Desirable

  Desirable

  by

  Frank Cottrell Boyce

  For Joe, Chiara and Denny –

  explicably popular

  First American edition published in 2012 by Stoke Books,

  an imprint of Barrington Stoke Ltd 18

  Walker Street, Edinburgh, United Kingdom, EH3 7LP

  www.stokebooks.com

  Copyright © 2008 Frank Cottrell Boyce

  Illustrations © Dylan Gibson

  All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise – without the prior written permission of Barrington Stoke Ltd, except for inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

  A catalog record for this book is available from

  the US Library of Congress

  Distributed in the United States and Canada by Lerner Publisher

  Services, a division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

  241 First Avenue North, Minneapolis, MN 55401 www.lernerbooks.com.

  ISBN 978-1-78112-013-2

  Printed in China

  eISBN: 978-1-78112-055-2

  Contents

  1 How Not to Party

  2 How to Wear Aftershave

  3 How to be Popular with Girls

  4 How to Recognize Goblins

  5 How to be Unpopular with Boys

  6 How to be Lucky

  Chapter 1

  How Not to Party

  You won’t believe this but I used to be a loser. Like one time it was my birthday and Mom said, “Let’s have a party, George. Ask anyone you like.” And I couldn’t get anyone to come. Not one person. I did ask Tiny Biggs, from the Warhammer Club at school, because he’s a loser too. He said, “Will there be food?”

  “Loads of food. Chicken wings. Pringles. Birthday cake.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “So you’ll come?”

  “Can’t. Sorry.”

  “Why not?”

  “Social suicide, isn’t it? If anyone found out I’d been to your house, I’d be a joke. No offense.”

  Tiny won’t sit with me at lunch time for the same reason. The only time he talks to me is during Warhammer Club. That’s because there are only two people in the Warhammer Club – me and him. Tiny thinks that things are going to be different in the future. “Girls are obsessed with fashion,” he says, “And celebs. All we need is for Hilary Duff to say she likes Warhammer, and the next thing you know, we’ll be fighting the women off.”

  So far, Hilary Duff has not gotten into Warhammer, so it’s still just the two of us.

  There’s a girl who gets the same bus as me called Danielle. I thought about asking her to my party too. I thought about it in detail in fact. I knew I wouldn’t be able to ask her just like that. I haven’t spoken to a girl since fifth grade, except in self defense. But I did work out a plan. If I dropped my bag just as I was getting on the bus, she might spot the birthday card that I’d carefully left sticking out of the side pocket and she might say, “Oh. Is it your birthday? Are you having a party or anything?”

  And then I’d say, “My mom’s gonna cook a big meal – chicken wings, birthday cake, stuff like that.”

  And she’d say, “Stop, stop. You’re making me hungry.”

  And I’d say, “Come and get some if you like. There’ll be plenty to spare.”

  And she’d say, “Great!” and come home with me. And we’d all live happily ever after.

  I wrote the whole thing down on a piece of paper and learned it off by heart, so I’d be ready.

  And it nearly worked, too. The bus did come. I did drop the bag. But then Danielle didn’t look down and see the card. She just stepped over the bag, and got on the bus. That slowed me down when I was picking things up, so by the time I stood up, the bus was moving off with her on board and I got left at the bus stop.

  So my birthday dinner was just me and Mom and Dad and Grandpa. Mom said, “Well this is cozy.”

  “It’s great,” said Grandpa. “Can we do the birthday cake now?”

  Dad said, “We haven’t even had the chicken wings yet!”

  “I know,” said Grandpa, “But I’ve got to go in a minute. I’m having my hair cut.”

  Even my own Grandpa didn’t want to have dinner with me on my birthday. Mom lit the candles. Grandpa said, “Do you remember Patrick’s birthday and you said he could have five friends and fifty turned up!?”

  Patrick is my big brother. He’s at college. He’s very popular. And smart. And good at soccer. And drawing. And piano.

