Princess BMX

by Marie Basting

  I thought Kevin was winding me up at first.

  ‘Then why haven’t I ever met one of these Protectors? Surely, they’d report to Dad.’

  ‘Because they haven’t been needed. Yer old man packed all the troublemakers off to the Other World. For years, we’ve only had minor problems like ogres and giants getting a bit out of hand – things even that mummy’s boy Louseylot can deal with. But now Odette’s found a way back to Biscotti, so can the rest of them. The bluestone is once again out of balance. It has chosen you to reform the Protectors and lead the battle to secure harmony.’

  Ha! Kevin had obviously had one too many chai lattes. I mean, me, chosen by a mystical force to guard Biscotti; next he’d be suggesting there was no such thing as the Jelly Bean Pixie.

  But the more I thought about it, on our journey back from the cornfields, the more Kevin’s nonsense made sense. There had to be a reason for all of this. And there was definitely something weird going on with my bike pump. By the time we’d made it home, and packed Ethan off safely through the portal, he’d convinced me. But I didn’t believe he’d ever convince Dad.

  But now there Dad was telling the whole kingdom – I was the first of the new generation of Protectors.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is time to bring back the Protectors. For too long I have tried to shut out the past, believing this was the best way to keep you safe. If I denied the evil that once dwelt in Biscotti and erased it from our collective memory it could no longer haunt us.’

  Dad went all amateur dramatics. He put his hand on his chest and looked out at the crowd, pleading.

  ‘Forgive me, citizens, for I was wrong. Darkness has returned to Biscotti – and so must the Protectors.’

  The cheering went on for, like, ever. Honestly, the crowd were showing me the love big-style. It would have been easy to get all big-headed, and go parade around on my bike or something, but that just wouldn’t do. A princess is not expected to bask in her own glory – even if she is a radical, butt-kicking princess who rides a BMX.

  ‘Oh, look!’ Mum grabbed my arm. ‘There’s Nigel. Doesn’t he look fantastic in his new boilersuit?’

  Eugh! Mum was almost as bonkers as Odette.

  Nigel – his boilersuit identical to his usual tinfoil babygro – cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted up to Mum.

  Mum put the wriggling Jeb down on the floor and leant further over the stone wall. ‘I’m afraid I can’t hear you, poppet.’

  The Godfather huffed and took his wand out. He shut his eyes and waved it above his head dramatically. There was a flash, followed by a low hum, and the crowd stood still as gargoyles.

  ‘We’re ready, Queenie.’

  ‘Really, Nigel!’ Dad said. ‘Release the crowd from your spell. Let the girl have her moment.’

  ‘Oh, Maggot ’ill have her moment, all right. Queenie and me ’ave got a little surprise for her.’

  The Godfather climbed on to the platform used for public announcements. He waved his wand over the crowd. ‘Right, you lot,’ he said. ‘Round the back. Show’s not over yet.’

  ‘Honestly,’ Dad said, all red and shiny-faced, ‘how many times have I told him, no magic unless it’s an emergency?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be a spoilsport.’ Mum’s jaw tightened. ‘What’s the point in magic if you can’t have a little fun from time to time?’

  Mum led us downstairs and through the castle to the side door by the kitchens. Undoing the zip on her tracksuit top, she skipped outside into the sunlight. Jeb and Doreen followed, nipping at each other’s ankles. Like, oh my giddy goblin, was that who I thought it was . . . ? Was it!

  No way are you going to believe this, but there, perched on top of the hill, was Ethan. Ethan on his BMX, his front wheel pressed up against a full-size starting gate just like the one at Leanne Valley. Weirder still, lined up in the gate next to him, his Mohican poking through the slit in his studded bike helmet, was Kevin. The banner over their heads said: Biscotti BMX Bonanza.

  I darted towards them, but Mum grabbed my hand.

  ‘So, what do you think?’

  What did I think? I threw my arms around Mum and gave her a taste of her own cobra-hug medicine. I mean, it was the sickest thing ever. My very own BMX track right here in Biscotti. Running straight down the hill, it twisted its way through the rose gardens and across the lawns, circling Aunt Maude’s caravan before looping around the boating lake and winding its way back towards the castle. Radical!

