EOPS
The gang returned home to Boyle, and life got back to normal. Things had changed a lot since Martin had embarked on this crazy adventure. He was no longer sharing a house with a trio of triumphant sisters, but they, like Martin, had realized that winning was overrated. And in some ways, they’d all managed to win anyway.
Having lost her sack-punching battles, Sinead had decided to start growing potatoes instead of smashing them, and soon she was happily tending to a flurry of little green shoots in the back garden. It was the first time she’d ever tried to create something rather than destroy it, and although she’d have an occasional slip-up, where she’d suddenly stomp or punch one of them, most of the time she took pretty good care of those spudlings, to the astonishment of the other Moones.
Fidelma had abandoned her goal of becoming the first female Taoiseach of Ireland (for the moment at least), but had no regrets, as she was madly in love for the first time in her life. And although nobody could really understand what she saw in the dorky Dessie Dolan, there was no denying that she was positively glowing these days.
Things also took an unexpected turn for Trisha. Her junk-jewellery business had been going well, but it turned out that she’d never bothered to clean her recycled rubbish, so a lot of her customers got infections. Her trash trinkets also began to stink, and hungry cats followed poor Linda around until she finally tossed out her tuna-can earrings. But the Power-Power Ties were the worst disaster. They began leaking battery acid, which burned through expensive shirts and left a nasty rash on the skin. The town mayor was covered in blotches and was threatening to sue. But Trisha didn’t seem in the least bit bothered. In fact, she was quite tickled by all the trouble she’d created, and pretended that she’d planned it all out, bragging that she’d pulled off the greatest ‘fake fashion scam’ in the history of Boyle.
So in the end, none of them did what they set out to do, but what they did, in some ways, made them a lot happier.
‘Maybe you’re right, Sean,’ said Martin, as we sat on the back wall pondering all this. ‘Maybe you can win without winning. I wanted to get my face on the Winners Wall, and even though I didn’t quite get there, I sure as flip don’t feel like a loser. I guess what matters most is to be . . . a Participant!’
He ripped open his shirt to reveal his Participant certificate, which he was wearing on a chain around his neck.
I sighed. ‘Martin, do you have to rip open your shirt every time you say the word “Participant”?’
‘I do, Sean, yes,’ he admitted, ‘I’m afraid I do.’
As Martin entered his final week of primary school, he was still keen to leave his mark in some way, and brainstormed ideas with Padraic about what to do on their last day.
‘I’m gonna be Martin Mayhem!’ he proclaimed. ‘We’ve gotta do the maddest stuff, the craziest things we can think of – so no one forgets that Marty Moone and Padraic O’Dwyer walked these halls!’
Padraic nodded excitedly. ‘I know what’ll make everyone remember me. I’ll knit them all lovely scarves!’
‘What? No! I’m talking about doing destructive stuff.’
‘OK, how about this? Let’s turn all the globes into snow globes!’
‘Let’s turn him into a snow globe,’ I muttered.
‘How about this?’ said Martin. ‘Let’s use the toilet all day and not flush it. And then blow it up!’
‘That’s more like it!’ I cried.
‘Let’s steal all the chalk and hide it,’ giggled Padraic, ‘but then, in a twist, tell them where it is!’
‘That’s less like it.’ I sighed.
They continued to concoct ideas, but as they strolled to school on their last day, the pair were still no closer to a plan.
‘Let’s turn all the chairs back to front,’ proposed Padraic, ‘but sit back to front on them, so we’re facing the right way!’
‘Let’s put the chairs on the tables, and the tables on the chairs,’ suggested Martin. ‘And then blow them up!’
‘Let’s shave naughty words into our beards!’ blurted Padraic.
‘We don’t have beards,’ Martin reminded him.
‘Let’s grow beards!’
‘Yeah! Actually . . . we might not have time for that, seeing as it’s now our last day of school,’ noted Martin as they came to a stop outside the old drab building.
‘Look! They put up a sign!’ marvelled Padraic.
It was hanging on the front of the school and read: ‘Goodbye, Sixth Class. We’ll Miss You’.
‘I gotta get in there!’ squealed Padraic, and he ran off, kicking over a bin with excitement.
‘This is it, buddy. Time for some mayhem!’ I cried.
But as Martin stared at the sign, his eyes started brimming with tears, and his voice cracked as he murmured quietly, ‘I don’t want to leave.’
Instead of trashing his school that day, like most of his other classmates were doing, Martin wandered around delivering long, heartfelt goodbyes to everyone and every thing that he encountered.
‘Bye-bye, blackboard. Bye-bye, chairs. Bye-bye, broken projector – I’m going to miss you most of all,’ he said fondly.
He gave a long hug to a confused Trevor in the corridor, and he found Declan Mannion in the yard, sliding a heavy manhole-cover back into place.
‘Need a hand, Dec?’ he offered.
‘Nah, all done, Moone,’ replied Declan. ‘I just squeezed Principal Maloney’s favourite chair into the sewer. He won’t be finding that in a hurry!’
‘Oh Declan, you old scamp,’ Martin chuckled affectionately.
‘Huh?’
‘It’s been an honour primary-schooling with you.’
‘Eh. Yeah. Have fun in your stupid new school, Moone.’