  “And then when it was time for the cake, he took a napkin, put it in front of the cake, blew and then ... the whole cake vanished!”

  He’s also good at magic tricks.

  “How did he do that!?” asked Grandpa.

  And he’s good at math. And fixing things. And talking to people. I don’t know how he does it. Any of it. I don’t know how he gets good grades, scores goals, makes friends. These things are all as weird as vanishing cakes to me.

  “I got you a present,” said Grandpa, passing me a little package. “Go on, open it. My haircut’s not going to wait forever.”

  I opened it. I’d been hinting like crazy for some extra Warhammer figures so it was a big surprise to find that the package contained a bottle of aftershave with a pair of “free designer” cuff-links stuck to the lid. Grandpa said, “I hope you like it. Got to go.” And went.

  “Nice cuff-links,” said Dad, “Just what every boy needs.”

  The aftershave was called “Desirable”.

  Mom said, “I bought him that aftershave when I was a little girl.”

  “And they’re still making it? It must be good then. It must be a classic,” said Dad.

  “I don’t mean I bought him that brand. I mean I bought him that bottle. Look on the back.”

  On the back was a sticker of a man with big hair. Under that it said, “This aftershave best before end of: August 1982.”

  Mom said, “Give it to me. I’ll put it in the recycling.”

  I said, “No. Don’t. Maybe it’s like wine or something. Maybe the longer you leave it, the better it gets.”

  “I wouldn’t risk it if I were you,” said Dad. “Here’s our present to you.”

  And they gave me the exact Warhammer figures that I’d always wanted.

  Chapter 2

  How to Wear Aftershave

  When I woke up the next morning, the sun was shining on the line of Warhammer goblins I’d arranged on the windowsill, and on the bottle of aftershave which I’d left next to them. The aftershave threw lemon splashes of sunlight all over the room. I took the bottle and waggled it around for a while, making the lemon splashes dash around the walls. I was pretending it was some kind of wizard torch thing. I picked off the designer cuff-links. Then I tried to open the bottle. The stopper wouldn’t budge at first. I had to grip it with the edge of a blanket and twist it.

  Then suddenly it came free. The second the lid was off, Mrs. Doyle’s dog started barking. There was a fluttery racket in the garden as all the birds in the trees seemed to take off at once. Cats meowed. And Mom banged on my bedroom wall shouting, “What’s going on in there?” An aftershave you could smell through walls! I thought I’d better not try it. So I stuck the lid back on and shoved the bottle under my bed. But a bit of the liquid had spilled on my fingers. I rubbed that into my cheeks. It stung like a really angry jelly fish.

  When I got to school, Perfect Paula was hanging around the entrance with her friends, same as every morning. Every morning I have to walk past her while she amuses her crew by making comments about me, my clothes, and most of all my back pack (Mom makes me use this
fluorescent yellow back pack for safety reasons). As I walked towards her, I could see her grinning as if she’d thought of something really bad. I put my head down and got ready to ignore her. Then suddenly her face changed. She sniffed the air, like a nervous dog, and then she said, “Hello, George. Nice to see you. Are you going to homeroom?”

  It was 8.50. Where did she think I was going? Ballroom dancing? I said, “Yes.”

  “Can I come with you? No. I know. Let’s all go.”

  And they all followed me in through the main doors, giggling and nudging each other. Paula said, “George, what are you doing after this?”

  “Computers.”

  “George is doing Computers. Let’s all do Computers.”

  I said, “I think you’ll find it’s on the class schedule. You’re doing Computers whether you want to or not.”

  “Oh, I love the way he says things! Don’t you love the way he says things – all snotty and sarcastic?”

  They followed me into school.

  It was a trap. I knew that. They were probably planning to pull me into the girls’ bathroom and remove my eyebrows with a pair of tweezers. Or something. It had to be a trap.

  But it was a nice trap.

