Extraordinary Losers 1 Read online

  OPERATION

  PANTS ON FIRE

  JESSICA ALEJANDRO

  ILLUSTRATED BY CHERRYN YAP

  Contents

  Dedication

  Meet our extraordinary heroes

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  To Dad and Mum, for being Extraordinary

  CHAPTER 1: NOT WHAT IT SEEMS

  All of us at Brightstar Primary were handed a quiz sheet. I hadn’t known that my answers to the questions would mark the start of a new beginning. We had always been the misfits, the outcasts and the “losers” in class. Losers? If you are thinking… someone who stinks at sports and is into poetry… Yup, that’s me. Darryl De.

  Do I always forget to bring my books to school? Yes. Do I take 30 minutes to complete a 2.4km run? Yes. Do I have extremely dirty ears? Yes. Am I an important rep in class? No. (I am the notice board rep, by the way. How lame is that?) But just as the ugly duckling becomes a beautiful swan, and every dog has its day, well, every loser has his day too. This is our story, right here, right now. And it only gets better…

  “Darrrrryyyyylll!” Mum hollered.

  Dad had left us about a year ago and Mum tries to make up for it by showering us regularly with gifts. Unfortunately, a chess set and a second-hand Snap card game aren’t exactly my kind of toys. At that moment, she was marching towards me proudly with a gift in her hand.

  “Here, you do the honours!” Mum said, handing me a bundle of cables. She gave me a wet screechy smooch in my ear. (I hate those! They give me headaches.)

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you! Who else? Aren’t you the man of the house now, Darryl? It’s Xbox Kinect!!!” she shrieked. “Do look more excited!”

  True, it was the coolest thing to have, and I finally had something to boast about in school.

  “Quick, Darryl!” she continued. “Plug in the cables! I am itching to dance!” I had not seen Mum so happy since Dad left us.

  “I know, Mum, give me a minute!” Plugging in cables was a serious matter. I was on my knees, figuring out which wire went where. Mum rushed into her room and, in a flash, rushed out again – in all of Superman’s colours. She was wearing her blue aerobic slacks, a bright red leotard and a red-and-blue polka-dotted bandana. Her Super Mum outfit? Uh oh.

  “We’ll just play the dancing one. Dance Central. They gave us a game for free.”

  “Great,” Sophia scoffed. “Seriously?”

  She was on the laptop tapping away. Sophia is my elder sister. She is a year older than me, in Primary 6. She is at that age when all you think about is the tall basketballer in your class. The annoying age when the mirror is your best friend and worst enemy (especially on spot-the-zit day). Both of us have nothing much in common except that (1) we are in the same school and (2) we share the same Math teacher – Miss Jacobs.

  “Hurry up, boy,” Mum yelled shrilly.

  “Oh my goodness! Darryl, just get on with it already, how hard is it?” Sophia chimed in, half typing, half checking out her reflection.

  “Okay! Almost… almost… almost there,” I said as I plugged in the last cable, pretending to look excited. What’s the use of an Xbox Kinect if you can’t destroy monsters and zap terrorists?

  Then without warning…

  “BA DA DE DUM!” The upbeat music assailed my ears and joggled the television. Our domestic helper Maryanne rushed out from the laundry room to watch Mum in all her “splendour”. With my eardrums about to explode, I inched my way out of the girly tumult.

  “One, two, three! Here we go!” She jiggled her hips a little and swung her arms wildly, in all but the correct direction. Maryanne joined Mum too.

  “Ma’am, this is very fun!” Maryanne said, beaming. “Good exercise too!”

  “Uh huh,” Mum said, sensing the competition. “Only for a few minutes, Maryanne. After this, you have to cook!”

  “Who are you typing to, Soph?” I asked on my way to my room. “You have been at it all day!”

  “No one!” She slammed the laptop shut. I knew better. It was definitely SOMEONE.

  It was the sixth week of school when the news hit us in Primary 5B real bad. We had a new form teacher. Mr Sebastian Grosse (who’s what nightmares are made of). His name conjures up images of diarrhoea.

  Everyone booed. The monotone voice coming from the speakers explained that our form teacher was on maternity leave. Suddenly, I heard the unmistakable footsteps of a man strutting towards us. He was a block away, but was approaching class 5B at full speed. Images of grossness were already playing in my head.

