Pig-Heart Boy

by Malorie Blackman

  ‘Doesn’t he want another child?’

  ‘Of course he does. We’ve both wanted another child for years, but it didn’t happen. I think we’d both given up hope that it ever would. And when I found out I was pregnant . . . well, it was a bit of a shock.’

  ‘Are you sorry?’

  Mum stroked her stomach tenderly. ‘Not in the slightest. It’s just unfortunate timing.’

  I smiled. ‘Or the best timing in the world, depending on how you look at it.’

  ‘You’re in a half-full mood, I see.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Some people would describe a glass half-filled with water as half full. Others would describe it as half empty. The description is meant to describe the person. If you say half full, you’re an upbeat optimist.’

  ‘And half empty means you’re a sad specimen!’

  Mum laughed. ‘Something like that.’

  I grinned. ‘So I’m a half-full kind of guy!’

  ‘You always were and you always will be.’ Mum smiled. ‘Now I’d better get dinner ready.’

  I went to the door as Mum stood up again. ‘Mum . . .’

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘I love you too.’ I rushed out of the room before my mum could say another word. My face was on fire and I felt very silly. But I wanted to say it. I wanted to say it very much.

  I lay in bed staring out into the darkness. It was so dark, I couldn’t tell where the ceiling ended and the night began. So much had happened in the space of one day. It was hard to keep it all straight and clear in my mind. I was going to get my operation – but it was all top secret and hush-hush. I was going to get a heart from a pig. The faintest trace of unease stirred within me. I stared into the darkness, telling myself off. A heart was a heart – as long as it worked. I couldn’t get squeamish, not now. I wanted this operation, didn’t I? I wanted to run and dance and swim and do all the other things my friends did without having to weigh up the pros and cons first. And I was going to get that chance. I was going to have the operation and live. And the icing on the cake was that Mum was pregnant. Next April, I was going to have a brother or sister. I smiled to myself, wondering who the new baby would look like. I looked more like my mum although I had my dad’s smile. But my nan said that boys who looked like their mums and girls who looked like their dads were born lucky. Maybe this was some kind of sign. I was about due for some good luck. And I had the feeling that with this operation coming up, I’d need all the good luck I could lay my hands on.

  My head buzzed with thought after hopeful thought. I knew I’d never get to sleep with all the things I had on my mind. I threw back my duvet and swung my legs out of bed. A glass of orange juice would help me to sleep. And maybe one of the chicken legs that Mum had put in the fridge. And maybe a slice of gammon with some English mustard to go with it. I could feel my mouth begin to water. I glanced at my alarm clock. It was 1.30 in the morning. Mum and Dad should be fast asleep by now. Feeling for my slippers, I put them on and tiptoed to the door and out of my room. Gingerly, I crept down the stairs. A sudden, unexpected sound from the front room froze me in my tracks. There it was again. Dad couldn’t still be in there. The light was off. But . . . but it sounded a bit like Dad. What was going on? Why on earth was Dad sitting in the dark? I tiptoed to the closed front-room door. What should I do? Now I was at the door, I could see just the faintest light seeping out from the room. Dad must have switched on his anglepoise lamp rather than the main light. Very gently, I opened the door.

  It was Dad. He sat at his table with his back towards the door.

  ‘Dad?’ I whispered.

  Dad’s head whipped round at the sound of my voice. I stared, profoundly shocked. I saw something I’d never, ever seen in my life. Something I never thought I’d see.

  Dad was crying.

  ‘Dad?’ I didn’t know what else to say.

  Embarrassed, Dad quickly wiped his eyes.

  ‘Dad, are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  I inwardly grimaced. A stupid question followed by a blatant lie.

  ‘Go on, Cameron. Off you go to bed,’ Dad said firmly.

  I wanted to stay. I desperately wanted to stay. I wanted to sit down and talk to Dad and say . . . things. But instead I nodded and backed out of the room, closing the door carefully behind me. I headed up the stairs. I paused halfway up to look at the front-room door. Then I looked up the stairs to the darkened landing. Up or down? In or out? What should I do? With a sigh, I went back up to my bedroom. My hunger for chicken and gammon had vanished. I crept into my bed and put the pillow over my head. If only the rest of the world was as easy to blot out.

