Extraordinary Losers 1 (2 page)

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 Clandestino.

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: