Hero

“George, I think I need your help or I might end up letting us down.”

“Give it to me,” he said.

He typed out some of the information from his book. George had enough words for the both of us. He printed out a few pages and handed me two sheets. Lines and lines of words and paragraphs.

“You can read that out in class,” he said. “It’s lots of facts about gladiators.”

“Do you think we should have some pictures in our presentation?” I asked.

He sniffed. “I’m not doing any more. I don’t feel well and I’ve got a headache. Anyway, it’ll be good.”

I wasn’t so sure. This presentation was like a battle all on its own and I needed backup, even for George’s excellent words. I fell on his bed, let the papers float to the ground. I needed to do something so that Dad, Mum, Mr Patterson and the kids at school would know I had a good imagination, that I was good at something, not just relying on George.

“What if I acted out a gladiator battle? Maybe with a tiger or something?”

George did his you-are-kidding face. George is good at knowing when you need to be invisible. “In front of the whole class?” he said. “In front of Warren Miller?”

It was a warning, not a question, and we both knew I wouldn’t do it.

Kirsty said there’s a Warren Miller in every year at school. Ours was the new boy. He walked into our class in September with his chin in the air like he was looking way ahead of us. Some people just have it, whatever ‘it’ is. Everyone tried to impress him, until he gave them a soft punch in the arm and sealed their popularity fate. Or not.

Warren ignored me and George. Everybody usually ignored me and George. Except Beatrix Jones, but then she’s kind of unusual. George and me sat together in class on the far-side desk of the middle row. It’s like a blind spot, which is good for not answering too many questions, but bad if you do want to get noticed. For something. Just once maybe.

“Anyway, we won’t need any of that,” George said. “You’ve got your helmet and I’ve made this.”

From under his desk he pulled out a cut-out-and-build-your-own-amphitheatre, made from white card.

“Nobody else will have anything like this. What do you think?”

George has a different sort of imagination to me. I didn’t say what I was thinking, that perhaps he should have coloured it in before he built it, or drawn people in it.

“Impressive,” I said because he isn’t usually good at arty things, and because he’s my best mate. But I had a horrible feeling that nobody was going to be impressed by either of us.

Not in the real world.

George was off sick from school.

I was daydreaming out of the window, reliving the battle with the gladiator of Rome and making it turn out differently, with me winning. Then I was thinking about Jack Pepper and that he didn’t know how small he was, when Mr Patterson called my name.

“George isn’t here,” I said, which I thought was a good enough excuse to get me out of doing the presentation.

“You can do your part,” Mr Patterson said.

But I’d left the papers at George’s house, and, for some stupid reason, all I could remember about our presentation was the gladiator’s battle with the tiger, which I’d already sensibly decided I wasn’t going to do in front of our class. Especially Warren Miller.

So there I was in front of everyone, wearing my helmet, trying to explain about gladiators, but I wasn’t good with words like George.

“There’s sand on the floor, like a beach, but obviously it’s not a beach, and there’s trap doors. So then the tiger comes out …” I wasn’t sure how to show that so I snarled instead, “Grrrr,” and swung my coat. “This is a net and …” but I couldn’t be the tiger and the gladiator, so I said, “Mr Patterson will you pretend to be the tiger?”

Mr Patterson nodded and kind of hunched his shoulders and made his hands like claws, frowning like Warren Miller was.

“And this is supposed to be a sword … or it can be a trident, which is like a garden fork …” I had Mr Patterson’s metre stick and chopped it in the air a few times. I thought about describing the different types of gladiators but it was easier just to make slashing noises and let the class imagine what I was.

Then, just when I was getting even more anxious about how to end the presentation, I swept the stick around low but hadn’t seen that Mr Patterson was going to pounce and accidentally tripped him over. He fell, sprawling across his desk, knocking books, pens and papers all over the floor.

Everyone burst out laughing and Warren Miller started chanting, “Le-o! Le-o! Le-o!” Then all his mates joined in. My cheeks burned and I couldn’t say sorry to Mr Patterson because my throat was dry and squashed shut, but he just smiled and said, “That was a very enthusiastic presentation, Leo. Perhaps we’ve learned that gladiator helmets may have restricted their view somewhat.” He told the class to be quiet.

I’d really let George down but I was hoping I could rescue things.

