Jim Smith - I am so over being a Loser

I’d forgotten it was Show and Tell, so I was rummaging around in my rucksack for something keel to talk about when I saw Anton’s and Gaspar’s stupid feet walking to the front of the classroom.

‘Hot off the press!’ said Anton, holding up a sheet of paper with ‘The Daily Poo’ typed out at the top.

Underneath was a photo of me. My bum was wiggling from where my legs had gone wobbly, and I was winking from the helmet strap that’d hit me in the eye.

‘Just like his mumsy!’ said Gordon from the back of the classroom, and everyone laughed, and I rolled my eyes to myself because I know for a fact he calls his mum ‘Mama’.

I was still rummaging around in my rucksack, which meant my nose was near my knee, and a waft of tomato ketchup went up my nostrils and gave me an amazekeel idea for how to stop them laughing.

There’s a bit in every Future Ratboy episode where he treads in a dog poo and waggles his foot in the air.

‘By the power of smelly shoe . . .’ he shouts, and his enemies run off screaming.

‘Get your OWN mumsy!’ I shouted, hopping up to the front of the classroom with my leg bobbing around in front of me.

‘By the power of smelly knee . . .’ I said, waving it in front of Anton’s and Gaspar’s noses.

‘Get a photo, Gaspar, he’s gone completely stark raving bonkers!’ said Anton, holding his Daily Poo up to protect himself from my knee.

I grabbed the newspaper and scrunched it into a snowball and aimed it at Gordon Smugly’s nose. The only problem is, I’m rubbish at throwing.

‘Mind-boggling!’ screeched Honk as the snowball whizzed past his beak and hit Miss Spivak in the eye, which luckily for me was still underneath her pirate eyepatch.

I glanced over at Bunky and high fived him with my eyes, which is what we do when something like this happens.

‘That’s it Loser, outside NOW!’ screeched Miss Spivak, although it could have been Honk, because I wasn’t really looking.

On my way to the door I walked past Nancy Verkenwerken, who was going up to the front to show off her massive red stamp album.

I looked at my reflection in her cupboard-eyes and she smiled one of those smiles where you’re not sure if the person is being nice or thinking what a loser you are.

‘Looking forward to The Ski Dome, Loser?’ said Mr Koops, jogging past me as I stepped into the hallway, smelly knee first. His trainers squeaked on the floor like he was treading on parrots.

‘Ye-ah!’ I said, splitting my yeah into two bits because of how excited I was.

‘If you’re anything like your mum you’ll be a natural!’ he shouted over his shoulder, and he tucked his arms in as if he was skiing and wiggled his bum like my mum.

I got on my tiptoes and peered through the little window at the top of the classroom door. Nancy was pointing to a stamp with a picture of a butterfly on it.

‘Bor-ring,’ I whispered, and the glass misted up from my breath.

Last year’s Ski Dome photos were stapled up on the wall behind me, so I walked over to look at them, still tiptoeing because there was nothing else to do, plus I wish I was a bit taller, like Bunky.

Everyone in the photos was having the keelest time ever, and I imagined myself zooming down a ski slope in my new jacket and goggles, having snowball fights with real-life snow instead of scrunched-up Daily Poos.

I was snortling to myself about a photo of a snowman that looked exactly like Mr Hodgepodge, when the classroom door swung open and everyone ran out, all fizzy like Fronkle pouring out of a can.

‘I’m gonna collect sweets!’ said Stuart Shmendrix, wobbling past opening a packet of Cola Flavour Not Birds.

‘I’m gonna collect jewellery!’ said Tracy Pilchard, jangling from all her jewellery.

‘I’m gonna collect Fronkle ringpulls!’ said Darren Darrenofski, who drinks about five million cans of Fronkle a day, so that wouldn’t be very hard for him.

I was just about to do a reverse- twizzle-upside-down-salute from how loserishly excited everyone was about their stupid collections, when Miss Spivak came out with Nancy Verkenwerken.

‘Well that went down well didn’t it! Mind-boggling how many stamps you’ve collected. I think you might’ve started a new craze!’ she said all in one go, patting Nancy on the head.

‘Yeah, a craze for being a loser,’ I said, doing a mini-salute in my pocket for how funny I was.