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Copper Pie cops it

The thing about Copper Pie is that he’s the best friend you could ever have in some ways, and a total disaster in others. He’ll always stand up for you, lend you money, borrow money to lend you, eat your unwanted lunch, lie for you and would even lend you his brother, Charlie, to torture – not that anyone wants to. The trouble comes when someone annoys him. He doesn’t seem to understand that other people think differently. No, that’s not it. He doesn’t understand that other people are allowed to think something different. But he is getting better . . . slowly.

The three of us discussed what we thought his punishment would be. He’s had an essay on ‘Using words to resolve issues’ – I did that for him. And loads of lunchtime detentions for: being rough, unsportsmanlike behaviour (he kicked his goalie for letting in a pathetic shot), not sitting still in class (he was jumping on his desk because it wouldn’t shut) and bringing a weapon to school (a catapult isn’t really a weapon, is it? It’s practical exploration of the basic mechanism of the Roman ballista).

COPPER PIE’S FACT FILE

• Bright ginger hair

• Very freckly

• Awful at anything to do with dividing, timesing, spelpng or school

• Good at everything sporty

• Loves football and food

• pkes war and weapons

• Very loyal

FAMILY STUFF

Mum – runs a nursery

Dad – lazy, according to his mum

Brother – Charlie, aged 3, snotty, stinky, sticky, stupid, absolutely not allowed in Copper Pie’s room

Bee said, ‘This time it’ll be exclusion. A Year 6 getting a new kid in a headlock for no reason. Exclusion, for definite.’

‘It was hardly no reason. He accused us of waltzing.’ I sounded ridiculous. Bee started jogging on the spot (none of us know how to waltz) and giggling, and then me and Fifty joined in (the laughing, not the dancing).

I was last in the line-up for lunch, and still chuckling, when Jonno came along with an ice pack pressed against his neck. I shut up and turned to study the back of Bee’s head, praying he wouldn’t speak to me, or worse, punch me.

He didn’t.

Copper Pie’s punishments were: a talking to from the Head and Miss Walsh, an apology to Jonno, to stay in every lunch break this week and, worst of all, a letter home.

‘It could have been worse,’ said Bee.

‘Could it? Mum’s gonna hit the roof.’ Even Copper Pie’s freckles looked pale. His mum is quite shouty.

‘You could have been suspended.’ Bee shook her head and tutted.

We were eating slowly for a change, so that Copper Pie had less time sitting outside the Head’s office on the naughty chair. I had plain pasta (no sauce), cheese, sweet-corn and a muffin: one of my favourite lunches.

‘At least your mum won’t start wailing, “Where did I go wrong?” like mine does and suggest we schedule in more “quality time”,’ said Fifty.

‘Your mum’s nice – well, apart from all the kissing,’ said Bee. ‘All my mum does is feed me and buy my school shoes. At least your mum’s interested in you.’

‘Too interested,’ said Fifty. ‘Kids aren’t meant to be interesting to their mothers. Kids like junk food and danger, that’s it. Like C.P. here.’

For the first time since ‘the incident’ Copper Pie smiled. ‘Don’t forget telly and football.’

Fifty smacked him on the shoulder, which meant something like, ‘You’re our mate no matter what.’

Eventually we had to go out. Copper Pie went to meditate outside the Head’s office and the three of us headed for the tree. I had a quick peek to make sure HE wasn’t there. No. No sign of him. I didn’t want to see Newboy for a while. I was worried he might have fingerprints on his neck.

Tuesday afternoons are my favourite. I got top marks in the science test so Miss Walsh put my name on the board in the tick column, making me officially a keener. Copper Pie was already up there with the crosses! And I worked hard at my model in D.T. – it’s a Spitfire, made from two boxes and the cardboard tube from the kitchen roll all covered in brown paper with wooden sticks attaching the wheels, clear plastic for the windscreen and a working propeller with a battery under the wing. I can’t wait to paint it. I’ve got a picture to copy so it’ll be an exact replica. Fifty’s making a fire engine. It’s rubbish. He says he’s going to burn it in the metal bin in his room.

The bell went and I still wasn’t packed up so everyone skedaddled without me. When I came out, the playground was nearly empty. Fifty was waiting with my mum, my sister Flo, and (what was HE doing there?) Jonno. Peculiar. Unbelievably, after all that had happened, he was still bothering us. And where was his mum? She was obviously super-late.

As I walked towards them, Fifty stepped towards me doing a mini version of the cut-throat sign. He looked worried. Perhaps his mum was in with the Head who was advising her that her son should stop mixing with a certain ginger-haired ruffian. Perhaps my mum would be called in next?

‘Disaster,’ Fifty said in my ear. There was no time to ask what he meant because Mum was right behind him.

‘There you are. Honestly, anyone would think you didn’t want to come home.’

I smiled, keeping my eyes focused on Mum and not on Fifty who was making an I’m-being-strangled face behind her.

‘It looks as though we’ve got a houseful for tea today. Come on, you lot.’

I started to walk beside Fifty – he was obviously coming for tea. He comes most weeks so it wasn’t really a reason to make I’m-about-to-die faces, but he does like acting.

Mum and Flo followed . . . and so did Jonno.

He was probably hoping to be invited too, I thought. No chance!

I was about to ask Fifty what he thought Jonno the shadow was doing when Mum bent her head forward and whispered, ‘It seemed kind to offer to have him round for tea. You don’t mind, do you?’

What did she mean? Why did we need to be kind to Fifty? Why would I mind my friend coming over?

Uh-oh . . . A nasty thought found its way to the front of the queue.

Surely she couldn’t mean Jonno?

No. Of course she couldn’t. It wasn’t possible that Jonno could be coming for tea because I hadn’t mentioned a new boy to Mum. Maybe Fifty’s mum was ill . . . or worse, in hospital. Yes, that would be it. Be kind to Fifty while we break the news. The fact that we were all walking together was a coincidence, that’s all. Or maybe Jonno was still hoping to worm his way in with us, even though we’d shown him we weren’t interested.

I couldn’t wait to talk to Fifty about how completely crazy Newboy was.

Mum leaned forward again. ‘Only I met Jonno’s mum this morning at the surgery. It’s so hard being the new boy in a class.’