CONTENTS
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
1. Mr Mackie Said
2. What’s in a Name?
3. Facing the Truth – with Haikus
4. Descriptions
5. Poems Posted Around the School – By You Know Who
6. Putting the Boot In
7. Standing Proud
8. The Truth Hurts
9. Setting the Scene
10. Maps of Actions and Life
11. Shadow
12. Sorry
13. No Big Deal
14. Big Mistake
15. Too Hot
16. Just a Joke
17. Fine
18. How Could You?
19. Davey’s Gone
20. OK
21. Cloud Busting
22. What Should’ve Happened
23. What Did Happen
24. After
25. Away
26. Homework
A Note from the Author
About the Author
Also by Malorie Blackman
Copyright
ABOUT THE BOOK
He’s gone.
And it’s his fault –
The fault of the class idiot
The class bully …
Davey is a new boy and Sam can’t stand him. He thinks Davey is a first-class, grade A, top-of-the-dung-heap moron. But when the two are thrown together, Sam discovers that Davey’s eccentric way of looking at the world makes life a lot more exciting.
Until something terrible happens …
A beautiful, funny and sad story, told completely in verse.
To Neil and Lizzy, with my love.
And thanks, Lizzy, for the phrase ‘Fizzy Feet’,
which was the inspiration for this book.
I love you.
‘Dare to be different.’
I want to write about Davey
Because Mum says
You don’t miss the water
Till the well runs dry.
I want to write about Davey
Because when he was here
I never gave him a second thought.
I want to write about Davey
Because now he’s gone
I can’t get him out of my head.
And I never thought I would,
But I miss him.
Told in verse, this is the touching story of an extraordinary friendship that changes two boys’ lives for ever. An uplifting tale that truly sings out, from multi-award-winning author Malorie Blackman.
www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk
MR MACKIE SAID
Mr Mackie said,
‘Write a poem
About
Someone near to you,
Dear to you.
A pet,
A family member,
A friend.’
Funny, I thought,
How pets come first.
‘That’s your homework,’
Said Mr Mackie.
And the whole class groaned.
Except me.
‘But poems are hard, sir!’
‘Poems are boring!’
‘Poems are for old people.’
‘Poems are for boring, old people.’
‘No one reads poetry –
Unless their teacher makes them.’
‘No one likes poetry except
Poets –
Or those who don’t have a life.’
And Mr Mackie said,
‘ENOUGH!’
And we all went quiet
’Cause Mr Mackie sure can shout.
Then Mr Mackie said,
‘Hands up those who like rap music.’
And me and some others
Put our hands up.
‘Hands up those who like pop music.’
And me and most others
Put our hands up.
‘Hands up those who like classical music.’
And me and almost everyone
Kept our hands down.
Except for Oliver.
Only Oliver
Put his hand up.
But then he would.
And Mr Mackie said,
‘Rap music and pop
And punk and rock
Have words.
And the words are poetry
Set to music,
That’s all.’
‘What about classical music?’
Asked Oliver.
But then he would.
‘Classical music creates poetry
In your mind.
And your heart.
And your soul.
Even if there are no words
Being sung or spoken,
It still creates poetry
Inside you.’
Thinking.
Thinking.
And the strange thing is
No one laughed.
Mr Mackie smiled.
‘Any questions?’
Hands shot up.
‘Does it have to rhyme, sir?’
‘No.’
‘How do we start, sir?’
‘With whatever comes
Into your head.
Just let it out.
Don’t hold back.
Don’t stop yourselves.
Don’t censor yourselves.
Let your words flow
Like a mountain stream
Like a babbling brook
Like a raging river
Like a tidal wave
A tsunami!
Like a cosmic wave,
Moving between galaxies.
Like a … like a …’
And we all groaned
’Cause Mr Mackie was off
Like a racehorse
Running its own race.
Just running ’cause it can,
Running to hear its hooves
Pound the ground.
Just running, running
For love and pleasure.
‘Sir, can I write about
My dog?
My cat?
My goldfish?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sir, can I write about
My computer?
My skateboard?
Jaws, my teddy bear?’
‘No.’
I put my hand up.
