Natural Born Loser Read online

Kayla’s still in her school uniform and wearing her school captain’s badge. She tries to shine it in my eyes. ‘So, Raymond,’ Kayla chirps. ‘How’s Barry-wrong?’

  ‘Don’t you get sick of bagging my school?’ I say. ‘You used to go there too.’

  ‘And I left in Year Four. Best decision ever.’ Kayla bounces on her bed. ‘My mum tells me they still haven’t got a principal.’

  I sit up. ‘We just got one today, Mr Humble.’ I wonder if I should tell her about the prefects’ tryout. She’s the only girl I know who would beat Randa for girl school captain.

  ‘I bet he’s not like our principal, Mrs Burrows,’ Kayla says. ‘She’s a gardener, you know? She’s helped us set up this amazing veggie patch at school. We all get to take stuff home that we grow.’

  ‘That’s cool,’ I say. ‘The only thing we can grow at Barryjong is lice.’

  ‘Ewww, that’s gross.’ Kayla shows me her school newsletter. There’s a picture of her at school assembly. ‘Want one? I have heaps.’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  I don’t even read my own school’s newsletter. It’s only ever a few paragraphs long anyway. Nothing exciting ever happens at Barryjong.

  ‘I’ll read it for you.’ Kayla clears her throat, ready to recite, when I hear running footsteps sounding like thunder. Gina and Jack burst through the door with iceblocks in their hands.

  ‘Want one?’ Gina says, licking her fingers.

  A chunk of raspberry iceblock falls on the floor and Kayla shrieks as if it’s blood. ‘Mum said no food upstairs!’

  Jack sticks out his purple tongue and runs out, trailing his sticky hands along the wall before Kayla can scream again. He’s in Year Two and is trouble wrapped in skin. He would fit in at Barryjong. It’s great that he still plays with Gina. Kayla and I never do anything much together any more.

  ‘Keep one for me, Gina,’ I call, using the chance to go downstairs. ‘Thanks for saving me, little sis,’ I whisper.

  ‘That’s okay, big brah!’ she yells.

  Mum’s sitting down on the bench, drinking coffee made by a fancy expresso machine that looks like it could power up a space station. Gina runs over to bury her head in Mum’s lap. Kayla catches up to us and we take an iceblock from her fridge. There’s a pamphlet for Harrington Heights Primary stuck on the front, with Kayla’s beaming face on the cover.

  Auntie Angelica blows on her coffee. ‘It’s not too late to change schools and join your cousin.’

  Mum slams down her coffee cup. ‘Raymond’s already in Year Six,’ she says. ‘Besides, all his friends are there.’

  Mum has a wild imagination. I only have one friend, and he only likes me because we play soccer together.

  ‘She’s worked hard to become school captain this year,’ Auntie Angelica says. ‘Who are your school captains at Barryjong?’

  Auntie thinks she already knows the answer so I say politely, ‘We don’t have any … yet.’

  ‘What?’ Auntie Angelica splutters out some coffee.

  ‘Yeah, our new principal Mr Humble is having tryouts for prefects,’ I say.

  Kayla bites hard into her iceblock. ‘Huh? When did this happen?’

  ‘Today,’ I say. ‘Zain and I are going to try out.’

  Mum tugs my sleeve. ‘You are?’

  ‘Really?’ Auntie Angelica says.

  ‘Whoa.’ Kayla’s iceblock plops onto her shirt.

  Auntie Angelica gets up and gives her a cloth, saying, ‘Quick, take it off and soak it in water.’

  Kayla rushes back up to her room.

  I turn to Mum and give her my can we go now? look. Gina copies me and Mum glances at her watch. ‘We better go.’

  I smile at Gina. There are some things my little sister does better than me.

  We say goodbye and hop into our station wagon. It’s an oven on wheels, since the air con hasn’t worked for years. Gina and I race each other to roll down the windows. Mum backs out of the narrow driveway before she finally zooms down the main road and the breeze gives us some relief.

  Mum taps the steering wheel. ‘When were you going to tell me about the prefect thing, Raymond?’

  Never, I think, just in case I chicken out or flunk it. ‘When we got back home,’ I mumble.

  ‘I always wanted to be a prefect,’ Mum says. ‘I just couldn’t come up with a good speech.’

  ‘Really?’ I can’t imagine her being lost for words. She always has the last word – just ask Dad.

