‘RAAAAAARGH!’
A giant bear suddenly leapt out at me from behind the door, its eyes bugging wildly out of its head as it waved a set of razor-sharp claws. I screamed and flung myself sideways into a stack of books, sending them crashing down on top of me. I glanced up in terror, expecting to see a ravenous bear standing over me. Instead I saw a woman in her thirties. She was wearing a pair of giant fake bear paws on her hands, and held a fake bear head under her arm. She glared at me disapprovingly.
‘Abysmal,’ she said. ‘If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: never enter a room without checking the vital points. Bears love nothing more than hiding behind a closed door, waiting for a careless child to wander inside.’ She turned to the class. ‘Who else can name me some vital points?’
The children’s hands shot up.
‘Wardrobes!’ said one.
‘Behind sofas!’ said another.
‘Inside fridges and under large rugs!’
The woman nodded. ‘Not bad. As for you,’ she said, pointing at me with an outstretched claw, ‘you should know better. Walking into a room without checking behind the door! Where do you think we are – Skirting? Get up this instant!’
I scrambled to free myself from under the pile of books. ‘Sorry, I …’
‘And what’s this?’ she said, rapping her claws against my helmet. ‘Cycling to school? When a Storm Warning 5 has just been announced across the valleys? Unbelievable!’
‘No, it’s not …’ I attempted.
‘Clearly,’ she boomed over me, ‘this child does not have a single clue about safety, or the Storm Laws either! Do you want to end up in the County Detention Centre, young man? How many months have you even been in this class, er … whatever your name is?’
‘I … er … none,’ I whimpered. ‘I’m Owen Underwood. I just moved here. This is my first day.’
The woman blinked. She cleared her throat.
‘Ah,’ she muttered awkwardly. ‘Yes. Owen Underwood. Of course.’
She quickly removed the giant paws and dropped them onto her desk.
‘Welcome, Owen,’ she said brightly, as if nothing had happened. ‘I’m Miss Pewlish, your new class teacher and School Safety Officer. You’re very lucky to join us for these last few weeks before the holidays – we’re due to perform a play for Barrow history day!’
Miss Pewlish shoved a script into my hands and wheeled me towards the rest of the class, who were still staring at me.
‘Don’t be shy!’ she bellowed. ‘Introduce yourself!’
I looked at the rows of children in front of me. My throat dried.
‘Er … hello,’ I said. ‘My name is Owen Underwood. My parents and I just moved here yesterday, after the valleys went under SW5. They figured where we were living wasn’t safe enough any more.’ I gulped. ‘We’re originally from, er … Skirting, actually.’
I knew immediately that I shouldn’t have said it. There was a dark mutter across the class. The children glanced at each other.
‘Skirting,’ said Miss Pewlish, unable to hide a note of disdain in her voice. ‘Well, no wonder you don’t know a thing about the Storm Laws! How nice to have a child from somewhere so, er … different.’
She glanced at the top of my head. She tried to think of a delicate way to word her question, and then gave up entirely.
‘And why are you wearing a crash helmet, Owen?’
Some of the children giggled. I sighed. Might as well get it over with. I turned back to the thirty faces staring at me.
‘Thank you for asking, Miss Pewlish,’ I said. ‘I suffer from what’s known as a Delayed Startle Reflex. It means that if I get surprised, I lose control of my body for a second or two. Most children have a startle reflex when they’re babies, although they lose it some time when they’re between six to twelve months old. It is quite rare to be found in someone my age. While I do have to wear my helmet for my own protection, I am nevertheless able to lead a perfectly normal life with my condition. And don’t worry, it’s not contagious. Ha ha.’
No one laughed.
‘How interesting,’ said Miss Pewlish, not sounding in the least bit interested. ‘Well, Owen, let’s get you sorted with a Home-Time Partner right away so you can shut up and we can all stop looking at you.’
I blinked. ‘Er … Home-Time Partner?’
Miss Pewlish rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, Home-TimePartner! I’m sure they have no need for them in somewhere as carefree and riotous as Skirting!’
