All the Things That Could Go Wrong

by Stewart Foster

  We run across the yard to the fence. I feed my oar between the gap, then take Dan’s and do the same. Dan turns away. I grab his arm and pull him back.

  ‘It’s too risky; we don’t need the pirate.’

  ‘I know we don’t.’ Dan pulls his arm away.

  ‘So where are you going?’

  ‘I want a giraffe!’

  I open my mouth to tell him no, but he’s already running towards the warehouse. The trucks engine revs. Dan grabs the giraffe, then races back across the yard with it under his arm.

  ‘Oi, what do you think you’re up to!’

  The men in blue overalls run after Dan.

  ‘Go!’ Dan shouts. ‘Go!’

  I slide through the gap in the fence and scramble around for the oars. Dan follows me with the giraffe.

  ‘Come on!’

  I pick up an oar in each hand and drag them as we run along the side of the fence. My heart is beating so fast that I don’t look behind or even worry about where I’m going.

  Dan’s giggling behind me.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘I don’t think they’re coming.’

  I start to laugh too. I can’t help it. Dan looks really funny running with a giraffe under his arm.

  We stop and get our breath back when we reach the car park.

  ‘You did great,’ Dan puffs.

  I gulp for air. I don’t know if I did great, and stealing definitely isn’t great, but I do know that the last ten minutes were so exciting and scary that all my bad thoughts had disappeared.

  A car turns into the car park. Me and Dan pick up the oars and the giraffe and start walking again, but the giraffe is so tall it keeps slipping from Dan’s arms.

  ‘Maybe we should leave it behind,’ I say.

  ‘No, Jeff’s my friend.’ Dan stops and puts his arm round the giraffe’s neck.

  ‘How do you know its name?’

  ‘I didn’t, but that’s what he’s called now.’

  ‘You’re weird.’

  ‘I’m weird?!’ Dan raises his eyebrows.

  I laugh as we walk out of the car park and past the chip shop. People stop and stare at us as we walk along the seafront. I’m used to people looking at me because they think I’m weird, but never because I’m walking with a giraffe.

  Dan: Sunday. Launching the Star

  ‘It’s okay,’ I whisper. ‘He said we could borrow it.’

  ‘I don’t know, it feels like stealing.’

  ‘We’re not, we’re borrowing.’

  ‘Then why are we whispering?’

  ‘Umm … I don’t know. Come on, just pick it up.’

  Me and Shark Face are in a cave six along from Mr Kendall’s getting a dinghy trailer to move Shooting Star. Ben said the man who owns it said we could borrow it, but that was last year. I think he might be ill or moved away because I haven’t seen him for yonks and the locks on his cave doors have been broken for ages.

  I bend down and pick up the front of the trailer. Shark Face shakes his head like he’s still not sure.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘We’ll bring it straight back.’

  ‘Okay.’ Shark Face picks up the other side and we pull the trailer out of the cave like two horses pulling a cart. I can’t stop myself smiling as we walk along the seafront. Apart from the pirate flag, Shooting Star is ready for her trial run. After we got back from the warehouse yesterday, me and Shark Face cut the oars in half and made them into paddles and this morning we fixed the big buoys underneath Shooting Star. Shark Face kept asking me if I was sure that’s where they should go. I said we’d followed Ben’s instructions all the way through so we shouldn’t stop now.

  We reach our cave entrance and reverse the trailer in. I go one side of Shooting Star and Shark Face goes the other. I get ready to lift but he’s just standing looking at me.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I said we’d take the trailer back.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ he says. ‘I just think …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think we should wait for Ben.’

  I look at Shooting Star.’

  ‘But we’ve got the trailer now.’

  ‘I know, but I’ve been wondering about it for ages.’

  ‘I thought you were as excited as me.’

  ‘I was, I am,’ says Shark Face. ‘But he drew the plan, and it was both your idea. He should be the first one on it with you.’

  Shark Face is right and from the look on his face, he knows he is. I know I should wait but I want her to be perfect for Ben. I want to be certain she floats. It would be horrible if after all this time we take her down to the water together and a wave smashes her to pieces before we even get on. But it would be more exciting with him.

