The Colossal Camera Calamity (6 page)

I ran like the fastest man in the known universe. I ran like my hair was on fire. Nothing could stop me, not even a mini-downpour. As soon as I felt the first drop of rain on my arm, I saw an umbrella in a bin up the street, and without breaking stride, I grabbed it, popped it open, and kept on going.

Everything was going right. I saw everything before it happened – couriers, guys throwing rubbish bags, cars splashing in puddles. I saw it all in slow motion, and without thinking about it, I dodged, pivoted or deflected without losing a step of my momentum. And the whole time I ran I made up a perfect airtight story about my fraternal twin to convince the photographer to take my picture again. It was just unbelievable enough to be true.

I made the dash in a record-shattering six minutes – I saw nothing but green traffic lights – and upon jogging through the school doors, I tossed my umbrella to Miss Berkson, the school administrator, and said, “Here’s something nice for ya, Berky.”

I made it to the back of the queue for photos at 2:47 on the dot. There were four kids ahead of me. If it took each kid one minute for his picture, then I was home free. I’d have my picture taken with a whopping six to eleven minutes to spare. I could use that extra six to eleven minutes to practise my arithmetic.

I rehearsed my fraternal twin story while the kids ahead of me got their pictures taken.

By the time it got to my turn, my story would be perfect, and the delivery would be a work of art. I would start with nonchalance, then transition smoothly into mild surprise, and then outrage if needed. And if the photographer was still resisting, I knew I could work up some tears. And if tears didn’t warm his heart, I always had that fiver in Frankie’s wallet.

Finally the last kid was done. I took a deep breath. This was going to work. There was no McKelty and his can of fizzy drink to mess it up.

I am Hank Zipzer,
I rehearsed to myself.
Henry Zipzer’s fraternal twin… Perhaps I look familiar
?

I took a step forward. And then I heard footsteps approaching behind me. They sounded like a knight in armour.
That is crazy,
I thought. But then something grabbed my arm. A metal hand!

I spun around and found myself looking up at a knight in full plate armour, with a shield, and a sword and a visor and everything.

From behind the visor, a booming voice echoed, “You’ve already taken your photo, Zipzer. Stop wasting the photographer’s time.”

“But it’ll just take a second, a fraction of a second. Please?”

“Be silent!” the knight boomed.

Evaluator’s interview with Emily Zipzer and her father
(cont’d)

DR MEHAT: … which leads me to my final question. We consider family support to be a vital ingredient for success at the institute. Mr and Mrs Zipzer, how would you describe the Zipzer family and home life?

STAN ZIPZER: Loving, warm,
scientific
. Has Emily told you we bought her a lizard?

DR MEHAT: At length.

ROSA ZIPZER: And don’t forget, Stan, we like to do things together as a family. We know it’s not nice if we leave someone out. Because we don’t hurt the ones we love.

STAN ZIPZER: Although sometimes people get hurt by accident. You know, through bad luck. Strange things happen in this
wondrous
universe of ours, and no one’s really to blame. People get hurt accidentally all the time. I’m very interested in accidents… Perhaps Emily could study them at the institute.

DR MEHAT: If she’s accepted, of course.

STAN ZIPZER: Of course, Meera.

ROSA ZIPZER:
Accidentally?!
You mean like
accidentally
losing my arm in a salami-mincing machine?

EMILY ZIPZER: Just the bottom half, Mum. Below the mid-humerus.

STAN ZIPZER: Don’t get upset, love, you’ll damage your stitches. And you’ll need both arms to hold the flowers I’m going to buy you… I mean, the ones I’ve already bought you.

ROSA ZIPZER: Oh, let go of me. I don’t want to hold your hand, Stan. You baboon ape! Dr Mehat knows I don’t have a prosthetic arm.

EMILY ZIPZER: I’m coming to the same conclusion. My parents have been lying to me. Dr Mehat, do you see how dysfunctional my home life is? That’s why I need to be accepted at the institute. I need to be somewhere where my scientific gifts are appreciated.

STAN ZIPZER: We bought you that freaky lizard!

ROSA ZIPZER: How could you both lie to me?!

STAN ZIPZER: Meera, I mean, Dr Mehat, Your Grace, would you mind … er … can we redo this interview?

DR MEHAT: No.