“George made an amphitheatre,” I blurted out. I wanted Mr Patterson to know that we’d done some good things for the presentation, I just didn’t have them.

“I’d like to see that,” Mr Patterson said. “You can sit down now, Leo.”

He crawled behind his desk to pick up everything and I ducked my head and went back towards the empty space where George should have been. How was I going to tell him later that I’d really messed up?

“Nice one, Leo,” Warren said from the back of the class. He grinned, showing his sharp crooked tooth. “Who’d have thought, you of all people.”

“I didn’t mean to do it,” I said.

“Even better,” Warren laughed.

I was rigid, humiliated and waiting for more sarcasm.

“Come and sit with us,” he said. Laughter rippled through the back row. “No, I mean it. Move up, Josh. Come on, Leo. We could do with someone like you. I like your style.”

He beckoned me over.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. Not only was it totally unexpected, it was pretty awesome too. I didn’t know what to say or do so I sat next to Warren, and he put his arm across the back of my chair. Warren’s big. Not big and lumpy like Josh, but as if he’s somehow more than a boy. More than me anyway.

He leaned across and whispered, “See what I can do for you?”

I think what he meant was that he was like one of those Roman senators who had a say in what happened to you. Thumbs down: nobody cares. Thumbs up: you’re in. So just like that, Warren Miller made me a kind of hero, even if it was only in front of our class.

“We’ll resume presentations next week,” Mr Patterson said standing up again.

“I hate presentations,” I whispered to Warren, and that got me a soft punch in my shoulder.

I was made up. It was like riding high in a golden chariot after beating the gladiator of Rome, and it felt like the whole universe of Roman gods and Jupiter were on my side too, because Mr Patterson said, “I think we’ll call it a day. You can all go home five minutes early.”

Warren nudged me and was out of his chair.

“Our next project is about space,” Mr Patterson called after the swarming class. “You’ve all heard about the meteor passing over the town in a few days. Perhaps find some photographs from the internet and some investigation into what’s up there in this universe of ours would be a good place to start.”

The room clattered with knocked chairs and shunted desks as we rushed past Mr Patterson to leave.

“Perhaps you could avoid re-enactments of colliding planets or big bangs when we do our space presentation, Leo,” Mr Patterson said.

“Sorry about tripping you up,” I said.

It was easy to say now, but I didn’t exactly feel sorry for the effect it had.

Warren was waiting for me at the bike shed on his bike: all shiny black paint, twenty-one gears and orange reflectors on the spokes. Josh and the swarm gathered around him, chanting, “Le-o! Le-o! Le-o!” again. Waiting for me. Warren flashed his crooked tooth with a half-grin.

I grinned back.

He said, “Meet us at the Rec tonight at seven. We could do with a gladiator on our side.”

It wasn’t just people that gladiators had to fight in the amphitheatre. Sometimes there were beasts. These were the ultimate kinds of battles for a gladiator. The thing about battling animals was that they were unpredictable. You couldn’t count on them behaving like men or other gladiators at all. You had to have your wits about you and, after what had happened at school, I thought I was ready.

I didn’t take my gladiator helmet though because I was going to the Rec straight after. I wasn’t sure whether Warren really meant that he wanted an actual gladiator on his side. Maybe he just meant someone like me, brave or something like that. Anyway, I wore my cycle helmet instead, because it was easy to pretend it was a gladiator helmet.

I rode into the arena.

Jupiter was on his feet; like a tower block in a toga he loomed in the sky at the end of Clarendon Road.

It’s time! he boomed to the audience. They were climbing down the amphitheatre steps, rushing to the edge of the arena to get a better look. It was like being a gladiator on a whole other level. I nodded, held my hands up.

“Okay, okay!” I said. “You all need to stay back. I don’t want people getting hurt.” It all felt so easy.

Send in the bear! Jupiter roared.

The audience caught their breath as the bear padded through the open gate and into the arena. I smelled the sharp smell of him; he huffed, snorted, growled. He lumbered in and showed me his broad head and his rugged side, rippling with thick hair. He was huge, but I wasn’t scared because I knew I was quicker than him.

I swerved around him on my bike, going close, pulling away as he swiped his massive paws. I turned, raised my sword, checked the crowd. On their feet now, they roared my name and I knew I could have defeated that bear with them cheering me on … except Grizzly Allen came out of his house and leaned over his wall. And you don’t want someone else watching, unless it’s George of course.

