“She is a nice girl. Kind. Thoughtful.”
“Wait! There must be some misunderstanding. I thought we were talking about Icky Ellie Watson.”
“How can you call Eleanor a bully and then refer to her as Icky? Does that not strike you as double standards?”
“She’s mean to people and when I tried to stop her, she was mean to me too.”
“It is an act, Daisy.”
“Well, it’s a highly impressive act. I was certainly convinced that she was a full on b-word.”
“B-word? There are many words that begin with ‘b’ — for example, bougainvillaea, bounder, buzzard —”
“Quark, I don’t need a rundown of every word that begins with ‘b’! And that wasn’t what I meant. Icky is not a buzzard!”
“Well, why not say what she is?”
“I try not to cast aspersions on other girls. But Ellie loves to gossip and the slightest hint of trouble can easily become a fully-fledged scandal by the time she finishes with it. She wallows in the chance to be vindictive the way a hippo wallows in mud. Except, worst luck, she’s far from hippo-like in every other conceivable way.”
“I did notice that. She is tall — taller than you. Is that why you are jealous?”
“Me — jealous?! It’s not difficult to be taller than I am and I’m not at all worried about being petite. Sure, she’s long-legged, rangy — all sharp features and shiny skin. She’s catwalk-model-slender, except for —”
“Yes?”
“Well, you’ll have noticed Ellie’s … well developed.”
“In what way?”
“Quark, you’re so dense sometimes!” I pass on, not wanting to explain further to him the ins and outs of the female form. “I agree that Ellie is just ridiculously perfect — apart from her attitude, of course. And her personality. I mean, she’s got that whole model-girl look going on — as if she channels the latest ‘in’ designer, even when she’s wearing a school uniform. But then, looks aren’t everything, are they? I mean, if it wasn’t for her overall Icky-ness, I’d kind of like her.”
“And yet you do not …”
“No …” My own thoughts confuse me. What is it? I mean, we have different friends, different interests, and a totally different way of going about things. She seems so confident. And I know she’s funny, and sometimes says things in class that make her sound almost intelligent — but then it’s like she makes a joke or pulls a face to hide the fact. But when had the not-quite-hitting-it-off with Ellie begun?
“You should let her in.”
“In? You want to put her in my head too!”
“No, I mean be her friend.”
“Let Icky be my friend?!”
“No more Icky, Daisy. Ellie is a good person; she is just afraid of you. In awe of you.”
If I could have spluttered, I would have done. “Of me?!” Where on earth does he get this idea? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous! “She bullies me, how can she be afraid of me?”
“Because you are funnier than she is. Cleverer — the cleverest girl in the school, she said. Plus, you are more popular.”
I shake my inward head again. “No, you’ve got that wrong. She’s way more popular. She’s super confident, gorgeous and she can be funny; sometimes what she says is a bit cruel, but it’s often hilarious,” I admit with some reluctance.
“Tell her.”
“What?”
“Tell her she is funny. Tell her she is pretty. Tell her you admire her.” Quark pauses. “You are jealous of her, as she is of you. Talk to her; do not hide your light under a bushel.”
I mentally frowned, “okay, no bushels, got you.” Oh, to be a normal Year 10 girl again. I’d give anything to just sit at the table in the very heart of my family or to spend just five minutes with Amy. Hell, I’d even hug Icky Ellie … well, no — maybe I wouldn’t give anything.
I don’t think that will be possible anyway, because it seems Ellie goes nowhere without her Satellites circling around her. That creates a distance that’s difficult to bridge —
“Maybe. And it gives her an audience she can work without reference to you.”
Then suddenly, out-weirding all the unearthly things that have happened in the last few days, I hear footsteps! Not on the floor of my bedroom. But inside my head! I race as fast as my imaginary legs can carry me over to the door of my room. Thankfully, it’s still locked.
