CHAPTER FOUR
When I woke up in the morning, my head felt like a sledge hammer had passed through it. Chris and Ella had pestered me until two a.m., bombarding me with their theory about why Alan was in danger. Then, of course, when the spirit convention was finally over, I didn't sleep well. It's not easy to relax after you've been visited by your melodramatic ghost sister and her disturbed ghost boyfriend.
So at five-forty-five a.m. when my alarm went off, I did what any sane person would have done; I slammed my fist down on the snooze button. I also sent Lara a text message telling her she'd have to jog by herself this morning. At least, that's what I hoped I'd said. It's hard to be sure when you're so tired you can't even read the screen on your mobile phone.
Hopefully, Lara wouldn't be too mad. I'd stupidly agreed yesterday to join her morning run today, despite the fact that just the combined thought of running and early mornings makes me break into a cold sweat.
Apart from the debilitating tiredness, I did get one thing from my late night visitors. I'd learned that Chris definitely had it in for his stepmum. If he'd just mentioned evil step-sisters as well, I might have mistaken him for Cinderella.
Within weeks of Chris' mum's death, his dad, a successful property developer, had moved straight on with the first ambitious gold digger to come along—Sharelle, a thirty-year- old, plastic-surgery-enhanced, conniving divorcée. To Chris' dad, 'Skankelle' (as Chris liked to call her) was the perfect housewife. She was sensuous, loving, full of admiration, and a meticulous housekeeper. Or so he thought. The truth was that Sharelle was plastic, fake, and forced Chris and Alan to do all the housework, which she then claimed the credit for. She had their dad wrapped around her little finger, and when she wasn't wasting his money on her shopping addiction, she would flirt with anything that moved. Sharelle's sweet disposition in the presence of their father morphed into a sinister fury when he was gone and, being a protective older brother, Chris usually bore the brunt of her explosions.
The day before Chris died, he'd been on the receiving end of one of the step-monster's eruptions. As usual, Chris' dad had been away on a business trip. Chris detonated the blow-up by asking Sharelle for some lunch money for himself and Alan. Sharelle practically yelled him out of the door. There was no way that she was sacrificing any of her shopping money to spend on non-essentials like, you know, feeding her dependents. Well, Chris had finally had enough. It was one thing to starve him; he'd finished growing. It was, however, unacceptable to starve his defenceless little brother in the middle of a growth spurt.
So Chris countered Sharelle's explosion with blackmail. He threatened that if Sharelle didn't give them lunch money, he would tell their father about Sharelle's affair.
Chris was only bluffing about an affair. He had no evidence. Apart from the fact that Sharelle was both pure evil, and trashy-looking, that is. It was a gamble Chris lived to regret.
Or didn't live, I should say, because the very next day, Chris was dead.
That's why Chris believed he'd been drugged, and that Alan was next in line to die.
Ella and Chris could have saved their breath—and not just so that I could have got more beauty sleep. I'd believed that Alan was in danger from the moment they told me he was the kid from the pool. I knew instinctively that something was not right with him. It's not every day that someone's thoughts pierce my mind asking for help.
So it was kind of unnecessary when Ella hung around a second after Chris had disappeared to tell me that she'd appreciate it if I got onto the problem straight away. She'd nudged me in the arm and told me that despite the fact that Chris was a hottie, he was a real drag while he was moping around after his brother all the time.
So here I was, standing near the bike rack after the last school bell had rung, hoping Alan would come by and collect his bike. All so that my dead twin sister could have a better relationship with her dead boyfriend. The year was definitely not getting off to a good start.
'Watch it!' a little year-seven boy growled as he shoved past me to get to his bike.
Honestly, the year-sevens were getting smaller and more obnoxious every year. Where was the respectful fear for the year-tens that had been instilled in us when we were the newest kids in high school?
'Fiona, you slacker!' I heard a voice yell from behind me.
I turned around to see Lara striding athletically towards me, her hazel eyes flashing with glee that she'd caught me. Her curly hair flowed out behind her as she bounded. Every move she made screamed of energy. I don't know how she does it. You would never guess from the energy that oozed out of her that she'd already run five ks before seven a.m.
'What happened? I thought today was going to be the start of the new, healthy you!' she laughed as she approached me.
