Minimalist Gossip Magazine Cover (49).pdf (13) - Flipbook - Page 67
‘What are you pair on about? Stop being daft.’
‘But sir, he had his hair done like David Sylvian yesterday. We need to change his name.’
‘That’s enough from you two. Shut up now.’
Going from registration on the ground floor to Computer Studies on the third, Paul already
started getting Japan lyrics sung to him in the corridors. When he walked in the whole
room erupted into a clamour of tuneless Japan lyrics, cries of ‘here’s the best-looking man
in the world!,’ and peals of laughter. Paul sloped to the usual computer he shared with
Pete and switched it on.
‘Quiet down! Quiet down!’
‘Miss! Miss! We’ve got a famous person in class today. David Sylvian is here!’
Most of the class pointed to Paul as they chorused the first line of 'Ghosts', their hit song.
The commotion bellowed from the room, down the corridors, and into other classrooms.
After dinner break it was time for double Art. On the board was a large poster of Japan,
slanted to the right, it’s four corners stuck with sellotape, David Sylvian’s face speckled
with blue biro zits, his eyeballs shaded to make him cross-eyed, and finished off with a
dribble coming from the side of his mouth. On the blackboard an arrow pointed to him
with Paul’s full name in capital letters and the words ‘Japan’s new lead singer. Voted
ugliest man in the world.’ Paul went to a seat at the back, using his sweaty palm to press
down his hair all around his head, pushing firmer to iron his fringe to his forehead, forcing
it toward his eyes as much as he could. During the two hours of double Art, he didn’t look
up once.
After the four o’clock bell, Steady and Pete weren’t at the meeting point. A crowd of about
thirty kids from different school years began following Paul home singing, laughing, poking,
back-pushing, hair-tousling, and chanting ‘David Sylvian, David Sylvian’. The nearer to home
he got, the smaller the bunch of followers became, the last one crossing the road in silence as
Paul reached his front gate. He went round the back of the house, stepped into the kitchen,
dropped his school bag to the floor, and slumped against the closed door behind him. His
mum was peeling potatoes at the sink - 'you alright, love?’
‘Does my hair look okay, mum? Can you see anything different?’
‘Your hair looks fine. It is a little bit different I suppose’
‘Do I look anything like David Sylvian, Mum?’
‘Aw, come here, love.’
Paul’s mum put her arms around him, her right palm on the back of his new haircut, his new
fringe resting on her left shoulder.
‘Do I Mum? Does my hair look like David Sylvian’s?’
‘No, love, I have to be honest, it doesn’t look anything like him. But listen to me, why would
you want to look like the second best-looking man in the world anyway?’
Paul went upstairs, chose a cassette to listen to, put it in the slot, closed it, and pressed
play. He got his stack of magazines from the top of the chest of drawers next to his stereo,
opened the top draw, and took out a pair of scissors.
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