‘Sir, can I write about Davey?’
The class went very still …
Very quiet.
My face began to burn
Burn hot then
Burn cold.
‘Yes, Sam, you do that,’
Said Mr Mackie after the longest pause.
‘Write about Dave.’
‘What d’you want to write
About him for?’
That was Alex,
Talking at me.
Frowning at me.
Davey made him nervous,
Uncomfortable.
Uneasy.
Because of what he did.
Even though Davey isn’t
Here any more
He still has the power
To make people
Uncomfortable,
Uneasy,
… to remember.
I didn’t answer
My ex-best friend Alex.
What could I say?
I want to write about Davey
Because Mum says
You don’t miss the water
Till the well runs dry.
I want to write about Davey
Because when he was here
I never gave him a second thought.
I want to write about Davey
Because now he’s gone
I can’t get him out of my head
.
And I never thought I would,
But I miss him.
There!
I admit it.
He’s gone.
And it’s his fault –
The fault of the class idiot
The class bully.
And I miss him.
Not the class idiot.
He’s gone too and
I don’t miss him one bit.
I miss Davey.
His name was Davey.
Dave.
David Youngson.
But everyone called him Fizzy Feet.
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
What’s in a name? Not much.
That’s what the class idiot said
After Davey’s name
Was changed to Fizzy Feet.
It happened in assembly –
The second or third morning
After the long summer break,
About seven or eight months ago.
Maybe less, maybe more.
It was a long time ago,
But memories are longer.
Davey sat in front of me.
His light-brown hair
Wasn’t long enough
To hide the frayed collar
Of his shirt.
His navy-blue school jumper
Had a small hole
At the elbow.
I shook my head and turned away.
Let me leave home
With holes at my
Elbows. No way!
Davey was the new boy,
Full of uncertain smiles
And anxious eyes
And not much else.
My best friend Alex
Sat next to me
On my right
Playing with his Gameboy.
And on my left
Alicia. A-lic-i-a!
A name like April showers
Dropping gently onto spring flowers.
(Not that I’ll leave in
The bit about Alicia
When I hand this poem
To Mr Mackie. No way!)
Mrs Spencer, the head,
Was droning on
And on
And on …
I was sleeping
With my eyes open
When it happened.
Waking us all up.
Davey jumped up,
Fell sideways
And started rubbing his legs
Saying, ‘Fizzy feet! I’ve got fizzy feet!’
We didn’t have a clue
What he was talking about.
Mr Mackie ran over
To sort him out.
‘Dave, what’s the matter?
What’s wrong?
What’s going on?’
Mr Mackie was all concern.
‘Fizzy feet!
I’ve got fizzy feet!’
Davey pulled off his shoes
And rubbed his toes. (What a pong!)
‘What’re you talking about?’
Mr Mackie began to frown.
‘D’you mean you’ve got
Pins and needles?’
‘Ow! Yes, that’s what I said, sir!
Fizzy feet!’
A moment’s stunned silence.
Then we all roared like we had toothache.
Mr Mackie ranted
Mr Mackie raved
Mr Mackie was not happy
As he escorted Davey from the hall.
Fizzy feet,
Dizzy, fizzy feet
Busy, dizzy, fizzy feet
What a dork!
Davey never lived that down.
The class bully
Wouldn’t let him.
What a dork.
Davey hated the name
Fizzy Feet
But what could he do about it?
Not much. Nothing.
The class bully wouldn’t let him.
FACING THE TRUTH – WITH HAIKUS
Mr Mackie said,
‘Today, you lucky people,
We’re doing haikus!’
‘What’s one of them, sir?’
‘Poems to stir the senses,
Plus, they’re very short.
A mere three lines long
Just seventeen syllables
Simple, pimple – right?
Three lines made up of
Words which are five syllables
Then seven, then five.’
‘Haikus,’ Alex groaned.
‘What a waste of time and space.’
I didn’t think so.
‘Japanese poems.
Haikus …’ sighed Mr Mackie.
‘A pure, paced rhythm.’
‘But sir,’ said Alex,
‘Haikus mean lots of counting.
That’s not fair! That’s maths!’