  Mum smiles. ‘Go for it, Raymond.’

  Great. I’ve got to go through with it now. I clutch the Harrington Heights pamphlet, trying to rub out Kayla’s smile. It would be sweet to do it in real life. But how can a follower like me impress Mr Humble?

  Dad’s already back from work when we get home. Dad loves telling everybody that his job is to throw himself under a bus. He’s a mechanic who fixes broken-down buses, all over the city. He steps out of the bathroom, with a towel wrapped around his waist.

  ‘Hey buddy!’ He goes to the fridge and digs out a plastic bag from the freezer. ‘Ah, it’s fresh.’

  I shake my head. ‘Did you freeze your undies again?’

  ‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.’ Dad grins. ‘It keeps me cool for about twenty minutes.’

  ‘Why can’t we get an air conditioner?’ I say.

  ‘We’re saving up for it for this Christmas.’ Dad sighs. ‘I miss Shelly.’

  I cross my arms. ‘Not me.’ Shelly was our portable air cooler, a stand-in air conditioner. You had to pour jugs of water into it and then wait forever before some cooler air came out. One day, Gina was trying to ride her like a robot-unicorn and pushed it over. Shelly didn’t survive the impact, though luckily Gina wasn’t hurt, despite the wailing. Mum reckons Shelly was a waste of space and power anyway. I’m with Mum on that one.

  Dad ducks into the bedroom and I sit down to do my Maths homework. Miss Saxena blasted me for mucking around in front of Mr Humble and gave me extra questions. I wonder if you have to be good at school work to become a prefect. If that was true, there’s no way Zain would make it either.

  Mum looks over my shoulder. ‘Working on your prefects’ tryout speech?’

  ‘Nah, I’ll just go in with Zain,’ I say.

  ‘And what, he’s going to talk for you?’ Mum taps her chin. ‘Do you want me to call Mr Humble? Tell him that I used to go there. That could get you brownie points.’

  I groan. ‘Don’t you dare, Mum. If you’re going to help, bake him some brownies.’

  Mum laughs. ‘I’ve never baked a thing in my life. I’m not like your Auntie Angelica, you know.’

  Dad steps out in his singlet and shorts. He shakes his bum. ‘I’m still cool for another five minutes.’

  Mum tells him about the prefects’ tryout.

  Dad massages my shoulders. ‘Come on, buddy, you’ve got to sell yourself. Write down a few things that you’re good at.’ He kicks the air. ‘You can talk about your awesome soccer skills.’

  Just like Mum, Dad has a wild imagination, and fuzzy long-distance eyesight. He must be mistaking me for Zain or maybe the captain of the Western Wizards, Michael Kola.

  ‘I’m not that good at soccer, Dad,’ I say.

  Dad paces behind me. ‘It’s like that one time when I tried asking my scary boss for a raise, I had to prepare a speech and everything.’

  ‘Did you get a raise?’ I say.

  ‘He laughed his head off.’ Dad shrugs. ‘But I won’t give up.’

  I think about Mum and Dad, they’re a bunch of followers who are spooked by their bosses. Maybe being a leader isn’t in our Bulanhagui blood.

  ‘Let us know if you need any help,’ Mum says. They leave my room and I tear out a page from the back of my homework book. I write out a list of things I’m good at:

  Never been in (big) trouble before.

  I play soccer (badly).

  My mum used to go to Barryjong.

  That one’s a last resort. What else am I good at? I’m just a nobo
dy who likes to follow people. The only real plan I have is to follow Zain. He’s my only chance to become a prefect.

  The next day, Zain and I walk to Mr Humble’s office. He pulls me in for a headlock. ‘I knew you wouldn’t back down from a dare.’

  I tear myself away from his sweaty armpits. ‘I’ve knocked back plenty of dares,’ I say. ‘Remember you wanted me to squawk like a magpie during assembly or put sherbet into Miss Saxena’s tea?’

  ‘This is different man,’ Zain says. ‘We’re going in as a team. I’ll be school captain and you’ll be a …’

  ‘Vice-captain?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  There’s already a line of Year Sixers outside Mr Humble’s office including Howard, one of Russell’s friends.

  Zain counts the heads in front of him. ‘We should get in before the end of lunch.’

  ‘So, what are you going to tell Mr Humble?’ I say.

  Zain points to his boots. ‘I’ve been the top scorer for our school’s soccer side for three years in a row.’

