Attack of the Cupids (25 page)

Charlie said, ‘Uh-oh.'

Zac and Tony had appeared around the corner of the school.

‘Keep down,' said Charlie. ‘Maybe they'll miss us.'

Again this was film talk. It really didn't matter whether they lay down or stood on tip-toe. The sheds hid them no matter what. So long as no one came round the corner and found them there.

Except that they also needed to see. If they could see, they would know whether to stay put or retreat around the other side of the bike sheds when the sixth-formers came looking. So Sally crammed herself right up close to the corner, made herself as small as possible and peeped with just three quarters of an eye round it so that she could—

She jerked back in alarm. ‘They're heading this way,' she hissed.

‘They don't know we're here!'

Another look. Tony was still coming straight towards them. Zac was angling towards the far corner of the sheds, as if to cut off their retreat. The boys approached slowly, menacingly, like wolves who expected their prey to break into a last, hopeless flight.

‘They know.'

They must have seen them from an upstairs window. Something like that. Or someone had told them . . .

‘They can't do anything with old Singh out there.'

‘They can if we stay put,' said Sally. She hefted the oboe. ‘And if we run, and Mr Singh sees me with this . . .'

If she was caught with the oboe it would be Sally in the dock, no mercy, no appeal. Plus Charlie had spread live frog all over the games corridor. Janitors would be screaming. Deputy Heads would have fits. Right now.

And it was her fault. Partly it was anyway.

Guilty, again.

‘We'll fight to the last man!' said Charlie.

‘Good plan – then what?'

‘Then we escape and become mercenaries!'

‘Charlie, for
crying
out loud . . .!'

‘OK, better plan. Give me that thing.'

His hand was out for the oboe. A strange light had crept into his eyes.

‘But . . . it's got to go back to Imogen!'

‘Sure. Now give. And stay down.' He took it from her. Before she had time to think, he trotted swiftly around the near end of the bike sheds.

Stay down? She couldn't! He'd gone out there like a robin that thought it could fight crows. Maybe he thought the oboe case really did hold a bomb and he was going to try to use it. Some disaster was only seconds away!

She peered once more round the corner. She saw Charlie start to run. Gathering speed, he burst into the open just as Tony was covering the last metres towards the bike shed. At once he swerved and, uttering a high-pitched yell (with added Doppler effect) he tore past the oncoming sixth-former and charged across the playground towards the school buildings.

‘Hey!' yelled Tony, and gave chase.

‘Hey!' bellowed Zac, doing ditto.

‘EEEE-EEEE-EEEE-EEEE-EEEE-EEEE-EEEEE!' went Charlie, his cry following him like the jet-trail of a ground attack aircraft.

Mr Singh leaned from his window. He saw the hunters. He saw their quarry.

He saw what the quarry was carrying.

‘CHARLES BLATCHLEY!' he roared.

Most pupils at Darlington High, addressed by such authority, could be relied on to come dutifully, if guiltily, to heel. Charlie, moving at speed with his mind full of jet fighters and mercenaries, could be relied on with 100% certainty to accelerate. Sally knew this.

So when she saw him skitter to a sheepish halt under Mr Singh's window, she saw that he had
meant
to get caught.

Zac and Tony closed in on him from behind, warily. They weren't exactly sure what was going to happen next. The one thing they were sure of was that the troublesome Year Nine was never going to become a Year Ten. Not if they could possibly help it.

‘What have you got in that case?' rumbled Mr Singh.

Charlie ham-acted trying to hide it behind his back.

‘What is in the case, Zac?'

Alec took the case. He opened it. ‘An oboe,' he said, ‘with . . .'

A brightly-coloured bit of card fell spiralling to the playground tarmac. Tony put his foot on it. He picked it up. He read it.

‘
Oh
my God,' he said. And, grinning, he showed it to Zac.

‘“I love you”!' cried Zac. ‘Whoa, Romeo!'

Oh, Charlie, thought Sally. I'm so sorry! Not only have I sent you for execution. I've also sold you to every gossip corner in the school. They'll never let you hear the last of this.

Across the courtyard she saw Charlie stiffen. From forty metres away Sally could not actually tell if his face was changing colour. She just knew it would be. He had been ready for interrogation, torture, solitary confinement. He hadn't reckoned on being caught with a pink heart that said
I Love You
.

But he was made of stern stuff, Charlie B. His round form hid the steel of heroes. He squared his shoulders. His chin tilted mulishly. Maybe he hadn't realized how bad the world could be to him. But he was going to take it. He would carry on taking it until the world ran out of ideas.

