The Day the Ear Fell Off
Read The Day the Ear Fell Off Online
Authors: T.M. Alexander
T. M. Alexander likes short words more than long ones and spinach more than cabbage. She writes in a little room hidden away behind a secret door
that’s disguised as a bookcase. If the door ever gets stuck she will never be seen again.
Find out more at www.tmalexander.com
Get to know the Tribers at
www.tribers.co.uk
Have you read these other Tribe books?
A Thousand Water Bombs
Labradoodle on the Loose
Monkey Bars and Rubber Ducks
For Otter, Wib and Boo
First published in Great Britain in 2009:
by Piccadilly Press Ltd,
5 Castle Road, London NW1 8PR
www.piccadillypress.co.uk
Previously published as:
Jonno Joins
© T.M. Alexander, 2009
This edition published 2012
Text copyright © T.M. Alexander, 2009
All rights reserved. No part of this publication 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 permission of the copyright owner.
The right of T.M. Alexander to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978 1 84812 293 2 (paperback)
eISBN: 978 1 84812 299 4
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
Cover design by Patrick Knowles
Cover illustration by Sue Hellard
Contents
Bribes, Beetles, Bark and Bobotie
please let the ground swallow me . . .
the Tribers all want to say one last thing
Jonno Joins
day one of the summer term
You never know what’s round the corner. My mum says that all the time.
When I was small, I used to think she was giving me a warning. I thought she meant that you should watch out in case you turn a corner and get caught up in the middle of an army of purple aliens
clambering back on to the mother ship, and disappear FOREVER. Even though I thought it was unlikely, I would find myself slowing down e v e r s o s l i g h t l y at corners until I had a proper
view ahead. As soon as I saw the coast was clear, I’d speed up again. I don’t do that now of course, because I understand she means that you never know what’s going to happen
next. It’s not about luck or un-luck because Mum says it when someone’s won the lottery
and
when someone’s died. It’s just a fact.
And the fact of my story is that something’s come round my corner and all of a sudden I’m part of it, and it feels important, so I’m keeping a record of how it started.
Actually it began with a kind of alien – a new boy. I expect our teacher (she’s called Miss Walsh) introduced him and told us to be nice and all that, but if she did, I didn’t
take any of it in. Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m actually a bit of a nerd, but I only listen to the interesting bits. The in-between stuff that teachers like to say but
I
don’t need to hear gets separated off and binned, like junk mail. I don’t even know where Newboy sat that first morning, except that it wasn’t anywhere near me.
At break my mates and I raced outside to get on with whatever it was we were going to get on with. Our territory is in the corner by the netball court where the trees hang over. It’s a
scrubby bit of dirt really – the shade kills all the grass – but it’s ours so it’s good anyway.
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.