  ‘But we lost every game last year.’

  Zain slaps my arm. ‘Man, he doesn’t need to know that. It’s not my fault that I’m playing in a team of no-hopers.’

  I gulp. Does he think I’m a no-hoper? Sometimes I wonder why he doesn’t want to hang out with Bilal or Ali more, they’re better soccer players.

  Zain takes out his hacky sack from his pocket and squeezes it tight. ‘Don’t worry, we’ve got this, Raymond.’

  I take out my sheet of paper.

  ‘Stop trying to be like Randa,’ Zain says, snatching my list. ‘Just follow me.’

  I might be good at following him, but that doesn’t mean I have his skill. I’m not the second-best scorer at soccer. I didn’t even make the team.

  Russell Carney comes along and taps Howard on the shoulder, who then lets Russell in front of us.

  ‘Hey,’ Zain says. ‘You can’t cut in.’

  ‘He was saving my spot,’ Russell says. ‘You got a problem with that?’

  Zain opens his mouth, but he doesn’t make a sound, as if his tongue is a goalie, blocking all his words.

  ‘Thought so.’ Russell goes back to chatting with Howard.

  I tug Zain’s shirt. ‘Don’t worry about it, man,’ I mutter. ‘He’s just wasting his time.’

  Russell turns around. ‘What did you say?’

  I didn’t know Russell had supersonic hearing. Then again, he is a level 100 Bullymon. He could probably hear teachers coming from kilometres away.

  Zain leaps in front of me. ‘What makes you think you could be a prefect?’

  ‘Why not? I run this school anyway,’ Russell says. ‘Everyone would follow me.’

  ‘After you’d threaten them,’ I say.

  Russell stomps up to me. ‘Kids would rather follow me than a nobody like you.’

  My head sinks. He’s got me there. Russell may be a bullymon but more people know him than me.

  Just then, Randa walks out of Mr Humble’s office with her notebook.

  Zain rushes up to her, probably glad to escape Russell’s glare. ‘So, did you bore Mr Humble to death with your plans?’ he says.

  ‘No, he was on the edge of his seat,’ Randa says. ‘He’s a great listener.’

  ‘He probably didn’t get a chance to say anything.’

  ‘Good luck, Raymond,’ she says and marches down the corridor.

  ‘What about me?’ Zain calls. ‘It doesn’t matter, I don’t need your luck anyway.’

  We watch Russell and Howard step into Mr Humble’s office. A minute later, they both stomp out, looking like punctured soccer balls. I lean over to Zain. ‘Guess Mr Humble showed them who’s boss.’

  Zain and I finally get to Mr Humble’s door.

  ‘Who’s first?’ Mr Humble asks.

  I clutch my chest as if my heart’s a grenade. ‘Um …’

  ‘We’re together,’ Zain says.

  ‘Okay, come in.’

  I creep up to his desk. I thought Dad’s shed was messy. Mr Humble’s desk is a pizza with the lot, loaded with toppings of paper, staplers and pens. The only new thing I spot is a framed poster with a bunch of leadership tips. There are also books on leadership on the shelf behind him.

  ‘Yeah, things have been hectic since I got here.’ Mr Humble moves a stack of papers so he can see us. ‘Zain and Raymond, right?’

  ‘How do you know my name, Sir?’ I ask.

  ‘You were the guy with the book on your face.’ Mr Humble says. ‘Tried it myself but I only lasted six seconds.’

  Zain and I sit down. He’s good with names. Our last principal, Mrs Benson had a goldfish’s memory when it came to kids. She had the look of a goldfish too.

  ‘So, why should you both be prefects?’ Mr Humble says.

  Zain and I pass each other glances before he takes the lead. ‘Do you like soccer, Sir?’

  Mr Humble nods. ‘I’ve been a Western Wizards supporter since they started in the National comp.’

  Zain blasts off his seat and is now orbiting a planet-sized soccer ball. ‘Who’s your favourite player, Sir?’

  ‘I like the baby-faced Jeremy Huang, he’s an awesome midfielder.’

  Zain’s trembling. He’s just become Mr Humble’s biggest fan. ‘Well, I’m a soccer superstar here, everybody knows me. All the kids follow me at lunchtime.’ Zain goes on about his soccer skills and being captain of both his school’s soccer and local Barryjong Zappers teams.

  ‘Sir, you need a leader who can raise up the school spirit,’ Zain says. ‘That’s me, a natural born leader.’