‘You are in deep trouble, Charlie,' said Mr Singh. ‘Serious trouble. Tony, bring him up to my office. Zac, take that instrument to Miss Ogle in form 9c. It
belongs to Imogen Grey and must be returned to her straight away. Do it now, please.'

‘He took frogs from the biology tanks,' said Tony. ‘And tried to feed them to us.'

‘
Serious
trouble,' repeated Mr Singh after a pause, as if he was lost for words other than ones he had already used. ‘Come now, please.'

He closed the window. Silently, the two sixth-formers marched Charlie towards the school entrance. As they entered the porch Tony dropped back a pace and kicked him in the leg, hard. Charlie stumbled. He kept on walking. The school doors closed behind them.

The car park was empty.

It wasn't quite empty, really, because Sally was in it. She was standing in the open about five metres from the sheds. She had been drawn that far out of hiding by the scene beneath the school windows. No one had looked her way. No one had seemed to think that it was worth looking for anyone else. They had caught Charlie. He was enough of an explanation for everything.

He was going to get it. He was really going to get it. If it had been just the oboe, that bit of paper might have got him off the worst of it (though he
would hate being caught with what she had written). But the stunt with the frogs as well . . . The school was
not
going to see the funny side of this. And Charlie already had a number of previous convictions. This wasn't going to be just another detention. This was going to mean parents getting called, suspension maybe. It was going to be heavy, heavy stuff.

He had got himself caught deliberately.

He had been caught, anyway. With the sixth-formers closing on their hideout and the Head of Year at his window, they had been doomed. He had seen that. What he had done was get
her
out of it. He had taken it all on himself.

Why? If you were going to get caught, wasn't it better to get caught
with
someone, so they could share the blame? But Charlie hadn't thought like that. He had taken it all – kicks, frogs and even the oboe (which was nothing to do with him). That wasn't just cool. That was . . .

Somewhere a bell rang for the end of break. Instinctively her body responded. Her feet carried her towards the school entrance. Her mind was turned inwards, on the memory of Charlie. She saw him ahead of
her, scurrying towards these same buildings. The buildings towered over him like the walls of a huge city. The windows looked down upon him, blank-eyed, as if they thought that he didn't belong. As if he were a creature from some other place, disguised, who should be expelled as soon as his true nature became clear.

He had seemed so small.

He had done it for her.

And . . .

‘
Look out!
' shrieked Muddlespot, far too late.

A sudden image filled her mind, as if she had turned a corner and found something large and round and heavy and gold coming at her very very fast . . .

You would have thought . . .

(thought the Inner Sally, with a sense of flying through space)

(
Upmh!
as she came to the ground and saw stars)

. . . I might have
known
it was there?

‘There's going to be an investigation,' said Windleberry.

A sort of calm had returned to Sally's mind. The golden hunt had vanished. The corridors and hallways were straightening themselves out again, with a trembly uncertainty as if they weren't sure they would be staying that way. Colours still flushed along the crystal walls, but more weakly now. In the war rooms thoughts regrouped, checked over the register, found out who was still missing and which cupboard they were hiding in. Sally and Muddlespot peeped nervously into the central chamber but Windleberry was alone. Even the black oboe case had gone.

‘An investigation?' said Sally, a little shakily. ‘What does that mean?'

‘Things have been happening that should not have happened,' said Windleberry. ‘A team of angels will be coming down to find out why. In fact, they're already on their way.'

Sally hesitated. Then she shrugged. ‘Fine by me,' she said. ‘But I'm not answering any questions I don't want to.'

‘And I get immunity,' said Muddlespot firmly.

Windleberry frowned. ‘If that's what Sally wants.'

‘It is,' said Sally.

‘Where did they go?' said Windleberry.

‘Who?' said Sally.

‘I think he means the little fat guys,' said Muddlespot. ‘You know, the ones with the bows and arrows and harps and the, er, wrecking balls and things . . .'

‘Oh, them.' Sally paused. ‘I guess they ran out of ammunition.'

‘By the way,' said Billie, ‘I've dumped Tony.'

‘Hmm?' said Sally.

‘I said I've dumped Tony,' said Billie, pouting. ‘Told him so. Found someone better.'

They were on their way out of the school gates with the main flood of Darlington High pupils. Sally was moving slowly. She was checking the crowds for
Charlie B, but he wasn't there. Probably he was in Mr Singh's office getting things said to him. Possibly he was already on his way to see the Head.