No Strings Attached: Fame

else. He was used to being treated like a screen door. Usually it didn't matter if he spoke back or kept quiet - people didn't include him in any conversation. The world went on around him as if he wasn't there anyway, so he'd come to the conclusion that he really wasn't there. But now he realized, on this morning of mornings, with a fright that felt like a crab running up and down his spine bones, that people were actually saying things to him!

"Good morning Ernest."

He was standing on the pavement, just outside the school gates, and the round, blustery shape of Mrs. Bunderbody was looming over him.

"Er, what?"

"I said good morning! How are you today?"

"How am I today?"

"That is so clever of you, repeating what I say. Must be the brilliant mind at work!"

"Brilliant mind?"

"Now don't go all modest. We know you've got one of the great intellects of our day in that bony little skull of yours! Its written all over you!"

"Written all over me?"

Ernest thought back to the moment he had come into the kitchen for breakfast that morning. His mother had gaped at him in surprise.

"You forgot to brush your hair!" she had said, spilling her cup of tea.

"I always forget to brush it," he had replied, "Well, not always forget. Sometimes I remember, and sometimes I forget, Usually." and then his mother had laughed nervously and tried not to look at him.

And now he was standing on the footpath, just outside the school gates, and Mrs. Bunderbody was wobbling away from him with her hands full of bags, and her hat tilted crookedly on her head.

"Can I have your autograph?"

A boy from the primary school pushed a pencil and a scrap of paper towards Ernest.

"Why?"

"Because you're famous!" said the boy.