‘What’s wrong with him is the fact that he’s a cling-on,’ said Bee, leaning against the wall by the loos. ‘We need a plan to lose the stalker, and the first part of it has to be to get outside before him.’
‘Agreed,’ said C.P. ‘Then we’ll have the advantage.’
‘But we need to stop him from following us . . .’ said Fifty.
‘A blockade,’ I said.
‘Made of what?’ asked Fifty.
‘We could rope off our area, tie one end to the branches and put the other through the wire fence.’
There was a general lack of enthusiasm for my idea. Not unusual.
‘He’d climb under,’ said Fifty. ‘What about a fire?’
We always ignore anything he says that’s to do with fire. It’s an unhealthy obsession (according to his mum) and scary (according to us).
‘We could make a really bad smell,’ said Copper Pie.
‘You don’t need us for that. You could do it on your own,’ said Bee.
‘Sandbags,’ I said.
‘Get real, Keener.’ Bee has lots of expressions she uses to diss people.
‘Right, everyone think. It needs to be something we can get past but stops him,’ said Fifty, spelling out the problem.
‘Bodies,’ said Copper Pie.
Fifty made an excellent you-total-idiot face. ‘What?’
Copper Pie said it again. ‘Bodies. We’ve got four. He’s got one. We make a human wall, like in football.’
Fifty quickly changed it to a you’re-not-as-stupid-as-you-look face. ‘You’re not as stupid as you look,’ he said. ‘What does everyone else think?’
‘It might work,’ I said, not very keenly. I didn’t fancy getting into a scrap.
‘Right, morning break tomorrow, we’ll make sure we get out there first, lock arms and stand tall. There’s only one way in to our patch so he’ll have to break us down or give up.’ Bee has a habit of stealing other people’s ideas and making them seem like hers. Luckily Copper Pie didn’t care.
‘Newboy’s done for!’ He made two fists and did a yob face. It wasn’t much different from his regular face.
‘Same,’ said Fifty.
‘Four against one. What’s he gonna do?’ said C.P.
I couldn’t help thinking that he’d find some way round our plan. Newboy was definitely not your average kid.
the human wall
Mum comes straight from work to pick up me and my sister, so although it’s not very far, we go home in the car. I’d like to walk with Bee and Copper Pie but Mum says, ‘I have to get Flo so I may as well take you too.’ Fifty’s not allowed to walk either.
Why don’t mums get it? How are we meant to grow up and get a job and buy things on the internet and drive a car and shave and all the other things men do if we don’t start practising basic skills like road-crossing now?
In the playground, Mum waits with Fifty’s mum and his baby sister, Probably Rose. (They couldn’t decide what to call her, so when anyone asked her name they said, ‘Probably Rose’, and it stuck.) Our two mums convince each other that they’re bringing us up with the right amount of independence – none. They’re a bad combination: a doctor (my mum) and a pay-me-and-I’ll-make-your-life-better therapist (that’s what Fifty’s mum is). When she asks you a question she stares into your eyes – it makes you blink and it’s impossible to lie.
‘How was your day, darling?’ Mum asked.
Always the same question. Always answered by Flo before I have a chance. Even if I manage to start my first word before she does, she says her words anyway and mine get pulped.
‘Mummy, Mr Dukes says we need a packed lunch and a raincoat.’
‘Is that for your trip, darling?’
‘Yes. It’s not the day after, it’s the day after the day after.’ Flo has a problem with tomorrow. ‘And we need five pounds for the shop.’ She also lies.
The conversation went on and I thought about Newboy. I wondered whether we should have been a bit nicer to him the first time he came over. Then he’d have realised we weren’t cool and moved on to some other kids instead and we wouldn’t have to do the human barricade. It was worrying me already and it wasn’t even tomorrow yet.
At home, Flo and I had toasted buns and apple juice and then I went up to my room. I took off my school sweatshirt, hung it over my desk chair, washed my hands and then settled down in my favourite place – my hammock (which hangs across the corner of my room next to my bookcase) – to finish Stig of the Dump. Reading took my mind off the head-to-head planned for morning break. If we weren’t such good friends, I’d have been working out how to avoid it altogether. But it wasn’t an option. Buddies are buddies.
KEENER’S FACT FILE
• Likes reading, building models
• Likes ALL computer games
• Is good at ALL computer games
• Brilliant skimboarder
• Doesn’t like sticky things
• Doesn’t like surprises
• Doesn’t like sloppy food
• Doesn’t like hair cuts (true surfboy)
FAMILY STUFF
Mum – doctor
Dad – something boring with a briefcase!?!
Sisters – Flo (small and bad) and Amy (big and bad)
It happened just before Flo woke me up. I was in a dream, and so was Newboy, except he was huge and wearing a yellow waistcoat and a bow tie (yes, seriously weird). He was heading straight for me with his extra-large boots and every time they hit the ground, the earth trembled. I wanted to run away but I was stuck to the ground with the strongest glue ever. I couldn’t escape. Newboy grabbed me with a hand that was so big it went right round my middle and tried to pull me up but the glue was stronger than he was so my feet shot out of my purple (?!) shoes. He swung me round and round and threw me like a shot-put and I went flying. Suddenly I was on the ground . . . and there was blood. (I don’t do blood. I am officially a wuss when it comes to pain.) He was standing over me about to finish me off when . . .
I felt Flo burrow into my bed for the daily cuddle. She thinks I like it but it’s more that I’m so asleep I can’t make my mouth say the words I need to say to get rid of her. By the time I’m on full power, she’s gone to annoy Amy, my big sister. (Caution: avoid at all costs.)
Mum noticed my mood at breakfast. The worry had grown larger overnight.
‘Is there something up?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ I did a fake smile and she carried on buttering the toast. Fifty’s mum is much harder to convince. Her questions are the sort you can’t answer yes or no to. Questions that start with ‘how’ and have the word ‘feeling’ in the middle.
In English first thing, Bee had another go at Newboy.
‘Please, Miss Walsh. Can you ask him to stop rocking on the back legs of his chair? I keep thinking he’s going to fall.’
Good one, Bee. It’s Miss Walsh’s pet hate. You get a warning the first time. Second time: straight detention. No question. Miss Walsh looked up from her desk. Newboy was sitting perfectly still on