How to Get Famous (3 page)

'But that's exactly the same for me,' said
Georgia, looking eagerly at me. 'I'd love
someone to say that, after seeing me in a
play, I completely changed their life. Does
that sound big-headed?'

'Oh no, not at all,' I cried.

We were both silent for a moment as we
imagined being pursued by all these grateful
members of the public.

'It'll be good also,' I said, 'in later years
to meet all those people at school who
made fun of us and just smile knowingly
at them.'

'Yeah, we wouldn't need to say a thing,
would we?' said Georgia. 'Just give them a
look . . .'

'Before strolling into our white-stretch
limo.'

'Oh, we're having a limo now, are we?'
asked Georgia.

'Yeah, just the one though, because
we're not show-offs.' Then I gave a weary
sigh. 'But right now we're . . .' I hesitated.
I really didn't want to say the word so in
the end I hissed it: '
Wannabes
.'

A look of total horror immediately
crossed Georgia's face.

'I'm sorry,' I cried.

'No, no, it had to be said. And right now
we are.' And then she whispered that
miserable, hopeless loser of a word even
more softly than me: 'Wannabes.'

'And it's so frustrating,' I cried, 'when we
know we've got all this talent inside us.
Georgia, the world is waiting for us. We've
just got to get famous somehow.'

'Get famous,' repeated Georgia. 'We'll
keep saying that to each other so we go out
and find that lucky break.' Her eyes were
gleaming and we were both elated now by
the huge adventure which lay before us.
Then she looked at me and said solemnly,
'Get famous, Tobey.'

And I repeated equally seriously, 'Get
famous, Georgia.'

11.35 p.m.

Still awake, well obviously I am or I
wouldn't be writing this, unless I was
scribbling in my sleep. I wonder if anyone's
ever done that. You hear about
sleep-walking – but never sleep-writing.

WHAT AM I GABBLING ON ABOUT?
Don't ask me, I'm just as confused as you.
You see, I can't sleep at all tonight. I've been
thinking about my chat with Johnny Depp
and stuff Georgia said . . . and besides I
never sleep well on Sunday nights. For
that's when another week of school looms
over me like a great towering monster.

And I know you're going to find this
hard to believe, but at school I'm written
off as a bit of a joke. Lads will always
make fun of you if you're slightly different.
It doesn't bother me really. Well, I don't let
anyone see it does.

Tonight though, when I was hanging out
with Johnny Depp, I saw a different way
of life. And I felt two metres tall – no,
make that three. That's what my life will
be like when I'm a celebrity. But tomorrow
it's back to being a right little twerp again.

Still, at least I'll be armed with my
Johnny Depp autograph. And when
my class see who I've been hanging about
with, maybe they'll say: 'We've got that
Tobey Tyler all wrong. He's actually a
really cool dude and someone definitely
worth knowing after all.'

12.15 a.m.

Still can't sleep – and now I've done something
TOTALLY INSANE.

12.17 a.m.

I can't bear to write down what I've just
done.

12.20 a.m.

But I've got to tell someone.

Look, I was just admiring Johnny
Depp's sensational autograph (his loops
are some of the most impressive I've ever
seen) when I thought, why don't I see if I
can copy it? After all, I'm clearly not going
to sleep tonight and this might help me
improve my own autograph.

So I got out my English book and had a
go on the back pages. It was only a little
experiment. But soon my copies were
STUNNING. I mean, they were absolutely
identical to the great Depp autograph.

And I was so pleased with myself I
suddenly snatched my signed poster of
Johnny Depp and above his autograph
wrote, in big bold letters: '
To Tobey. You're
a real star
.'

It honestly seemed to happen without
me quite realizing it. And for the first few
seconds, what I'd done didn't seem so bad,
especially as I was sure that if Johnny
Depp had chatted to me a bit longer that's
exactly what he would have written. So it
wasn't really a fake. All I'd done was just
improve on real life a bit. No actual harm
had been done to anyone.

Now, though, I realize that me
scribbling some made-up, big-headed,
totally showing-off rubbish above my
valuable autograph is nothing less than an
act of vandalism. I certainly couldn't take
it to school now. That's completely out of
the question. And when Georgia finds out
what I've done she'll be stunned.

As for her mum . . . well, she'll be so
shocked she won't be able to speak for
about a month. She believes autographs
are special, sacred things. And
they are.

'
To Tobey. You're a real star
.'

What on earth made me write that?

MONDAY MARCH 8TH

7.25 a.m.

Woke up feeling so relieved. Me defacing
Johnny Depp's autograph had just been a
nightmare. Then I scrambled out of bed
and saw my gruesome handiwork once
more.

