The Day the Ear Fell Off (6 page)

Please let the Head come very very soon.
Other kids were starting to notice the five weird children: shady eyes, bent over, stargazer, blueberry face and me, flibbertigibbet. (I like that
word. I think it means silly but it sounds like it means someone who flits between lots of things, which is what my eyes were doing.)

The door creaked. At last, the other classes. And the Head.

Miss Walsh opened the hall door and our class began to troop in, followed by the others. Unbelievably no one, not one person, spotted the false ear.

Assembly was dull (not that I’d have been able to concentrate if it was interesting. It was too fantastic that we’d fooled EVERYONE). It was all about Earth Day.
Evidently it’s our generation that will have to save the planet.
Fat chance.
When the Head had finished her sermon, Jonno put up his hand and asked to be excused.
Strange.
People can usually hold on long enough to last through assembly. Must have been the excitement of the early morning adventure. He got back just as we started filing out.

I risked one last look at Charles. Did I have a shock? It was almost me who blew it by shouting and pointing. The egg-box-ear was gone! A rubber elephant ear was in its place. I searched out
Jonno with my eyes. He winked. I winked back. I knew why he’d done it. It wasn’t because he wanted us to use his ear. He wanted to show that even a cauliflower floret would have worked.
I couldn’t wait for break to see if the others had noticed.

‘Bee!’

Oh no! Why was the Head shouting at Bee? I looked round to see if it was a mistake. Maybe there was a real bee buzzing about.

‘Could you wait there with, er . . . let me see . . .’ The Head saw me staring. ‘Keener. Yes, you.’

No. Not me. I can’t lie to the Head. How does she know it was us?

I wished I’d excused myself like Jonno and stayed in the loo till break.

Bee and I watched everyone else disappear. The Head was chatting to Mr Morris so we did as we were told and waited, right by the statue. My heart was pumping at double time making my face go red
and my armpits soggy. I wanted to tell on Copper Pie, explain about the catapult, but knew I couldn’t. Me and Bee would have to take the blame.

Mr Morris ran up the stairs and we were left with the Head.

‘Right, Bee. Do you have anything you’d like to tell me?’

Bee pushed her fringe out of her eyes and opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

‘Shall I give you a hint?’

Bee did a big swallow that made her neck look like a turkey’s and said, ‘Yes, please.’

‘Let’s see . . . It’s most often grey, we use it all the time . . .’

Bee looked frozen with terror. So the Head stopped and turned on me.

‘Perhaps Keener could help?’

My turn to be quizzed. Would I crack under pressure?

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Why do you think I’ve picked on Bee
this
day of all days? Earth Day.’

‘Because we’ve given the statue a new ear,’ didn’t seem to be the answer. Nor was, ‘Because you shouldn’t dismember elephants on Earth Day?’ likely to
be what she was looking for.

‘Because she’s . . .’ My mouth was ahead of my brain. I had no idea what to say. And then all of a sudden I did . . .

‘Because she’s into environmental things. Because she’s made a recycling box in our classroom for all the cardboard we bring in our packed lunches. Because it’s the sort
of thing Earth Day’s all about.’

Yippee! Not about the ear.

‘Well done, Keener. On the ball as usual. Bee, Miss Walsh told me about your initiative and it occurred to me you would be an excellent person to champion a
Go Green
project within
the school. Have a look at the Earth Day website and come and talk to me next week. Keener can be your second-in-command.’

‘Thank you very much,’ I said.

‘Great!’ said Bee. ‘Really great!’

When we got to the patch, Bee had the others in stitches explaining how she thought the Head was on about the ear. Good job we didn’t confess.

There was even more laughing about Jonno’s substitution, which they’d all spotted.

‘We should do it to other things,’ said Copper Pie. ‘Add beards to the paintings in the hall.’

‘Change the teachers’ names on the classroom doors,’ said Bee.

‘It doesn’t have to be bad stuff. We could make up challenges,’ I said.

‘Same,’ said Fifty. ‘Getting Copper Pie out of trouble is fine, but we don’t need to start making problems for ourselves.’

‘I know, we could make things better . . . sort out all the litter in the playground . . . do something for charity . . . stop Callum’s lot barging into the little ones’ games.
If we work together, we could
really
change things,’ said Bee. Her eyes were all shiny and mad-looking.

‘Yeah. We could be a proper gang with weapons . . . and tattoos,’ said Copper Pie.

I rolled my eyes at exactly the same time as Fifty. I was on the downward roll when I noticed Jonno was rolling his too.
Great minds think alike!

‘And code words and rules and a motto,’ I said.

‘We could all have jobs,’ Fifty said. ‘Let’s work out who can do what.’

Everyone started shouting out what they were good at and what the rest of us were bad at. Most of it was stupid.

Bee said, ‘As I’m the bossy one, I say let’s work out who does what when the gang’s properly sorted out.’

‘I don’t want us to be a gang,’ said Jonno.

What did he mean? Of course we should be a gang. It’s brilliant. We could have a ceremony and swear to die for each other . . . press our bloody thumbs together and pledge our allegiance.
(Not with real blood though, urghh!)

‘Why not?’ said Copper Pie.

‘People don’t like gangs. They’re evil.’

‘How about a club?’ I said.

‘Geek,’ said Bee. ‘Clubs are for chess.’

‘Got it,’ said Jonno. ‘Why don’t we form a tribe? Tribes are more serious, more loyal and they have rituals and if you’ve joined you can never leave. It would be
special wouldn’t it? A tribe.’

‘You mean bongo drums and sacrifices?’ said Copper Pie. Trust him.

