‘Okay,’ I said. I could hear the desperation in my voice. ‘I won it doing a trick . . . in a talent competition.’
Ketty screwed up her forehead. ‘What sort of trick? Like that stupid twig-moving thing you tried to show me a couple of weeks ago?’
‘No . . .’ I cast around for something . . . anything that would sound convincing. Stick as close to the truth as you can. ‘It was a trick, er . . . using balls.’
Ketty shook her head. ‘Nico . . . I’ve known you for months . . . you can’t do any tricks – with or without balls.’
The panic in my chest spread like fire. Breathe. Breathe.
‘I can,’ I said. ‘I mean, it wasn’t a magic trick or anything . . .’
Ketty put her hand on her hips. ‘Tell me, specifically, what you did then.’
My mind spun. I lighted on the only trick-related activity I could think of involving balls. ‘Juggling,’ I said.
‘Really? You can juggle?’ Ketty frowned. ‘Well enough to win a talent contest?’
‘Yeah, I juggled with seven balls.’ The claim blurted out of my mouth before I could stop it.
Ketty raised an eyebrow. ‘Show me.’
Oh God. Oh God.
‘I’ll show you later,’ I said, frantically trying to buy myself some time.
‘Right.’ Ketty looked away, her face a picture of disbelief.
We stood in an awkward silence.
Shit. This was so not how I’d imagined this moment. Ketty was supposed to look up at me with big, grateful eyes and I was supposed to put my arms around her and . . .
‘I don’t think I should take your money,’ Ketty said, stiffly. ‘Seeing as you’ve now given me three versions of how you got it.’ She held the two hundred pounds and the entry form out to me. ‘Here.’
‘I’m not lying to you about the juggling, I promise.’ I remembered what Jack had said to me after the football match. ‘If you can’t use the money then give it to charity,’ I said.
‘I don’t know.’ Ketty hesitated. ‘I really want to run in that marathon but . . . do you promise you didn’t steal it?’
‘Yes.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘I told you . . . I won a talent competition by juggling with seven balls. I’ll show you . . . we’ll go out on Saturday night. Yeah?’
Crap. Crap. Crap.
What had I said ‘Saturday night’ for? That was far too soon.
‘Okay.’ Ketty bit her lip. ‘But I won’t need all of it.’ She handed me back fifty pounds. I had no choice but to take it. She pocketed the entry confirmation and the rest of the cash. ‘Thank you.’ She stared up at me.
Oh God, that wasn’t how I wanted her to look at me. Her eyes were all wary and suspicious.
‘Ketty?’
‘I’ve got to get to Art.’ Ketty tucked her hair behind her ears, all self-conscious. ‘Er . . . thanks again . . . see you later . . .’
She turned and walked away. I sagged against the wall. watching her go and feeling like crying.
What had I done? I’d given Ketty all that money but, if anything, she seemed to like me less than she’d done before. Plus, even though she wasn’t with Billy, I couldn’t tell her how I felt myself. Not yet. First I had to prove to her that what I’d said about doing tricks was true. Proving my honesty and impressing her with my skills was obviously far more important than spending a load of money on her.
Which meant – and how had this happened? – learning to juggle with seven balls.
By Saturday night.
The entrance hall was empty – all the teachers and pupils at their next class. Mr Rogerson, our maths teacher scuttled past, his arms full of textbooks.
‘Shouldn’t you be in a lesson, Nico?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘On my way, sir.’ I pushed myself up off the wall and headed along the corridor towards my history class. Fergus was already in there when I arrived though the class hadn’t technically started. He raised an eyebrow at me, but didn’t say anything.
It was the day after I’d given Ketty the money for the Youth Marathon. She’d barely spoken to me since and I was going quietly mad with frustration.
I’d quickly realised how insane my ambition to learn to juggle seven balls in four days had been. But at least I could use telekinesis to help. I’d been practising like mad ever since, unable to concentrate on anything else, though I’d still only managed to keep four balls in the air so far.