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘You’re right.’

  Shark Face looks relieved.

  I walk out of the cave and look at the sea. I’ve waited three months. I can wait another one.

  I look along towards the pier. A man and a boy are carrying a raft down the slipway onto the beach. Its base blanks are so thin they bend in the middle.

  ‘Hey, Shark Face,’ I say. ‘Come and watch this.’ He stands beside me and I point at the raft.

  ‘If a wave hits it, it’ll snap in half.’

  Shark Face smiles. ‘It might be okay,’ he says.

  The man and the boy put the raft on the sea and push it out through the waves.

  ‘It’s nowhere near as good as Shooting Star,’ I say. ‘Theirs hasn’t got any seats.’

  ‘Or a giraffe,’ says Shark Face.

  I laugh. ‘Jeff’s way better than a pirate.’

  Shark Face laughs. ‘Yeah, he is!’

  We walk along the seafront to get a closer look. The boy climbs on the raft, then slides straight off the other side. We won’t do that on Shooting Star. She’s big enough and sturdy enough that when we put her in the water she’ll sail above the waves. Ben will love her.

  I turn round and look at Shark Face. ‘You were right,’ I say.

  ‘Thanks,’ he grins. ‘I’m not just an interpreter.’

  I laugh and suddenly I remember that we’ve got to go back to school tomorrow and I won’t be able to laugh at the things he does then. I put my fist up in front of me and dance round in front of Shark Face.

  ‘Pow, Pow!’ I bob and weave. ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Have you been practising?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not, Shark Face?’

  Shark Face sighs.

  ‘What’s wrong? We agreed.’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘What is it then, Shark Face?’

  Shark Face scrunches his face like I’ve already hit him. ‘Do you have to keep calling me that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shark Face.’

  ‘But it’s your name.’

  ‘It’s not. My name’s Alex.’ He looks at me like he means it. I lower my hands. I hadn’t even thought about it. I just say it. I think of saying sorry, but I’d have to say it a thousand times to take all the Shark Faces back.

  I hold up my fist. ‘So … have you been practising, A-L-E-X?’

  Alex shakes his head and laughs.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. It just sounds weird when you say it.’

  ‘Oh, shall I go back to Shark Face then?’

  ‘No!’

  I laugh as he holds up his skinny arms. He throws a punch. I dodge it.

  ‘You have to keep still,’ he says.

  ‘What? No, Sophie will smell a rat right away.’

  I dance in front of him again, Shark Face tries to do the same but he looks like more like C-3PO without even trying. I dodge one punch, then another and he dodges mine.

  ‘You’re getting better Sh— Alex. No one will come near you after this!’ He draws his fist back ready to hit me, then suddenly looks up at the sky.

  I hear a splatting sound.

  ‘Arghhhhhhhhhhhh! No!!!!!!’

  There’s bird poo splatted on the pavement all around us.
Alex’s face is frozen and his body is stiff like he’s just been struck by lightning.

  ‘Did it get me?’ he asks. ‘Did it get me?’ He jaw is clenched tight. ‘Did it? Did it?’ He looks over his shoulder and spins round like a dog chasing its tail. I start to laugh, but Alex looks so worried I immediately stop. ‘Tell me!’ His voice is squeaky with panic. ‘Did it get my back?’

  ‘Stand still,’ I say, ‘and I’ll look.’ His hoodie has got white bird poo on the shoulder and there’s a line of it trailing down his back. ‘It’s not much,’ I say.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘This much.’ I stretch my thumb and index finger as far as they’ll go even though it’s really three times as much as that.

  ‘It’s only bird poo,’ I say. ‘My nan says it brings good luck.’

  ‘Good luck? No! It’s bad. Really bad. Aaaargh!’ Alex scrunches his face up like he can smell it. I don’t know why he’s so upset. It’s just bird poo.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘We’ll get some tissues and water from Mr Kendall and wash it off.’

  Alex arches his back. ‘No, we can’t touch it. Oh no! I knew it! I knew it. I should have stayed in the cave.’ His voice cracks like he’s going to cry.

