Scrambled (4 page)

Then the unthinkable happened.

‘OK, Davidde, let’s have yours.’

Davidde didn’t know what to say. Should he start with an excuse, or should he maybe pretend to have some sort of fit to distract attention? He felt his cheeks go hot and looked down at the floor. He decided he might as well be honest.

‘I forgot,’ he mumbled, and he fully expected Mr Rastud to go into one of his mighty rages. He expected to be picked up and thrown across the class, to be humiliated and to be made an example of in front of his peers. He expected to be moved into one of the less able sets.

‘No problem. Bring it in when it’s finished. Right, who’s next? Janet Parpins – let’s have it.’

‘My story is a true story. It’s called The Most Scared I Ever Been.’

‘Please carry on, Janet.’

‘The Most Scared I Ever Been. The most scared I ever been was when me and my family was on a nudist beach and a wasp flew straight up my…’

‘Stop!’ shouted Mr Rastud.

‘…nose.’

‘That’s alright. Carry on.’

Davidde couldn’t believe it. He’d worked himself up so much, but there was nothing to worry about. He started to understand how people got to ride bikes and do things outside school that annoyed Mr Leighton so much. They never did their homework! It was so obvious. He decided that he could devote more time to being good on the bike by spending less time on his homework. He wasn’t going to stop doing it altogether; he’d just be a bit more selective about it. He pulled himself together and enjoyed the rest of the lesson.

Last lesson was Art. Davidde was surprised and a bit annoyed when Dwayne came to stand by him as they queued up outside the door. Davidde couldn’t say for sure that Dwayne had been laughing when Lyndon was picking on Davidde, but it wasn’t as if he’d tried to stop it either.

‘Ow, butt. You really racing Lyndon tonight then?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. Why?’

‘The thing is, Lyndon isn’t very good. If you listen to him, he’s the best in the world. But he doesn’t like anyone passing him on the inside. He panics and lets you through – I’ve never understood why. And you can do it on your bike as well – it’s powerful enough.’

Miss appeared at the door.

‘I’ve got something a bit different for you today. I’ve prepared something for you, something to make you think about things. It’s what we call an installation. Art doesn’t just have to be pictures, it can be something you can move around and look at from different angles. I call this Exploding Rabbit Hutch.’

And that was exactly what it was. Miss had blown up a hutch, and somehow found all the bits and put them back together. Except that it wasn’t the hutch as it was before it was blown up, but the hutch as it was exactly half a second after the explosion. It was at head height with pieces suspended on strings from the ceiling so that they moved slightly, and light refracted through the spaces between the pieces of wood and chicken
wire. Even though the hutch hung silently, there was a real sense of violence and movement.

Ceri Fuss looked worried.

‘Don’t worry, Ceri,’ said Miss. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and no, there wasn’t a rabbit inside it when I blew it up.’

Davidde wasn’t really into three-dimensional art, but even he had to admit that this was impressive, though he didn’t see himself doing something similar.

‘Why not, Davidde?’ asked Miss.

‘I think I feel safer on paper, that’s all.’

Kaitlinn really liked it, and she returned to her sketches enthused. Davidde spent the lesson hiding from Miss because he didn’t have anything new to show her.

Davidde found that he was nervous on his way back from school, but not unbearably so. Who was Lyndon to speak to him like that? Davidde would show him.

His dad was still at work so he went next door to see Mr Leighton. Mrs Leighton let him in and gave him a glass of squash. Mr Leighton was at the window with his binoculars, his forehead corrugated with anger.

‘Look! They’re at it again! On their bikes! Riding them!’

‘Let’s have a look, Mr Leighton,’ said Davidde, and Mr Leighton handed the binoculars over. Davidde looked over to the Rec. He saw Lyndon and the boys, riding, larking around. He shivered. He wasn’t in their league. But he had to go through with it. And what if Mr Leighton recognised him? He was difficult to live next door to as it was, but if he knew Davidde was over there he’d have the police up all the time. Davidde would just have to keep his helmet on.

He gave the binoculars back to Mr Leighton.

