Bob glared at him, and piled on the speed, going up to at least half a mile an hour. From the determined expression on his face, Joe knew that Bob was hoping that this year was his golden chance not to finish last.
Joe sped up a little more. They were now almost jogging. The race was on. For the ultimate prize: who was going to finish… second to last! Joe really didn’t want to be beaten at cross-country running by a fat boy in his vest and pants on his first day at school.
After what seemed like an eternity the finish line hazed into sight. Both boys were out of breath with all this power-waddling.
Suddenly, disaster struck Joe. A painful stitch burst in his side.
“Ooww!” cried Joe.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bob, now quite a few centimetres in the lead.
“I’ve got a stitch… I’ve got to stop. Owww…”
“You’re bluffing. A fifteen-stone girl pulled that on me last year and ended up beating me by a fraction of a second.”
“Oww. It’s true,” said Joe, holding his side tightly.
“I ain’t falling for it, Joe. You are going to be last, and this year all the kids in the year are gonna be laughing at you!” said Bob triumphantly, as he edged ahead still further.
Being laughed at on his first day at school was the last thing Joe wanted. He’d had enough of being laughed at when he was at St Cuthbert’s. However, the stitch was becoming more and more painful with every step. It was as if it was burning a hole in his side. “How about I give you a fiver to come last?” he said.
“No way,” replied Bob, through heaving breaths.
“A tenner?”
“No.”
“Twenty quid?”
“Try harder.”
“Fifty quid.”
Bob stopped, and looked around at Joe.
“Fifty quid…” he said. “That’s a lot of chocolate.”
“Yeah,” said Joe. “Tons.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal. But I want the wonga now.”
Joe searched through his shorts and pulled out a fifty-pound note.
“What’s that?” asked Bob.
“It’s a fifty-pound note.”
“I’ve never seen one before. Where did you get it?”
“Oh, erm, it was my birthday last week you see…” said Joe, stumbling over his words a little. “And my dad gave me that as a present.”
The marginally fatter boy studied it for a moment, holding it up to the light as if it was a priceless artefact. “Wow. Your dad must be loaded,” he said.
The truth would have blown Bob’s fat mind. That Mr Spud had given his son two million pounds as a birthday present. So Joe kept schtum.
“Nah, not really,” he said.
“Go on then,” said Bob. “I’ll come last again. For fifty quid I would finish tomorrow if you like.”
“Just a few paces behind me will be fine,” said Joe. “Then it will look real.”
Joe edged ahead, still gripping his side in pain. Hundreds of little cruelly smiling faces were coming into focus now. The new boy crossed the finish line with only a hum of mocking laughter. Trailing behind was Bob, clutching his fifty-pound note, since there were no pockets in his Y-fronts. As he neared the finish line the kids started chanting.
“BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!”
The chants grew louder and louder.
“BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!”
They started clapping in time now.
“BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB! BLOB! BLOB!
BLOB! BLOB!”
Undeterred, Bob hurled his body across the finish line.
“HA! HA! HA! HA!
HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!
HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!
HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!
HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!
HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!
HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!
HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!
HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!”
The other kids fell around laughing, pointing at Bob, as he bent over and panted for breath.
Turning around, Joe felt a sudden twinge of guilt. As the school kids dispersed, he went over to Bob and helped him stand up straight.
“Thanks,” said Joe.
“You’re welcome,” said Bob. “To be honest I should have done that anyway. If you came last on your very first day, you’d never hear the end of it. But next year you’re on your own. I don’t care if you give me a million pounds – I ain’t coming last again!”
Joe thought about his two-million-pound birthday cheque. “What about two million pounds?” he joked.
“Deal!” said Bob, laughing. “Imagine if you really did have that much money. It would be crazy! I guess you could have everything you ever wanted!”
Joe forced a smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe...”
“So, did you forget your kit on purpose?” asked Joe.
Mr Bruise had locked up the changing rooms by the time Joe and Bob had finished their cross-country run… well, cross-country walk. They stood outside the grey concrete building, Bob shivering in his pants. They’d already been to find the school secretary, but there was absolutely no one left in the whole place. Well, apart from the caretaker. Who didn’t seem to speak