‘Stop it, stop it . . .’ I charged down the music-block corridor, like a two-hundred-metre runner pumped with steroids. All I wanted was to get that throbbing soundtrack out of my head. Five minutes before, my only emotion had been fear, but as soon as The Emperor started playing mind games involving my mum, it was more like seventy per cent fear and thirty per cent anger. I dived for the finishing line, bursting into the boys’ toilets and skidding to a halt in front of the urinals.
‘OK then,’ I said, surprised at how steady my voice sounded. ‘I’m here now. What do you want?’
And then someone killed the ‘music’.
After the ear-splitting silence that followed, I didn’t sound quite so confident. ‘Look, I don’t know who you are, but why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you and maybe . . . ’
And then the lights went out.
The last dollop of anger drained from my fingertips and I cowered in the darkness, arms raised in front of my face like a boxer on the ropes. ‘Please . . . Look, just tell what I’m supposed to have done . . . I didn’t mean to . . . If you don’t like me I can always change . . . Please, please, it’s really dark in here . . . ’
The solo game of Blind Man’s Buff continued for what seemed like an eternity until, as if in answer to my feverish prayers, the light flickered on again, and two seconds later I heard stifled giggles outside the door followed by the sound of galloping feet in the corridor.
I dashed outside, but it was too late. All I saw was the back of two school jackets disappearing into the stairwell. So much for facing my fears – I was drenched with sweat, my left eyeball wouldn’t stop quivering and I still didn’t have a clue who The Emperor was.
‘Are you all right, Samuel?’
‘What . . . You made me jump, Miss.’
Miss Hoolyhan was wearing some music department headphones round her neck. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘Did you see who they were, Miss?’
‘I haven’t seen a soul,’ she said. ‘I thought everyone was out on the field.’
‘But you must have heard that terrible noise.’
‘I’ve been doing my relaxation CD. Dead to the world, I’m afraid. Look, are you sure you’re all right, Sam? Your eyes look terribly —’
‘Hay fever, Miss.’
‘Listen, Sam, if there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m always here you know.’
I was that close to telling her. ‘I’m fine, Miss.’
‘Well all right then,’ she said reluctantly. ‘But before you go outside, I think you’d better pop into the loo and freshen up.’
‘Yes, Miss. Thanks, Miss.’
Perhaps Granddad and I had more in common than I thought. The first thing I did was fill the sink right to the top and dunk my head in it; funny how that always seemed to calm me down. But it didn’t last. After a minute or so (my record was sixty-eight seconds), I had to come up for air, and that’s when I saw the writing on the mirror.
There in blood red, just like The Emperor’s letter and the picture on the noticeboard, was the word: SUCKER.
I stared at it for a moment. Dad was always saying I should never let my emotions get the better of me, but something inside was about to snap.
11.13 a.m.
I burst out of the music block toilets and hit the ground running; along the corridor, down the stairs, out into the bucketing rain and across the courtyard, more furious with every soggy step, so that by the time I got to the canteen I was feeling about one per cent fear and ninety-nine per cent blind rage.
And there they all were – snouts deep in polystyrene cartons of pasta, stuffing their faces with Hula Hoops and washing it down with Capri Sun. A ripple of laughter passed around the canteen when they saw my half-drenched figure in the doorway.
‘Look,’ said Callum Corcoran. ‘Chickenboy’s wet himself.’
But I was so angry I didn’t even care. There was a stunned silence as I marched up to them and demanded, ‘Which one of you is it then? Don’t just sit there giggling like schoolgirls.’
‘Don’t you like girls or something?’ said Pete Hughes.
I squeezed harder on my blob of Blu-Tack and moved in for the kill. ‘Come on, I want to know. What’s the matter, you a bloody coward or something?’
The usual high-pitched ‘Oooh’ went up.
But I stood my ground. ‘I’m not leaving until I find out who you are. I mean it – so come on, which one of you is The Emperor?’
