‘Ten days,’ I corrected her.
‘Thank you for that, Keener!’ I got the same smile.
‘It’s a week . . . and a bit . . . till the summer fair. We’ve had loads of ideas and done zilch, zero, nothing. So today we need to decide exactly what we’re doing. Agreed?’
‘Yes, Bee,’ I said.
‘Same,’ said Fifty.
‘I thought we’d decided,’ said Copper Pie. ‘Bombs!’ He did an evil I’m-going-to-kill-you-all cackle.
‘Yes, definitely bombs,’ said Jonno. It’s funny – when Jonno first came along he seemed to have all the ideas. I don’t know if you can pass them on, like head lice, but we’re all ideas people now.
‘OK, if that’s what everyone wants. But it won’t take five of us to sell water bombs.’ Bee was in Sergeant-Major mode.
‘Too right, said Copper Pie. ‘They’ll sell themselves.’
‘Drench your favourite teacher for 50p,’ said Fifty.
‘Is that how much we’re charging?’ I asked. I started to calculate how much money our stall was going to make.
‘How much do they cost?’ asked Bee.
I’d already found the best price on the internet. ‘You can get a thousand water bombs for £14.50 including delivery.’
‘Wow! A thousand serious soakings of seriously sad members of staff,’ said Fifty. ‘An excellent afternoon’s fun.’
‘How much does one cost then?’ asked Copper Pie.
‘Work it out, idiot,’ said Bee, which was a bit cruel because Copper Pie doesn’t even do adding, so dividing . . .
‘They’re 1.45p each,’ I said.
I ignored the rolling eyes. What’s the point of calling me Keener if I don’t have all the answers?
‘We can’t charge 50p then, can we?’ said Bee.
I didn’t see why not but I waited to find out.
‘We can. We can charge what we like,’ said Fifty. ‘What matters is how much people will pay for them, not what they cost.’
‘I don’t think that’s fair,’ said Bee. ‘We should charge enough to make some money, but not squillions.’
Jonno nodded. Shame. I wanted to side with Fifty – a thousand balloons at 50p each would be £500! But Bee and Jonno were probably right. It wouldn’t be Tribish to fleece all the other kids we’re at school with. We like to get along with everyone . . . well, almost everyone. It’s part of what we agreed when we formed Tribe.
BEING TRIBISH MEANS:
• Being fair, not fleecing.
• Looking after the world, not throwing rubbish in the street.
• Not being mean, except to seriously nasty people like Callum and Jamie.
• Liking our horrid patch in the playground, even though it smells.
• Liking Copper Pie, even though he smells (it’s his diet, according to Bee).
• Doing the right thing if we can work out what the right thing is.
• Being loyal to each other.
• Only lying if it’s really necessary (or really funny).
• Not lighting random fires (only applies to Fifty).
‘All right, how about 10p each?’ said Fifty.
‘And three for 25p,’ added Bee, in her new role as Financial Director of Tribe Water Bombs Limited.
‘Whatever,’ said Copper Pie. ‘I’m gunning for Miss Walsh. I’ll track her until she’s in a crowd and then chuck one over the top. Smack, straight on her head.’
‘That’ll make you popular,’ said Bee. (Copper Pie’s not what you’d call one of our teacher’s favourites.)
‘I’ll be undercover.’ He thinks he’s some sort of spy, but he’s actually a redheaded football hooligan.
‘So what else are we going to sell? We’ve got a whole table,’ Bee asked. We all looked at each other. Bee looked at us. ‘No ideas? That’s good. Because I’ve come up with something.’
‘What a surprise!’ said Fifty. ‘Bee in charge.’
She swung her head so that her black fringe flew in the air, letting Fifty see the mean look she was giving him.
‘Bring and Buy.’
‘Isn’t that what the W.I. do?’ I said. ‘Bring jam and buy more jam.’
‘What’s the double you eye?’ said Copper Pie.
‘It’s that glasses shop on the telly. Buy one pair get a second free,’ said Fifty, winking.
‘Soooo not funny. It’s the Women’s Institute,’ said Bee. ‘And who cares who else does it? If it’s a good idea, it’s a good idea. Full stop.’
‘Comma,’ said Fifty.
‘Exclamation mark,’ said Jonno.
WHAT’S THE W.I.?
Watch it!
Warm ice
Wicked idea
What if?
West Indies
Way in
Wrought iron
White ink
Welly it
‘Semi-colon,’ I joined in.
‘Can’t we have a proper talk without making up silly lists? We’re not in Reception any more.’
‘Remember the water tray,’ said Fifty. ‘I liked the blue sailing boat.’
‘Cut!’ Bee sliced the air with her hand like one of those karate fighters who leap in the air and shout ‘Nee haa’. ‘It’s only half Bring and Buy really, because instead of people bringing something for the stall and then buying something in exchange, my idea is we forget the money bit and just do swaps. That’s really green. Bring what you don’t want and take something you do want. It’s perfect.’
‘But the summer fair’s all about money,’ said Fifty.
‘Says who?’ said Bee.
‘Well . . . why else have one?’
‘If it was only about money, the Head could send round a collecting tin. The fair’s meant to be fun. And because it’s run by the kids it’s meant to show the parents and the grannies what a brilliant school we are.’
‘I like it,’ said Jonno.
‘What? School?’ said Copper Pie.
‘No, Bring and Buy. I like it.’
‘Good,’ said Bee. ‘So, you lot can do the water bombs and I’ll sort out the swap stall.’
‘I’ll help you, Bee,’ said Jonno.
‘Weirdo,’ said Copper Pie. ‘Water bombs or the W.I. and you choose —’
‘He chooses to save the planet,’ said Bee, with a smug smile.
‘We’ll need loads of stuff to swap,’ said Jonno.
‘Why don’t you get the rest of the school to donate things?’ I said.
Bee