I am so over being a Loser. Jim Smith

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      ‘Get a photo, Gaspar, he’s gone completely stark raving bonkers!’ said Anton, holding his Daily Poo up to protect himself from my knee.

      I grabbed the newspaper and scrunched it into a snowball and aimed it at Gordon Smugly’s nose. The only problem is, I’m rubbish at throwing.

      ‘Mind-boggling!’ screeched Honk as the snowball whizzed past his beak and hit Miss Spivak in the eye, which luckily for me was still underneath her pirate eyepatch.

      I glanced over at Bunky and high fived him with my eyes, which is what we do when something like this happens.

      ‘That’s it Loser, outside NOW!’ screeched Miss Spivak, although it could have been Honk, because I wasn’t really looking.

      On my way to the door I walked past Nancy Verkenwerken, who was going up to the front to show off her massive red stamp album.

      I looked at my reflection in her cupboard-eyes and she smiled one of those smiles where you’re not sure if the person is being nice or thinking what a loser you are.

      ‘Looking forward to The Ski Dome, Loser?’ said Mr Koops, jogging past me as I stepped into the hallway, smelly knee first. His trainers squeaked on the floor like he was treading on parrots.

      ‘Ye-ah!’ I said, splitting my yeah into two bits because of how excited I was.

      ‘If you’re anything like your mum you’ll be a natural!’ he shouted over his shoulder, and he tucked his arms in as if he was skiing and wiggled his bum like my mum.

      I got on my tiptoes and peered through the little window at the top of the classroom door. Nancy was pointing to a stamp with a picture of a butterfly on it.

      ‘Bor-ring,’ I whispered, and the glass misted up from my breath.

      Last year’s Ski Dome photos were stapled up on the wall behind me, so I walked over to look at them, still tiptoeing because there was nothing else to do, plus I wish I was a bit taller, like Bunky.

      Everyone in the photos was having the keelest time ever, and I imagined myself zooming down a ski slope in my new jacket and goggles, having snowball fights with real-life snow instead of scrunched-up Daily Poos.

      I was snortling to myself about a photo of a snowman that looked exactly like Mr Hodgepodge, when the classroom door swung open and everyone ran out, all fizzy like Fronkle pouring out of a can.

      ‘I’m gonna collect sweets!’ said Stuart Shmendrix, wobbling past opening a packet of Cola Flavour Not Birds.

      ‘I’m gonna collect jewellery!’ said Tracy Pilchard, jangling from all her jewellery.

      ‘I’m gonna collect Fronkle ringpulls!’ said Darren Darrenofski, who drinks about five million cans of Fronkle a day, so that wouldn’t be very hard for him.

      I was just about to do a reverse- twizzle-upside-down-salute from how loserishly excited everyone was about their stupid collections, when Miss Spivak came out with Nancy Verkenwerken.

      ‘Well that went down well didn’t it! Mind-boggling how many stamps you’ve collected. I think you might’ve started a new craze!’ she said all in one go, patting Nancy on the head.

      ‘Yeah, a craze for being a loser,’ I said, doing a mini-salute in my pocket for how funny I was.

      I looked at Nancy’s eyes through the glass in her glasses and waited for her to say something clever or do one of her sort-of smiles.

      ‘Mind-boggling,’ she whispered to herself, and she walked off towards the playground.

      ‘Can I go now please?’ I said, looking at Miss Spivak.

      ‘I don’t think so, Loser,’ said Miss Spivak, then Honk the parrot said it too.

      It was rubbish having to stay in the classroom with Miss Spivak for the whole of break, looking through the window at everyone in the playground coming up with their stupid collections.

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