Fergus made some announcement about a new boy who had started at Fox Academy that day. All the usual stuff . . . please make him feel welcome . . . blah, blah, like head teachers do. I drifted off after a few seconds. It was the same during science and then maths. In fact, the only thing – apart from Ketty – that I noticed in the whole of my maths class was that Mr Rogerson’s hair seemed to have slid slightly to one side.
‘D’you think he’s wearing a wig?’ Tom whispered in my ear.
I grinned. ‘I dare you to go up to him and pull it off.’
Tom grinned back. ‘After you.’ He glanced at the front of the classroom, where Mr Rogerson was busily writing an equation on the whiteboard. ‘Hey, you said you’d show me a picture of your fit new girlfriend.’
I frowned for a second before I realised he must be talking about Dylan.
‘Yeah, next time I see her,’ I whispered.
‘You’re making her up.’
‘I’m no—’
‘Another whisper and you’ll both be in detention.’ Mr Rogerson’s clipped tones temporarily ended our conversation, but Tom didn’t let the subject of Dylan drop. In fact, he was still teasing me during lunch break. In the end I headed up to Fergus’s flat to get away from him. I used to live here, but last year I told Fergus I’d rather be in the dorms with everyone else. I still had a bedroom, though, and keys.
I let myself in and sat on the sofa. There was a bowl of apples on the table and I spent a few minutes attempting to juggle five of them using telekinesis. I could still only manage four.
Disgruntled, I put the apples back in the bowl and looked round. I hadn’t been in here for weeks, but the flat was as tidy as ever. Fergus’s timetable was clipped neatly to the fridge door, along with a picture of me and Mum from when I was about three.
I wandered over to take a closer look. Mum was smiling in the photo. What would she say if she knew about me and Ketty? I sighed. Chances were, that if she were alive, I probably wouldn’t tell her. Most boys I knew didn’t seem to talk to their mums about girl stuff.
The timetable showed that the whole of Fergus’s lunch hour today was taken up with a staff meeting. Jack’s instruction to look for information about the fourth teen with the Medusa gene suddenly popped into my head. Well, I might as well see what I could find while there was no danger of Fergus interrupting me. I could have another go at the juggling in a minute.
I scanned the bookshelves, then spent a few minutes investigating a cupboard that contained a load of private bank and tax info. Nothing remotely to do with the Medusa gene. I had a quick look round in Fergus’s bedroom, but there was clearly nothing in here apart from clothes and a few old car magazines.
Maybe all the really important stuff was in his office. I headed out of the flat and past the boys’ dormitories. I’d just reached the back staircase that led down to the ground floor when I heard a muffled cry coming from the storeroom at the top of the stairs. I paused. The light was on inside the room – a glowing strip at the bottom of the door.
The cry came again – like an animal in pain. I threw open the storeroom door. The two people inside both jumped – Billy Martin and a boy I didn’t know. Billy’s face was vicious – screwed up with anger. The other boy looked terrified. Billy’s hands dropped to his side and I realised that the other boy was holding his belly, like he’d just been punched.
‘What’s going on?’ I said.
Billy swore. ‘This loser just started in my Spanish class and he speaks and writes it perfectly.’
I looked at the other boy. He had thick, sand-co
loured hair and blue eyes. He was tall, too. Taller than either me or Billy. But there was something gentle about him. Something just asking to be picked on.
‘So you’re beating him up because he’s better than you at Spanish?’ I narrowed my eyes. ‘Or are you just annoyed’cos Ketty dumped you?’
‘She didn’t dump me,’ Billy snorted. ‘I didn’t want to go out with her – all she ever does is go running. And she’s butters.’
‘Don’t call her that,’ I spat, fury boiling up in my chest.
‘Er . . . I think I’m going to go,’ said the new boy.
‘No.’ Billy put out his arm to stop the boy walking past. The boy flinched. I gritted my teeth. The truth was I didn’t particularly care about this new boy – but I was itching to punch Billy. What had Ketty seen in him?
I pointed at the new boy. ‘So what’s he done to you then, Billy?’
‘I asked him really nicely to do my homework for me . . .’ Billy clenched his fists. ‘But the tosser said no.’