  Bertie wasn’t quite so impressed. ‘Oh my word,’ he said, pushing his fringe out of his eyes. ‘What is that monstrosity?’

  ‘How in the name of Biscotti would I know,’ Dad said. ‘I’m just the King after all.’

  Ethan waved. I was so desperate to go and say hello.

  ‘It’s quite obvious what it is, Bertrand. Kevsie thought it would be nice for the people to see their Prima Protector in action.’

  Kevin nodded in agreement. He raised his hand and did the peace sign.

  ‘And we wanted to check out the boy. We’ve had our eye on him for a while now. All those millions of people living in the Other World, do you really think he found his way here by chance?’

  ‘So Ethan’s from Biscotti?’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be such a potato head. Of course not. But there’s something connecting him with the bluestone. Kevin’s certain. His crystals are never wrong.’

  ‘Never,’ confirmed Kevin, polishing his sunglasses.

  ‘We’re hoping to find a role for him. He’s a bit of a wuss, but he did come good with the dragon and you can’t do this all by yourself, Avariella. You need to build your front-line team as soon as possible. There are evil shenanigans breaking out left right and centre.’

  Dad huffed, steadying himself against the castle wall as Jeb and Doreen rushed past and ran towards Kevin. ‘The race, Sophia. The people are waiting.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Now, where’s Flo . . . ? Flo!’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

  Ooh, my bike, my bike. My lovely lovely bike.

  ‘Nigel’s made a few alterations,’ Mum said. ‘I think you’ll like them.’

  ‘Nigel?’

  ‘Yes, that’s me name, don’t wear it out.’ The Godfather forced the wheel of his lime-green BMX between myself and Mum. The seat of his bike was covered in the same fluffy fur as his collar. ‘Now come ’ead, Maggot. Time to see something really radical.’

  The trumpeteer trumpeted his trumpety trump and the crowd grew silent. I shimmied into the start gate next to Ethan. He still had sherbet in his hair. It glistened in the sunlight.

  ‘Shut it, you two,’ said the Godfather, even though we hadn’t said a word. ‘I’m getting into the zone.’

  Kevin smirked, the matchstick he was chewing on pointing upwards.

  ‘Take your marks . . .’ Mum waved her silk hanky.

  ‘Get set . . .’

  ‘Go!’

  The gate fell.

  So did the Godfather.

  Seriously, he’d only just crossed the start line when I heard the screech of brakes and a thud behind me. So much for the radical.

  ‘Sweet baby squirrel,’ he shouted, his cries following me down the hill.

  Unlike the Godfather, Ethan had flown out of the gate. It just goes to show how doing battle with an EVIL sorceress can focus your brain. Although it didn’t seem to have focused mine. Ethan was getting further and further ahead. He hit the first jump and leant forward, lifting his front wheel and flying into the air. The roar of the crowd vibrated in my chest. They were mad for BMX. I put my head down and powered over the jumps and into the berm, Kevin dangerously close to my back wheel.

  Keeping low on the turn I allowed myself a quick look over my shoulder. In the distance, near the start gate, the Godfather was climbing back on to his BMX. Wow, I so never expected Nigel to be a good sport. Nice one! I turned into the rhythm section. Ethan was like totally killing it. He circled Aunt Maude’s caravan and stormed towards the final straight, where Sir Louseylo
t and his decidedly grey knights lined both sides of the track. Seeing Ethan approach, they readied their spears, lifting them diagonally over the track to form a victory arch.

  When Ethan suddenly slowed, they lowered them again, scanning the grounds for signs of a problem. The roar of the crowd faded to a low buzz – what was wrong?

  ‘Come on, Ava.’ Ethan reached for my hand. ‘Let’s do this together.’

  The noise of the crowd grew louder with every turn of the pedals. Their scarves were going ballistic now, a whirling sea of colour lining the track. Ethan let go of my hand and, side by side, we prepared to cross the finish line, where Mum, Dad and Bertie watched from their thrones, Doreen bucking and kicking as she tried to get free of her lead, and Jeb sitting on my golden chair with his tongue hanging out.

  Like, what! Even Cook looked excited. Huddling with the other cheering servants, she squeezed Periwinkle’s arm and waved her pinny at me. Mademoiselle Hornet-Boules was as straight as ever, but I suppose you can’t have everything.