  ‘Thanks, Zain,’ Mr Humble says. ‘And what about you, Raymond?’

  ‘I’m here because I followed him.’

  Zain thumps his chest. ‘I told you, Sir.’

  Mr Humble raises an eyebrow. ‘And if Zain jumped off a cliff, would you do it?’

  ‘Only if he dared me to, Sir,’ I say.

  Now both of his eyebrows are up. ‘Have you got what it takes to be a prefect?’

  I feel my lunch swirling around in my stomach. ‘Not really.’

  ‘What?’ Mr Humble and Zain says.

  ‘But I can be a prefect’s assistant, and help the other prefects.’

  ‘So do you want to be a leader, Raymond?’

  ‘I’ve never been one, but I don’t want the spotlight,’ I say. ‘I just want to make Barryjong better.’

  ‘Make it better?’ Mr Humble leans back in his chair.

  ‘Yeah, I’m sick of my cousin or auntie teasing me about this school. Whenever people see me wear this uniform at the shops, they think I’m going to steal something.’ I clench my fists underneath the desk. ‘It’s not fair. My mum used to come here when she was a kid and she loved it here. I want it to go back to those days.’

  ‘You want your mum to come back to school?’ Zain says.

  ‘Not like that,’ I say. ‘I don’t have to be a leader, but if you need a prefect’s assistant, I’m your guy.’

  Mr Humble nods. ‘Okay, thanks for your time boys. I’ll make my decision next week.’

  We leave Mr Humble’s office. Zain slaps me on the back. ‘How long did it take you to practice that little speech?’

  I rub the back of my neck. ‘I just said whatever came into my head.’

  I reckon I’ve blown my chance of being a prefect but I might have a school captain for a best friend. Half of Year Six tried out, even Russell Carney, so Mr Humble must have enough potential boys to make up three soccer teams. At least I got to tell him how I feel about Barryjong Primary. Maybe he will pick some great leaders and really turn this place around. I’ll follow them. That’s what I was born to do.

  It’s Thursday night, shopping night, so Mum takes me and Gina to the giant shopping centre to cool down. Everyone’s got the same idea because it takes us ages to find a park. It’s all worth it when we step inside. The air con hits us like a snowball in the face.

  We get some raspberry frozen drinks and sit at the food court. G
ina grabs a bundle of straws and makes one crazy long straw. Dad calls it a lazy straw. Gina puts her cup on the floor and stands up, sipping so hard she turns as red as her frozen drink.

  ‘Take out your homework, Gina,’ Mum says.

  Gina wolfs down some air before opening her folder and takes out her spelling sheet.

  ‘Are you serious, Mum?’ I say.

  ‘Well, Gina can’t concentrate when it’s too hot at home,’ Mum says. ‘Thank goodness the kindy classes have new air conditioners at school.’

  Mum’s got a point. Gina’s always bugging me at home, groaning about the heat, sounding like the rusty air con in 6S. When she’s not hanging out in Mr Wee’s swimming pool, she lies in the bathtub until she turns into a giant prune.

  The thought of going back to my steamy room makes me take out my homework too.

  ‘How did your prefects’ tryout go?’ Mum says.

  ‘I told the principal how you went to Barryjong before,’ I say. ‘Mr Humble’s actually serious about changing the school.’

  ‘Well, he’s already changing you,’ Mum says. ‘I never thought you would try out in a million years.’

  I poke myself with the straw. ‘Yeah, I know. I’m not a natural born leader.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Mum says. ‘I’m just saying you’re a quiet achiever. You keep your head down and stay out of trouble.’

  Okay, so I’m a natural born quiet achiever. But that’s how you survive at Barryjong. You find a group of kids and avoid the bullymons. If only she’d heard what I’d said to Mr Humble. She’s half right. I like to be silent on the soccer field but I don’t achieve anything. It’s only Zain who makes me do stuff by daring me to.

  I slurp on my frozen drink. Even if I don’t make it as a prefect, it already feels like I’ve done something. Maybe I should speak up more. I mean, it’s my last year at Barryjong, so I should try new things. I have nothing to lose.

  After a whole week of tryouts, it’s all come down to this. It’s Monday morning and Mr Humble is going to make an announcement about the new prefects. We’re all waiting under the shelter in our lines. Randa’s face is as pale as the moon.

  ‘You have a great chance, Randa,’ I say.