I glanced at the new boy. He must be the one Fergus had mentioned in history, earlier. He was standing perfectly still, his head bowed, like he was waiting for me and Billy to decide his fate.
I looked back at Billy. ‘He shouldn’t have to do your homework,’ I said, my hands curling into fists. ‘In fact, I’m telling you now, he’s not doing it ever.’
‘Or what?’ Billy squared up to me.
I glanced round the storeroom, searching for a weapon. There was a mop in the far corner. Maybe I could make that fly towards me. I caught the new boy’s eye. He frowned at me, as if he could see I was planning to grab a weapon – and didn’t approve.
‘Or what?’ Billy said more loudly.
‘Or this.’ I shoved him in the chest. Billy stumbled back a step, then lunged forwards. I darted out of the way, grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.
‘Leave him alone, or I swear I’ll make you sorry.’ I wrenched at Billy’s arm.
‘Ow! Stop . . . you’re hurting me!’
‘I’m not hearing you promise you’ll leave him alone . . .’ I twisted Billy’s arm further up his back.
That’s for saying Ketty’s ugly.
‘Okay, okay, I promise.’
I released Billy’s arm. He rubbed it, then stormed out of the storeroom. Panting, I looked over at the new guy.
He was still staring at me. ‘Thank you,’ he said, his face breaking into an eager smile. ‘Thank you . . . thank you . . .’
‘I’m Nico,’ I said, mostly to stop him from gushing on.
‘Edward.’ He held out his hand.
I shook it – just for a second. It felt a bit awkward . . . I wasn’t used to boys my own age being this formal.
‘So, did you start here today?’
‘Yeah, my parents thought I’d be . . . better off at a boarding school.’
I grimaced in sympathy. From what I’d seen of Edward so far, he wouldn’t be better off anywhere this side of a home school. What with his gentle, geeky air and his eager-to-please face, he might as well have Beat Me Up stamped across his forehead.
‘You’re Mr Fox’s stepson, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘How d’you know that?’
‘He told me about you earlier.’ Edward paused. For a second he looked alarmed, like maybe he’d said too much. Then he burbled on. ‘Anyway, I know I said my name was Edward but most people actually call me Ed . . . My brother calls me ENOB. That’s from my initials. My full name’s Edward Neill O’Brien. Anyway . . .’
‘Edward O’Brien?’Where had I heard that name before?
‘Thanks for what you did, Nico.’ Ed was now walking hurriedly past me, chattering on at high speed. ‘I owe you but I ought to get back to the dorm . . . check where my next class is.’
He scurried off. I followed more slowly, the memory of where I’d heard Ed’s name before still niggling away at the back of my brain, just out of reach.
I tried, for a minute, to work out what it was. But then I reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Ketty in the distance – and all I could think about was my Saturday night problem again.
Friday. Another dull history class with Fergus. I was certain, now, that Ketty was avoiding me. We normally talked at the end of school, before she went running, but yesterday she’d rushed off to get changed without a word. That was Thursday – late-night shopping – so, to cheer myself up, I sneaked out of school and got the bus to Hanmore Park. It’s the nearest town to school, with plenty of phone shops on the High Street. Tom and Curtis agreed to cover for me if Fergus asked where I was. In the end I was out of school for about an hour and a half altogether. Risky, but worth it. I bought myself a great new phone with the money Ketty hadn’t wanted.
Since then I’d spent my entire time attempting to achieve my ludicrous juggling ambitions. I could now keep six objects in the air at any one time, though only for a few seconds. I’d stopped practising with balls – tennis balls were too big to manoeuvre and I couldn’t find any smaller ones. Anyway, using different objects looked cool. The whole thing was cool actually. I loved watching the objects zoom around each other. However, I was only too aware that making stuff move on my own was one thing and doing it in front of other people, especially Ketty, was something else.
I’d spent most of the lesson so far with my new phone under my desk, looking online for tips on normal juggling that I could adapt to fit my own, telekinetic version.
Fergus asked Ketty a question. I looked up. She was a few seats over. Her hair was loose today, resting on her shoulders. I got the distinct impression she was using it like a veil . . . hiding from me. But maybe I was being paranoid.
