Unsure about this one. I like the first third and think it goes steadily off from there. However, I've posted stuff before and been surprised with what people rate. I'm struggling to think objectively as I've been fiddling aroung with this for quite a while and I'm sick to death of it.

For American readers - I think this is very English in flavour.

Does anyone remember XL crisps?

The One

There was one in every class, or so we used to hear the teachers say. Our class, Class 8, had several candidates for The One. I suppose I was just about in the running at times, but really, I didn't have the courage to stand head and shoulders above my class mates. Courage was one thing Alan Wapping never lacked. He lacked many other things, such as academic success, a father and cleanly laundered clothes, but his lack of concern for the consequences of his deeds made him attempt many a feat others of us just wouldn't dare. He was the sort of boy other children said smelled, but only behind his back. Alan Wapping, Wappo to all us kids, was hard. Class 8 was the top class and there was no one else to challenge his status.

Our teacher, Mr. Chater, was a gentle, mild man who was good at his job.  He wasn't particularly strict but he kept our interest pretty much the whole time and things generally ran smoothly. Chater recognised Wappo's academic limitations, and when the going got tough he'd give him jobs to do or pictures to paint. Wappo didn't seem to mind at all. Indeed, it was the rest of us who thought this was unfair.  He'd be sent on a message or allowed to paint a picture of a car or something while we slogged away at Algebra, The Norman Invasion or wrote a poem about a vase of flowers. Alan Wapping was set apart as different from the start. He really didn’t stand a chance.

Back in those days we had a simple tuck shop. All we sold were bags of crisps, and only three flavours: ready salted, cheese and onion and salt and vinegar. My favourite was cheese and onion, although mum only stumped up the cash on swimming days, saying that was all we could afford.

All the upper juniors had a job, and mine was running the tuck shop with my best friend, Steve. It was simple really. We stood at the end of the corridor, next to the gerbil cage every morning play. There was a little notebook where you kept a tally of how many of each flavour were sold each playtime. This was totted up to give the total number of bags sold and then multiplied by two and a half pence to give the total amount of money taken. The rules were simple. Everybody had to have the right money so no change had to be given and the money had to balance at the end of play. The cash was then given to the secretary.

                                                       --x--

This particular Monday was unusual from the start. Instead of being at the front of the queue with a row of frightened children behind him, Wappo was at the back, patiently waiting his turn. Normal circumstances would have seen him elbow his way to the front and demand his crisps. Today he was standing behind little Tracy Turner.
 

Tracy: short, blonde and undeniably pretty, reached the front.

‘Ready salted?’ asked Steve elbowing me to one side.

He always served Tracy on the off chance she’d touch him as she gave him her money. True to form though, she dropped the cash into his outstretched hand with a look of distain. Steve sighed. He’d loved Tracy since the infants and as we’d got older he’d become more and more obsessed. For her part, Tracy had always been consistent on the subject of Steve. She treated him as she treated all the boys: like shit.

‘Salt, vin’gar.’

Wappo stood in front of me, dirty right hand outstretched. I put a bag in his hand, at which he turned and left.

‘Hey Wappo,’ I called after him. ‘You forgot to pay.’

He turned slowly and stared at me.

‘No didn’t.’

He kept staring until I couldn’t hold his gaze any longer and looked at my feet. He left.

‘Bloody hell Dave. What we going to do?’

Monday was swimming day, so I had my two and a half pence. My one bag of crisps for the week was gone.

‘I’ll put it in for today, then the book will balance.’

Steve looked relieved, picked up his pencil and duly added one more mark next to the tally for salt and vinegar. The school rules said we should have gone to a teacher, the law of the playground said otherwise. If Wappo ever thought we’d told tales on him he’d hurt us both pretty badly.

                                                       --x--

Tuesday came and there at the back of the queue was Wappo; again stood behind little Tracy Turner. I let Steve serve Tracy – no joy as usual - and then stepped forward for Wappo.

‘Salt, vin’gar.’

Again the grubby outstretched hand.

‘That’ll be two and a half pence Wappo,’ I said.

