Extraordinary Losers 1 Read online

  The three boys were still cackling like chickens. I could hear them.

  “Can you believe those fools?” Justin said.

  “I can’t wait!” Leonard said, all charged up.

  I sighed. What had Clandestino gotten us into? I looked at my “teammates”. Mundi was far from athletic. Janice was sweating buckets and still hyperventilating from the stress of the confrontation.

  “Leave me out of this!” she said. “I am no basketballer.”

  There was no time to discuss the dynamics of our basketball team now. There was no way we would win anyway. Or was there?

  “Come, hurry up, guys!” I said. “It is already 2.05pm!”

  All four of us tore off and pounded up the stairs of the Jupiter building. All the way up six floors. Of course, Janice needed lots of pushing and pulling.

  This was it. The day of… what, exactly, I wondered.

  I took the lead, running straight into the middle classroom, without a thought as to what might greet us…

  “Ah… Darryl, Clandestino, Mundi and Janice. So you are the ones…” Mr Grosse received us with pleasure.

  Mr Grosse!? What was he doing here?

  “Mr… Mr Grosse? Err, good afternoon!” I said dumbly.

  Behind me, I sensed Clandestino, Mundi and Janice freeze to a standstill.

  “Come! Join us, take a seat,” he smiled.

  We shuffled reluctantly to the chairs and sat down. The last thing we would have imagined was this. Besides Mr Grosse, the principal, Mrs Priya, was there. She was sitting in a corner. Silent. Looking like Mr Grosse’s consultant. It was odd to see him turning around constantly to seek her approval.

  “Introduce yourselves, children,” Mr Grosse roared. He looked at her. “For the benefit of your royal highness.”

  She nodded. Mr Grosse obviously needed a pay raise. A creepy-looking smile crept onto the principal’s face.

  “Clandestino Casper Chang,” Clandestino said, sniffing, mucus dripping from his nose.

  “Hi, I am Janice Chan Xiao Wen. President of the Drama Club, monitress of 5B and winner of Best in English last…”

  “Okay! Okay! That’s enough, Janice.” Mr Grosse turned again to the principal, who was yawning.

  “How about you? Stand up and greet your principal!”

  “Er… I am… Darryl De,” I said, rubbing my ears. They were throbbing from his roar.

  “Okay, good! The last boy over there?” He pointed at Mundi, whose heart was thumping so loudly I could hear it. I elbowed him to speak.

  “Hmmmm… Ermmmm,” Mundi cleared his throat.

  “Go on!” the rest of us urged. “Just say your name!”

  The principal was glaring at Mundi by now.

  Mundi was standing there all silent, scary numbers flashing through his amazing brain. Mr Grosse grew hotly impatient. He reached out his hands and was about to pinch Mundi when suddenly…

  “I am Mundi Sakdipa.”

  I turned to Mundi. He was visibly shocked! That voice hadn’t come from him. It had been Janice! She had accurately impersonated him. Mundi turned to Janice and smiled. Incredible! The teachers had no idea. Mr Grosse immediately retrieved his crab claws and turned to the principal.

  He whispered, “Shall I begin?”

  Mrs Priya waved her polished fingers nonchalantly. Why do teachers like to evoke fear in their students? Our principal’s face is always pulled so straight.

  I have come to the conclusion that teachers only “act fierce” just so that we students will not climb over their heads. Teachers’ Training School is probably an acting school where teachers are trained to shout, balance on high heels, carry heavy books and wear a grave face.

  Ever wondered why students are NOT permitted in the staff room? That’s because that’s where the teachers are really themselves with their “friends”. There’s a party going on inside! Seriously. Jokes are told, tables are messy, soft toys are dangling from shelves and teachers are snacking on marshmallows and sipping on hot chocolate.

  I once saw Mrs Priya shuffling around in her office in a pair of bunny slippers. When she inspects the school, she balances on four-inch stilettos though. Teachers and principals, like parents, are classic ASAD (Act Serious Adult Disorder) sufferers.