Ketty answered Fergus’s question, then looked round. She caught my eye and smiled.
My confidence surged. It was going to be okay. Ketty might have been a bit withdrawn the past few days, but we were still friends – I just needed to make her believe that I won that stupid juggling competition. I decided to catch her after class and make some definite plan about Saturday. I turned back to my mobile.
‘Nico?’ Fergus’s exasperated voice cut through my exploration of juggling4dummies.com.
I glanced up. The whole class was looking at me.
‘At last,’ Fergus said. ‘Am I interrupting something?’
‘No, sir.’ I slid my phone into my trouser pocket.
‘Then perhaps you can tell me which highly important historical document we’ve been discussing?’ There was a sardonic edge to Fergus’s voice. He only used it on me – and maybe a small handful of genuine school troublemakers.
I glanced at the textbook on my desk, desperately hoping the open page would give me a clue. But all I could see was a map.
‘Er . . .’ I looked round the class, hoping for help or inspiration.
Ketty was mouthing something at me, but too fast for me to follow what she was saying. Billy was smirking in the back left corner. Lola and Lauren were sitting on either side of him, both looking anxious.
And then I caught sight of Ed. He was up at the front, his thick, sandy hair all tousled up – making him look even geekier than when I’d found him in the storeroom. But the eager-to-please smile was gone. Instead, he was frowning in my direction – his blue eyes intense.
‘Stand up, Nico,’ Fergus barked.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
I stood, my eyes still drawn to Ed’s.
‘Right, if you can’t tell me what we’ve been discussing, I’d like you to empty out your pockets,’ Fergus went on. ‘Then maybe we’ll discover what’s so distracting that you appear to have failed to follow the past fifteen minutes’ discussion.’
No. My thoughts careered ahead of me. If Fergus found my phone, not only would it be confiscated but he would want to know where I’d got the money to buy it. How was I going to explain that?
‘Nico?’ Fergus repeated. I shook my head. It wasn’t fair. Fergus would never ask an ordinary student to turn out their pockets. As usual, he was picking on me.
&n
bsp; Ed was still staring in my direction. All of a sudden, his gaze shifted and he made direct eye contact. I knew only a few seconds had passed but suddenly it felt like time had vanished. That everyone had disappeared apart from him. And then I heard his voice in my head.
Say this: Sorry, sir. We’ve been discussing the Magna Carta, sir.
I opened my mouth and said the words. As I spoke I knew that Ed was inside my mind, telling me what to say.
Like, I was present. And yet, not present.
It was, without doubt, one of the freakiest experiences of my life.
Fergus frowned.
‘And the Magna Carta is?’ He folded his arms, and stared at the floor, clearly expecting me to crumble.
I stood, my heart racing. Ed’s voice sounded in my head again, but I was panicking so much I could barely follow what he was saying.
Calm down, Nico.
I blinked.
Just listen, Ed’s voice went on. The Magna Carta was an English charter, issued in 1215, which limited the powers of the king and which has been used as the basis for constitutions around the world. Many of our rights and freedoms come from that one document. That’s what we were discussing. How an ancient piece of writing still affects our lives today.
As he spoke, I repeated the words. I knew I wasn’t saying them in the way I normally spoke, but there wasn’t time to personalise them. It was my voice, but it was, undoubtedly, Ed speaking.
‘Very well, Nico.’ Fergus looked up at me, sounding puzzled. ‘You may sit down.’
As Fergus looked up, Ed looked away. His presence inside by head vanished completely. I sat down, shaken. For a few seconds I was unable to take in what had happened. And then the bell rang for the end of class and everything fell into place.
Edward O’Brien was the name of the boy with the Medusa gene that Jack had told me about – the one who hadn’t wanted Jack’s help all those months ago. Jack had been convinced Fergus would know about the boy and he was obviously right.
Ed had psychic powers, just like me and Dylan – except, in his case, the Medusa gene had clearly given him the ability to read minds . . . and to communicate without speaking.
The Medusa Project: The Set-Up Page 5