Jonno gave him a funny look but didn’t say anything, so I did. ‘A tribe doesn’t mean witch doctors and spears. A tribe is a name for a group of people who respect each other
and share the same way of life and live in peace alongside other tribes.’ There were trust-Keener-to-know looks all round. ‘In lots of tribes everyone is equal. There’s a chief
but he doesn’t sit around doing nothing and have servants. He does the same as everyone else. And tribes have a strong idea of what makes them different from everyone not in their tribe.
That’s good too. We’ve always been different, haven’t we?’

‘You mean because we’ve never bothered with the rest of the class?’ said Fifty.

‘Yes. And loyalty is a really important part of being in a tribe and we’re definitely loyal or we wouldn’t have mended Charles Stratton, would we?’

‘Tribe,’ said Fifty as though he was trying it out. ‘OK. I’m for it.’

‘Copper Pie?’ said Jonno.

‘If it means you’re gonna get me out of the poo every time, yep, I’m in.’

‘Bee?’

‘I’m not sure I get it but I definitely don’t want to be left out . . . so yes. In. But I’m not wearing a grass skirt.’

I couldn’t wait for Jonno to ask me. I wasn’t going to be Keener any more – the quiet hard-working boy with the floppy blond hair who’s never ever had a detention. I was
going to be Keener of Tribe. It felt like my life was starting. In one day everything had changed. I knew I was part of something amazing. I just knew.

‘Count me in,’ I said in a big bold voice, twice as loud as normal. You see, it was starting already.

Alley Cats

a bit of bother

I didn’t expect to have anything to report so quickly, but finding a second problem to sort out didn’t take any time at all. The day after we formed Tribe, in the
tiny gap between leaving school and getting to mine for the first Tribe powwow, Copper Pie and Jonno managed to run into trouble.

There were loads of important things to decide at the meeting like: a den outside school, code words for when non-Tribers were listening and a manifesto (Bee’s grand idea – I think
it’s something to do with having an important purpose, like saving the planet, that you write down and keep as a reminder). I’d thought of more things too: a time capsule (we could put
my notebook about Tribe in it together with other stuff about us – like fact files and photos), a magazine, and maybe even a promise we all have to say, like at Scouts.

Bee arrived at six o’clock, as agreed. I asked Amy (my fifteen-year-old sister) to send the others up to my room when they came.

‘It will be a pleasure, little bro,’ she said. ‘Especially if you stay there.’

Mum had a late surgery. She does every Thursday. Amy walks me and Flo home. I like Thursdays because Amy and Flo always have girly time – painting nails or hair plaiting – and I get
to do what I want with no interruptions.

‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ she shouted as we disappeared upstairs.

‘What’s your sister done to her face?’ asked Bee.

I shrugged.

‘Well, something’s different.’

‘She’s got a boyfriend.’

‘Mank. That must be it. Snogging. I’m never doing that.’

‘Nor me.’

Copper Pie and Fifty arrived together at 6:07 p.m.

‘Where do you think Jonno is?’ I asked.

‘Got lost maybe,’ said Fifty.

‘He’s been here before.’

‘Maybe he dropped his glasses down a drain and is trying to hook —’

Bee cut Fifty off. ‘Copper Pie, has your mum had the letter from school yet? The one about strangling Jonno.’

‘Came this morning. Postman gave it to me, luckily.’

‘Why is that lucky?’ said Fifty.

I knew the answer before it came. Copper Pie had pocketed it. Normally I’d worry about something like that but I just wanted to get on. Ideas were queuing up in my head, waiting to be let
out: we could keep a register, get matching T-shirts made, have membership cards . . .

‘Maybe we should ring Jonno?’ I said.

‘Stop clucking, Keener. He’s only . . . twelve minutes late. Take a chill pill.’

I never have a clever reply to throw back at Bee.

‘Did you get it in the neck last night for being late?’ Copper Pie asked her. She’d obviously gone round to his. She’s always getting told off for not coming home. The
thing is she doesn’t like going home that much. Her mum and dad have got money problems (Mum says that means no-money problems) and they row all the time (Copper Pie says) and her twin
brothers won’t leave home because they don’t want to do their own washing (Bee says).

‘No. Mum was working. Dad was at football. Only the twins were home. We had tea in front of the telly.’ (Bee’s brothers are really old – more than twenty.)

‘That’s nice,’ said Copper Pie, smiling his wide-mouth-frog smile.

‘Is it? I’d rather have your mum yelling and dinner at the table than trays on your lap watching the extreme sports channel.’ Bee looked sad. I didn’t know what to say.
I’ve never seen the extreme sports channel.

I was saved by the sound of footsteps . . .

‘Hey, Jonno,’ said Fifty (trying to sound cool).

The five of us stood in a circle in my room.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’ve made a list.’

Copper Pie laughed at me. ‘You are
such
a Keener. You can be Tribe secretary.’

‘Don’t be rude to Keener. He’s more use than you are.’ Bee was sticking up for me.
Nice.
‘I mean, we don’t need a bouncer or a footie freak so what are
you going to be?’

Copper Pie stuck his tongue out.

That got us talking about Tribe jobs again. As usual it ended in random lists of nonsense: nose-picker, armpit-smeller, pickpocket, shipwrecker.

I tried to get them to work through my list but it was like trying to do apple-bobbing with no top teeth. After an hour, all we’d managed to decide was the Tribe handshake, which
we’d been doing already, and a list of things to do before the next meeting.

Copper Pie was doodling on the cover of my spelling book (he’s quite good at drawing but can’t write joined up – which is a bit random) when he said, ‘Me and Jonno went
down the alley after school. Nightmare.’

That’s when they told us all about the trouble: their clash with the Alley Cats.