My Brilliant Idea (And How It Caused My Downfall) by Stuart David Page A

list.”
    I notice what look like peanut shells lying in amongst the cottage cheese too. Then I look up at my dad—not quite at his eyes, just at his mouth or something.
    â€œI think I’d better tell her,” I say, and I start walking back toward the path. He doesn’t look very happy, but that can’t be helped. Rather that than a lifetime of label-sticking.
    â€œDon’t, Jack,” he says, still in a sort of whisper. “I’ll owe you one.”
    I avoid looking back and head into the house. I half expect him to follow me, but he doesn’t. There’s a moment of quiet and then the banging starts up again, the cottage cheese and peanuts taking the full brunt of his frustration.
    I find Mum upstairs in her bedroom, sitting in front of the mirror twisting bits of rubber into her hair.
    â€œListen to that bloody noise,” she says. “It’s driving me crazy. What the hell’s he doing out there, anyway?”
    â€œWorking on his list,” I say. “What’s that you’re putting in your hair?”
    â€œRubber things,” she says. “I got them at the shops. I don’t know if they work.”
    â€œThey look weird,” I tell her. “Are you going to wear them outside?”
    She tuts. “You don’t wear them. You put them in to make curls, then you take them out again.”
    I nod. I pick one of them up off her table and look at it. It’s kind of bendy. That’s the sort of idea I’d like to come up with one day. Simple. I’ll probably look online later to see who invented them in the first place. I might stick their picture in my book of role models. Successful ideas people.
    â€œI need to tell you something about Dad,” I say, and Mum half turns away from the mirror, still keeping her eyes on the reflection of the blue thing she’s twisting in.
    â€œWhat’s that?” she asks. “What’s he been doing now?”
    And then it hits me. The zinger. My brain starts to tingle, and my fingers go all warm. I feel the familiar sensations before I’m even aware the idea is there, and then the idea makes itself heard. Loud and clear. The brain freeze has thawed. I’m back in action.
    â€œHe . . .” I say, quickly trying to think up something different to tell her, “I think he’s gone a bit mad. I think he’s smashing up cottage cheese on the lawn. You should probably call somebody.”
    â€œIt’s been a long time coming,” Mum mutters, and I tell her I have to rush off for a minute.
    I clatter down the stairs two and three at a time and then haul the front door open. Dad hears it and turns round, kneeling on the grass with his mallet raised midattack. I walk quickly over to him.
    â€œWhat did she say?” he whispers. “Is it all off?”
    I stay quiet for a moment, and he lowers the hammer.
    â€œI didn’t tell her,” I say, and I watch the look of surprise appearing on his face. He tries to work out whether he can believe me or not, then gets up on his feet and drops the mallet down into the grass.
    â€œYou didn’t?” he says. “Seriously?”
    I nod, and he slaps me on the back.
    â€œYou’re a good boy,” he says. “The best. You’ll love it in there once you get started. I know you will.”
    â€œMaybe,” I say, severely doubting it. “But you know when you told me you’d owe me one?”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œWhen I said I had to tell Mum. You said you’d owe me one if I didn’t.”
    â€œDid I?” he says. He doesn’t really look as if he believes me, but I power on.
    â€œI think I might need your help now,” I tell him. “I think I might need to call in that favor.”
    He doesn’t look very happy. He obviously didn’t mean he would owe me one at all. But he knows how easy it would be for me to go back upstairs and fill Mum in on all the