P. Green was trembling like a huge jelly elephant. “I…I…didn’t say…anything…”
I thought I should shout at her, to help, “Tell them about your hamsters, P. Green, that will bore them to death and you can run off.” But I looked at Jackie’s big arms and thought I wouldn’t bother.
As I was going out again the Bummers started shoving P. Green against the loo doors. Oh bum, bum.
Alison said, “We don’t like snitchers…do we, Georgia?”
I said, “Oh, they’re all right, I—”
Jackie shoved P. Green so hard that her glasses flew off. That did it. I could no longer be the Bummer Twins’ armchair. I said, “Leave her alone now.”
Jackie looked at me. “Oh yeah, big nose, what are you going to do about it?”
I said, “I’m going to appeal to your niceness.”
She laughed and said, “Dream on, Ringo.”
I said, “Yes, I thought that might not work, so this is plan two.”
Actually there wasn’t a plan two. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was like a thing possessed. I leaped over to them and grabbed Jackie’s fag packet out of her hand. Then I ran into the loos with it and held it over the toilet. I yelled, “Let her go or the fags get it!”
Jackie was truly worried then and had a sort of reflex action to save her packet of fags. Alison came towards me as well, leaving Nauseating P. Green trembling by herself. I shouted, “Run like the wind, P. Green!!!”
She picked up her glasses and just stood there, blinking like a porky rabbit caught in a car’s headlights. Good grief! I tried to give her confidence. “Well, not like the wind, then, but shuffle off as fast as you can.”
Eventually she went off and I was left to face the Bummers. I charged past them shouting, “Uurgghhhhgghhh!”, that well-known Buddhist warrior chant. I chucked the fags out of the packet on to the floor. When I looked back as I dashed out of the door they were scrabbling around picking them up. I raced out on to the pitch for the second half to a big cheer from the Ace Crew. I thought I may as well enjoy the game because the Bummers would be killing me immediately after it was over.
I noticed there were a few boys gathered at the opposite end of the pitch. One of them cheered when I ran on. Probably Foxwood lads. They sort of appeared any time there was the least hint of knicker flashing. Or nunga-nunga wobbling. I don’t know how they knew, or had found out we were playing today. Probably Elvis Attwood got on the tomtoms in his hut and drummed out a message to let them know there was a match on. He was lurking around pretending to be busy, wheeling his wheelbarrow. There was never anything in it. Old Pervy Trousers. Anyway, let the lads look at my nunga-nungas if they wanted! Let my nostrils flare free. Let my waddly bottom waddle, what did I care??? I was going to be dead anyway when the Bummers got hold of me.
4:10 p.m.
Victory! Victory!!!!! We won one-nil.
It was a close match considering we were playing such a bunch of wets. One of their team blubbed when I accidentally hit her on the shin with my stick. I wonder if all the times I have been savaged by Angus have made’me immune to pain? Anyway, it was a nil draw until the last few minutes. I raced up the wing and found myself in the opposition’s penalty area. The Ace Crew were going, “Georgia Georgia!!” And then our so-called captain Wet Lindsay shouted from the left side, “Pass it to me, number eight!”
You know like in the movies when everything slows down and it’s in slow motion? Well, I had that. I saw Owlie’s face and her thin stupid legs and I thought, Hahahahahahaha! (Only really, really slowly.)
I kept the ball myself and raced for goal with it. I dribbled past one opposition player, then another. Tripped. Picked myself up, nipped the ball through someone’s legs. The crowd were cheering me on. They were going BERSERK!! Then there was the goalkeeper. Good grief, she was a giant!!! But I feinted to one side of her and got past. Then there was just the open goal. I whacked the ball and scored!!!…just as Lindsay tackled me savagely from behind.
4:30 p.m.
Wet Lindsay tried to pretend that she had been “helping” me. Huh. Very likely…not.
Miss Stamp wanted Elvis to carry me to the sick bay but he said he had an old war wound and brought his wheelbarrow out on to the pitch. He said, “Get in. One of your mates will have to wheel it because I hurt my back serving this country.”
Oh yeah. I said to Jools,”His back has probably seized up because he sits on his bottom all day.”
Rosie wheeled me to the sick bay but I still couldn’t walk even after the sadistic Adolfa Stamp had strapped up my ankle. While she was kneeling down in front of me bandaging it all my so-called mates were behind her doing pretend snogging. The Hollingbury girls didn’t even bother to get changed, they just shook hands really quickly and got on their coach.
I hopped about a bit after I was strapped up but it was aggers. In the end Elvis said reluctantly that Rosie and Ellen and Jools could push me home in the wheelbarrow. Cheers, thanks a lot.
Elvis went grumbling back to his hut, saying, “Make sure you bring it back tomorrow…it’s my own private equipment and shouldn’t by rights be used for school business.”
His own private wheelbarrow. How sad is that? Sensationally sad, that’s how.
We set off, wheeling along. It wasn’t very comfortable in the barrow and there was the suggestion of something brownish in one of the corners. But I was being all brave and heroic as I was the heroine of the hockey universe. And attractively modest. For a genius.
When we got to the school gates Dave the Laugh was there!!! He had been one of the lads at the match!!! He has seen my gigantic bottom bobbling around on the pitch. Closely following my gigantic schnozzle, bobbling around. OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.
He was laughing like a loon as we squeaked up to him in Elvis’s wheelbarrow. Then he got down on his knees and was salaaming and chanting “We are not worthy” to me.
He said to Rosie and Ellen and Jools, “Let me push the genius home.” And as he pushed me along he sang that really crap song by that band that Dad thinks he looks like the drummer from– Queen. The song was “We are the Champions”. The Fab Gang joined in really loudly. Everyone was looking as us as we went down the High Street. I don’t suppose shoppers often saw anyone in a wheelbarrow. They probably had very narrow lives and travelled around by car. Or moped.
Dave the L kissed me when he left me at my gate! In front of everyone! And he said, “Bye-bye, beautiful. See you soon. Let me know how the ankle is. I’ll bring you pressies.”
When he’d gone the girls went, “Aaaahhh.”
Ellen said, “He really is quite cool-looking. Has he done that nibbling thing again? I quite fancy the sound of that.”
But he is just a herring. We must not forget this.
6:15 p.m.
Mum was quite literally ecstatic about my ankle. She just left me in the wheelbarrow outside the front door and got on the blower immediately. I could hear her talking to the doctors’ receptionist.
“Yes, it really does seem quite bad. No, no, she really can’t walk at all. Yes, well thank you.”
Libby came trailing out with scuba-diving Barbie and got in the wheelbarrow with me. She gave me a big kiss. Don’t get me wrong, I love my sister, but I wish she would wipe her nose occasionally. When she kisses me she leaves green snot all over my cheek.
Mum came outside and said, “The doctor will pop round after surgery, Gee. Will you just lend me your mascara? I’ve run out.”
I