But the familiar fear bubbles up inside me, dousing the small flame of hope that I’d allowed to flicker. The footsteps stop outside and there’s a sudden rattling at the door. Quark has found my room
“Huh?” I’ve been so caught up in the closest approximation to a genuine conversation I’ve had in, what — over a week? — that I was suckered by Quark’s veneer of chumminess. I allowed myself to have unguarded thoughts for the first time since that first meeting in the mirror. He read me then and I just allowed him to do it again. Well, no more! Now he knows where my room is, I have to be extra vigilant. I can’t control when these encounters take place; I can’t stop him from facing me in the mirror or just talking to me in quiet moments as and when he pleases. But I can be ready for him; and I can shut down my thoughts to block his access.
“Good try, Quark. That was close, but no cigar, I’m afraid. For now, you’re welcome to Ellie Watson — whether or not she’s Icky. I’ll sort that relationship out when you’re gone.”
I must be on my guard and ready for him becoming tricksy — and more human. And I need to remember that if Quark’s losing some of his alien-ness and becoming a bit more human, then maybe I can use that to my advantage.
Chapter 26
MOPE, MOAN, GRUMP & FROWN
Nope, this isn’t the name of a long-established firm of lawyers. It’s a summary of Quark’s state of mind after almost two weeks spent on a task that would normally take seconds.
He can’t believe it!
Just think what he could have done in that time: laid waste to continents; wiped out entire civilisations; decimated whole planets!
That’s been the history of Quark. Although in normal circumstances (if anything is normal about Quark) he’s a strong contender for the title of the smallest thing in the universe, as you’ll already appreciate, he is anything but inadequate — especially in his own mind. After all, he’s the singularity usually found at the centre of a black hole.
I won’t insult you by going all science-y about this, as you obviously know that black holes form when matter condenses into such a small space that gravity takes over, and forces the matter to be squished into a single point of infinite density.
That’s what the laws of physics say, at least. Although, admittedly, the current laws don’t have a great deal to say about singularities that do their squishing away from the black hole motherlode. In fact, general relativity and quantum mechanics are strangely silent on the whole subject of squishing. Which is surprising, I’m sure you’ll agree. After all, loud explosions, mass destruction and scenes of people screaming and waving their arms uselessly whilst trying and failing to avoid their imminent extinction are the very backbone of some of Hollywood’s most esteemed output. Just think what such things would add to science lessons!
Scientists think they’ll gain a greater understanding of black holes when they come up with one great, over-arching theory of relativity, quantum mechanics, quantum gravity, and probably the ultimate preparation method for the perfect cup of tea.
Until then, Quark’s personal history of havoc and annihilation will guide us. His track record makes Attila the Hun seem like Attila the Huh? Here’s just a tiny sample of his Greatest Hits (excuse the pun) …
The Strathairns? You should have heard of them by now; and if it hadn’t been for Quark, you undoubtedly would. However, way back when bits of rock and offcuts of the Moon were just beginning to coalesce into what would eventually become the Earth, Quark happened across them. That was a dark (though admittedly brief) day for the Strahairns.
They had been a gloriously rich and technologically advanced race that, over countless millennia, had spread their wise, open-hearted enlightenment across whole parsecs of their particular galaxy. Quark exterminated them — and snuffed out their whole, cuddly notion of planet-dom, eradicating the attainments of one of the universe’s most sophisticated cultures in rather less than an Earth afternoon. Just as for teenage boys everywhere, for Quark the moment had been sweet, but over all too quickly to provide lasting satisfaction …
At the opposite end of the spectrum to the Strathairns, the Gnarg had been a warrior race with a fearsome reputation that held an entire galaxy in their thrall. There had been twenty-six billion of them with more vast fleets of the fastest, most armed-to-the-teeth space-cruisers than even the geekiest gamer could ever imagine. Their ships had scary laser cannons in places where most planet’s spaceships didn’t even have places.
And how long did the mighty battle between Quark and the Gnarg last? Barely longer than a decent full English breakfast.
The Whaplish, Exele, Vicia, Zantede, Deflexa, Glydia … all of these and literally countless other small isolated planets, complex solar systems, federations of star clusters and random space ships that Quark had happened upon were liquidated (in some cases liquidised); simply reduced to rubble and wiped from the universe. Most of them in a time span somewhere between the blink of an eye and the length of a football match (without the extra time, let alone penalties).