  “Okay. Listen up and listen well. Sixteen pupils in the Primary 5 cohort scored full marks for the Academics Honesty Quiz at the beginning of the year. All of them were given a riddle in their exercise books. Only four of you were able to solve it! Amazing, amazing, amazing,” said Mr Grosse, applauding.

  “There’s a reason why you all are here… honesty and ingenuity. Just what we are looking for,” he continued as he eyeballed the four of us from head to toe.

  “Yes. We need your help.” He turned to the principal again.

  “Cheating cases have increased in our school. Many students are cheating in their tests and exams. Last year, 12 pupils were caught cheating during PSLE. They wrote out some formulas and good phrases on the underside of their shirts, just below their collars. They had cheated right under the invigilators’ noses! It was only when one of them bent down to pick up his pen that the invigilator saw scribbles on the underside of his collar. We don’t want such cheats in our school this year. Only YOU, their friends, their partners, their classmates, will be able to find out who they are and how they are doing it.”

  “Academics Honesty Quiz? You mean the one with the Monopoly and department store question?” I couldn’t catch on.

  “Yes, yes. That question and others.”

  Looking at Mrs Priya, he continued, “Your job is to find out how else Brightstars are cheating! We want to know how they are getting away with it! If you bring us the culprits, we will finally be able to nip the problem in the bud!”

  Did he say “bud” or “butt”? I wasn’t sure.

  “No one should spill the beans about this. In order to catch as many culprits as we can, it needs to be a top secret operation,” he said. “You have one week for the investigation.”

  “Are you all CLEAR?!” His tone was menacing.

  “Ye… yes,” we stammered.

  It was an inconceivable operation. I had never heard of such a thing before in our school. All of a sudden, I had become one of the “chosen ones”. I couldn’t decide if I was happy or horrified. On one hand, I felt proud that we had been the only ones who had deciphered the clue. That meant we were somehow more honest and smarter than the others, right? On the other hand, I didn’t know if I wanted to be responsible for finding cheats. Wouldn’t I be marked as an even bigger loser? Who would want to be friends with a snitch?

  “Err… when we find out, do we tell you immediately?” Clandestino broke the silence.

  “Do we write the names down in a book?” Janice took out her little black book. She was a little too enthusiastic, if you asked me.

  “Err… do we get a reward?” I asked.

  Mr Grosse turned to the principal, who was rolling her eyes. (The bootlicking was making me sick.) He paused, breathed deeply and then thundered, “This is a privilege, Darryl!”

  I gulped.

  “Since cheaters are liars, we will call this Operation Pants on Fire!” he said. Looking at our hesitant faces, he added, “If you succeed, all of you will get extra CCA points! In fact, I am going to write down all of your names now!” He plucked out a little stick-on note pad from his pocket. There was indeed a little symbol of an apple on its pages! The note had come from Mr Grosse.

  All of us were very excited to be part of this clandestine operation. There was an air of anticipation in the dusty classroom. The masterminds were grinning at their little spies. For once, we had a higher purpose in school, other than handing in homework. School was our crime scene now…

  “Remember, this is a secret operation. No one knows about this except, of course, the BEST principal IN THE WORLD and me. If the students find out about this, they will be on their guard. And we won’t want that, would we?” Mr Grosse said, his eyes bulging at me. “Th
e fact that you have solved the riddle makes you special. We think highly of you. Don’t let us down.”

  “We won’t, Mr Grosse,” Clandestino said. He had scratched himself red. The dusty classroom was making him itchy.

  He nodded. “You have one week from now!”

  Then he turned to Mrs Priya and bowed a little. She rose and strutted out of the classroom. He trailed behind her. As they left, I noticed that both of them were whispering to each other. Desperate to hear them clearly, I scraped the crust out of my ears as fast as I could.

  “Watermelon… Guava… in danger,” Mrs Priya said.

  “ … warn everyone,” Mr Grosse whispered. “Online sexual predator, paedophile…”

  That was all I could hear till they were out of range. Oh no, Watermelon and Guava? Our anonymous friend? Were we in danger? Sophia too? Paedophile, online sexual predators?

  “Err… How do we go about doing this?” Clandestino interrupted my thoughts. He took out two pens to spin, relaxed now that we were alone in the classroom. Wow, he was actually spinning pens using both his left and right hand. An ambidextrous ninja! It was beyond cool!