Grizzly was bundled up in his coat and scarf and cap against the cold winter evening. He beckoned me over. I used my heels to slow down. Jack Pepper peeped through the bars of the gate; his tail swished and I crouched down to say hello.

“Off to see George?” Grizzly said. “I heard he’s not well.”

Grizzly was often outside by his wall, talking to anyone that passed, which is why he probably knew what was going on most of the time. Jack Pepper panted as if he’d already been running along the street like me.

“No, just playing around.”

“Don’t want to catch anything, eh?” Grizzly winked. He folded his arms, too thick to fit easily together. “You’ve heard about the meteor passing over?” he said. “A fragment of our far universe come to shine on us. A little magic to light us up, perhaps to bring us a bit of good fortune, eh?”

I think he said that because all the adults were gloomy around here. Even Dad sometimes. Business hadn’t been so good, like all the other shops in town. More had closed than opened and they even knocked one crumbling building down.

“Mum says winter makes people sad,” I said.

“So it does,” Grizzly murmured. “Feels like time and the light forget us for a while.”

He looked up. “All that space up there,” he said. “Look at it all. Miles and miles above us, a never-ending place, full of possibilities.” He smiled at the depth of the sky. “When you look up there, do you feel like there’s more than what our eyes can see, hey, son?”

“Yeah,” I said, because I did.

“Good,” he said. “Now do an old man a favour and take Jack Pepper out with you, there’s a good lad. My legs won’t manage it today.”

Jack Pepper had that look about him again, like he knew what I was thinking.

“What time is it?” I said. Grizzly pulled back his sleeve and showed me his watch, as big as Dad’s alarm clock. I still had some time before seven.

“Okay, come on, Jack,” I said.

Grizzly opened his gate. That little white dog came right over and stood next to my bike, looking up, like he was ready and he knew what we had to do. Grizzly turned and shuffled back towards the open front door.

“Door’ll be on the latch, so just drop him off when you’re done.” He leaned on the porch and looked back over his stiff shoulder. “Take good care of him,” he said, but I wasn’t entirely sure that he was talking to me. “And don’t be going down the Rec just now.”

I didn’t know why he said that. I guessed it was to do with Jack Pepper being used to walking around the block and not in the open fields.

There’s something about dogs which isn’t like people at all. The way they’re kind of ready and willing. Straight away I knew Jack Pepper didn’t think that pretending to be a gladiator was a waste of time.

“There’s a bear, Jack,” I whispered. “He’s here somewhere, waiting to ambush us.”

I pushed up on my pedals, felt my bike as if it was part of me, twisting and turning and speeding up, Jack running alongside.

“You’re gonna have to be quick and not go too near. Just do what I say, stick close and you’ll be fine.”

Jack Pepper joined in, leaping beside me, ears twitching as if he was listening out for the bear. We were like a couple of soldiers, advancing in formation, and I didn’t have to ask him, he just moved like my shadow.

We approached the bear, growling, huffing and breathing his hot, bitter breath into the frosty evening.

“That way, Jack!” I said. We separated. Jack distracted the bear, dancing around him, barking and yipping until we’d cornered him outside Mrs Pardoe’s house and roared at the beast until he lay down and rolled over for us.

Jack sat beside me in the glow of the street light and gazed up like he could see what I could see.

The winners! Jupiter bellowed and punched his mighty thumb to the sky. All arms went up; everyone cheered my name. Le-o! Le-o! Le-o!

“Bow, Jack, bow!” I said. “They love us.” Jack wagged his tail. “Look at us,” I said grinning down at him. “We’re heroes.”

When I looked up again, Jupiter had reached down and touched the head of the statue of the lion by his throne. I saw the lion shake the dust from its fur. I saw it open its mouth, come to life and roar.

I took Jack back to Grizzly’s and opened the door for him. He went in but stopped and looked over his shoulder at me, like he didn’t want to go home just yet. I heard him whine when I closed the door, but there was somewhere else I had to be.

Warren and all his mates waited in the shadow of the ragged flint and moss of the ancient Roman wall along the edge of the Rec. Warren walked out from amongst them, slow and easy. There was a lot of whispering which for some reason sounded louder in the dark, with only the moon and stars and a couple of street lights making yellowy circles around us.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come,” Warren said. He sighed. “Thing is, some of us still aren’t sure you’ve got what it takes to hang out with us. You’re going to have to prove yourself first.

