"Decorating a room?" I said loudly. "You want help decorating a room? Materials? Time? A room? Think, just think about the hassle!"
"Already thought about it. I've got most of the materials, we should have time and I need your help with a room." Oliver says.
"No way are you using my room," I said, thinking about my bright yellow book-filled room.
"No, but we could use your shed. You know, the shed you spend half your life in, listening to David Bowie and drawing stuff? It a bit manky."
"My shed is not manky!" I say. "Well. Maybe it is. What's your plan then?"
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
My parents had been amazingly agreeable, so here Oliver and I were, with all my stuff cleared out of the little shed. For once, the weather was nice. Oliver was armed with a paintbrush and a pot of chalkboard paint, left over from painting one fo the walls in my bedroom a few years ago. I was armed with a tub of lime green paint- Oliver's contribution- and a large roller. I turned on the radio, and let it blare out random news reports.
"Before we get completely covered in paint, I'm going to turn on my phone camera and make a film," Oliver said. "It can go on Youtube with the film... the film... the film..."
He stops talking and begins to laugh hysterically. "The film with you getting your hand stuck in a postbox!"
"It wasn't technically getting stuck, just finding a letter," I say.
He turns on his camera, and waves at it. "Hello world!" I am Oliver, and this is Bonnie, the brilliant one who got her hand stuck in a postbox. Anyway, I am moving to Australia in a few months, and we're doing sixteen things together, before I leave. Writing to JK Rowling was our first task. That's how Bonnie ended up on YouTube. Anyway, now we're about to paint Bonnie's manky old shed-"
"It isn't that manky!"
"-manky old shed, yes. We decided we should make YouTube videos marking our exploits-"
"You never told me that!"
"-So this is us. Now, you will be treated to a thrilling display of two teenagers painting a room, along with a lovely report about the price of fish."
As the Lord So-and-so was being interviewed about trawlers and rising prices of tuna, we began to paint the little room in bright green with a chalkboard wall. The smell of paint would have been overwhelming, if Oliver had not opened a window. And then I felt a wet splat of some sticky stuff on my t-shirt. It was black. It was paint. Oliver.
"You little poo!" I cried, loading my brush and flinging it at him. It splatted satisfyingly on his t-shirt, and he laughed.
"Right...."
I swifly ended up with a large amount of black paint on my shorts. Some paint, however seemed to not like me. It ended up on the nice green wall behind me.
"Olly! The wall!" I squeaked, pointing at the splatted wall.
"Rats," he said. He then, instead of flicking paint at me, grabbed my foot and began painting it, nearly knocking me off the stepladder I was standing on. Luckily, I was wearing shorts, like any good optemistic Brit would at a hint of sun, so no trousers were ruined.
After my foot was completly painted, he stood back and looked at it, impressed.
"Now," he said in an evil genius style voice, "when that dries, you should have a chalkboard foot." He pointed at the camera dramatically. "Then I will take over ze vorld!" Oliver broke into manical laughter.
"Oh, nice!" I said. My foot felt very soggy. However, a chalkboard foot would be cool. Very cool.
I carried on watching the paint on my foot dry, until I heard the words 'Interview with a Merlin star, Bradley James!' emmiting from the radio in a tinny fashion.
"Arthur Pendragon!" I squeaked. I shushed Oliver, who wasn't talking anyway, not wanting to miss a word of the interview.
Oliver looked at the still-on camera. "You know, random stalker-viewer people, Bonnie had an intresting encounter with Bradley James a few years ago."
"No!" I whispered. "Don't even think about it!"
"She went to a convention when she was thirteen, with me, to see the cast of Merlin." Oliver carried on, ignoring my protests. "We got to ask the cast questions. Just picture the scene. A dark-haired thirteen-year old in a felt Camelot cloak raises her hand. Bradley James chooses her to ask a question. She opens her mouth..."
I attacked him, covering his mouth with my hand. He simply licked my hand, making me squeal and wipe my hands on my shorts with disgust.
"...'Do you have worms?', the small girl asks."
I attacked Oliver again, this time repressing the urge to screech when he licked my hand again. "I had an excuse! My cat had worms at the time, and I was worrying about him! Of course, it didn't really help that my cat is called Arthur."
Oliver started to laugh in a muffled manner. I saw his eyes bulging as he laughed, and joined in, letting go of his face.
To be honest, it was quite funny.
"Your....foot....dry...." Oliver said, in between gulps of air.
"Oh yes!" I said. I ran outside. Grabbing a piece of chalk from the mess of items outside the shed, I nipped back in, ignoring a twinge of pain from my foot and went to the camera. "Here, people of my imagination, you will observe what happens when your best friend paints your foot with chalkboardy stuff."
Oliver stopped laughing and looked intently at my foot. I tried to write my name.
The paint split, showing an angry red group of pustules on my skin.
"Balrogs!" I yelled.
"Nice Middle-Earthy saying there." Oliver commented, leaning over my foot. He spotted the pustules. His face whitened. "People of the land of YouTube, goodbye. Bonnie needs to get to A&E."
We ran to the front door, him supporting me, as the lumps on my foot had begun to split and spurt pus.
"Helen," Oliver said to my mum, who was sitting outside with a book. "Did you know Bonnie was allergic to paint?"
Mum looked up. "Oh gosh. Bonnie, are you alright?"
"Mum, my foot's spurting pus," I moaned, feeling slightly ill.
"We're getting in the car. ASAP," my mum said.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
"Sorry, I had no idea..."
"That's fine Oliver, neither did I. The important thing is that nobody's too hurt."
"Easy for you to say," I mumbled, wincing as my foot stung.
"Bonnie." Mum chided.
"Sorry."
"Bonnie King?" the A&E receptionist said.
"That's me!" I said, relived that our hour-long wait was over.
"Doctor Flowers will see you in an hour."
YOU ARE READING
Sixteen Things ~ON HOLD~
Teen Fiction'At first I thought he was joking. Then I saw his eyes.' Bonnie and Oliver have always been friends. But now, in year eleven, Oliver reveals that he is moving. To Australia, on the other side of the world. In his remaining six months in Yorkshire, O...