  ‘Watch yerself, Maggot.’

  The Godfather’s back wheel skimmed my bike helmet. Tiny green stars sparkled above my head.

  ‘Nobody gets past old Nige.’

  ‘Dude,’ Ethan laughed. ‘You’re supposed to ride the bike, not fly it.’

  ‘Said nowt about that in the rule book.’ The Godfather waved his wand. ‘Ready?’

  A blue switch flashed on my handlebars. Ethan looked from me to the Godfather. His bike was flashing too.

  ‘Three . . . two . . . one,’ we counted down together, our fingers hovering over the blue switches as we whizzed across the finishing line. ‘Go!’

  I gripped my handlebars tightly, the sudden charge making my BMX wobble. Steady now, I twisted the rubber handgrips and shot into the air. Pausing to wave at Aunt Maude, who was on her deck wearing a tutu, I chased Ethan upwards until we were level with the tip of the North Tower, the crowd below little bigger than Bertie’s tin soldiers.

  ‘Scream if yer wanna go faster,’ said the Godfather, flipping his bike in a double somersault.

  ‘Gnarly!’ Ethan flew vertically into the air. He levelled his bike out, the second sun burning orange behind him, and kicked the back wheel, whirling the frame round in a high-speed spin.

  ‘You’ll do,’ said the Godfather, nodding in approval. ‘Now the pair of yer, get your scrawny butts down to the control room, there’s work to do.’

  ‘The control room?’ What was he on about now?

  ‘Fun’s over, Maggot. Me crystal gazer’s beeping on overdrive. Which can only mean one thing – more evil shenanigans. Now move it the pair of yer, this is where it gets really extreme.’

  Really extreme? I’d have a bit of that! Get your typewriter out, Mademoiselle Hornet-Boules, because it looked like being a princess had just become a lot more interesting. It was time to rewrite those expectations!

  Acknowledgements

  When you don’t know where to start, it makes sense to start at the beginning. So my first thank you must go to Joanie and Jim Lad, my lovely parents, who taught me to value creativity and to question my place in the world. The years of sparring and swapping rubbish jokes at the dinner table were most excellent training for this adventure. Big love also to my brother James (Snowy loved me more) and my wider family – aunties, uncles, cousins, in-laws and outlaws – I was lucky to grow up surrounded by so many loving and supportive people. There’s a little bit of all of you in this book.

  Next up, then, is my lovely husband, who goes by many names but for the purpose of this book shall be known as Mark. Thank you for not laughing at me when I told you I was going to give up my job and write a book. And thanks for not crying when I then decided to do an MA in Creative Writing and leave the bill-paying to you for a bit longer. My greatest supporter and advocate, you never doubted me and I love you more than I’m prepared to say in this book. I don’t want readers thinking I’m a soppy knickers now, do I?

  Then there’s my muse: the one and only Dylan James. With his harsh critique, invaluable wisdom and amazing knack for names, he is truly inspirational and only ever talked of when I’d be published – there was no if for my son Dylan. Thank you Dyl for being the most amazing champion any writer could have. I love you more than Frost’s sausages cooked on the barbecue at the beach. (Oops, did I really say that out loud?)

  On, then, to my writing friends. First up are the Manchees. I knew nothing about writing when I met these guys, but my MA buddies never let on I was rubbish. I couldn’t have wished for a more supportive and lovely bunch of people to share the early part of my writing journey with. Funny, charming, generous and talented: I wish our salad days could have lasted for ever. Thanks also to the staff at MMU for their support and guidance. Special shout out to Claudia Conerney and Kaye Tew who have created no end of opportunities and talked me up nearly as much as my mum.

  And then there’s the wonderful world of SCBWI. I can’t thank my North West Network buddies enough – I’d never have done this without you. Thanks also to all the other Scoobies who’ve supported me along the way and made me believe I could do this. Particular thanks to the volunteers who make SCBWI British Isles the fantastic organisation it is – you got all the tricks!