  Chapter Eight

  The Announcement

  ‘Cam, can I borrow your French homework? I didn’t get the chance to finish mine,’ said Andrew.

  I turned to look at him. ‘If you ever came up to me and said, “Cam, I don’t need to copy your homework ’cos I’ve done it!” I think I’d faint with shock.’

  ‘Oh, go on!’ Andrew pleaded.

  ‘Here you are.’ I couldn’t keep the long-suffering sigh out of my voice. ‘But I want it back before the end of the first lesson. Understand?’

  Andrew grinned at me. ‘Great. Thanks!’

  ‘Andrew, lend me Cam’s homework when you’ve finished,’ said Bran.

  ‘You lot could try doing your own homework instead of copying mine all the time,’ I said, exasperated.

  ‘Why have a dog and bark yourself?’ Bran said.

  My mouth fell open. ‘You . . . you certainly can’t have it after that!’

  Bran laughed. ‘Only teasing.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ I sniffed.

  The first buzzer had sounded so we had five minutes to get to class. I looked up at the blue sky, dotted here and there with snow-white clouds. It was such a beautiful day. The morning sunshine felt warm and very welcome on my face. This was the kind of day where your slightest wish could come true. All you had to do was ask. It was just a shame we’d be cooped up in a stuffy old classroom until break time. Marlon, Andrew, Bran and I walked across the school grounds to get to class. I looked around at all the other kids and grown-ups milling around. Not that I’d ever admit it to anyone, but I liked school.

  Julie and Nina from our class walked right in front of us, their arms linked. They were obviously posing! Why do girls always walk together with their arms linked? It’s as if they’re afraid they’ll keel over if they have to stand up by themselves!

  Julie smiled at me. ‘Hi, Cameron.’

  I could feel my face begin to burn. ‘Hi, Julie: I muttered.

  ‘Guess what? I’m going to be in an ad on telly.’

  ‘Are you? Really?’ I said eagerly. ‘What ad? When’s it coming out?’

  ‘Next week.’

  ‘I’ll definitely watch it. I’m not surprised though. You’re pretty enough to be on the telly.’ Stunned, I stared at Julie. I couldn’t believe what I’d just blurted out. Where on earth had that come from? Now all I wanted was for a hole to open up and swallow me all the way down to New Zealand!

  Nina started laughing. Everyone was laughing – except Marlon. He just shook his head. He knew what I was like! Sometimes I suffered badly from foot-in-mouth disease!

  Julie was smiling at me again. ‘Cam, I’m only pulling your leg. I just wanted to see what your reaction would be. And it was worth it!’

  Shame! SHAME! SHAME! The word was emblazoned across the sky in huge letters and great god-like hands were coming down from it and pointing directly at me. How could I be such a . . . such a ginormous nit!

  Everyone was laughing harder than ever now.

  ‘Oh, right,’ I mumbled. Why was I so gullible? Every time someone came up with a cock-and-bull story, I would swallow it hook, line and sinker.

  ‘Cam, I only pull the legs of boys I like,’ Julie told me softly.

  ‘Pass the sick bag,’ Marlon scoffed.

  ‘You’re just jealous,’ Julie told him immediately. />
  Me? I didn’t know what to think. I even managed to smile at Julie – but only just. After all, she liked me. That made her teasing worth it – almost.

  ‘Cam, can I borrow your maths homework – just to check and see if I’ve done it right?’ Julie asked with a smile.

  ‘Sure.’ I dug into my bag. It fell on the floor. I took a step forward to get it and ended up standing on it. I tried to pick it up but suddenly my hands were all sweaty and I dropped it again. When I finally managed to pick up my bag, you could’ve fried two eggs on my face and they would’ve cooked in five seconds flat. I got out my maths homework and handed it straight to her.

  ‘Can I borrow it after Julie?’ Marlon asked. ‘I didn’t get the chance to finish mine.’

  ‘How come you don’t whinge when Julie asks if she can borrow your homework?’ Bran smiled knowingly.

  Andrew stared at me. ‘What maths homework?’