  “Er, hey, everyone, I think Mr Grosse is on his way,” I announced.

  Everyone froze, listened hard and then laughed.

  “I can’t hear anything!” Justin argued.

  “What a loser, Darryl!” Leonard sneered. “You must be shaking in your pants right now.”

  “No, I can seriously hear him. He is approximately two minutes and 10 seconds away,” I insisted. The whole class chorused in laughter.

  Leonard continued, “If you clean those filthy, filthy ears of yours, maybe we’ll appoint you as class watchman. But for now, get a life!”

  “Yeah, Darryl. Get a life!” Justin parroted. Leonard was the school’s basketball team champion. Justin was his sidekick (off the court too).

  No one believed me or my trusty ears. The boys went back to trading cards. The girls were, well, being girls by talking too shrilly.

  Mundi Sakdipa was quietly seated. His big eyes widened, shocked at the unruly behaviour of local kids. His long eyelashes fluttered and fluttered in nervousness. Everything about him was curly-wurly: his handwriting, his big mop of curly hair and his long curly eyelashes. Even the sing-song way he spoke sounded, well, curly! He arrived from India last year. He was often spotted alone and without a recess companion. Why? He is practically caked in powder, repelling sweat and students.

  I looked at him and he turned away anxiously. Just then, Janice stood up. She stamped her feet in anger! She was the severely overweight class monitress.

  “Come on, people! Order, please! Order!” She took it upon herself to be the classroom judge. Of course, no one took her seriously.

  “Hey, was that an earthquake? I felt the ground vibrate,” Leonard shouted out.

  “Hey, sit down!” someone else said. “You are taking up too much space!”

  The whole class cracked up. In anger, she stamped her feet more. “I am warning you!”

  She was dripping with sweat. Panting. Janice was also the president of the Drama Club, an award-winning actress, also known as “the melodramatic loser” to the class.

  Then, amid the commotion, Mr Grosse marched in. His black hair, carefully swept back, and gold-framed glasses, made him look like a star right out of Eurasian Land. The class turned mighty quiet and Janice took on a new role as someone in a courtroom audience. Quiet.

  “Oooooooooh!” Some of the girls swooned when they saw how handsome he was. However, his voice was diametrically opposed to his looks.

  “Class, this is a crucial year! It is THE year BEFORE the PSLE. You either make it or break it!” he ranted. He snapped a wooden ruler. (He probably had hundreds of those stashed in a chest labelled “PROPS to scare children”.)

  Just in time, Clandestino sashayed in with his scuffed shoes, not a care in the world.

  “Class, what irks me most is students sashaying into the classroom,” Mr Grosse said, glaring at C
landestino.

  Clandestino looked up in a daze. He was the most unhygienic boy in class. If he wasn’t scratching his skin red, he was snorting. If he wasn’t snorting, he was chewing paper. And if he wasn’t doing any of the above, he was spinning a pen. However, while his other habits were disgusting, his one talent was quite amazing. He didn’t just TWIRL pens. He was THE ultimate pen spinner. He could do the “thumb-around”, the “finger pass” the “sonic”, the “charge” and all kinds of other tricks. But his tricks were unappreciated. Everyone shunned him. Why?

  Firstly, the little bumps on his skin oozed with pus. Some were purple, some red. Purple indicated yesterday’s rashes while red marked the spots where fresh scabs had been scratched out of his skin. Gruesome. Red or purple, they all looked very much alive and bubbling on his skin. Secondly, his pens were all so dirty and grimy, his tricks didn’t appeal to anyone. But me.

  Five seconds passed. “Huh?! OH. Sorry,” Clandestino finally got the drift and plopped in his chair, scratching.

  “In 90 weeks’ time, you will be sitting for the most important exam in your life!!! How much time have you just wasted, Clandestino?”

  “I…”

  “It is a rhetorical question!” Mr Grosse roared. “No answers. Just listen and think!”

  Clandestino licked the mucus that was streaming down his nose.

  “Class 5B, if you fail to pay attention and focus, you’ll be attending your own funeral. You hear me at the back there?” Mr Grosse raised his chin.

  Justin and Leonard exchanged a troubled glance.

