Balaclava Boy
Authors: Jenny Robson
BALACLAVA BOY
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BALACLAVA BOY
by Jenny Robson
illustrations by Sandy Mitchell
BALACLAVA BOY
First published in 2009 by Tafelberg, an imprint of NB Publishers, Cape Town, South Africa
This edition published in 2014 by
Little Island Books
7 Kenilworth Park
Dublin 6W
Ireland
Text © JM Robson 2009
Illustrations © S Mitchell 2009
The author has asserted her moral rights.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means (including electronic/digital, mechanical, photocopying, scanning, recording or otherwise, by means now known or hereinafter invented) without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-908195-91-3
A British Library Cataloguing in Publication record for this book is available from the British Library
Cover design adapted from the German-language edition (Tommy Mütze) published by Baobab Books, Basel, Switzerland.
Printed in Poland by Drukarnia Skleniars
Little Island receives financial assistance from The Arts Council (An Chomhairle EalaÃon) and The Arts Council of Northern Ireland
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
In memory of Matt, my best friend
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Contents
1
Monday Comprehension
“This sucks!” said Dumisani, my best friend in the world.
“This sucks big time!”
“Yeah,” I whispered back. “Stupid boring Comprehension!”
There we sat in the front desk in Grade Four SV, not feeling happy. First we had to read this story about some stupid boring boy called Markos. This Markos person was on his way to market. To buy fish or something for his mother. Then there were the Comprehension questions at the end. They were also stupid and boring. Why was Markos walking to market? What did he have in his pocket? Why was he worried?
“Hey, Doogal,” Dumisani whispered to me. “I know why this Markos guy is walking.”
“Why?”
“Hey, because his Lamborghini's got a flat tyre!”
I laughed. Dumisani is the funniest guy in the world. It's great sitting next to him! Then I thought of something too. “Hey, Dumz. Do you know what's in his pocket?”
“What?”
“His pet baby elephant. Called Spaghetti Nose.”
Now Dumisani laughed. “Spaghetti Nose! Good one, Doogz. Okay, so why is he worried?”
I started to answer. “Because ⦔
But then our teacher, Miss Venter, got on our case. “Doogal! Dumisani! Shush!” Miss Venter is always telling us to shush. That's why we have to sit in the front desk. Because we're too talkative. But it's hard to be quiet when you sit next to someone like Dumisani!
Now Cherise stuck her nose in. “Yes, shush, you two! How can I concentrate?”
Cherise sat all by herself in her double desk, right behind us. No one wants to sit next to her. She's very clever and very bossy.
So of course Dumisani and I had to turn round and pull our worst faces at her. But that got Miss Venter, aka the Dragon Lady, on our case again.
“Doogal! Dumisani! Face the front! Dear! Dear! Dear!” Miss Venter is always saying “Dear! Dear! Dear!” Each time she says it, she pats her chest. Then big clouds of white talcum powder rise up from the top of her blouse.
“His pet baby elephant. Called Spaghetti Nose.”
Just then the door opened. In came our headmaster, Mr Rasool, with some new pupil behind him. All of us forgot to stand up. Well, except for Cherise. Mostly, we were in too much shock to be polite. We couldn't believe what we were seeing!
“This is Tommy MacAdam, children,” said Mr Rasool, aka Mr Mosi. “Remember, at Colliery Primary we do our best to make new pupils feel welcome. So be kind and thoughtful.”
And we all forgot to say “Yes, Sir”. Even Cherise. We were too busy staring at this new guy, Tommy. He was wearing an ordinary green Colliery Primary tracksuit. He had ordinary brown eyes. But that was all that was ordinary about him. The rest of his face â his nose, his mouth, his cheeks, even his hair â was hidden under a balaclava! A redand-orange striped balaclava! How about that?!
The poor new boy had to sit next to Cherise. That was the only empty seat. Miss Venter gave him a book so he could do the Comprehension too. Cherise kept bossing him around and explaining on and on about Markos and his fish.
But Dumisani and I had stopped caring about this Markos and his stupid boring shopping. We had more interesting stuff to think about. Like: Why, why, why was the new guy wearing a balaclava?
“This is Tommy MacAdam, children.”
“Hey, Doogz, maybe he's got a big red birthmark on his cheek.”
“This is weird, Doogz,” Dumisani whispered.
“It's â it's bizarre,” I whispered back. My big sister is always calling stuff âbizarre'. I don't know exactly what it means. But it sounded just right.
“Hey, Doogz, maybe he's got a big red birthmark on his cheek. You know, like Transformer in Grade Seven.”
“Or maybe,” I whispered back, “maybe he was in a fire and his face got burned. Or he was in an accident so he's got scars all over. Like Mr Davids in Aloe Street.”
But Miss Venter, aka the Dragon Lady, was on our case again.
“Doogal! Dumisani! Dear! Dear! Dear!” Pat pat pat went her hand on her chest. Puff puff puff: three clouds of Lily of the Valley powder covered her face. It's the same powder my mom uses sometimes. I know the smell well.
Still Dumisani held up his Comprehension book so he could whisper behind it. “Break-time, Doogz. He'll have to take the thing off to eat his lunch, right? Then we'll get to see what's underneath.”
After all, Mr Rasool said we must be kind.