ROSA ZIPZER: I suppose you’d leave me out of that one too?

STAN ZIPZER: Rosa, love, Emily just … we … just …
I
… just … thought it would be better if the two of us … if me and Em. Science isn’t your thing, you know.

ROSA ZIPZER: So what?

EMILY ZIPZER: I didn’t want you to make a scene, like you did at parents’ evening with my food-tech teacher.

ROSA ZIPZER: She was trying to tell me how to make minestrone! Me? Minestrone! I could make minestrone with baboon meat and it’d still be better than your silly teacher’s recipe.

EMILY ZIPZER: I tried to avoid this happening, and by trying to avoid it, it happened. This is quite ironic.

ROSA ZIPZER: Tonight I think I’ll try out a new recipe with lizard meat.

EMILY ZIPZER: No, Mummy, please! Don’t hurt her!

DR MEHAT: Fascinating. The familial behaviour is fascinating…

The knight flipped up his visor. It was Mr Love.

“Ah, it’s Prince John,” the photographer said.

“No, no, no,” Mr Love said. “Maybe if you’d studied in school, you’d know that it was Richard the Lionheart who fought in the Crusades.”

“You were in the Crusades?” the photographer asked.

“Yes, see here. The red cross on my shield, the red cross on the hilt of my sword. Was Richard left-handed or right-handed? I don’t want to hold my sword in the wrong hand.”

“Come on, Mr Love,” I said. “I just need one second to take my photo. The last one wasn’t actually me. Some kid was pretending to be my fraternal twin—”

“No deal, Mr Zipzer. The photographer and I will need this remaining time to get my picture just right. Now” – he tried to unsheathe his sword – “get back to class.”

But I wasn’t going anywhere, and I was so frustrated that I tore a piece of paper to shreds in Frankie’s pocket.

“Why are you still here, Henry?” Mr Love asked.

“I’m just, uh, super interested in photography. Thought I’d watch how it’s done,” I said.

I don’t mean to be vain, but that was perhaps the best possible thing I could have said at that moment because, one, I created a believable excuse for hanging around. Two, I made Mr Love think I was interested in something sort of school-related and, three, I formed an unspoken allegiance with the photographer, based on our shared love of photography.

“Well, Henry,” Mr Love said, still trying to force the sword out of its sheath. “A knighted king needs a squire. Get my crown from that table there, and then you can help me with my armaments.”

FLASH. The photographer took a picture.

“Hey!” Mr Love shouted. “I wasn’t ready.”

“But I was. I’m only paid till three, you know.”

“I’ll pay you overtime, for as long as it takes.”

“I think it could take a while,” the photographer said. “Have you considered that the photo might look better with the visor down?”

“No,” Mr Love barked. He gave his sword a final yank. It came free with such force that it sent him spiralling into the chair, knocking it over. He fell on his bum – the only place not armoured. “I need a hand here, Henry! And where’s my crown?”

“I was so close.” I sighed, and moped over to pick up Mr Love’s crown. Then, from down the hall, came the echoing sound of two people yelling.

“Shouldn’t you check that out?” I hollered to Mr Love.

But Mr Love was in no position to help. He had become a metallic human pretzel. He would impale himself on his own sword if he wasn’t careful.

I crept down the hall to the room where the yelling was coming from. There was a glass window in the door and I peeked through it. What I saw made me immediately duck down again, out of view.

Mum and Dad were in there. Both of them were standing up, arguing nose to nose, their chairs overturned. Emily was still seated, but she’d made herself about as small as a ferret. At the other end of the room, a smartly dressed woman was rapidly taking notes.

“Hey, Zipzer man! You made it back. What are you doing on the floor?”

I turned and saw Frankie and Ashley jogging up to me. I sidled along the wall, doing my best spider impression, until I was out of view of the window.

“You actually did it,” Frankie said, inspecting my new uniform. “And with three minutes to spare. Did you get the photo taken?”

“Nope, Mr Love – or should I say, Prince John – over there stole my thunder.” I had failed in my mission.

“What’s going on in there?” Ashley motioned to the window.

“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Just my parents ruining Emily’s life.”

Frankie looked through the little window. “Why is your dad shirtless?”

“Who cares?” I said, and headed away from all the misery. “Let’s get out of here and go play video games or something.”