  “This is not the time for you to be lackadaisical!”

  What? La-co-daisy-girl? He was trying to intimidate us with his English. Anyhow, it worked. Everyone was so fearful that for a moment we forgot to breathe.

  “Let me tell you, you only have about 600 days to your PSLE. It is not your average exam. It’s the most brain-wrenching exam in Singapore.”

  “Oh my goodness!” Janice gasped.

  “Never be complacent. Do you want to end up in Walnut Lane Secondary school? Haven’t heard of that school? That’s where all the nuts are! You’ll be a laughing stock!”

  “Oh no!” Janice buried her face in her hands and stamped her feet anxiously. Again.

  “Not the time, Janice,” I whispered.

  Mr Grosse’s tone was getting more agitated. His face became redder and redder as he spoke. I felt my heart pulse. Mr Grosse Brute Force was here to stay. Then he spotted the new boy, looking down.

  “That boy there! Mundi Sakdipa, are you listening? Look up when I am speaking to you!” Mr Grosse thundered.

  Mundi looked up, his eyes almost popping out from embarrassment.

  “Yes or no?” Mr Grosse prompted.

  Mundi gulped. He looked around. Everyone was sniggering, except for Clandestino. He was worried for Mundi. I could hear people whispering.

  “Does he have a voice or what?”

  “Quick, say something, loser…”

  “What a dodo!”

  Mundi looked at me, and then swallowed his voice again in a much bigger GULP.

  Out of the blue, Miss Jacobs, our Math teacher, walked past. She was definitely sashaying (like Clandestiono did), but Mr Grosse gave her the sweetest smile a man his size could ever manage. Thank goodness for the peace she brought! Then he turned back to us, frowning.

  “Now class, get ready for a mock CA1 test. I want to see how ‘bright’ you guys are. As soon as you receive your papers, you may begin,” Mr Grosse said as he handed out fresh English test papers.

  We were happy that his “funeral” speech had ended. Now it was just us and our wordy English papers. Peace and quiet again… Sigh. How much time have YOU wasted, Mr Grosse?

  CHAPTER 2: THE VAN THAT NEVER EXISTED

  Mundi! 100/100.”

  “Waah!” some of the boys went.

  “Woaah,” echoed the girls.

  “Nerd Alert!” Justin jeered.

  “Leonard, 78/100!”

  “Justin, 75/100!”

  “Darryl… 66/100.”

  I shuffled to Miss Jacobs, with my head bowed low.

  “Clandestino, 55/100.”

  Miss Jacobs was reading out our Math common test marks. If you scored above 80, you were entitled to a wink from her, and some expensive chocolate. Justin walked back, his head buried in his papers, as though he was scrutinising carefully. He plumped down on his chair, still studying the papers earnestly.

  “Hey, wait a minute, Miss Jacobs, I think I deserve five more marks!” Leonard claimed. “You see, you marked me wrong for these two questions.”

  Leonard brushed past me as he sped towards Miss Jacobs to collect his wink.

  “Oh, how careless of me, I must be getting old,” Miss Jacobs said embarrassedly, quickly correcting her mistake.

  “Me too!” Justin yelled suddenly. He raced up to Miss Jacobs. “See, this is supposed to be correct but you crossed it. I should get five more marks!”

  “Oh! You too?” Miss Jacobs made the changes.

  Then she put one arm around Justin (who was basking in glory) and another around Leonard and announced, “Over 80. Well done, boys!”

  Justin’s eyes caught mine. They were twinkling with pride and something else which I couldn’t make out. Just yet. Everyone was flipping frantically through their papers to look for extra marks but no one seemed to be as lucky. Major envy.

  “Oh no! Oh no! Miss Jacobs, can I get at least one mark because I wrote 2/3. I’m half correct!” Janice pleaded. She squeezed past tables to get to the front, knocking over a few pencil cases and water bottles in her obstacle race.

  Poor Janice. Everyone had a partner except for her. She was sweating buckets all the time and everyone in class claimed she emitted too much heat, so no one wanted to sit next to her.

  “Pretty pretty please?” She knelt.

  “No! Enough is enough, Janice,” Miss Jacob said gently. “And stop chewing on paper, Clandestino.”