'I know, I know. I'm sorry,' I replied as I covered my face in shame. 'I just couldn't drag myself out of bed.'
'Well, you really missed out. It's beautiful in the mornings. You've got to get yourself out of bed one morning and run with me,' Lara said as she unlocked her bike from the rack.
'Yeah, maybe one day,' I mumbled, noncommittally. Watching the sun rise was something I hoped never to have to see. I'm sure it's beautiful, but it would be more beautiful if it rose at a reasonable hour.
Lara rolled her eyes, unimpressed by my laziness. She changed the subject. 'I'm going to ride down to the pool and see if I can pick up any extra shifts this week. You should come.'
I looked around. There were still a few students collecting their bikes, but most of them had gone. Peak hour at the bike rack was over. I must have missed Alan.
'Okay, sure.' I unlocked my bike and mounted it.
Lara and I gossiped as we rode towards the pool. If Lara had one weakness, it was her love of gossip. For all the self-control she showed in every other aspect of her life, she was a hopeless, uncontrolled, gossip addict. It was great for me, because I enjoy the occasional gossip myself. Somehow, gossiping about other people's lives always seems to make me feel a bit better about my own mess of a life.
Lara was just reaching the climax of her story about how she was convinced that two of our friends, Megan and Jason, are secretly in love with each other, when I saw Alan riding his bike clumsily around the corner.
I couldn't believe my bad luck. Here I was listening to the most entertaining gossip I'd heard all summer, and the one person in the world that I wanted to talk to even more had just showed up.
I cut Lara off mid-sentence just as she was about to tell me the exact moment when she'd realised there was sexual tension between Megan and Jason. Unfortunately, my mouth, as usual, was working faster than my brain.
'Oh no!' I cried. 'I just remembered that I'm supposed to be … um … collecting something … from the … um … dentist!' I finished lamely. 'See ya!'
I didn't dare look at Lara's face as I turned my bike away and sped off after Alan. I couldn't have come up with a more unconvincing lie if I'd tried.
I caught up with Alan farther down the street (luckily around the corner, where Lara couldn't see me). He was definitely having a lot of problems steering his bike. I rode up beside him then had to swerve when he began to plough towards me.
'Whoa!' I said. 'Careful!' Alan gazed at me blankly. As he turned his head back away, he absentmindedly twisted the handle bars. His bike lurched into the curb and he was pitched forward onto the hard bitumen of the road. His bike crashed with a noisy clang behind him.
I jumped off my bike and grabbed his arm to help him up.
'Are you all right?' I asked. Slowly Alan turned his face towards mine. A few strands of his sandy-blonde hair protruded through the air vents of his helmet. Along with his large, boggly blue eyes, creamy, smooth complexion, and skinny boyish frame, they made him look like a life-sized cartoon character. He looked at me blankly without replying. My words hadn't registered in his mind.
'Are you all right?' I repeated. Somewhere in his eyes I saw a faint glimmer of acknowledgement.
'Yes,' he replied softly. He
wrestled his bike up from the curb and began to mount it again. His elbows and knees were scratched and bloody from his fall, but it didn't look too serious.
'That's a really cool bike,' I said, in a desperate attempt to keep Alan focussed and talking to me. Oblivious, he started to ride away. I jumped on my bike and rode beside him. Riding beside Mr Wobbles was no easy task, considering I'm not the most co-ordinated cyclist myself. I hoped Ella appreciated the way I put my body on the line to help her relationships. I kept having to swerve as Alan careened towards me every few metres, whilst muttering incoherent babble to himself.
'Rainbow elves hit my helmet. They eat cloudy grass,' I thought I heard him say.
I was trying to decipher his nonsensical prattle, when suddenly Alan made a haphazard turn into a driveway, through a flower bed and towards a large, expensive-looking house. Without a second glance at me, he dismounted and blundered down the side of the house, his bike scraping along the wall. I watched him quizzically until he was out of sight. I guessed he'd made it home.
There was no denying it. Chris was right. There was something wrong with Alan. He was either a complete nutter, or doped out on something. Could the step-monster really have done this to him?
As I stared at the house, a movement at the curtains on the front window caught my eye. Someone was watching me.
It was time to get out of here. I jumped on my bike and pedalled furiously home.
The Ghostly Grammar Boy Page 4