  I look at the stain. It’s only a bit of bird poo, but Alex is going mad.

  ‘Stop panicking,’ I say. ‘Are you allergic to bird poo or something? Like some people are allergic to nuts?’

  ‘No! That’s not funny!’ he snaps in a panic. ‘Just help me take it off.’ He holds on to the cuffs of his hoodie and pulls his arms inwards so that he looks like he’s got no arms.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Alex shuffles a bit closer. ‘Just pull the sleeves and I’ll put my arms up and push the collar over my head.’

  I rest Jeff against the railings, then Alex leans forward and we pull the hoodie off over his head. ‘Is that better?’

  He brushes his hair out of his eyes. I go to hand him his hoodie, but he jerks away quickly like I’m holding a bomb.

  ‘I don’t want it,’ he says. ‘I just want to go back to the cave.’

  ‘But what shall I do with it?’

  ‘Throw it in the bin.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just throw it in the bin, and DON’T touch the bird poo … You haven’t, have you?’

  ‘No … But what will your mum say? Mine would go crazy.’

  ‘I’ll tell her I lost it. You didn’t touch it, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Yes, I only touched the sleeves.’ I go to tell him he can’t just leave it here, but he’s already headed back to the cave, taking his giant strides. He looks even weirder when he’s going twice the speed.

  I run after him. He’s got a worried look on his face like he gets at school. I try to talk and keep up at the same time.

  ‘Alex,’ I say, ‘slow down. What’s wrong? It’s just bird poo. I haven’t touched it.’

  He doesn’t answer.

  He’s weird about cleaning his hands all the time, but just a little bit of bird poo has turned him crazy. I hold his hoodie in front of me. There’s a white line across the back, but it’s not wet and doesn’t have any yellow or green bits in it like bird poo does. It’s not bird poo … it’s chalk! He must have got it on him when we climbed over the wall.

  ‘Alex!’ I shout. ‘It’s not bird poo!’ I get ready to shout again, but he’s walking away faster than I can run.

  Alex: Something’s burning

  I feel a tingle in the middle of my back. The bird poo has gone through my hoodie on to my T-shirt. I want to pull it away to stop it seeping through to my skin, but I can’t touch it, not even with my gloves on.

  The cave is cool when I get there, but sweat is pouring down my neck. I try to take deep breaths and calm down, but my thoughts are crashing round and round in my head like waves. I need to write them down. I have to write them down.

  My worries.

  I need a pen and paper. I look around the cave, but all I can find is a pencil and Ben’s drawing of Shooting Star. I walk over to the blackboard where the drawing is pinned.

  The bird poo is on my skin, burning, spreading over my ribs and spine and into my bloodstream.

  I pick up a piece of chalk and start writing as fast as I can on the board.

  My Worry List

  1. Everyone is going to die.

  2. I’m going to die. The bird poo has burned through my hoodie onto my skin and it’s in my blood and spreading through my body. I need to wash if off. I need to get it out of my body. I could run in the sea.

  3. The sea is full of germs. I’ve seen them washed up on the beach, brown froth and seaweed and old plastic bags. I have to stay in the cave.

  4. The cave is going to collapse and trucks will fall in on top of me.

  5. I’ll suffocate and die under the cement and no one will find me. But Dan knows where I am.

  6. Dan’s going to die too. He touched my hoody, he touched the bird poo. I know he did. It’s burning through his skin too.

  I pause to catch my breath. My heartbeat begins to slow. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. I look at the chalk.

  This chalk is filthy. It’s been on the floor with rats.

  I’ve got to throw the chalk away, but I need to finish my list. Aaaaaargh!!!!

  I start writing again.

  Dan: All the things in Alex’s head

  ‘What are you doing? Alex!’

  Alex jumps. A piece of chalk falls onto the floor. He looks at me, then back at the board.

  ‘You’re not supposed … nobody is supposed to— Argh! No!’ He puts his hands up to his head and turns away.

  I try to read what he’s written, but it’s so scrawly. I can only make out a few words.

