Unexpected Turns: What's in a Name?

the lid. A large, shiny, brown cockroach dropped down on the keys and waggled its antenna. It tried to walk but the tops of the keys were too slippery. One of its legs became caught between the g and the h.

Albin sighed with disappointment and shoved the cockroach back into the container.

"You're not heavy enough anyway," he said, "You can't even push one key down hard enough. I need a fatter cockroach for this work!" There weren't any fatter cockroaches available so Albin lay back, with his hands behind his head, and with the container balanced on his chest. Cocky scrabbled at the sides and looked at him.

"It's OK," said Albin, "I'll let you go soon."

He pondered the problem. It was a pity, he thought, that kids got their names before they had any say in the matter. Mums and Dads did all the choosing. The baby came out, all wet and pink, and screaming its lungs out, but Mum or Dad might have already decided to call it Grace, or Darling. Even Hitler must have been a wet, pink blob in someone's arms. Imagine if he'd been named Fred. All the Nazis would have gone goose-stepping down the streets, saluting and shouting "Hail Fred!" Albin laughed and rolled on his side. The container bounced off his chest and on to a crumpled heap of jerseys, leaving Cocky on his back with all his legs waggling. He struggled vainly to turn himself over but the sides of the container were too slippery.

It was all a mystery, though Albin, how people got their names. He still couldn't think of a better one for himself, but he knew there must be something suitable. Captain Amazing? Fire-eater? Dragonslayer? It was amazing how much weight a name carried. Albin sounded like albino, which mean white with pink eyes, which was like anemic, or weak, which meant useless. That's why Albin didn't like Albin. It went the wrong way for him. He wanted a name that meant strength, or power!

He got to his feet, grabbing Cocky's container as he did so, and stuck his foot out the bedroom window. He slid across the sill and glanced down. Dropping easily to the ground, he went across the lawn to his tree-hut. Groundhog was there, sitting on a branch.

"Why didn't you give us a call?" said Albin.

"Just got here!" said Groundhog. His real name was Garry, but no-one except the teachers at school and his parents, and a few other adults called him that. Albin was jealous.

"It took you time to climb up there," said Albin, "You could have called out on the way?"