  It was through SCBWI I met Tilda Johnson, who reviewed the opening chapters of Princess BMX and encouraged me to keep going when I was convinced my manuscript was complete pants. Thank you, Tilda, for helping me keep the faith and for putting me in touch with my wonderful agent Kate Shaw who was, as you suggested, the perfect agent for me and Princess Ava. With her amazing ability to know exactly when I need a pep talk, and to say just the right thing, I’m certain Kate is of magical descent. My bet is on pixie princess – must check her ears out next time I see her. Thank you so much, Kate, for your support and magical prowess.

  Talking of mythical creatures, like, how awesome is my editor Rachel Leyshon?! Rachel, I feel it was our destiny to come together so that we might give life to Doreen and Tyson and I could make you happy by signing off my emails Two Ronnies style. I have LOVED working with you. Thank you for seeing something shiny in my manuscript and polishing it until it truly sparkled. You were right about everything. Well, almost everything.

  Thanks also to Barry Cunningham and Kesia Lupo who also championed Princess BMX from the start and welcomed me to the coop. I am truly grateful for the risk Chicken House took with a slightly wobbly BMXing princess and I couldn’t have found a better home. A huge thank you to everyone in the Chicken House team who has played a part in making this book happen: Rachel Hickman, Elinor Bagenal, Laura Myers, Jazz Bartlett, Laura Smythe, Lucy Horrocks, Sarah Wilson, you have all been so supportive and great to work with. How can so many truly lovely and dedicated people all work on the same team? Does Barry clone you?

  If so, maybe he should clone illustrator Flavia Sorrentino because as far as I am concerned the world cannot get enough of her amazing illustrations. Thanks so much, Flavia, for bringing Biscotti and the cast of Princess BMX alive. I hope we get to have that hug sometime. Thanks also to designer Helen Crawford-White and copy-editor Sue Cook.

  And, of course, thanks to all the friends and the new family members, I have gathered along the way, who have cheered me on from the sidelines. I wish I had room to mention everyone who has supported or inspired me, but you know who you are and I love you all. Special thanks, though, must go to my BMX gurus, Louis and Tania, and to Susan Kirkcaldy and Pam Smith who were my career gurus. Without Pam and Susan I might never have dared risk redundancy and follow my dreams.

  And, finally, thanks to every radical BMXing prince or princess who has inspired this book, and to you, dear reader, for coming along on the ride. I hope you’ve enjoyed it.

  TRY ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM CHICKEN HOUSE

  PERIL EN POINTE by HELEN LIPSCOMBE

  Milly’s in trouble. Moments after messing up the most important dance of her life, her prima ballerina mother vanishes. And that’s just the beginning.

  Out o
f the blue, Milly is invited to join a mysterious ballet school. But Swan House isn’t just a school for ballet dancers. It’s a school for spies.

  Milly learns that she and her mother are in terrible danger. But has she got what it takes to face peril en pointe?

  Paperback, ISBN 978-1-910655-79-5, £6.99 •  ebook, ISBN 978-1-912626-27-4, £6.99

  TRY ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM CHICKEN HOUSE

  WHO LET THE GODS OUT? by MAZ EVANS

  When Elliot wished upon a star, he didn’t expect a constellation to crash into his dung heap. Virgo thinks she’s perfect. Elliot doesn’t. Together they release Thanatos, evil Daemon of Death. Epic fail.

  The need the King of the Gods and his noble steed. They get a chubby Zeus and his high horse Pegasus.

  Are the Gods really ready to save the world? And is the world really ready for the Gods?

  . . . lashings of adventure, the Olympic gods as you’ve never seen them before and a wonderfully British sense of humour.

  FIONA NOBLE, THE BOOKSELLER

  Paperback, ISBN 978-1-910655-41-2, £6.99 • ebook, ISBN 978-1-910655-64-1, £6.99

  TRY ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM CHICKEN HOUSE

  THE GREAT CHOCOPLOT by CHRIS CALLAGHAN

  It’s the end of chocolate – for good! A chocolate mystery . . . At least that’s what they’re saying on TV.

  Jelly and her gran are gobsmacked – they love a Blocka Choca bar or two.

  But then a train of clues leads back to a posh chocolate shop in town owned by the distinctly bitter Garibaldi Chocolati.

  Is it really the chocopocalypse, or a chocoplot to be cracked?