‘Dave,’ hissed Steve. ‘Just give him the crisps.

‘Salt, vin’gar. Now.’

Wappo had already stepped around the table. He still held out his right hand, but he had me by the throat with the other. Steve put a packet in his big mit. Wappo’s eyes didn’t leave mine. I still remember the bright, sharp pain that ran round my skull as he slammed me back into the wall and my head whip-lashed with a thud into the lime green paintwork.

‘Tomorra,’ he said and walked off.

‘You alright Dave?’ Steve fussed round me. ‘You look a bit pale mate. ‘ere sit down.’

That was when Tracy stepped back round the corner. She nudged Steve to one side and pulled me over to one of those small wooden chairs we all used to use. Steve looked part devastated she was paying me so much attention and part concerned.

‘I’m alright. Just a bit dizzy.’

‘Good,’ Tracy said. ‘Take that two and a half pence out you put in yesterday. In fact take out forty-five pence. We’ll split three ways.’

Steve was already reaching for the cash tin. If Tracy had asked him to chew his own arm off I think he’d have given it a go.

‘Hang on Steve. We can’t do that. That’s stealing. What if we get caught?’

‘No one’s going to get caught. Only that dirty Wappo. We get fifteen pence each. He gets done. You’re in the clear with Chater and him.’

Tracy delivered this standing with hands on hips, waiting for an answer. I decided we couldn’t do it. We’d have to take it on the chin and find a way of covering our losses. There was no way I was going to go up against Wappo. Even Steve wouldn’t be that stupid, even for Tracy.

‘We’ll do it,’ announced Steve counting the money out and handing us fifteen pence each, lingering over Tracy’s hand.

‘Just make sure you ask him for his money before you give him the crisps tomorrow,’ said Tracy and walked off towards the girls’ toilet.

                                                       --X--

Wednesday came. I had no idea what Tracy had in mind. I’d already decided that I’d put my fifteen pence back and persuade Steve to do the same. I didn’t have the nerve to follow through with whatever Tracy had planned.

Playtime came and Steve was a little late bringing the cash box from the office so putting the money back would have to wait until we’d served everyone. Wappo was standing at the back of the queue as always, but there was no sign of Tracy.

The queue was getting shorter quickly. Everytime I looked up Wappo, head and shoulders above the rest, had his eyes on me. He may not have been bright, but he certainly understood the psychology of intimidation. He reached the front.

‘Salt, vin’gar,’ he demanded. ‘Now.’

I reached into the box.

Steve elbowed me to one side.

‘That’ll be two and a half pence, please,’ he said.

Wappo’s hand shot out and he palmed Steve right in the chest. Steve staggered backwards and bounced off the wall. Wappo took the bag of crisps out of my hand and began to walk off.

‘Alan!’

Wappo stopped and turned around. As soon as he saw Mr Chater his head dropped and he looked immediately smaller.

‘Headmaster’s office Alan. I’ll be along in a minute.’

Tracy appeared from behind Mr Chater.

‘Good job I was showing Sir the gerbil,’ she said in complete innocence and then skipped over to Steve. ‘You alright?’

Steve looked like he’d died and gone to heaven.

‘How long has this been going on for?’ asked Mr Chater.

I was about to answer when Tracy elbowed Steve and he said, ‘A few days Sir. We didn’t know what to do.’

                                                        --X--

Well that’s about it really. Later that day we saw Wappo’s mum walking across the school yard. I don’t know if she had to repay the money we  had stolen. Tracy, before she stopped talking to us again, said that Wappo was so stupid he wouldn’t remember how many packets of crisps he’d bullied out of us. I don’t know if she was right or not.

The next day Steve and I were taken off tuck shop duty. Tracy and one of her friends were put in charge. Wappo came back to school sporting a black eye and pretty much kept his head down for the rest of the year. I was relieved to pass the Eleven Plus and so avoid sharing secondary school with him, but Steve, who’d had a bad day on test day had that to look forward to.

Looking back it’s hard to think who was the victim, but I know who was the one who came out on top.