  My Worry List. Everybody is going to die. I’m going to die … something, something. The cave is going to … something, something … trucks, cement. Dan’s going to die too … burning through his skin … The pier is going to … I’m … at school.

  I don’t understand. What is this?

  ‘Alex,’ I say quietly. ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘I can’t … You shouldn’t …’ He turns round. His eyes are shining like he’s going to cry. ‘Please don’t tell anyone.’

  ‘I won’t.’ I read the board again. Everyone is going to die. I’m going to die. It’s like he’s written a horror movie. I shake my head. How can I tell anyone about it when I don’t even know what it is?

  My Worry List. I read it again. My Worry List.

  Alex walks past me and takes his bag off the hook.

  ‘Wait,’ I say. ‘Are those things in your head?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says quietly.

  I blow out my cheeks. ‘That’s a lot of things.’

  ‘I’ve got a lot of worries.’

  ‘Wow! That’s crazy. No wonder you’re good at writing stories.’

  Alex sits down on a bucket. It’s like writing down all his worries has worn him out.

  I don’t know what to say to him now because it must be horrible worrying about things like that all the time. When he screws his face up at school, I just thought it was because he didn’t like things touching him, but this list is way worse than that.

  Alex looks over his shoulder at his back.

  ‘There’s nothing there,’ I say. ‘I’m not sure it’s even bird poo.’

  Alex scrunches his face when I say bird poo.

  ‘I want to go home,’ he says. ‘Can you text your mum?’

  ‘But there’s nothing there.’

  ‘I just want to go home, now. Can you just text your mum so she’ll tell mine?’

  There’s no use in talking to him. It’s like even if I swore on the Bible he’d still think there was some on his back. I wish I could help him.

  I look back at his list and read all the things he’s written again. I can’t stop people dying, or the trucks crashing into the cave. And I can’t stop Alex from thinking the bird poo is b
urning through both our skins. But I can do something about the last thing on his list.

  ‘Alex.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Why are you still worried about school tomorrow? I told you it’ll be okay.’

  ‘Please, just text your mum?’

  ‘Okay, but do you believe me?’

  Alex shrugs.

  ‘I don’t know. That thought’s not just in my head. It’s real.’

  Alex: Don’t blame me … I’m just weird!

  Dan takes his phone out of his pocket and texts his mum. I don’t know what he texts, but two minutes later his phone buzzes and he tells me that my mum is on her way down. Then he sits on his bucket and starts talking to me about the Albion, The Force Awakens, how we can take Shooting Star out the first day that Ben comes home. I know what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to take my mind off the thing that’s burning through my clothes on to my skin.

  I felt horrible when he saw my list. It’s like someone had taken the lid off my head and found out all my secrets inside. I thought he’d laugh and spread it all round the school on Monday, but I don’t think he’s going to do that because he really looked like he cared. He’s still talking now, even though I’m not really listening. I just want Mum to hurry up and get here.

  Dan stands up in front of me. ‘Tell me what you think. I’ve been practising.’

  ‘Practising what?’

  He makes his body go stiff and puts on a funny voice.

  ‘Don’t blame me. I’m an interpreter. I’m not supposed to know a power socket from a computer terminal.’

  I laugh. ‘That’s rubbish,’ I say. ‘That just sounds like you’re talking into a tin can.’

  Dan smiles. ‘I thought it was good.’

  I stand up. ‘It’s like this. “Don’t blame me. I’m an interpreter. I’m not supposed to know a power socket from a computer terminal.” ’

  Dan laughs. ‘Do Yoda again.’

  I put my hands out like an old lady resting on a walking stick. ‘Judge me by my size, do you?’

  Dan shakes his head. ‘It’s great. You’ve got to do that at school.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Maybe not tomorrow,’ he says. ‘But after–’

  Dan’s phone buzzes. He reads out the message. ‘Your mum is with mine. They’re waiting by the pier.’

  I walk over and pick my bag off the hook.

  ‘Wait,’ he says. ‘We can’t leave Shooting Star out there on the trailer.’