Читать книгу Barry Loser is the best at football NOT! - Jim Smith - Страница 10

I rotated myself on the spot like a tray of pain au chocolats in a bakery shop window and walked away from my ex-friends.

I was putting on a fake limp to make them feel extra sorry for me.

‘Oh don’t be like that, Barry!’ called Bunky.

‘No you’re right,’ I mumbled over my shoulder. ‘What do you lot need a useless old Loser like me for?’

‘Just let him go, Bunky,’ said Gordon Smugly, who’s always trying to steal my best friend off me and probably thought this was the perfect time to put his evil plan into action.

I spotted a piece of gravel lying on the floor and wondered if I should fake a trip over it to really get them feeling bad.

‘I’ll be alright,’ I mumbled. ‘Don’t you worry about Barry Loser, he’ll get over it in a couple of weeks or so.’

I carried limping off for a couple of milliseconds until I heard Sharonella’s mouth opening.

‘“Coach Loser”,’ she said, trying the name out for size. ‘I suppose it has got a tiny bit of a ring to it . . .’

I chuckled to myself. ‘The old Pain-au-Choc trick never fails,’ I muttered, widening my earholes by 0.3 millimetres each, trying to hear if anyone was nodding their head to what Shaz just said.

But heads nodding aren’t as easy to hear as mouths opening.

I carried on facing away from my friends. ‘What do you reckon, Bunk?’ I croaked, shortening Bunky’s name to show Gordon Smugly how much of his best friend I was. ‘How about doing an old pal a favour?’

Everything went quiet for a billisecond.

‘Oh alright,’ sighed Bunky, as his bum started to cry.