there are loads and loads called Dog Boy, but who cares about them? I am only interested in finding Snap-Dog Boy!
OH MY GOD IN WAY UP HIGH HEAVEN! You would not believe what happened today.
I got into school, as per normal day, i.e. super-boring, boring lessons, boring teachers, you know, regular, boring normal day.
Then at break A’isha got a magazine out of her bag. She’d bought it because it had someone – can’t remember who – she liked on the cover. So, Emz and me were chatting away and then A’isha threw a plastic, see-through pouch sort of thing with a load of coloured rings inside it at us. ‘Here, do you want these? They came free with this mag.’
Emz and I opened the bag. There were about six rings – they were all different, really bright, neony colours and quite nice and cool. So, as a joke, I put them all on one finger, sort of stacked up on top of each other. They were tight in the first place and the more rings I put on, the harder I had to push to get them on because, obviously, there wasn’t really enough room on my finger for all of them. After I’d got all six of them on, I waved my be-ringed hand about a bit, like I was flashing diamonds, and everyone laughed.
Then I realised that I couldn’t bend my knuckle. It started to get a bit uncomfortable so I tried to take them off and I couldn’t! I was pulling and pulling and they just would not budge.
And then my finger started swelling up in the spaces in between the rings and went all puffy and looked like a big, fat uncooked sausage. And then it started to hurt and the squished sausagey bit started to throb.
A’isha just kept laughing her head off. ‘Look at the colour your finger’s gone. That is gross,’ she said, super helpfully, between chokes of laughter. It did look pretty mankenstein.
Anyway, it was hurting so much and I just could not get the rings to move, so Emz suggested we went to the toilets and all tried to pull them off using water and soap, but that didn’t work either.
And then Emz, who’s always the most sensible out of us three I have to admit, freaked out. ‘Oh my go
d, what if the rings have cut your finger’s blood supply off?’ she said. ‘We’ll have to go to medical before your finger drops off.’
I was beginning to worry that it actually might. It had gone a sort of deep purple and had stopped throbbing. I couldn’t feel it at all by this time.
In medical, the useless pretend-nurse who, A’isha says, always tells you to lie down no matter what you go in there for – stomach-ache, headache, football injury – didn’t actually tell me to lie down. Instead she looked really worried. ‘Oh dear, that does look awful,’ she said helpfully. ‘Why did you put all those rings on?’
‘Because I thought it might be a great way of getting my finger to drop off cos I don’t really need that one,’ I replied, a bit super-sarcastically because I thought that was a really stupid question. At least A’isha snorted with laughter, but Emz gave me a come-on-this-is-serious look.
The nurse took the hand with the bad finger, pushed it a bit, ignoring my cries of pain, sucked air in between her pursed lips, shook her head and then said, ‘Right, we’ve got to get you to a hospital. These rings must come off as soon as possible.’
I was a bit freaked-out and like, ‘Hospital? Isn’t that a bit heavy? Can’t we just sort of, I don’t know, stamp on the rings to break them?’
Emz, being sensible again, pointed out that, as the rings were actually on my finger, if we stamped on them, that would mean stamping on my finger, which might break at the same time as the rings.
She had a point. So the nurse called the school office to get someone to come and take me to hospital and told A’isha and Emz to go back to class. It was all a bit serious by then and didn’t seem so much fun without my pals.
This ‘behaviour monitor’, Ms Cantor, turned up to take me to the hospital. She was a really young woman, not that much older than me, and looked nice and friendly.