‘Haikus are art, child.
Full of heart, soul and passion
So let your mind soar.’
‘To where? And what for?’
‘To the stars and beyond, child.’
‘And when I land, sir?’
Mr Mackie frowned,
Scratched his head and frowned some more.
‘You’ll have memories.’
‘Big deal!’ Alex scoffed.
And that was the end of that.
Haikus bit the dust.
Haiku for Davey:
We should’ve been friends
But the bad thing that happened
To you changed my life.
DESCRIPTIONS
The class bully was
A mean, mad moron
An insane idiot
A dopey dweeb
A prize poop-head
A narrow-minded no-hoper
A hurtful, horrible person.
And everyone knew it.
The class beauty was
Alicia.
Gorgeous
A great singer
A great looker
Funny
Talented
Keen on Fizzy Feet – called him Dave.
Fizzy Feet was
Good and tall
Good and skinny
Good and quiet
A good laugh (according to Alicia)
Good at maths
Good at being friendly
Not so good with the class bully though.
POEMS POSTED AROUND THE SCHOOL – BY YOU KNOW WHO
When I see scabby Dave, how I laugh!
He’s got legs like a knock-kneed giraffe
And his bum is so smelly
It appeared on the telly
’Cause he never once gets in the bath.
There once was a moron called Dave
Who belonged in a zoo or a cave
He had holes in his clothes
And snot in his nose
And his eyebrows could do with a shave.
Said directly to Fizzy Feet:
You’re a big dork-head called Davey
You’re thicker than twelve-day-old gravy
My dog did a poo
That was smarter than you
From your breath, I wish someone would save me!
PUTTING THE BOOT IN
STANDING PROUD
Davey never shouted, never bolted,
He stood his ground, he watched and he waited,
He did not seem to realize the effect
Just standing there, not uttering a word
Had on the class bully, the school bully.
A faint, sad smile would play across his lips
As he stood before the one who hurt him.
A smile that just had to be wiped away,
Washed away, knocked away, smashed far away,
But Davey just stood proud and never spoke.
THE TRUTH HURTS
I want to tell you the truth
Time to tell you the truth
Cards on the table
Get it off my chest
Open my mind and
Reveal all!
The class bully
The class moron
The class idiot
His name was Sam
In case you haven’t already guessed
I am Sam
Sam is me
I’m the one who made
Davey’s life a misery.
SETTING THE SCENE
It was a strange day
Some sunshine
Some rain
Some cloud
Some blue sky
A mixed bag.
Roll up, roll up
Dip your hand in
And pull out
Any kind of weather.
MAPS OF ACTIONS AND LIFE
Fizzy Feet lived two doors down
From the class bully – me.
Our mums became great friends.
They wanted their sons to be good friends too.
Every morning Mum said,
‘Sam, why don’t you go and knock for Dave?’
‘I don’t want to walk to school with him,’
I sniffed. ‘Davey’s a dork!’
‘Go and be friendly,’ Mum insisted.
So I’d knock for Davey, with my mum watching.
And once we’d turned the corner
I’d make Davey pay.
But one rainy morning … I went too far.
I was just mucking about
I didn’t mean to hurt him
Not seriously hurt him
But I pushed him
And Davey snapped
And pushed me back
And I tripped
And I slipped
And I fell backwards
Into the path of an oncoming car
And the car didn’t have time to stop …
I heard brakes screech
And someone scream
And then … a hand came out of nowhere
And grabbed me
And pulled me out of harm’s way.
Seconds came and went before I
Realized what had happened.
Davey had saved my life.
Davey had actually saved my life.
The driver tooted her horn
And shook an angry fist
But she didn’t stop.
She didn’t even slow down.
A man, a pedestrian asked me,
‘Are you OK?’
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.
I couldn’t hear a thing
Over the thundering of my heart.
And then Davey smiled
Just smiled. And turned to the man, the pedestrian
And said, ‘My friend is fine.’
And I felt so strange
’Cause we weren’t friends
And Davey had saved my life.
And all I could think was,
‘Why did he do it?’
And all I could feel was
I’M ALIVE. Thank God!
And all I could hear was