And in fourteen whole days, what had Quark achieved on Earth?
A C2 detention, a note home to Daisy’s parents, a severely upset stomach and the beginnings of the trashing of Daisy’s status as a goody-goody.
He’d thought he was finally getting somewhere with the Ellie conversation. Distracting Daisy, with news of her sudden and unexpected contact with Eleanor Watson, allowed Quark to conduct a sneaky attack. At first, Daisy failed to notice Quark insinuating himself deeper into her subconscious. He almost made it! His hand was reaching for the handle on her imaginary door when Daisy saw through his ruse and made sure he was still well and truly shut out.
But maybe his own burgeoning humanity was what would lead him to outwit Daisy Jacobs and enable all of humanity to join the glorious history of becoming.
He’d continue to use the most basic human traits: deceit, double-dealing, trickery — and gossip. It wasn’t the glorious, technicolour victory he’d envisaged, and after vanquishing the mighty Gnarg, it seemed somewhat petty to focus on how he could further ruin the reputation of a single human girl. But as Quark had learned in History only the previous day, even the most infamous tyrants began their evil empires with small victories.
And soon, it would not be just Daisy Jacobs’ reputation that would go down in the annals; the whole human race would be history!
Chapter 27
BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS
The smell of toast wakes me. Toast and Dad’s morning pot of coffee.
I realise this is something new in my current existence: it’s definitely the aroma of breakfast that wakes me. It wasn’t a real sleep, obviously, more like an extended loss of focus. Then I remember where I am — still. But there’s at least a hint of something I thought had gone forever. Everything else is unchanged: although I’ve just woken up, my body is already here; already sitting at the table.
This has happened a lot. I guess impending doom really tires me out! I’m dressed, ready for school and having breakfast, yet I have no memory of and took no part in getting out of bed, showering, dressing, or coming downstairs. But there’s my bowl of cornflakes on the table, Mum and Dad to either side, radio mumbling with traffic news, and my brother in full Lego Star Wars mode opposite me — all of this morning blabber competing for my attention. Although Quark is absolutely silent, my home is loud, hectic, chaotic — a full sensory overload. And I ‘woke’ because I smelt toast and coffee.
Now, what would I give for a taste of that toast and strawberry jam. I mean, I know my body will be having it soon — Mum just put a plate in front of me — but I won’t actually taste it; I won’t get to savour the melty-butteriness of the toast or the tangy, tart sweetness of the jam. So, no jam for real-Daisy. Add that to the (long) list of the things that are just so not fair! Because I have no access to my sense of taste, which is weird because I can most definitely smell it. And that makes it worse. I can see it, I can smell it, and, dimly at least, I can feel it being eaten, but, although I know just how good it tastes, I can’t actually taste it now.
But I couldn’t do this yesterday; I could smell nothing then. What did I have for dinner? Did I tell you? Could have been … pasta, maybe? Nope, can’t remember. And I definitely can’t remember having toast yesterday morning. So this is an ability I didn’t have yesterday.
Does it mean I’m coming back to myself? I certainly hope it doesn’t mean I’m becoming more Quark and less Daisy! I sense no more of him than before. He got as far as my door yesterday and he’s still in control, obviously, but no more than he was yesterday and maybe — just maybe — a little less.
Thinking about it, even the sleeping is weird because, technically, I’m not awake in the first place. But I guess Quark has to sleep, so at night when my body shuts down and everything’s still and quiet, I just drift away into the dark unknown. Although I think he is asleep and I need a bit of downtime too, this is when I need to be most alert. I must be careful; I need far less sleep now, so I get what I need when he’s asleep. Not just because of the danger to me, but also because, once I’ve napped, that’s when I can be the biggest threat to him.
If I’m not careful, whole days and nights drift by. I try to get a grip on the days Quark lives on my behalf, but sometimes I get only images — and they are seriously disturbing. I know I seem distant to Mum and Dad; that I’m not as close as usual to Amy and I’m somehow closer to Ellie and the Satellites — to the probable horror of Amy! And I’m pretty sure while Quark’s trying to kill me, he’s not killing my schoolwork in the way I usually do!