  “Huh?!” He froze, a shred of paper still pasted on his lips.

  “Alright, that’s enough, class! If you work as hard as Justin, Mundi and Leonard, the sky’s the limit. See you guys tomorrow. We’ll continue with the rest of the corrections.”

  We packed our bags and made our way out of the class. I found myself next to Justin.

  “Hey Justin, you must let me know your secret,” I said. “How do you do so well?”

  “Me? I don’t know. It just comes naturally, I guess.” He shrugged, and then added, “Just like how losing comes naturally to you.”

  “Hey,” Damien interrupted. He was my best friend in Primary 1 and 2. We were gaming buddies. Then in Primary 3, our interests grew apart. I began to love reading and writing poems and he developed a love for sports. We were never close again. Although he was now one of the “cooler” kids, I guess he still felt bad for me whenever I got called a loser.

  I looked down awkwardly. Unfortunately, I was still holding on to my Math paper and the big number 66 stared back at me. Oh bother! This was six marks less than my previous common test score of 72.

  “You see, you are getting from bad to worse to gone case!” Mum’s voice echoed in my head.

  I dreaded the moment I had to enter the house. I crept in, hoping Mum wouldn’t hear me. Before I could even toss my school bag in a forsaken corner of the house, Mum’s voice rang out, “Darrryyyyylll? How much did you get for your test?”

  Oh my goodness, she remembered.

  “Mum, it would help if you didn’t shout all the time. It hurts my ears.”

  “What did you say, Darryyyyyyylll?” she yelled again. “Are you there?”

  Mum was dancing to Justin Bieber’s hit on Xbox Kinect, an official Xbox junkie by now. One wonders why she bought it for us in the first place. Something tells me it wasn’t for us. She had taken up hip-hop dancing at the community club lately. It was her latest craze. Yeah, imagine 10 mothers standing in a line, wearing tights and rocking their hips to the beat of hip-hop
music. Suddenly Justin Bieber didn’t appeal to me anymore since Mum was “jigging” to his music.

  Go on, son! How was your Math?” she asked in between awkward steps. “In my forties, and I have finally found my talent!”

  When I didn’t reply, she turned to me. “So?”

  “Er… okay,” I said, wincing at her loud voice.

  “What is okay? Say it properly,” she huffed.

  “Err, like 60 plus, almost reaching 70.”

  “You are utterly useless. Ask you to study, never study. Every day play play play, dream dream dream. You must be more focused. You…”

  She punched the Xbox off.

  Uh oh.

  “Write me a timetable now!” she said, scowling.

  “You’d better plan your time well because it’s PSLE next year!”

  Timetable? My ideal timetable would look like this:

  Of course, Mum’s timetable would be totally different. It would look as painful as this:

  CHAPTER 3: THE FRUIT PARADE

  Now class, it’s time you practise percentage problem sums,” Miss Jacobs announced. “Copy these questions on the board for homework. Remember, draw your models as neatly as possible.”

  “Yes, Miss Jacobs,” I was the only one who responded. She was the sweetest teacher ever. The only one who didn’t pinch us or yell at us unnecessarily.

  “Loser,” Leonard murmured. I could hear every word my classmates were saying. In fact, I could even hear them fart. I knew who the farts-a-lot rep in class was. I could hear Clandestino sniff 10 tables away and the scritch scratch of his nails against his skin. I could hear the “poof” when Janice accidentally sat on her hidden donut and deflated it!

  Miss Jacobs looked around. “Who wants to help me give out the exercise books?”

  “Me! Me!” Janice jumped up and down.

  “Let’s try Clandestino,” Miss Jacobs said. “He has never had the chance.”

  “What kind of a name is that? Clandestino Chang,” Leonard taunted. “So dumb!”

  Clandestino rose from his chair. He slammed his pen on the desk and glared at Leonard. He was the skinniest boy, so no one was really afraid of him. The tall heap of exercise books was retrieved from the table. Clandestino looked at Leonard. He glowered at him, revenge in his eyes. Like a pair of chopsticks, his fingers picked up an exercise book in the pile. Then, bending his knees, he breathed deeply. (He looked like a frog that was about to leap.) Suddenly, he flicked his wrist swiftly towards Leonard.