My Brilliant Idea (And How It Caused My Downfall) (23 page)

So there I am, halfway through Monday morning, sitting on the steps outside the old building with Sandy Hammil and telling him all about what happened at Yatesy's place at the weekend. Sandy's got a major crease on, choking on his bottle of water and generally making me wonder if someone who takes such delight in your misery can really be called a friend, when Yatesy's sister comes along and stops in front of us. She just stands there looking at me, waiting for Sandy to stop laughing and choking, and then she says, “Are you The Jackdaw?”

I'm not sure whether to say yes or no. I have the feeling that no good can come of me being who I really am. But before I can decide what to do, Sandy says, “That's him,” and I can feel another deepening of our friendship coming on. I'm in for a surprise, though.

“Thanks for convincing Drew to sit for that portrait,” she says. “It's beautiful.”

It turns out that Yatesy just told Drew he'd had no idea Elsie was hiding in that tent thing.

“She must have sneaked in earlier,” he lied. “She's been stalking you for months. She must have found out we were going to do this painting and broke in somehow. Pretty scary.”

And Drew didn't bat an eyelid. He bought it wholesale, and then the two of them spent a pleasant afternoon getting on with the drawing.

“You've really helped bring Drew out of his shell,” Yatesy's sister tells me. “He was always quite shy about his body before, but when he saw how much I appreciated the painting his confidence blossomed. We even went skinny-dipping last night.”

Sandy splutters a mouthful of water all over his shoes, then looks up at me to see my reaction. But I'm becoming accustomed to the uninhibited ways of the bohemian, and I barely even crack a smile.

“He looks much better with short hair, too,” Yatesy's sister says. “He was starting to look a bit like a girl. Thanks, Jackdaw.”

“You're welcome,” I tell her, and then she's gone.

Sandy dries his shoes with the sleeve of his jacket, still chuckling away, and then he takes a drink from his bottle of water and manages to keep it down for pretty much the first time all morning.

“I'll tell you what you are,” he says to me, and I look at him wearily.

“What am I?” I ask.

“You're a philanthropist,” he says. “I've just worked it out.”

“What the hell's a philanthropist?” I ask. “Is that the same thing as a pacifist?”

He looks at me as if I'm an idiot.

“Don't be a moron,” he says. “A philanthropist goes about doing good for other people without wanting anything in return.”

I shake my head.

“I'm not that,” I tell him. “I'm an ideas man.”

But he won't let it go. “Look at the evidence,” he says. “You've brought Cyrus and Amy together, you cured the rift between your cousin Harry and his dad, you've saved Yatesy from getting expelled, and you've turned Drew Thornton into a confirmed nudist. You've even managed to free Drew from Elsie Green's unwanted attentions, and what did you get out of it for yourself?”

He stops and waits as if he's expecting an answer, but I don't say anything.

“Nothing,” he tells me. “You got nothing at all. There's no doubt about it, Jackdaw. You're a philanthropist.”

I ignore him and consider the position I'm in now, caught between the office and the factory, with the factory quite far ahead in the running, owing to my general lack of potential in the whole exam department.

“It's probably time to start hitting the books,” Sandy says, as if he's just read my thoughts, and I nod unhappily. I keep looking out over the playground, and I watch a D-list seagull picking at an old piece of chewing gum that's stuck to the concrete slabbing. I wonder why the seagull's picked that particular piece of chewing gum over all the others, and then I wonder why it's trying to eat a piece of chewing gum, anyway. Surely nothing good can come of that. The seagull seems to come to the same conclusion and hops across to a crisps packet instead, looking inside to see what's on offer. I watch its head jerking about and look at this ragged bit on its wing, and then, without me even noticing at first, my fingers start to tingle.

It comes on slowly, first the finger tingling getting gradually stronger, then my head starting to buzz, and I suddenly catch on to what's happening. Incoming mail. I sit and wait patiently, giving it my full attention, and then it hits me with a bang. Almost as hard as the Elsie tent hit the floor in Yatesy's room. It's a mindblower. A real cosmic brain tingler.
This
is the Big One.
This
is the life changer. This is the idea I've been waiting for all my life, and the app, it turns out, was only a warm-up. A dry run.

I look at Sandy and he looks at me, and after a second he begins to grasp what's happening. He starts to see what's going on. He knows I'm up and running again, and he shakes his head slowly.

“No,” he says. “No, Jackdaw. Not again. It's time to get a grip on things. It's time to hit the books.”

I just smile at him, a huge smile. A great big Cheshire-cat-style grin. But I don't say anything else. I need to let this one germinate. I need to look at it from all angles and make sure it's really the game changer I think it is.

Then the bell rings. The bell rings for the end of break time, and we get up and make our way across the playground, Sandy looking concerned, me almost skipping, and both of us off toward another mind-numbing double in Baldy Baine's science class.

S
TUART
D
AVID
is a Scottish musician, songwriter, and novelist. He co-founded the band Belle and Sebastian (1996–2000) and then went on to front Looper (1998–present). He is the author of several adult novels, including
In the All-Night Café: A Memoir of Belle and Sebastian's Formative Year
.
My Brilliant Idea (and How It Caused My Downfall)
is Stuart's first book for teenagers. He lives with his wife in Scotland.