The Boy Who Could Fly. Laura Ruby

Mum.”

      Georgie went to her room, where she found Noodle sprawled across her bed. As soon as she walked in the door, the cat opened her eyes and began berating her with fierce yowls.

      “I know, I know,” Georgie said. “Where was I all day long?”

      “Yowl,” said Noodle.

      “What was so important that I had to leave my favourite cat?”

      “Yowl,” said Noodle.

      “What’s my problem?”

      “Yowl,” said Noodle.

      “Why am I so boring? Why is Bug such a rock head? Why is my hair so weird? How come I’m built like a daddy longlegs?”

      Noodle was silent, choosing to jump down from the bed and wind herself around Georgie’s legs until Georgie picked her up. “Why does everyone hate me, Noodle?” Georgie said again, her nose in Noodle’s fur. As usual, when she held Noodle, when she petted Noodle, a strange riddle came into her head: If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around, does it make a sound? If a tree falls, if a tree falls, if a tree falls…

      The next thing she knew, her mother was calling her for dinner. She put Noodle back on the bed. Her head felt empty and clean and light, and she wasn’t quite so miserable.

      “Thanks,” she said. She could have sworn Noodle nodded before curling up for yet another nap.

      “How’s my best girl?” said Solomon Bloomington as Georgie came in to the dining room and kissed his cheek. It was what he always said.

      “I’m your only girl,” Georgie replied. It was what she always said.

      “Not such a girl any more,” he said. “A young woman!”

      Georgie smiled, wishing that her parents would stop with the young woman thing. It made her tense. She’d barely had any time to be a girl with them. And now she had to hurry up and be a woman? No, thank you.

      “Still a girl for a while,” Georgie said, and her father beamed.

      “How was the school trip?” he wanted to know.

      “OK,” she said.

      “What did you learn?”

      She shrugged.

      Sol piled his plate with roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy and fluffy biscuits that Agnes had prepared. (Agnes didn’t believe in diets. Or cholesterol. Or vegetables.)

      “You must have learned something,” Sol said. “A word in another language? The name of a former president? A major scientific discovery?”

      “Let’s see,” said Georgie. “I learned that Roma Radisson is about as deep a thinker as this.” She held up one of Agnes’s biscuits.

      “Hmmm. That might be an insult to the biscuit,” Sol said.

      “Sol!” said Bunny.

      “Well, you’ve met the girl,” said Sol.

      “Sol!”

      “What?”

      Bunny clucked her tongue at them both, but Georgie could see that she was smiling. Georgie devoured many slices of meat, a pile of potatoes and four biscuits. She was about to reach for a fifth when she realised that perhaps it was Agnes’s high-calorie food that had caused her freakish growth spurt. She decided to skip dessert, which was some sort of quadruple-chocolate, triple-fudge, double-butter, possibly deep-fried cake.

      After dinner, the family retired to the media room, which was set up like a cinema, complete with stadium seating and a popcorn machine. Sol cued up one of his favourite black-and-white films, one about a guy who goes to Paris and meets some beautiful girl who doesn’t talk that much but dances around a lot, and the two of them dance on the ground and dance in the air and the whole thing ends up in this long ballet sequence that Georgie didn’t entirely understand, but didn’t find entirely horrible. At least, she didn’t fall asleep. But her parents did. By the end of the film, the two of them were slumped in their seats, their heads tipped together, as if one were about to turn and whisper something to the other. Georgie watched them for a while as the credits rolled. They were nice people, her parents. Nobody had a right to be miserable with parents like these. So what if Bug was a jerk face? So what if Roma was an idiot? So what if the Prince School was packed with spoiled princesses who’d never had to work for anything in their whole entire lives? She wouldn’t be there for ever. As a matter of fact, she would only be going to the school for a few more months before she’d move on to high school. That would have to be better, wouldn’t it? She would have to try harder to be happy.

      Georgie kissed her parents good night, careful not to wake them. She wandered back to her bedroom where Noodle was looking at a website called catsinexile.com, which seemed to be some sort of blog with photos. Georgie was amazed to see so many pictures of so many different cats, considering how rare cats were. Maybe some cats had escaped The Professor’s apartment. But then, she didn’t want to think about The Professor, not really. Cats reminded her of stealing, which reminded her of Bug, which reminded her of the mean, mean thing she’d said to him in his apartment and the way he’d yelled at her and told her to get out, and she didn’t want to think about that any more. She didn’t want to think about it ever.

      She changed into a pair of pajamas and crawled into bed. She considered the pile of books on her nightstand before pulling Charlie and the Chocolate Factory from the pile. She was nearly finished with the book; she was right near the end where the glass lift flies. Georgie knew a lot of things that flew, but none of them were lifts. She liked this book very much.

      She settled back into her pillow, opening the book with a sigh. She had just read a single paragraph when an odd noise caught her attention. An odd, shuffling sort of noise, like a cat wearing slippers.

      She looked at Noodle, but Noodle was downloading a photo of a white kitten sleeping in a sink and seemed absorbed in the work. Probably the computer making the noise. Sometimes the computer whirred and chuffed like an animal. Georgie shrugged, and went back to her book.

      Shush, shush, shush.

      Georgie glanced up sharply. A shadow lurked under door. As if someone stood behind it. Listening.

      “Mum?” Georgie whispered.

      No answer.

      “Agnes?”

      There was someone behind the door, Georgie was sure of it. But who? The Bloomingtons had the most advanced alarm system in the universe. People couldn’t just walk into the building. And nobody could just walk into the Bloomingtons’ penthouse. It was ridiculous. It was imposs—

      The door creaked open. There, in the doorway, was a man wearing skinny plaid trousers, combat boots and a spiked collar. A white T-shirt, emblazoned with the logo GOD SAVE THE QUEEN, was splattered with paint and food stains. His blue hair stood up in a stiff Mohawk. Though it was dark, he wore sunglasses.

      “Oi, oi, oi!” he said. “You must be Georgie!”

      Noodle hissed, leaping from the desk chair to Georgie’s bed. The fur along her back spiked in an imitation of the man’s Mohawk.