Martin frowned. ‘Aren’t you going to be there too?’
‘Nah. Jermaine is holding me back for another year. Says I failed everything – even science! Can you believe that sack of nonsense?’ asked Declan with a smirk. ‘Maybe he’s right – maybe we will be spending the rest of our lives together in that flippin’ classroom! Anyway, I better run. I’m gonna try to flip over his car. Later, Moone!’
He swaggered off, still wearing Liam’s jacket, and bouncing his old handball.
‘They’re holding him back again?!’ I asked in disbelief.
‘Not if I can help it,’ said Martin with a determined frown. ‘Ya know, Sean, there’s a reason that the Team Trepdem slogan is No man left behind!’
‘I thought your slogan was Rub-a dub-dub, let’s build a Tub Grub!’
‘Oh yes, that’s it!’ he replied. ‘What a great slogan! Rub-a dub-dub, let’s build a Tub Grub!’ he proclaimed, and then marched into the school.
Moments later, he was back in his old classroom confronting his teacher.
‘You can’t hold Declan back another year. He deserves to graduate with the rest of us!’ implored Martin.
Mr Jackson was clutching a hurley stick* and kept glancing out the window nervously. ‘Moone, in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re a little busy here. All hell is breaking loose outside, and Principal Maloney has lost something very dear to him.’
The worried-looking principal was searching the classroom behind Martin. ‘It’s a newly upholstered, leather swivel-chair. I popped out to the bathroom, and then it was gone! How can it have just vanished?!’ he asked, bewildered.
Martin turned back to his teacher. ‘You said that Declan failed science – but that was probably because he was spending so much time on our science project!’
‘What science project?’
‘For the Invention Convention!’
‘Don’t talk nonsense, Moone!’ snapped Mr Jackson as the Bonner brothers raced past the window, wearing traffic cones on their heads.
‘Jermaine, you never mentioned that your students took part in the Invention Convention,’ said the impressed principal.
‘Ehh . . .’
Mr Jackson turned to Martin blankly. ‘Did they?’
‘We didn’t just take part, sir. We were Participants!’ the boy declared, ripping open his shirt.
Unfortunately, Martin had forgotten to wear his ‘certificate chain’ that day, so his dramatic shirt-ripping simply exposed his bare belly, which was both confusing and disturbing.
‘Whoa, whoa, keep your shirt on, Moone,’ beseeched his disgusted teacher.
‘I’m confused,’ said the principal, ‘and not just by the shirt thing. Are you saying that Declan Mannion was involved in this too? The Declan Mannion?’
‘The one and only, sir,’ confirmed Martin.
‘Did you force him to do this? Blackmail him somehow?’
‘He forced us!’ retorted Martin. ‘Wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’s science-mad, that fella. And gold-mad.’
The principal was still trying to wrap his head around all this. ‘So Declan voluntarily took part in an extra-curricular science activity?’
‘We couldn’t have done it without him!’ exclaimed Martin. ‘He held team meetings in his house, invested his own cash in the project, forged—’
‘Maybe don’t mention that part, buddy,’ I interjected.
‘Eh . . . Loaned us his own bath,’ continued Martin, ‘and used his dogs and hares to pull us all the way to Dublin!’
Mr Jackson and Principal Maloney were so baffled that Martin had to recount the entire story of their adventure, but it wasn’t until he whipped out the team photograph that they finally started to believe him.
Just then, Declan ambled past the classroom door, carrying a car wheel under his arm.
‘Declan!’ yelled the principal.
Declan poked his head into the room and nodded to them. ‘Mr M, Jermaine, Moone face.’
Principal Maloney grilled him about everything that Martin had told them, and asked if it was true.
Declan hung his head.
‘Yeah I did it,’ he confessed. ‘I did it all. Was it for the gold? Maybe. Was it just to stop my dad enjoying his nightly baths? Possibly. Or was it just to get Liam Moone’s lovely coat? Probably. But whatever the reason, I became a dork for a while. I did science stuff out of school and hung with some eejits who all talk to invisible people. No offence, Martin. And Martin’s imaginary friend.’
‘None taken,’ we both replied.
Principal Maloney gave a broad smile.
‘Well, Declan, if you’re the sort of student who can work with a team to build a mobile flavour bath, transport it to Dublin with a pack of greyhounds and hares, while fending off a flock of hungry birds, and then take part in the biggest science competition in the country, then you’re certainly ready for secondary school.’
Declan looked stunned as the principal shook his hand. ‘Congratulations, Mr Mannion. Today is your last day.’
‘EOPS!’ Martin whooped with glee, punching the air.
Mr Jackson smirked. ‘Looks like we’re finally getting divorced, Declan.’
‘About time, Jermaine. Here’s a break-up present,’ he said, handing him the tyre.
‘What do I need this for?’ asked a confused Mr Jackson.
‘To go home,’ Declan said bluntly. ‘C’mon, Moone. Let’s roll.’
They turned to go.
‘Declan, one last thing,’ started the principal. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen my—’
Declan tossed him a crowbar. ‘You’ll need this to find it, Mr M. Just follow your nose.’
And with that, he and Martin strolled out of their classroom for the very last time.