She rummaged through her desk drawers and emerged with a single sheet of paper.
‘In Barrow, children walk between school and home each day with a partner. It means they’re less likely to be late for curfew and be savaged by bears. You’ll be too old for one next year, of course – but you’ll need one for these last few weeks. Better safe than sorry!’
She glanced over the list of names.
‘We’ll pair you up with your closest neighbour,’ she muttered. ‘Can you remember which street you live on?’
‘Um … Magnolia Crescent, I think,’ I said nervously.
There was an audible gasp across the room. The children in front of me covered their mouths and snorted with delight.
‘Not Callum!’
‘I can’t believe it!’
‘He won’t last a week!’
Miss Pewlish found the name on the list. Any softness in her face immediately disappeared. She clenched her jaw.
‘Callum … Brenner,’ she said, each word an accusation.
The tables before me immediately parted, leaving a clear path to the back of the classroom. There, sat alone, was a boy. He was slightly too big for his chair, and was making up for it by leaning it back and balancing it on one leg. His desk was covered in broken pencils. All the other desks around him were empty, and scattered with screwed-up balls of paper. He looked me up and down in disgust.
‘Are you serious?’ he said. ‘I’m not walking home … with that!’
Miss Pewlish’s left eyelid started twitching uncontrollably, like a fly in a web.
‘Tough!’ she shouted. ‘You’ll do as you’re told, Callum Brenner! You’ve been walking home with the Cartwright twins for long enough – I think it’s time we finally gave them a break.’
She indicated a boy and a girl in the front row, who were wiping tears of gratitude from their eyes and mouthing the words ‘thank you’ at the ceiling.
Callum kicked the desk. ‘But Victoria …’
‘Stop calling me that!’ Miss Pewlish snapped, her cheeks trembling. ‘One more peep out of you, Callum Brenner, and I’ll have you repeating the entire year again!’
The class sniggered. Callum shot them a hateful look, and fell silent, his hand tightly gripping a pencil beside him. Miss Pewlish nudged me forwards.
‘Go on then, Owen,’ she muttered. ‘Go and, er … sit next to him.’
I slowly made my way through the pathway of tables towards Callum. The other children could barely hide their delight at my suffering, like I’d been caught painting swear words on a fence by my mum or I’d just dropped my ice cream down the toilet. Not one of them said hello to me, or waved, or even tried to be friendly. Miss Pewlish was right – Barrow wasn’t like Skirting at all.
I sat down on the back row and glanced at my new partner. Callum stared back at me, his mouth open in disgust. I swallowed nervously. I’d never had any trouble making friends back in Skirting. All I had to do was be myself, and ask lots of questions. I nodded to the screwed-up pieces of paper on the floor.
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Look at all that paper! You must really like writing.’
Callum gripped his pencil tighter. I cleared my throat.
‘So,’ I said. ‘I guess we’re partners now.’
I held out my hand, and put on my best cowboy voice.
‘Put it there, partner,’ I said.
Callum snapped his pencil in two.
3
The Hardest Boy in Barrow
The
read-through for the play lasted all morning. Then after lunch, we did it all over again. Neither Callum nor I had any lines, so we sat in silence and followed the words in the script. At least, I followed them. Callum ripped out the pages and threw them at people.
Finally the bell rang for the end of the day. Miss Pewlish immediately dropped her script and leapt to the door, waving a rattle above her head.
‘Quarter to four!’ she cried. ‘Fifteen minutes to get home before curfew starts! Go, go, go!’
The children flew from their desks without another word, grabbing their partners and racing out the classroom.
‘GO! GO! GO!’ Miss Pewlish bellowed after the evacuating children. ‘And don’t forget, the day after tomorrow is Presentation Day! Make sure you all have something prepared!’
I quickly got to my feet and looked around for my partner. Callum was grabbing pots of pencils from off the windowsill and emptying them into his bag. I took his hand. He swung round in horror and shoved me backwards.
‘What are you doing?’ he yelled.
I startled. ‘I-I thought I was supposed to hold your hand.’
‘No!’ said Callum. ‘No, you’re not!’