And it felt good, taking control for once. I sensed their panic. The nervous coughing and furtive glances which followed could mean only one thing: The Emperor was about to reveal himself.
There were quite a lot of things that irritated my dad, but one thing that really bugged him were those two-hour detective shows on ITV when it turned out that the one who’d ‘done it’ was an obscure relative of the victim, who hadn’t even appeared until the last five minutes. But this was real life, so I suppose I shouldn’t have been too surprised when it turned out to be the first person I’d thought of.
Callum Corcoran rose slowly, took a couple of steps towards me and grinned. ‘I’m The Emperor,’ he said.
It was completely illogical, but just knowing who hated me so much was such a relief.
But then Gaz Lulham stood up too. ‘I’m The Emperor,’ he said.
Followed by Chelsea: ‘I’m The Emperor.’
And Animal: ‘I’m The Emperor.’
And Pete Hughes: ‘I’m The Emperor.’
And a random selection of various other Year Eight jokers, until my head was exploding with their brutal laughter and I stumbled into the sheeting rain, running blindly until I came to the only place in the school where I knew I could be alone.
11.15 a.m.
The Millennium Pagoda was described in the school prospectus as ‘a purpose-built relaxation area for your child to chill out.’ So of course, no one went there. It didn’t help that it was halfway to the all-weather hockey pitches and looked like something out of a Pokémon movie.
Rain raced down the ornamental roof, forming a watery wall of death as it splattered onto the concrete below. I sat on the grey, wooden picnic bench with my head in my hands, shivering, confused, wondering if the nightmare would ever end.
All the fight had gone out of me. I didn’t even care if they saw me crying. Nothing made sense any more. For the first time in my life, I almost wished I was dead.
‘Sam, Sam, is that you?’
A red cagoule appeared out of the deluge. I recognised it instantly – it was the one that Pete Hughes had said looked like ‘a pregnant Father Christmas’ on the Year Seven field trip. It stepped into the Millennium Pagoda and sat down opposite me.
‘Are you OK, Sam? You look really tired.’
‘I’m fine, just a bit of . . . hay fever. And I haven’t been sleeping too well.’
Abby pulled back her hood. A shock of mousey hair tumbled onto her shoulders. ‘I saw what they did to you. Here, have another tissue.’
‘Thanks. This is getting to be a bit of a habit, isn’t it?’
When she smiled, I didn’t even notice the brace. All I saw were her sad brown eyes. ‘I know what it feels like, Sam. Hurts, doesn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’
Her soft, comforting voice was like one of those massage chairs they have in shopping malls. ‘We could talk, if it helps.’
‘I’m not sure if . . .’
‘I won’t tell anyone,’ she said, taking a small box from the front pouch of her cagoule. ‘I can keep a secret, you know. ’
‘It’s not that.’
She offered me the box. ‘Here, have one of these. And then you can tell me all about it.’
‘What are they?’
‘Turkish delight – my mum’s “fiancé” brought them back from his business trip.’
‘Thanks.’ It was soft and sticky and a little bit sickly, but it hit the spot. ‘Your mum’s getting married – isn’t that a bit weird?’
‘Tell me about it
.’
‘You don’t sound too pleased.’
‘There’s not a lot I can do about it, is there?’
She drummed on the tabletop with her delicate fingers. I got this silly urge to reach across and take her hand. Luckily I didn’t go through with it. ‘I like your nails.’
‘Never mind that, Sam, why don’t you tell me exactly what’s been happening?’
So I went right back to the beginning and told her everything, starting with my cyber-murder, right through to the final humiliation in the music block toilets and that unfortunate incident in the canteen. And I mean everything; Abby was such a good listener that I even threw in the bit about Mum and my imaginary girlfriend. She didn’t interrupt, just smiled in the bits where I tried to make it sound funnier than it really was and let me keep rabbiting on until the bitter end.
‘That’s awful, Sam. No wonder you feel so bad about yourself.’