  Marlon grinned. ‘Bran, if you wore a skirt and batted your eyes at Cam, I’m sure he’d lend you his homework without a single complaint too.’

  ‘Bog off, both of you!’ I replied, my face hotter than molten lava.

  ‘What maths homework?’ Andrew was beginning to panic now.

  ‘Andrew, you can borrow it after Julie,’ I told him, exasperated.

  Julie winked. ‘Thanks, Cam. You’re a real pal.’

  I would’ve lent her my homework without all the lovey-dovey, goo-goo eyes stuff. I really liked Julie, but at that moment all I wanted her to do was disappear.

  She must’ve read my mind, because she and Nina sauntered off.

  ‘You fancy Julie, don’t you?’ Marlon teased so that only I could hear him.

  ‘That’s a lie. Who said I did?’ I scowled at him.

  ‘No one – but my eyeballs work just fine. She obviously likes you as well. Why don’t you ask her out?’

  I looked around quickly, but Andrew and Bran were too busy talking to hear our conversation. They were discussing how best to copy my homework.

  ‘So why don’t you ask her out?’ Marlon repeated.

  ‘Shush! Keep your voice down,’ I begged. ‘Besides, if she said yes, I’d think it was because I’m ill. And if she said no, I’d think it was because I’m ill.’

  Marlon gave me a look. ‘It must be hard work being you!’

  ‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘Oh, before I forget, here you are.’

  I dug into my bag and took out a crumpled piece of paper.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Marlon.

  ‘The maths homework. I copied it out for you.’

  Marlon grinned at me and snatched it out of my hand.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said drily.

  ‘Oh, Cameron, can I have a word?’ I turned my head. Sticky Stewart, our class teacher, came running up to me.

  We all called him Sticky behind his back because he was tall and lanky and reminded everyone of a stick insect. To be honest, I was the one who’d come up with the nickname. I’d only meant it as a joke; I hadn’t expected it to take off the way it had.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ I frowned.

  ‘Can I have a word?’ Mr Stewart repeated. He looked pointedly at Marlon, Andrew and Bran, who were walking with me. ‘In private.’

  ‘Cam, we’ll see you in class,’ Marlon said to me, giving the teacher a suspicious look.

  I watched as my friends walked away, before turning back to the teacher.

  ‘I’ve heard from your mum and dad that you’ll be away from next week and for some considerable time.’

  I froze. What had Mum and Dad said? And why hadn’t they warned me first?

  ‘You’re going to have a heart transplant – right?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Would you mind if I told the rest of the class? I’m sure they’d all like to join with me in wishing you the very best of luck.’

  ‘What else did Mum and Dad say?’ I asked.

  Mr Stewart raised his eyebrows. ‘That was it really. Why? Is there anything else?’

  ‘No. No,’ I said quickly.

  ‘So, can I tell the class?’

  I shrugged. ‘Yes, I guess so.’

  ‘Good! Good!’ Mr Stewart beetled off before I had a chance to change my mind – which I was just about to do.

  He bounced across the school grounds with that loping, leaping walk of his and I knew that even if I ran after him, I’d never catch up with him.

  What was wrong with letting the class know that I was going to have a heart transplant? Only Marlon knew the true, full facts and he wouldn’t say anything. So why was I so upset about the rest of the class knowing about my operation? Maybe I didn’t want them feeling sorry for me. Maybe I didn’t want them thinking I was even more feeble than I really was – but that was silly. You could be superduper fit and still need an operation. Look at all the footballers and boxers and the like who had operations all the time. So why was I so upset? Still trying to work it out, I made my way to class.

  I was in the corridor, only about three metres away from my classroom, when I saw the worst face in the world. I didn’t bother to hide the groan that passed through my entire body.

  ‘Look who it isn’t! Mr Muscles himself!’

  ‘Here we go again,’ I sighed.

  Travis Cross, the year hard-nut, had spotted me and was now heading straight for me, followed by his cronies. Just behind him, Marlon came out of the classroom.

  ‘What d’you want, Travis?’ I asked wearily.

  ‘A look at a real, live, walking, talking weed,’ Travis told me.

  ‘Travis, haven’t you got something better to do?’ Marlon scoffed. ‘Like stick your head in a food processor or something?’