‘Oh,’ I muttered. ‘Er … sorry.’
Callum wiped his hand on his trousers and stormed out the classroom. I watched him leave in despair.
‘Hey! Partner! Wait for me!’
‘He’ll wait outside,’ said a voice behind me. ‘He always does.’
I spun round. At the nearest desk, a girl was slowly packing up her bag. She had more hair than anyone I had ever seen in my life, and it was sticking out in all directions. She had even tried to hold it in place with a hairband, and had failed. Stood beside her was a boy. He was huge – a foot taller than me at least, maybe twice my width. He gazed down at me, calmly and blankly – like a horse. I gulped.
‘Er … I beg your pardon?’ I said.
The girl didn’t turn to look at me, or smile when she talked.
‘He can’t walk home without a partner. Not unless he wants to get in trouble.’ She zipped up her bag. ‘Just try to stay on his good side. Not that he has one.’
‘Oh. Thanks,’ I said.
I turned to get my bag from the table, and paused. Perhaps this was the time to make some friends. I quickly finished packing my bag and turned around, my hand held out.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t get either of your names …’
But I was alone. The girl and the boy had both left the classroom without saying another word.
Outside, the playground was empty. In the distance I could see the other children sprinting across the village green. Just like the girl said, Callum was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. He scowled up at me.
‘Hurry up.’
I scurried after him as he strode out of the playground and past the clock tower, crossing over the bridge and turning onto the path that ran beside the stream. I turned around to glance at the clock tower before it disappeared from sight. A stormtrap jutted out the top like a set of traffic lights. The red light on the front blinked away the seconds until curfew started.
We walked in silence, the ferns buzzing in the summer air beside us. It was hard to believe that a tornado could touch down in the valleys at any moment. It seemed so calm.
‘So,’ I said cheerfully, trying to make conversation. ‘Are you looking forward to the class play?’
‘No,’ said Callum. ‘It’s stupid.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
We kept walking.
‘What about … Presentation Day?’ I tried. ‘Is that … also stupid?’
Callum nodded. ‘Yeah. Everyone has to do a presentation, in front of the whole class.’
‘Oh, I see,’ I said, nodding. ‘That’s very interesting. What are you going to do yours on?’
‘I’m not going to do one,’ said Callum bluntly.
I looked at him with confusion. ‘Isn’t it for homework?’
He stopped, and glared at me.
‘Of course it’s for homework,’ he snapped. ‘That’s why I’m not going to do it.’
He looked at me for a while, as if he was weighing me up. Finally he sighed, and folded his arms.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this sorted. From now on, you can’t look like you’re with me. If anyone comes near us, you hide in the bushes. Got it?’
I looked at the ‘bushes’ beside the path. They were big patches of stinging nettles. Callum grabbed me by the shoulder and leant in.
‘Let me explain,’ he said. ‘I’m kind of a big deal round here. Truth is, I’m the hardest kid in Barrow. So I can’t be seen walking around with a dweebus like you – everyone would lose respect for me, wouldn’t they?’
I frowned. ‘Dweebus? What do you mean, dwee—’
‘Glad you understand,’ said Callum, patting me on the back. He glanced round nervously. ‘Now let’s get out of here quickly, before …’
‘Well well well,’ said a voice behind us. ‘Look who it is!’
Callum’s face visibly drained of colour. I turned around. Three boys were standing on the path behind us. Instead of school uniform they wore neon yellow tracksuits, strapped at the elbows and knees with pads and high-visibility strips. Each of their sweaters was emblazoned with the words JUNIOR SAFETY WARDEN. A boy at the front stepped forwards, swinging a shiny whistle on a chain.
‘Well, boys,’ he said, tutting loudly. ‘Looks like we’ve found two stragglers who think they don’t have to hurry home during an SW5!’ He fixed Callum with a mocking expression. ‘Honestly, Callum Brenner. At your age you should know better.’
The other two boys snickered, nudging the boy in front. Callum attempted to regain his composure.
‘Oh, hi guys!’ he said. ‘Just, er … doing the daily rounds, are you?’