I’m constantly thrown off balance. I’m not seeing, and often am barely even aware of everything that’s going on. It’s like watching the reflection of someone else’s life in an old and warped mirror, or trying to watch a 3-D film on one of those ancient TVs that entire streets of people supposedly sat round to watch the Queen’s Coronation on. But I want to live myself, not be an observer of this pale imitation! I don’t want to see what happens in class, I want to be the one who answers the questions. I don’t want to hear what Amy says. I want to gossip with her about our lives. I don’t want to see one of Mum’s fantastic meals on the table in front of me, I want to taste it — and to talk to Mum, Dad, and even Luke, while we eat!
“Penny for your thoughts,” Mum says, breaking what must have been, for our family, quite a long silence. Normally all of us are talking at once, chatting about the day to come, what we saw on TV last night, what’s just been on the news or in the paper — in fact, about anything and everything. We’re normally a chatty, gossipy family, always debating stuff, none of us ever seeming to be short of something to say.
Not today, though. So — a penny? I’d give way more. In fact, I’d give everything I have, including my second-hand MacBook and Justin Bieber download collection (just joking!) to know what’s on my mind! To know what Quark’s thinking right now; what he’s planning. Who knows, maybe it’s nothing. He’s certainly not in a hurry to answer Mum.
An Englishwoman’s home is her castle, that’s what I thought. And here I am in my home, my castle, where I should be most secure. Where I should be safe from the panics. But there’s no comfort in these familiar surroundings. Instead, the atmosphere is tense and edgy in this warped version of reality. So even when Mum pulls my body into our usual early morning hug, even in the warmest and safest place in the entire world, I feel trapped, insecure, uncertain, afraid.
Outside of me, Quark continues to live my life and continues to act in a way I never would. I can’t help thinking wh
at he’s doing now sounds a lot like a deeeeep, moooooody and oh, so teenagery silence.
“Stop acting like a teenager, Daisy!” Dad thinks so too.
“I am a teenager!” he replies. Luke laughs and covers his mouth when Dad gives him a mock-stern look.
“Yes, but you don’t usually act like one. You’ve been playing up to the stereotype recently. It’s not like you and it doesn’t suit you.” Dad certainly has his stern, poker-face on this morning.
Inside I’m screaming: THAT’S BECAUSE I’M NOT ME!
“You okay?” Mum asks, her forehead crinkling into a frown as my parents take on the good cop/bad cop routine that I’m experienced enough to recognise immediately. It’s funny to see it from the outside. What’s not so amusing is the anxiety that’s behind my eyes too, back where I’m still stuck. How am ‘I’ going to get out of this?
“Yes, I am just hunky-dory, thank you for asking.” Quark is even starting to get the flippant tone. It’s like he is the one who is becoming, but not as he’d have hoped. For all the world, it sounds like he’s becoming a teenager!
But it’s like I’m living in my own shadow: since when did I say stuff like ‘hunky-dory’? Except, of course, it’s obvious when that happened.
“Daisy, this is so unlike you.” Mum’s unease is showing. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s come over you lately.”
I guess, from their point of view, I’m just acting teenagery. Higher up the scale than they’re used to from me — hence the hesitant mention of family therapy I overheard last night — but maybe not extreme enough for serious concern … yet.
My hard-earned goody-goody reputation is being slowly trashed, but Quark hasn’t blown his cover. Is that a good thing? Or would it be best for me if I really stood out from the crowd?
I can hear Mum and Dad, but I can’t really see them. My TV is a bit fuzzy. I’d like to think that’s due to Quark’s interference or because I need an upgrade. But I think it’s due to my weepiness. I can cry, even on the inside! I’m growing up and I know I’m not supposed to need Mum and Dad now, but I really miss them. You know what it’s like: when you’re practically fifteen, whether you’re a boy or a girl, you try to be big, strong and independent, but sometimes just knowing Mum and Dad (or your own particular significant grown-up) is there makes a massive difference. Right now I miss their common sense that I used to pretend to ignore, but would really, deep-down listen to. And I want the comfort that actually being with them brings me.
Daisy Jacobs Saves the World Page 10