I was still gazing bleakly at my autograph
when Mum stomped in. She was
being all annoyingly hearty and fussy as
usual. 'Come on, start the week positively,'
she brayed when suddenly she stopped
and asked, 'Ah, is this the autographed
picture you were telling us about?'

I hadn't even bothered showing it to my
parents last night as I thought Dad would
just make some sarky comment and ruin
the moment. But Mum was gazing at the
poster for several seconds without saying
a single word. This was highly unusual.
After checking she was still breathing I
asked, 'What's up?'

Then she actually sat down on my bed. I
thought, she's spotted the part I'd forged,
but instead she asked, 'Does Mr Depp
write "You're a real star" on every
autograph?'

'Oh no, he's a very busy man, everyone
else just got an autograph. But I told you
he and I spent time together and he
clearly recognized my amazing talent.'

Mum's eyebrows bounced about a bit.
'Well, I'd like to see some mention of your
amazing talent on your next school report.'

'Sadly, you don't get marks for having
star quality, Mum.'

Then she smiled at me and said in quite
a kindly way (for her), 'Well, you obviously
made a big impression on Mr Depp . . .
now hurry up and get dressed, I've got a
nice breakfast waiting for you.'

So Mum totally believed Johnny Depp
had written 'You're a real star' and was
now looking at me with a new respect.
Well, if my fakery fooled her, then maybe
it could fool everyone at school too.

9.15 a.m.

I took my autograph to school, but then I
lost my nerve. I didn't show it to anyone
until registration.

My form teacher is Miss Lytton. She's
all right and gives you mini chocolate bars
for outstanding effort.

I piped up. 'Miss Lytton, I have a
question for you: are you a fan of the
world-famous film actor, Johnny Depp?'

'Who isn't?' she replied.

'Then perhaps you'd like to study the
autograph I obtained from him last night.'

The rabble in my class laughed in a
mocking, disbelieving way until Miss
Lytton raised a hand. 'Tobey, I'd love to
see your autograph from Johnny Depp.'

'Then your wish shall be granted,' I said,
taking the poster from my bag very slowly.
I know exactly how to build suspense.
Then I sort of glided – just the way Johnny
Depp had moved last night actually – over
to her and dropped the poster onto her
desk.

Miss Lytton stared at it even longer
than my mum had.

'What does it say, miss?' called out
someone.

'May I tell them?' she asked me ever so
politely.

'Oh well, all right,' I said, trying my best
to sound reluctant.

She read out. '
To Tobey, You're a real
star. Johnny Depp
.' And you could hear the
amazement in Miss Lytton's voice. Then
everyone sprang up, wanting to see this
autograph for themselves.

'No, back to your places.' Miss Lytton
held up the poster as if it were some kind
of special exhibit for everyone to view.
'Perhaps Tobey will tell us how he got this
autograph.' There was a little tremor of
excitement in her voice now. And she wasn't
just being polite. No, she really wanted to
know how I had touched greatness.

So I told her and my surprisingly
hushed class. And yes, all right, I
exaggerated a tiny bit. Well, you've got to,
haven't you? So I had Johnny Depp falling
over with laughter at everything I said.

And I stretched out the time he'd spent
chatting with me too. I even had him calling
me 'dude'. But I wasn't actually lying -
just giving reality an extra polish.
And even the boys who think they're
hard were fascinated. In fact, the whole
class was hanging on my every word – and
that is the total truth.

Then my poster was passed round,
although Miss Lytton specially requested
everyone to be very careful with it. And
she said to me, grinning all over her face,
'Well, it's nice to start the day with something
so interesting for once.'

This was, without doubt, the best fifteen
minutes I have ever spent at school.

11.20 a.m.

If I'd charged a pound for everyone who
wanted to see my signed poster I'd be
a multi-millionaire by now (well,
practically). It's been crazy this break
time.

'How much did you pay him to write
that?' asked someone.

'Well, I had one pound and thirty-two
pence in my pocket,' I said. 'So of course I
could bribe the greatest star in the world
with that.'

Another person asked: 'But why did
Johnny Depp write "You're a real star" on
your poster? He only spoke to you for a few
seconds.'

'Oh, it was a bit longer than that,'
I replied with a knowing smile. 'And I
suppose in the brief time we chatted
together, he noticed I had a certain something.
Well I have, you can't ignore that.'

There was laughter, but to my amazement
no one actually disagreed with me.
Instead, a boy in Year Nine asked, 'So
which star are you going to meet next?'

'I shall have to consult my personal,
private, jet-setting diary to answer that
one,' I replied with a glittering smile.

I tell you my good impression
thermometer is positively soaring.

1.30 p.m.