  ‘Marlon to the rescue again.’ Travis gave me such a look of contempt that I flinched in spite of myself.

  ‘I can take care of myself,’ I told him – and Marlon.

  ‘Yeah, right!’ Travis and his morons creased up laughing at that. ‘One puff and we could blow you over. Blow you over? Blow you down the corridor more like!’

  ‘You can try,’ I said, squaring up to him.

  ‘You’re not even a challenge,’ Travis said with disgust. ‘It’d be like taking sweets from a baby – hardly worth my while.’

  ‘Bog off then!’ Marlon told him.

  Travis carried on walking, deliberately barging into me. And to my shame he did almost knock me over. Marlon rushed forward to help me. I brushed him aside as I straightened up. ‘I’m all right,’ I said impatiently. ‘Don’t fuss. I’m OK.’

  Marlon backed off immediately. ‘Come on then, before we’re late,’ he said.

  I turned to watch Travis and his friends laughing as they sauntered down the corridor. At that moment, I really hated Travis and his friends. I followed Marlon into the class, wondering if I’d always be so ineffectual. Travis was right. I was a weed.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’ Marlon asked.

  ‘Fine,’ I said brusquely.

  Even though I was reading through the last remaining piece of homework I’d been left with, I could sense that Marlon was still watching me. I frowned at him. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Cameron, whatever happens . . . we will always be friends, won’t we?’ said Marlon.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ I asked, surprised.

  ‘We will always be friends, right?’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘Why would we stop being friends?’

  And at that moment Mr Stewart entered the room. ‘Settle down, everyone,’ he called out.

  ‘You’re my best friend, Cam,’ said Marlon. ‘I wouldn’t want anything to change that.’

  ‘Marlon, why—?’

  ‘Quiet, please. I SAID, QUIET PLASE!’ Mr Stewart yelled at the top of his lungs to make himself heard.

  ‘I just wanted to say—’ Marlon whispered to me.

  ‘I’m sorry, Marlon. Am I disturbing your conversation?’ Mr Stewart was a sarky old trout – but at that moment he did make me laugh.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’
Marlon mumbled.

  ‘That’s better.’ Mr Stewart nodded with satisfaction. ‘Now then, I have an important announcement to make. This is Cameron’s last day at school for a while. He’s going into hospital next week to have a heart transplant.’

  Marlon gasped beside me. I glanced at him, then found it hard to turn away from the shocked expression on his face.

  ‘So I’m sure you’ll all join with me in wishing him a speedy recovery and I know we’ll all keep him in our thoughts and our prayers.’

  I bent my head, wishing the teacher would shut up. He was embarrassing me something chronic. I scowled down into my lap as he wittered on.

  ‘And maybe some of us could come and visit you while you’re in hospital,’ he suggested. ‘Would you like that, Cam?’ I looked up and smiled wanly. I couldn’t think of anything I’d hate more. It was bad enough that the teachers and my friends already treated me as if I was about to snuff it at any moment, without them seeing me in hospital after a major operation. No, thank you very much.

  ‘Cameron, would you like to come to the front of the class and say a few words?’

  A few words? How about two words? Bog off! No way! Go away!

  ‘No, thanks,’ I said aloud.

  How could he? How could he show me up like that? Say a few words in front of the whole class? Was he nuts?

  Mr Stewart smiled. ‘Are you sure?’

  And the more he smiled, the more I scowled until I felt as if the anger inside me was about to make me pop like a balloon.

  ‘Are you really sure?’ Mr Stewart fixed me with what he obviously thought was his most encouraging smile.

  I stood up. OK, he’d asked for this and was going to get it!

  ‘Cameron! What’re you doing? Are you feeling all right?’ Marlon whispered urgently. He pulled on my sleeve but I shrugged him off. Mr Stewart wanted me to talk to the rest of the class and that was exactly what I was going to do. I walked to the front. Mr Stewart was positively beaming at me now. I turned my back on him to face the class.

  ‘I’m due to have a heart transplant operation next week . . .’

  Mr Stewart scraped his chair across the floor to sit facing me with the rest of the class. ‘Sorry!’ he said in a stage whisper. ‘Carry on, Cameron.’