  Mundi walked up to Janice. “Thank you, no?” he said in typical Mundi-ness.

  “You’re welcome. No?” Janice said in typical Mundiness too. “Glad to help, no?”

  “Yeah, Janice, you were amazing!” I said. “How did you do that?”

  “I, well, I have had this gift since I was about 10, I think,” she said in Clandestino’s voice. Then she continued in my voice, “But my parents always felt I was insane, mimicking people like that.”

  “Insane?” I interjected. “It’s extraordinary!”

  She explained in Mundi’s voice, “Well mo-most times, I use it in-in my acting, no? I have the ability to c-copy people’s voices, their man-man-nerisms, their actions, no?”

  “A master copyist!” Clandestino said, his pen spinning as fast as a whirring fan. “Super!”

  “But you are not allowed to tell anyone! You hear me, boys!?”

  She could even do a Mr Grosse. We all chortled from the accurate impersonations. It was a rare gift!

  “Why not?” I asked. “What would happen if other people knew?”

  “They would tell my parents, and I would probably be sent for ‘treatment’.”

  “Don’t worry, Janice, you can trust us,” Mundi said. “We don’t think you are strange. We don’t think you are fat either, just chubby.”

  “Really?” Her face lit up. Janice felt so happy that no one had ridiculed her “gift”. It was time for her comfort food – a chocolate peanut donut.

  Suddenly, Clandestino slammed his pens on the table. “Hey guys, if I suspect someone is cheating, I will just do this. It’s called pick and flick,” he said. “You pick your nose goo – dried of course – and flick it at someone. See, if I spot anyone cheating, this will be my signal, and…”

  “NOOOO!!!!!” we all shouted in unison. Clandestino shrugged and went back to pen spinning. I tried to spin a pen too, but it kept slipping miserably.

  It was the first ever Operation Pants on Fire in the history of Brightstar Primary School. But how on earth would we be able to get those cheats? We had to find a way to search the classrooms.

  When I came home from school, Mom was jigging to Justin Bieber.

  “Darryl!! You’ll be surprised when you see me up on stage!”

  “Which stage?”

  “Your school’s stage, of course!”

  “WHAAAATTT?? WHY? WHEN?”

  “Your school’s We’ve Got Talent Day! This coming Friday! Parent volunteers have to perform, too, you know?”

  “Oh no, Mum! Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Of course… Aren’t you proud of me? Your school concerts are all so boring. It’s time we show them what real dancing is about!”

  Sophia looked up from the laptop. “Is Mum coming to our school?” she gasped. “Are you for real, Mum?”

  She realised what just hit us. This was serious. My mother in our school? On our stage? And “rocking” in front of a thousand Brightstars? I lost my appetite just thinking about it.

  “No! No! No, Mum!” Sophia protested vehemently. “This is so NOT cool!”

  I remembered the conversation that afternoon between Mrs Priya and Mr Grosse on their way out of the classroom. Quickly, I ran up to Sophia and whispered something into her ear.

  “Thanks but no thanks, Darryl. I think I am old enough to handle this myself!” Sophia pushed me away.

  “What’s not cool?” Aunty Maryanne asked. “This is your mother. If MY mother came to my school, when I was your age, I would have been thrilled, right, Ma’am?”

  Oh my goodness. Bootlicking in school AND at home. Just great.

  Mum beamed. “That’s right! How many mothers can dance? You tell me, Sophia? How many?” She turned to my grandmother, “Grandma, you come too!”

  “No, it will be too troublesome,” she said. “I am too old for this.”

  Wait a minute, although I wasn’t looking forward to this Friday, it would be perfect timing. The school concert! Just what I needed. The perfect opportunity!

  CHAPTER 7: THE CRIME SCENE

  I woke up the next morning to a Tuesday, also known as “see how smart you are” day. First period: Madam Siti marched in with our CA1 Science test papers. There were those who were in the “Sure Fail” group. Their mothers would give them bottles of disgusting, puke-inducing chicken essence to drink – and they would still never be able to figure out if plants took in oxygen or carbon dioxide in the day. Apparently, they suffered from chicken essence overdose.