  Most days, when I walk around the hallways in our school, I try to stick as close to the walls as I can. I try to think myself invisible. Today I was not invisible. Today I was totally visible. I was walking in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by girls. I couldn’t help enjoying it, even if I was worried about what they were planning. Maybe a fish thinks the bait tastes nice, even if it does have a hook in it.

  Our homeroom teacher is Mrs. Dudman. In all the years I’ve been at the school she’s only spoken to me once. She said, “Stop talking, George.” Today when I walked in, she looked at me, did that worried-dog type sniff thing that Paula had done, and said, “Hello George, you look nice today. Have you done something different to your hair?”

  I’ve never done anything to my hair. Except wash it after swimming on Wednesdays and after Karate on Sundays. I said, “No,” But no one heard me. They were all discussing the niceness of my hair.

  Tiny Biggs was amazed.

  Things got even more weird in Computers. Mr. Fitton didn’t do the worried dog sniff or make comments about my hair. He told us all to split into groups of three. There are 28 people in my class. Most days if we split into threes it means, nine groups of three and me on my own. Today, he’d just finished talking when Perfect Paula slid her chair in on one side of me and Danielle slid hers in on the other side. Jade came and stood too close to Danielle. “I always work with Paula,” she said.

  “Yes she always works with me,” agreed Paula.

  “I want to work with George,” said Danielle.

  “Well, George doesn’t want to work with you, do you, George? Tell her to get lost, George.”

  I turned to Danielle. No way was I going to tell her to get lost. If I’d said anything it would have been, “Please don’t get lost.” But when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. Danielle glared at me, got up and went and sat with Mr. Fitton. I tried to say, “No, wait, come back ...” but that didn’t come out either.

  Chapter 3

  How to be Popular with Girls

  The lesson was about making websites. Each group had to design a fan site for a band or a singer, and decide what to put on the front page and how to lay it out. Paula leaned over to Jade and said, “We’re doing a George fan site. It’s called WeloveGeorge and it’s going to have loads of George gossip and George facts on it. George, what’s your favorite color?”

  “I don’t really have a favorite color.”

  “Put that down. George is open to all colors. Because he looks good in everything. Like that back pack he has – the one that looks like radio-active mustard.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s so cool.”

  “My fluorescent back pack is cool? How come you never said that before?”

  “I never really noticed before. Can I take a picture of you?”

  The two of them then started taking pictures of me with their cell phones. By now time was up and Mr. Fitton said, “OK, let’s hear some of your ideas ... Jasmine.” Jasmine’s group was her twin sister, Lily, and another girl and she said, “Our idea was to have a fan site all about George.”

  “That was our idea,” said Paula.

  “And ours,” said Maddie Yates.

  Every single girl was working on a George Owusu (i.e. Me) fan site. All except Danielle. She – amazingly – was working on a Warhammer site.

  I said, “Warhammer? That’s interesting.”

  “Not as interesting as you, George,” said Perfect Paula.

  “We were going to do, like, ‘20 Things You Didn’t know about George’,” said Lucy Begley, “Like his favorite color ...”

  “George doesn’t have a favorite color,” said Paula, smugly.

  “Well his favorite book then.”

  “Lord of the Rings,” said Lucy. “Isn’t that right, George?”

  “Well ... I suppose so ...”

  Tiny Biggs looked bewildered. Angry Al Kominski looked like he was going to explode. “What’s going on?!” he roared. “What. Is. Going. On? Someone tell me now before I get angry.”

  No one wants Angry Al to get angry, so Mr. Fitton said, “Yes, George, what is going on? Is this some kind of joke?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No.”

  “Well perhaps you’d better find out. Go and report to the Principal. Now.”

  Mrs. Hardman is the Principal but most of the time she is obsessed with raising money for the new gym. If you’re ever in trouble, you can get out of it by giving her some money for her gym fund. She didn’t even look when I first came in. She just said, “Are you in trouble?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Got any money on you?”

  “Only my bus fare.”

