The Chocolate Frisbee of Doom . . .
Every superhero has a nemesis. Batman has the Joker. Spider-Man has the Green Goblin. Superman has Lex Luther.
My nemesis was Grim Komissky.
If I was a superhero, how would I fight my nemesis?
‘If you were a superhero,’ said my sister Ciara, ‘what would you be called?’
‘I don’t need a secret identity. I need Grim Komissky to stop hurting me.’
We were flicking through Don’t Be Scared, Be Prepared together, looking for nemesis-crushing notions. ‘Look at this,’ said Ciara. ‘It says here that hippopotamuses kill more people than lions do. How depressing is that? I thought hippos were nice, but, no, violence is everywhere.’
‘I’m not being bullied by a hippopotamus. I’m being bullied by a bully.’
‘Anti-Bullying Suggestion Number Two – try to make friends with the bully. For instance, find out if he’s got a hobby or something and start a conversation.’
I said, ‘He has got a hobby. His hobby is picking on me. We have lots of conversations about it. They go like this:
‘Me: “Please don’t rip up my homework/eat my lunch/snap my ruler/throw me off the bus.”
‘Him: “Try and stop me.”’
‘There’s got to be more to his life than that.’ She asked around at school and discovered that Grim did have a hobby.
Kick-boxing.
‘Advanced kick-boxing, apparently. He’s really good at it. He’s the Under-Sixteen British Champion. Could you have a conversation about kick-boxing?’
I tried that.
Me: ‘Please don’t kick-box me with your killer feet.’
Him: ‘Why not?’ Kick.
Ciara had one of her brainwaves. ‘Let’s be logical about this – Grim nicks your food. What does that tell you about him?’
‘That he can do what he likes, due to his highly trained feet.’
‘What else?’
‘That I’m always hungry. That I’m going to be the smallest in my class forever because of malnutrition.’
‘No, no. He’s hungry. Otherwise why steal food? He’s hungry. All you have to do is offer him some food before he asks for it. Hungry people will do anything for food.’ She makes some sandwiches.
In the comic-book version of my life there was a picture of her making sandwiches with a slightly-too-pleased-with-herself expression. I didn’t notice this expression at the time.
‘If he’s going to eat your sandwiches, don’t let him take them. Go and give them to him. Show some style.’
That lunchtime I walked right up to the Table of Fear – the table where Grim eats with his two nearly-as-big mates. I opened my lunch box and said, ‘Mind if I join you?’
Tucked in next to the sandwiches is a Chocolate Frisbee. A nice little touch from Ciara. I love Chocolate Frisbees. I said a little prayer that Grim would hate that combination of light milk chocolate, crunchy biscuit and squashy marshmallow.
Grim: ‘Chocolate Frisbee . . . I love that combination of light milk chocolate, crunchy biscuit and squashy marshmallow . . .’
Curses.
‘But I don’t do sweet before savoury. Let’s see the sandwiches first . . .’ Maybe he’d be so full after the sandwiches he wouldn’t want the Chocolate Frisbee. He opened the top sandwich like he was defusing a bomb. Top layer of bread – thrown away. Crunchy fresh lettuce, in the mouth. Under the lettuce – ham spread with a thick layer of . . . what was that? A knife of cold fear stabbed my heart. I knew what that was. It was Dad’s Rocket Chilli Sauce. My gran sends a bottle over from Guyana every Christmas. It’s called Rocket Chilli because one tiny teaspoonful is enough to send you into orbit. One tiny teaspoonful is enough to spice up a big pan of curry. Ciara had spread it on the ham like jam. Ciara had made a lethal Ham and Chilli Rocket Volcano Nuclear Meltdown Sandwich.
Me: ‘No . . . don’t eat that.’
Grim: ‘I eat what I like.’
Grim rolled the ham up, brought it to his mouth, chilli sauce leaking out of the sides like chemical waste. I could feel the heat of it, singeing my nasal hairs.
‘But . . .’
Grim posted the chilli-smothered ham into his mouth.
He chewed.
His eyes narrowed.
He stopped chewing.
His eyes closed.
Then they opened again.
The pupils were tiny black dots.
Then they were big black pools.
His nostrils flared.
Then he did the last thing I was expecting.
He swallowed.
He licked his lips.
He took another bite.
Eyes closed. Eyes opened. Pupils tiny. Pupils huge. Nostrils flared.
Then . . . the rest of the ham vanished into the mouth.
He opened his mouth, wafted a bit of air into it with his hand. ‘Nice.’ He nodded. ‘Do me another one like that tomorrow.’
Grim Komissky has asbestos taste buds. Astounding.
What can a big sister, or a dad, or a mum, really do against someone who can’t feel pain even with his tongue?
‘Now,’ he said, ‘for the light milk chocolate, crunchy biscuit and squashy marshmallow of the Chocolate Frisbee.’
Jordan Swash said, ‘Tommy-Lee! No!!! You said lunch was Cheestrings and apple. You can’t eat the Chocolate Frisbee.’
‘’S a present,’ said Grim Komissky, ‘so it doesn’t count.’ He slotted the entire biscuit into his mouth.
‘Don’t swallow,’ said Jordan.
‘I,’ said Grim, shrapnelling crumbs and chocolate flakes, ‘swallow what I like.’
SLURP.
He swallowed the Chocolate Frisbee.
YUM.
In my comic-book life story the next picture was an ambulance screaming on to the playground. WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH. Worried faces would be looking out of the school windows. People were standing on benches to get a better view of Grim Komissky being carried out of the building on a stretcher, with an oxygen mask over his face. Within minutes of eating my Chocolate Frisbee he had turned bright blue because he couldn’t breathe. It turns out that Grim Komissky has a serious nut allergy.
Ciara came and stood next to me as the ambulance drove away. ‘Wow,’ she said, ‘you really crushed your nemesis.’
‘I didn’t do it on purpose. I didn’t know he had a nut allergy.’
‘The chances of you accidentally giving traces of nuts to someone with a nut allergy must be less than one per cent. You hit the bullseye. You should be proud. What are you going to do now?’
‘About what?’
‘Like all arch-villains, Grim Komissky has henchmen. As you hurt their leader, I’d say that there’s a solid ninety-eight-per-cent chance that Kian and Jordan will come after you for . . .
Revenge!’
Oh.
Great.