And now it has crashed below zero.

It was all going so well until we trooped
back into the classroom for afternoon
registration. Now there's this boy in our
classroom nicknamed Lank. Got a face like
a clenched fist and is always trying to act
hard.

Anyway, he yelled out, 'Hey Tobey!', his
voice running through the room like an
electric drill. Then I saw what he was
waving about in his hand: my English
exercise book. The very one in which I'd
been practising Johnny Depp's autograph
– and that I'd very stupidly left lying
about on my desk.

Trust Lank to find it. And he made a
real meal of pointing out all my attempts
at copying a star's autograph. Dark clouds
of suspicion were now looming right over
me.

And then Lank, who thought he was a
real Miss Marple, pointed out that the
Depp autograph was written with my own
pen. I explained that he'd borrowed it (and
you know that's true), but Lank – who'd
never got nearer to a movie star than a
copy of
Heat
magazine – was saying that
it's a well-known fact that stars always
sign with their own pens.

And all the time Lank was shrieking
these accusations at me, a deadly stillness
filled the room. I tried my best to remain
composed, saying how Georgia and her
mum could verify my story. But no one was
really listening to me any more. They were
too busy feeling mad that they'd ever
taken me seriously.

Then Miss Lytton bustled in to take the
register, giving me a big beaming smile
until Lank hurled my exercise book down
in front of her, saying there was proof I'd
faked the autograph.

Miss Lytton didn't say a word, just gave
me a look which said: 'You have
disappointed me greatly.'

4.00 p.m.

Rest of the day was a train-wreck. And I
wanted the ground to swallow me up. Not
that anyone would have guessed that. I
still kept grinning away at everyone and
that's all I want to say about it really.

TUESDAY 9TH MARCH

I finally rang up Georgia and told her the
daft thing I'd done. She groaned quite a lot
and told me I had the brains of a rocking
horse. But then she tried to be dead kind
and said over and over, 'But it will be all
right.' This actually made me feel even
worse.

WEDNESDAY 10TH MARCH

I haven't actually been sent to Coventry;
it's just that no one in my class, or year, or
school, is speaking to me right now. They
frown and mutter and tut a lot though.
But that doesn't bother me at all, as my
parents tut and sigh and frown at me
every night too. So I'm immune to all that
carry-on now.

THURSDAY 11TH MARCH

I'm writing this while shaking with rage.
You know I have to do a really humiliating
thing if I want to watch television, namely,
ask my parents' permission. Well, tonight
my dad just growled, 'No, we're not having
that babble on.'

'Dad,' I said, 'television is our window
onto life today.'

'Not my life, it isn't,' he snapped.

I explained. 'Dad, television can be
highly educational – it's bursting with
general knowledge quizzes and competitions.'

'Of course it is,' he replied with heavy
sarcasm. 'Phone us up to guess how many
sides there are on a triangle . . . and pay
us five pounds for the privilege.'

And right now all he and Mum watch on
the telly is – the weather. Mum will
actually call Dad when the weather forecast
is on. He'll come lumbering in and the
two of them will gaze at the screen
frothing with excitement (the average age
for watching this is: dead). But the second
it's over, the TV is switched off again.

Now that's not right, is it? Television
should be freely available at all times, like
air and water. And my parents have no
business rationing it. In fact, they're
violating my human rights. And I could
have them carted off to prison. They're
just lucky I'm too kind-hearted to do
that.

FRIDAY 12TH MARCH

I went round Georgia's house for my tea
tonight. She thought it best I didn't tell
her mum how I'd defaced Johnny Depp's
autograph. 'That's something I just don't
think she would ever understand.'

Then Georgia asked how life was at
school.

'Let's just say my brief burst of
popularity on Monday has melted away
like a pocketful of toffee.'

'But people are talking to you again?'

'Oh yeah, they call out the odd cheery
phrase to me like: "you retard". It doesn't
bother me at all. I just wish . . .'

'Yes?' she prompted.

'I wish it was Christmas tomorrow.'

She smiled. 'Why's that?'

'No particular reason. I just feel like it
being Christmas, because it's my favourite
time of the whole year and everyone's in a
good mood – even my dad. And you get
presents and there's no school and better
telly.'

'Robbie Williams loves Christmas,' said
Georgia. 'And one night he bought twenty
pounds of fake snow to cover his garden.
Then he put up all these decorations and
had Christmas all over again.'

'Now there's class,' I said, 'but you can
do that if you're a star. And I'm more
determined than ever to be one.'

Georgia gave my hand a little squeeze:

'Get famous, Tobey.'

'Get famous, Georgia,' I said, 'and then
everything else will come right for us too.'