  Then, there were the “Average Scorers”, those who rarely saw a grade of 80 and above in their lifetime, just because they watched too much TV and barely read anything. I fell into this category and occasionally spilled over into the previous one.

  The cream of the class, the “Top Scorers”, were those who did well, I believe, because their parents fed them expensive food and took them on faraway holidays to Europe, America and Japan. Because of that, they were happier and their brains grew better.

  Madam Siti believed in “healthy” comparisons, so she read out our names as she handed out the test papers according to our marks – from the highest to the lowest.

  “Mundi, you did it again, you topped the class!” she announced.

  As the clocked ticked, and as Madam Siti went further and further down her list, I got more and more antsy. A muffled conversation behind me piqued my interest.

  “Psst… ha-ha.”

  “Amazing!”

  “That’s clever.”

  Definitely Leonard’s and Justin’s voices. I spun around. They sat one row behind me, on my right. They stopped laughing and Leonard raised his head questioningly.

  “What’s up, guys?” I asked.

  “Nothing to do with you!” Justin snapped. “Go back to your girly poetry!”

  “No room for poetry boys here,” Leonard added.

  Damien, who sat directly behind me, was trying hard not to meet my eye.

  “And of course, next on the list is Damien!” Madam Siti continued. He stood up, looked at everyone and smirked. Damien was basking in his three seconds of glory while I was squirming in my seat, anxious to see how far down the list I was. The next 15 names were called, and still, there was no mention of my name.

  Justin suddenly bolted out from his seat. “OH! Madam Siti, you marked me wrongly!” he said.

  “Really?”

  “See, over here, I wrote the right answers, so I should have four more marks,” Justin said.

  “Me too!” Leonard said.

  “You too? Okay, let me correct the marks, boys,” she said. I detected a twinge of embarrassment in her voice.

  They waved their test papers in front of Madam Siti. She took the papers from them and carefully examined the pages. She made the amendments, while the rest of the class stared in envy.

  “My mistake… my mistake,” she muttered. Leonard elbowed J
ustin and the two boys sniggered on their way back.

  “Teachers… always make mistakes,” Leonard mumbled.

  “Tee hee hee,” Justin chortled on his way back.

  By now, I was ready to jump out from my seat. I was sure something fishy was going on. The two of them seemed to be always spotting marking mistakes.

  “Next we have… Darryl! 56/100,” Madam Siti announced.

  No one clapped. The roll call continued and I realised that I was ranked among the bottom few, along with Clandestino. I looked at the red crosses all over my paper. I was feeling ashamed, but that feeling was overtaken by something else – a growing suspicion. Something was up with Leonard and Justin. I had to get a hold of their papers to investigate. But how? I needed help. I needed to meet the rest from Operation Pants on Fire.

  To the Guitar Club notice board quick! The four of us had agreed yesterday that this was where we would post secret messages to each other. We had decided that it was best not to be seen talking to each other too often. So I tore a piece of paper from my exercise book and wrote a message:

  During recess, I slid to the notice board, hoping to pin up my first message. But when I arrived, someone had already pinned up a note. It was a very neat note, all typed out on pristine white paper. No fingerprints. No handwriting. It was more cryptic than anything I had ever seen. It read NUMBERS!

  A message from Mundi?

  Brightstar’s We’ve Got Talent Day finally arrived. The day when everyone became a performer. Except me, of course. The school hall was filled with restless children sitting according to their classes, never in a perfect line. Their white starchy uniforms made them itch so much that they could not keep still (especially Clandestino). Of course, the principal and teachers were far from understanding, since they could wear whatever they wanted. Up and down, up and down they walked, doing what they did best – pick on students.

  “Darryl!” Mrs Priya glared. “Stop fidgeting!”

  “Janice!” Miss Jacobs called.

  “Damien!” Mr Grosse hollered. “Sit properly.”

  “Good morning, principal, vice-principal, teachers and friends. I am proud to present…” said the compere on stage. The hall lights dimmed, a drum roll blasted from the speakers and disco lights shone on five women on stage. Catcalls were generously given.