Ashley couldn’t help sneaking a peek in through the window before we left. “Gross!”

“I was so close.” I sighed.

“There’s always next year.” Frankie shrugged.

“Or,” Ashley said, “I could use my computer to edit out all the purple once you get the picture.”

“You’d probably have to edit out my entire face,” I said. “Or…” I stopped talking because I’d seen something tempting – so very tempting.

The fire alarm!

“Or,” I went on, my smile so big my lips extended beyond my face, “we could empty the school, and I could get it right this year.”

I brushed my fingers over that oh-so-tempting button. What could be easier? All it would take was the slightest push.

“I’ve always wondered what happens when you push one of these things,” I said.

“Me too,” Ashley said, surprisingly.

“What do you guys think happens?” Frankie said. “The fire alarm goes off.”

“Do it,” Ashley whispered to me.

My finger hovered over the button, then I felt Ashley’s hand press it down. She giggled, and a fraction of a second later, the school exploded with a siren so loud you’d think Martians were invading!

We scurried away. As we passed the open door to the school hall, I caught sight of Mr Love. He threw down his visor. “That is very inconvenient!” he yelled. “Follow me to the playground! Everyone to the playground!”

He clanked and clinked down the hall, the photographer trailing after him. “I’m still on the clock,” he said to Mr Love. “Do you want me to take that sword?”

“A king never hands over his sword,” Mr Love said, then louder, “Come on, pupils. Everyone, outside.”

Every doorway in the school opened at once, and a stream of kids and teachers poured into the halls. We hung back, hiding behind some lockers before ducking into the lost property office. For a split second, I saw my dad through the crowds, and, yes, he was still shirtless.

Once everyone had left, we sneaked back to the school hall. I sat down on the metal chair and tried to act like there wasn’t an ear-splitting alarm going off.

Ashley got behind the camera.

“Why do you get to take it?” Frankie screamed at her. He had to shout because the alarm was so loud.

“Because I know what I’m doing. Dad’s been teaching me how to do x-rays.”

“Hank hasn’t broken any bones!” Frankie shouted.

“Somebody just take the photo before we’re caught,” I yelled.

Ashley put her eye to the viewfinder. “Gimme a smile. You can do better than that. Come on, work it, baby! Fierce eyes!”

Frankie and I exchanged blank looks.

Ashley sighed. “How about you just say cheese?”

“Cheese!” I cried, and flashed a perfect, million-dollar smile.

FLASH!

I rushed over to the camera to check out my likeness, and with my adrenaline pumping, I sort of shouldered Ashley out of the way.

“Hey!” she cried.

“Relax, man,” Frankie said. “She got the shot.”

“I have to delete my bad one,” I said. I scrolled through hundreds of pictures in a folder marked “Westbrook Academy photos”. For some reason, my pushing finger got tired at precisely the moment that Miss Adolf’s photo popped onto the screen. She was smiling. Gross!

“Get it away!” Frankie cried.

“OK, OK.” I scrolled faster and faster, until I got to the photo that I hoped no one would ever see, not Frankie, not Ashley, not my family, and certainly no one in the future. Especially those people who were deciding which kid should be the first in space.

I won’t even
describe
it to you. It was worse than I’d imagined. Much worse. It was like every weird face I’d ever made in my entire life compressed into one image. Plus, it was out of focus. Plus, I had moved when it was taken, so I looked like I was about to eat my own eyeballs. Plus, I was drenched in purple slime. Plus— Forget it, I’ve said enough.

“And you are outta here, buddy,” I said and pushed the “Delete” button.

But I wasn’t finished. A menu came up on the camera. It said something weird about “dillute fielder,” and a bunch of wiggly numbers started flashing. I just pushed the button with the only letter that wasn’t dancing all over the place: Y.

“Noooo!!!” Ashley cried.

“What?”

“Congrats, Hank,” Frankie said. “You just deleted the folder.”

“Right,” I said, “the folder with my bad photo.”

“And everyone else’s OK-to-excellent photos,” Ashley said.

“Where’s the undelete button?” I asked. There was no answer. “Guys, where’s the undelete button?”

“There is no undelete button,” Ashley said.

“There must be!”

Now my heart was really racing as I pushed the “N” button, and then I pushed every other button on the stupid camera.

“Dude,” Frankie said. “Let it go.”