‘It’s OK. Talking to you has actually made things a lot better. It’s really helped – thanks.’
The hint of a blush slid slowly down her face, like the final curtain. ‘That’s brilliant Sam, but . . .’ Her voice trailed off. She sucked in her cheeks to form two perfect dimples.
‘But what?’
‘It’s probably nothing.’
‘Come on, it’s not like my life can get any worse.’
‘Well,’ said Abby licking her lips, ‘did you see that horrible Chickenboyz website last night?’
‘Right now, I don’t ever want to go online again.’
‘I thought I might be able to work out who The Emperor was, but while I was on there I read something about the trip tomorrow.’
I’d been trying to forget about it. A sharp shiver fizzed up my backbone.
‘What did it say?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘Come on, Abby, what did it say?’
She slipped a cherry-red fingernail into her mouth and chewed nervously. ‘It’s probably nothing.’
‘Please, you’ve got to tell me.’
‘Well, it said . . . ’ She shook her head and hugged herself so tightly that her cagoule look like a straightjacket. ‘It said The Emperor was going to . . . kill you.’
‘It said what?’
‘You know what kids are like?’ she said, squeezing out of the picnic table. ‘They make out they’re going to do stuff, but they never go through with it.’
‘That’s exactly what my mum says.’
‘Does she now. ’
‘What am I going to do, Abby?’
She backed towards the curtain of rain. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t want to scare you even more. I just thought you ought to know. ’
‘I’m glad you told me.’
‘Look, I have to go. My trousers are soaking. If I don’t change out of them before my clarinet lesson it’ll bring on my asthma. You will be careful, won’t you, Sam? I’d hate for you to get hurt.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll be thinking about you.’
And then something magical happened. I wasn’t sure why, but somehow, just talking to Abby had made me stronger. She was about to brave the storm when an extraordinary idea popped into my head. I couldn’t believe I was about to say it. ‘Abby?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you like to go out with me sometime?’
She looked almost as surprised as I was. Her face erupted like an angry volcano and within nanoseconds it was almost indistinguishable from her cagoule. ‘Well, I . . .’
‘There’s that new LaserQuest at the leisure centre, or we could go to a movie or something.’
I felt like a contestant on a talent show during that agonising silence before the judges tell you if you’re going to boot camp. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when her look of sheer astonishment rearranged itself into a broad smile.
‘Why not? Might be fun.’
‘Is that a yes then?’
‘It’s a maybe, Sam. Let’s wait until . . .’ She waved, pulled on her hood and stepped haltingly into the rain.
I watched until she was just a tiny red blob in the distance, but I was so pleased with myself that, even before she’d got to the sports hall, I was itching to text Alex. It was only after I’d reached for my mobile that I realised just how futile it would be. It took two seconds for the old feelings of hopelessness to resurface.
But this time there was a huge difference. Ten minutes ago, I’d wanted to die; now what I really wanted was my old life back. Ten minutes ago, I’d been ready to lie down and surrender. Having a friend like Abby had given me the courage to stand up and fight.
I hadn’t a clue how I was going to do it. I was so petrified I could hardly breathe. The last time I’d got into a scrap was in the nursery sandpit – come to that I didn’t even know who I was fighting against – but I was ready for war.
What I needed now was a powerful ally. There was only person who could help me. I only hoped I hadn’t left it too late.
1.35 p.m.
‘It’s quite simple, Suzy. If x equals minus four, then the first factor will be zero. And if x equals two, the second factor will be zero. But – and this is crucial – if any factor is zero, then the entire product will be zero. OK?’
‘Thanks, Stephen. You explain it loads better than old Mendozey.’
Dimbo beamed at his Year Ten protégé. His smile did a runner the moment he saw me. ‘What do you want?’
‘Can I have a quick word please?’
‘Can’t you see that I’m busy?’
‘Please. Look I need your help, it’s urgent.’
‘Oh, you need my help now, do you? I thought you’d made it abundantly clear that my overtures of friendship were entirely unwanted.’