“I thought I already had,” I said.

“You have to do something … to prove you’re one of us,” he said. The boys parted, showed what they had for me. “You have to push it down the field and send it into the pond.”

I looked at the old granny mobility scooter that they’d found and it bothered me.

“Whose is it?” I said.

“It was abandoned out the back of the chemist’s,” Warren said. “We took it, hid it and waited ’til dark, waited for someone like you.”

“Why do I have to do it?” I said.

“We have to be sure you’re on our side,” Warren said.

“It doesn’t work then? It’s not somebody’s?”

“It’s useless. We’re doing everyone a favour by getting rid of it, cleaning up the town.” There was a ripple of laughter, but Warren silenced the others. He paced up and down. “Fame,” he said. “They say it’s a fifteen minute thing.” He draped his arm over my shoulders. His armpit was a bit rank. “But you want more than that, don’t you, Leo? You’re proving that you’ve got what it takes to be one of us.”

I wasn’t going to be a gladiator in the real world, not when the nearest we have are boxers and wrestlers. I wanted to be like a gladiator though. I wanted other people to think I was fierce, brave, strong and worthwhile. Which was entirely different.

I dropped my bike. Took an uneasy breath. Walked over to the scooter. They couldn’t see what I could see: me, the victor, and the abandoned chariot of a defeated gladiator.

“Le-o!” they chanted again.

The moon made a shimmering target on the dark pond, like a trap door in the amphitheatre where all the destruction, the losers, the broken and defeated things go. I pushed hard against the mobility scooter and ran with it, down the slope, and let it go. The scooter tipped over into the pond. It bubbled and sank, disappeared into the black depths. I punched the air. They laughed, roared and cheered my name. It made my teeth tingle. This was being a gladiator for real.

School for the next few days was completely different. Fist bumping all over the place, back patting, sitting on the back row, being one of Warren’s mates while George was still off school. I was famous now. People I hardly even knew were asking me to take out their teacher!

I was following Warren and his mates to our corner (our corner!) of the playing field at break time when Beatrix Jones caught my sleeve. She stood in front of me, narrowed her eyes and asked, “Why’s George not here?”

“He’s sick,” I said.

“Hmm,” she scowled. “Sick of what?”

I shrugged. I didn’t know what she meant.

“I’m surprised,” she said.

I hesitated. “He’s got flu. Why’s that surprising?”

“Not about George, about you.”

I guessed it was a compliment, that she was surprised I’d done something people noticed and was now one of the popular kids.

“Thanks,” I said.

She huffed. “I mean surprised you’ve been fooled by Miller, idiot!”

Beatrix Jones was weird, so I didn’t listen.

I went to catch up with Warren which was when I overheard him saying to Josh to spread the word that they were meeting at the Rec again on Friday after school. The message didn’t exactly get given to me, but I didn’t have anywhere else I wanted to be. The thing is, once you’ve tasted fame, you just can’t get enough of it. You know when you’ve eaten half a bag of crisps and you’re saving the rest for later, but you go back to the kitchen to finish them after only a few minutes of waiting, plus you get a piece of cold chicken from the fridge and maybe some cheese? That’s what fame feels like. A feast.

So, on Friday, I went.

Warren was leading the others across the field, all of them on glossy newish bikes. Warren looked down at my bike, at the torn seat, the clunking gears, the tyres worn smooth. Then I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t exactly invited this time. My bike was half the size of his and everyone else’s, and the brakes had just about had it. “Hey,” I said. “What are you all doing?”

Warren grinned.

“We’ve got business in town. Private business. Maybe see you some other time.”

“Yeah, sure, I was just, you know …” but he wasn’t listening.

Warren’s knees bent, he yanked up the front of his bike and they cycled past while I cringed inside. My cheeks flamed. I kept my back turned. Why had things changed so quickly?

Behind me I heard barking. It was Jack Pepper, darting about in front of Warren’s bike. What was he doing here? Warren twisted and put his foot down quick, but Jack ran away. He tore past me, turned and raced back, straight towards me. He stopped, looked up. I didn’t know what he was doing there or asking me to do.

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