  “Hmmm then I expect you’re probably in a lot of ...” She stopped. She sniffed. She smiled at me. A big, glowing smile. It melted over her face like butter over hot toast. “Oh,” she said, “It’s ...”

  “Owusu. George Owusu.”

  “George Owusu. How lovely to see you. What can I get you? Cup of coffee? Tea? I think we have hot chocolate somewhere.”

  “Mr. Fitton sent me to see you.”

  “Did he? I must remember to thank him.” She’d already started making the hot chocolate.

  “I don’t have time for hot chocolate,” I said. “I have math now.”

  “Oh, don’t go.”

  “I have to. Math is so important.”

  By lunch time, I knew this wasn’t a trap. By lunch time, I knew that everyone just loved me. When I tried to sit at my usual table – the one with the wobbly leg, by the garbage – it was already surrounded. Paula and her friends, Jasmine and Lily, they were all there. Then there was a fight because they didn’t all fit. Things got worse when the Freshman girls wanted to sit by me too. And the Sophomores. In the end, someone went and got Mrs. Hardman and she worked out a rota so that all the girls could take turns sitting next to me. “And it’s my turn first,” she said.

  The only girl who didn’t want to sit with me was Danielle. She was at the opposite side of the cafeteria, eating her lunch and reading a book, all on her own. It was only when I saw her doing that today that I realized I’d seen her doing it before – lots of times – that she often ate on her own.

  Angry Al came over and said, “I want a word with you.”

  Mrs. Hardman said, “Have you booked?”

  “Booked?”

  “You have to book to sit by George. These places are reserved from now until Christmas. I can put your name down if you like.”

  Angry Al clutched his head. “What. Is. Going. On?” he howled. “It’s confusing me. Why is he so popular all of a sudden?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mrs. Hardman. “I think he’s just bloomed really. George, do you think you?
??ve bloomed?”

  “I suppose so,” I said. Well I wasn’t going to tell them, was I, that it was all down to a bottle of aftershave that was 30 years past its sell-bydate.

  Chapter 4

  How to Recognize Goblins

  The next morning I lay in bed, thinking what a great day that was. And today would be just as good. And tomorrow. And every day. All I had to do was dab on a bit of grandpa’s old aftershave. So I did. As soon as I opened the bottle, Mrs. Doyle’s dog started barking, the birds all flew off and Mom banged on my wall. I dabbed some behind my ears, then I wrapped the bottle in a t-shirt and put it in my school bag. I wasn’t going to leave it in the house and risk Mom dumping it in the recycling.

  Two minutes later the doorbell rang and there were Jasmine and Lily and Maddie Yates. And, well a lot of girls. “Hi, George!” they all said together. “Are you coming to school?”

  “It’s a school day, so yes I am going to school.”

  “He’s being sarcastic again,” said Maddie, “I love it!”

  “So do we!” said a whole bunch of other girls. “And look what we’ve got!” They all turned their backs towards me. They were all wearing fluorescent yellow back packs. “We’ve got that George Owusu look,” said Jasmine.

  Dad was passing the front door in his pyjamas. All the girls waved at him yelling,

  “there’s George’s dad, look! Hello, George’s dad!”

  “Errm,” said Dad. “Hello.” He waved back, a bit nervous. Then he hissed at me, “What’s going on? How come you’re so popular all of a sudden?”

  “What a silly question,” said Mom. “He’s popular because he’s lovely.”

  “Well, yeah,” said Dad. “But he wasn’t popular before.”

  “Ah. Well. Now that did puzzle me,” said Mom. “If you’d asked me then, why he wasn’t popular, we could have discussed it. But why he’s popular? Because he’s lovely. End of.” Dad didn’t look as if he believed her. I just shrugged and went to school. Jasmine let me walk under her umbrella. Lily carried my bag.

  Maddie told me little jokes she’d saved up just for me. It was lovely. I said, “Why can’t everyone’s walk to school be like this?”