‘Yep,’ said the boy at the front, adjusting his elbow pads with an air of importance. ‘Checking the streets are clear, making the village a safer place for everyone … no big deal. How about you – still playing with crayons in Miss Pewlish’s class?’
The boys either side of him collapsed into snorting laughter. The front boy nodded his approval, and then turned to look at me.
‘And, er … who’s this?’
Callum’s eyes filled with dread. The other boys stepped forwards.
‘You must be new,’ said one. ‘You don’t look like you’re from round here.’
‘Nice helmet,’ said the other.
I smiled. ‘Thank you! It’s for my condition. You see, I suffer from what’s known as a Delayed Startle Reflex. It means that I have a dramatic and involuntary response …’
Beside me, Callum was struggling to calm his breathing. The boy in front looked from me to Callum, and then back to me again. His face lit up.
‘Hang on a second,’ he said. ‘This isn’t your … Home-Time Partner, is it Callum?’
Callum flushed a furious red. ‘N-no! He’s not!’
‘Really,’ said the boy. ‘So the two of you are walking home together … why, exactly?’
Callum floundered. ‘I … er … he …’
‘I can answer that one,’ I said helpfully.
I pushed Callum aside, who stood open-mouthed with what I could only assume was gratitude.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘Callum’s already explained to me about how well-respected he is around here. He only needs a Home-Time Partner for a few more weeks, and then he can go back to being the hardest boy in Barrow.’ I turned to him with a helpful smile. ‘Isn’t that right, Callum?’
For a moment, the boys stared at me in disbelief. Then they burst out laughing.
‘Oh wow!’ said the one in front. ‘The hardest boy in Barrow? That’s priceless!’
‘What else did you tell him, Callum?’ said one of the other boys. ‘That you’re a superhero? That you can travel through time?’
Callum was utterly humiliated. He stood, ashen-faced, his eyes welling up. In front of him the boys laughed harder and harder, leani
ng on each other for support. I stepped forward.
‘Er – Callum,’ I said, tugging on his sleeve. ‘Maybe we should just go …’
Callum snapped. In one movement he had lifted me straight off the ground by my jumper. I struggled.
‘Wait – what are you doing?’ I cried. ‘Put me down!’
‘Shut up!’ he cried, his face screwed tight with furious tears. ‘You don’t tell me what to do, you … you wimp! Nobody does! Just stay away and leave me alone!’
With that, he swung round and threw me head first into a pile of stinging nettles. There was a moment of calm before my skin suddenly came alive, the pain singing across my hands and face and bare legs. I flew to my feet, my whole body burning bright with pain. Callum was storming off down the pathway in the distance. The three Junior Wardens waved him off, laughing hysterically.
‘Hey! Super Callum!’ they cried. ‘Come back! You left your sidekick behind!’
4
Ceri, Orlaith and Murderous Pete
[Enter VILLAGERS in torn and ragged peasant clothing, looking woeful.]
VILLAGER 1: Hark! Have you heard the news, fellow villagers? Another tornado hath landed in the valleys!
VILLAGER 2: Zounds! Not again!
VILLAGER 3: How long doth we have to wait until someone finally maketh a tornado-proof village?
VILLAGER 1: [in horror] Gadzooks! Here it comes now!
[With great dramatic flourish and extremely loud crashing of cymbals, enter TORNADO. At the back of the stage a single BUSH startles and leaps into the air, getting tangled up in the fairy lights that are supposed to represent the starry night sky.]
BUSH: Ah, oops. Sorry. Ouch.
TORNADO: [exasperated] Again?
BUSH: [twitching] Sorry. Er … can somebody help me out please?
I struggled hopelessly in the wires as the rest of the cast snickered quietly around me. From offstage, I could hear Miss Pewlish sigh with frustration.
‘Owen,’ she said. ‘This isn’t going to work.’
I looked up. Miss Pewlish was sat on a deckchair in the middle of the school hall, wearing a bright yellow beret with a badge on the front saying ‘WRITER/DIRECTOR’ that she had obviously made herself.
The Tornado Chasers Page 2
