The Colossal Camera Calamity by Anonymous Page B

beady eyes.
    “Emily knows it’s water,” my dad said. “She was explaining the molecular structure.”
    “Of course she was,” my mum said. “I was … er … testing her. Well done, sweetie. Now for a real challenge. What’s that table called, you know, that table thingy with all the elements?”
    “Oh, come on, Mum,” I blurted out, “even I know that one. It’s the table of—”
    “Eat your breakfast, Hank,” Mum said. “And eat it properly, not like a baboon ape. And, Emily, don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady. Hank, why aren’t you eating? You need your vitamins and …
claven
bonds.”
    “You mean covalent bonds,” Emily said.
    “Don’t correct your mother,” Mum said.
    Emily sighed. “May I be excused?”
    “Not until you can ask without rolling your eyes.”
    As Mum and Emily were engaged in a stare-down that had the potential to last all day, I popped up, ran around the table, gave Mum a kiss, ducked my dad’s hand as he tried to ruffle my hair, and shouted, “Bye” as the door to our flat closed behind me.
    I’d made it through breakfast still spotless, perfect, and with my gorgeous hair intact. I was flying high!

CHAPTER FOUR
    “How do I look?” I asked my best friends, Frankie and Ashley, as we rode down in the lift.
    “Weird,” Ashley said. “Is that a toupée?”
    “Hey, Hank, can I touch it?” Frankie asked.
    “Bad idea,” Ashley told him. “We don’t know what that thing’s made of. It could be rat hair.”
    “Nah,” Frankie said. “Looks more like goat hair.”
    As they bleated and sniggered, I struck a pose. “You guys don’t think my hair looks amazing?”
    “It looks fake,” Frankie said. “And ruggish.”
    “Did you say rugged?” I asked.
    “He said
ruggish
,” Ashley said. “Like it belongs on the floor. Why is it all flat and helmety?”
    “Because I slept in my bike helmet.”
    “I’m no expert on hair,” Frankie said, “but I always thought having helmet-hair is, like, a bad thing.”
    “It is,” Ashley said. “Hank, if you wanted to look like Clark Kent, you should have asked me for some hair products.”
    “I think you should have left the helmet on for the picture,” Frankie said.
    “Come on, guys,” I said as we got out of the lift. “I just need this photo to be perfect.”
    “Hank, can I tell you something?” Frankie asked. He put his hand on my shoulder and looked at me like he wanted to have a best-mate moment. “You know you’re a good-looking guy – I’m not ashamed to say it:
Hank,
you
are a good-looking guy –
and so you shouldn’t worry about how other people see you. Also, your shoelace is untied.”
    I looked down, and they laughed.
    I swung a best-mate punch at Frankie’s arm, missed by miles, lost balance, and would have stumbled hair-first into a rubbish bin had Frankie not caught me.
    “Easy there, super-rug,” he said.
    Ashley stopped us. “Hank, you will never make it to the photo without getting messed up. We should go back inside. It’s too risky out here.”
    “It’s OK,” I said. “We’re up after first lesson. I can stay clean till then unless Frankie pulls any more dirty tricks on me.”
    “Hank,” he said, “can I tell you something?”
    “No.”
    “Dude, you know what we’ve got for first lesson, don’t you?”
    I shrugged. “Frankie, I don’t know what I’ve got for any of my lessons. I just follow you guys around. What have we got?”
    “A problem,” Ashley said.
    “Why?”
    “Because, Hank,” Frankie said, “the first class is art.”
    “Oh, boy.”
    “And also, dude,” Frankie said. “You’re flying low.” He gestured at the zip of my trousers.
    And once again I looked down. But this time, Frankie wasn’t kidding. I really was flying low.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Most days I can’t wait to get to art class. I can breathe easy in art class. As soon as I step through that door, it’s like I’m no longer carrying a giant baboon on my back. I don’t have to worry