‘Please. I’m desperate.’
He sized me up like an equation. ‘All right, you’d better follow me . . . Any more questions, Suzy, just give me a shout.’
He led me over to the periodic table, took a Dairylea Dunker from behind his monitor and gestured me to sit down. ‘OK, Sam, what’s the problem?’
I handed him The Emperor’s letter. ‘Someone put this through our door on Monday night.’
He held it up to the light, sniffed at it like our neighbours’ fox terrier and snorted dismissively. ‘Bit melodramatic, don’t you think?’
‘Is it?’
His notebook was covered in hieroglyphics. He turned to a clean page and clicked the top of his ballpoint. ‘I think you’d better start talking.’
So I went right back to the beginning and told him everything, starting with my cyber-murder, right through to the final humiliation in the music block toilets and that unfortunate incident in the canteen – although this time I left out the bit about Mum and my imaginary girlfriend. Dimbo was such an impatient listener. Every five seconds, he asked me another totally irrelevant question – ‘Who’s your broadband provider?’ ‘Miss Hoolyhan was wearing headphones, you say?’ – and scribbled in his notebook. By the time I’d finished, I was starting to wonder if it was such a good idea.
Dimbo just looked bored. ‘Is that it?’
‘What?’
‘You said it was urgent.’
It felt like bad luck even to mention it. ‘There’s one more thing. It’s about the trip tomorrow.’
‘Oh yes.’
I whispered it into the palm of my hand. ‘The Emperor says he’s going to kill me.’
‘Does he now?’
‘Abby told me. She saw it on that website.’
‘Who, Brace Face, you mean?’
‘Don’t call her that, she’s really nice.’
He shrugged and mopped up his last morsel of Dairylea. ‘She’s a reasonably proficient clarinettist I suppose.’
‘Come on, Stephen, you’ve got to help me. What am I going to do?’
‘You can start by not panicking.’
‘That’s all very well for you.’
‘Oh, so you don’t remember Dead Dimbo Day then? “Kill Dimbo and raise m
oney for Comic Relief.” I suppose you laughed as loudly as the rest of them.’
‘Well . . . ’
‘I had to put up with threats every day, Sam, and most of the time that’s exactly what they are – just threats. You know what prepubescents are like.’
‘That’s what my mum says.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Dimbo twitched anxiously.
‘What did you say?’
It wasn’t half as explosive as Abby’s, but I felt sure he was blushing. ‘Nothing, I —’
‘How do you know my mum?’
He glanced surreptitiously around Club Nerd. ‘We met professionally . . . last Christmas.’
‘What about all that confidentiality stuff? How did you know she was my mum?’
‘Apart from the fact she’s called Dr Tennant, you mean?’ said Dimbo witheringly. ‘Little Harry Potter on her desk was a bit of a giveaway.’
‘But how . . . I mean why . . . What were you . . . ?’
‘Remember that time I was off school for a month?’
‘Not really. ’
‘I didn’t want to go back. Your mum showed me that being different wasn’t necessarily such a bad thing. She also taught me a couple of coping strategies. That’s why I’m going to help you.’
‘But how?’
‘We can start by examining the evidence.’
We slipped unnoticed into the music block and I took him on a guided tour. ‘There’s the speaker. I thought they were all wired up to the office.’
‘Wouldn’t be too difficult to override,’ said Dimbo, squinting down towards the store cupboard. ‘Once he’d done that he could operate his audio device from virtually anywhere. But he’d need someone to tip him the wink, so I’d say we’re definitely dealing with two of them.’
‘I’ve already told you about Ollyg78.’
‘That could just have been a cover. Now let’s have a look in here.’
My heart picked up speed as I pushed open the door and sniffed the air freshener. It was exactly as I’d left it – washbasin still half full and SUCKER inscribed on the mirror in big red letters. ‘What are you doing?’
comin 2 gt u Page 8
