There are four of us. I’m Keener. There’s Copper Pie (funny name, I know). Next there’s Fifty and, last but definitely not least, there’s Bee. (Not a cool thing to admit but yes, I am friendly with a girl.)
The four of us didn’t exactly choose to be mates. But when you’ve known someone since you were four years old, they sort of stick whether you like it or not.
It was sticking that I first remember us doing. Fifty’s mum had come in to school to help us make papier-mâché balloons. Bad idea. Fifty’s too-sloppy newspaper kept sliding off. Copper Pie burst at least three balloons by pressing too hard. Bee knocked over the glue diving to save the slippery balloons. By tidy-up time, there was more goo on them than anywhere else. (None on me though – I borrowed the yellow rubber gloves meant for wash-up time because I didn’t like it.) I remember all the laughing and thinking that school was nice, which it was in Reception.
We’ve been put in the same classes ever since and never bothered to make any other friends. We don’t need anyone else.
We especially didn’t need anyone else in our patch. At breaktime Fifty was the last of us to step under the tree, followed by someone else. The sun stopped me seeing who it was. I wasn’t worried. Other kids are allowed to come and talk to us, although hardly anyone does. But as the boy-shape moved forwards into the shadows, I could see it wasn’t someone I knew. And strangers were NOT welcome. Without saying anything, we all turned away and tried to carry on as usual, but he didn’t leave. We could all feel him watching us.
Copper Pie spoke first. ‘D’you want something?’
The shape shrugged.
He tried again. ‘I said, “D’you want something?”’
‘Not especially,’ said the shape.
‘Go away then.’
We’re not meant to speak to people like that at school. There’s a motto: We don’t all have to be friends, but we all have to be friend-ly.
‘I’m fine here,’ said the stranger, who I worked out must be Newboy.
I really wanted to get rid of him but I didn’t know what to do. Most people we know would have scuttled away if Copper Pie told them to. (He can be a bit of a thug.)
Fifty tried next. ‘Listen, you’re new so you don’t know, but this is our area.’ He used the I’m-so-charming smile that works with the teachers. He practises it in front of the mirror, in every window, and on the back of shiny spoons.
‘Says who?’ said Newboy.
‘Says me,’ said Fifty, looking straight into Newboy’s armpit.
I could see that a midget telling him to get lost wasn’t going to work. But Newboy seemed so unbothered it was difficult to think what would work.
Bee put one hand on her hip, pointed at the stranger and tried her favourite saying – with the American accent and all the actions.
‘You’re invading our personal bubble.’ She drew an imaginary line round the four of us with her finger, then put her hand back on her hip and flicked her very long black fringe out of her eyes so she could stare at him.
He shrugged and stayed exactly where he was.
And so did we.
We hung around and talked in quiet voices but it was totally fake because all the time HE was leaning against the trunk of OUR tree working his heel into the ground, making a hollow. I’m sure all the others felt like me: mad. I wanted to shout ‘Go away’ but I didn’t dare.
Usually break is too short but on that day it was too long. We couldn’t leave our patch and play somewhere else because we had to protect it. We couldn’t carry on as normal because of him lurking. I suppose we could have shoved him off but me and Fifty aren’t like that, and Copper Pie is like that but is trying not to be. And Bee, well, she’s used to people doing what she says, but Newboy didn’t know that.
At last, the bell went and we lined up.
‘What did he think he was doing?’ I asked.
‘No idea. Must be a weirdo,’ said Copper Pie.
‘Well, let’s hope he decides to be weird somewhere else,’ I said.
‘We’ll make sure he does,’ said Bee.
Bee’s always like that – definite. She’s never ‘not sure’ or ‘can’t decide’.
‘How are we going to do that?’ I was thinking force fields, trip-alarms, perimeter guards.
‘Make him not want to come near us,’ she answered, with a mean look.
‘Scary. I like it,’ said Fifty. ‘It’s time to make Newboy’s life a living hell.’
getting rid of Newboy
It didn’t take long for the campaign to start. In history (we’re doing Romans), Fifty was sitting in front of no-name Newboy. He put up his hand. ‘Please Miss Walsh, I’m finding it difficult to concentrate because someone behind me keeps kicking my chair.’
Lies. Good move, I thought. Unless Lily had grown stilts, there was only one pair of legs that could be guilty. Newboy didn’t get a full-blown telling off – after all, it was his first day – but it showed him we meant business.
At lunch, I was confident Newboy would decide we weren’t worth the bother. We demolished sausage, peas and jacket potato and headed for our spot and can you believe it? He was there. Sitting cross-legged on the ground with his back to us, picking at the bark of the biggest tree – our bark, our tree.
An open declaration of war if ever there was one.
I’d like to say we were up for it but I think we were all a bit . . . not scared but . . . confused . . . about what to do next. Generally kids don’t act like Newboy – they find someone who doesn’t mind playing with them.
We hovered for a minute nearby. Copper Pie kicked the ground a few times, sprinkling dirty specks over the back of Newboy’s white T-shirt.
He twisted round so that I could see one of his eyes. ‘Hi.’
Not one of us answered.
I waited to see what was going to happen. Hoping there wasn’t going to be a fight.
‘Let’s just go somewhere else,’ said Bee quietly.
Phew! My thoughts exactly.
‘No way,’ said Copper Pie loudly. He walked round so he was facing Newboy and stopped with the toe of his trainer actually touching the skin of Newboy’s knee. Newboy did nothing.
‘Let’s show the newbie —’
‘No. Let’s not show anyone anything,’ I said quickly.
‘Same,’ said Fifty. (He can’t say ‘I agree’ like normal people.)
Bee yanked Copper Pie’s arm and dragged him away. We all try and keep him out of trouble. It isn’t always easy.
‘Go find yourself some other kids to hassle,’ she shouted.
‘Loser,’ Copper Pie added on the end.
Newboy didn’t look up. He didn’t even stop flaking the lumps of loose bark off the tree. I couldn’t help thinking that if there was a loser round here, it wasn’t him. Although leaving didn’t seem right, none of us wanted to spend another breaktime with the limpet boy.
‘He’s probably got something wrong with him,’ said Fifty. I hadn’t