‘I’ve got to go. I’ll call in tomorrow,’ he said as he made his way to prepare for the battle.

When Davidde got to the Rec, Lyndon was astride his bike, eating a bag of crisps and a bar of chocolate at the same time, while smoking heavily and drinking from a can of pop.

‘Look who it is, boys.’ Lyndon pointed at Davidde’s black shiny helmet that was too big for his head. ‘It’s Darth Vader.’

As he spoke the mixture of crisps and pop and chocolate splattered from his mouth. The others laughed and pointed too.

‘I’m going to rub your helmet into the dirt,’ he said as he crushed his can and dropped all his wrappers on the ground. Davidde approached.

‘Ready, butt?’ asked Lyndon.

‘Aye,’ said Davidde. ‘What’s the course?’

‘Down to the burned-out car. The one that used to be red. Then go over to the burned-out car that used to be black. Then go round the burned-out car over by there.’

‘What colour did that used to be?’

‘Nobody knows. It’s always been there.’

Davidde wanted to tell Lyndon how daft that sounded, but he didn’t dare.

‘You goes round that car and you comes back by here. Three times. Ready?’

‘Yes.’

‘Start us off then, Craig.’

Craig started to say, ‘On your marks, set, go,’ but Lyndon had already left by the time he opened his mouth. Davidde got into gear and went after him.

The first lap he was just trying to keep up. At one point Lyndon was riding standing up on the seat, showing off to the boys. Davidde managed to catch up then, so Lyndon sat back down and raced properly. Davidde just managed to avoid a
deep pothole in the middle of the track towards the end of the first circuit and he thought he was holding his own. By the time they’d done one lap, Davidde was aware that he had much more power and speed on the straights, so he decided to wait to take Lyndon on the third lap. He kept Lyndon in his sights and chipped away at his lead.

He was just behind at the start of the third lap. He got down to the car that used to be black and then pulled out to pass Lyndon on the long straight up to the car that used to be red. He found he couldn’t make it, but then he remembered what Dwayne had said – he doesn’t like anyone passing him on the inside, he just panics and lets them through. As the corner hurtled its way towards them, Davidde braked and then got himself between Lyndon and the turn.

And it worked! Lyndon did panic and Davidde nipped in before him. He increased his lead on the straight, and as he eased away he couldn’t help looking back and seeing the snarl on Lyndon’s angry face – he looked so unhappy!

But in looking back, Davidde failed to spot the huge pothole he’d avoided earlier. The front tyre went straight down it and there was nothing Davidde could do as he went flying over his
handlebars, flipped in the air and landed on his back looking up at the sky.

Lyndon raced past him gloating loudly and went on to finish the course to cheers from his gang. He rode back over to Davidde.

‘Unlucky, Darth, butt. Like I said, you race like your mam.’ He rode back to his gang, who wanted to celebrate by setting fire to something. Davidde thought he’d better disappear fast, before they decided to set fire to him.

Davidde cursed himself for looking back at Lyndon during the race – if he hadn’t turned around he would have won! But he was also happy that he’d been able to compete, and he was pleased he’d given Lyndon a scare. Maybe with a bit more practice he could beat him next time, and he vowed that he would put the hours in. He would look for books and magazines that could help him get better. He could speak to his father. He’d been pretty decent in his time, even Lyndon knew that.

Davidde made his way home, and furtively put the bike in the garage behind the house, making sure Mr Leighton wasn’t lurking around any corners. He let himself into the house. His
back was hurting from where he’d landed so he reckoned he’d run a bath. There were no lights on but there was a note on the kitchen table.

‘Davidde – late back tonigth – pasties in frij – herd you was racing – how did you do? Dad’

Davidde was puzzled, and not by his father’s scattergun approach to spelling – that was something he was more than used to. His dad never stayed out, especially mid-week, or if he did, he didn’t plan it. It just happened. And how did he know about the race? Davidde hadn’t said anything. It was all very mysterious.

Davidde had his pasties as he ran the bath. The hot water hurt the grazes on his back, but in a way they felt like war wounds and he felt he had earned them. After he had dried himself he was too tired to do his French homework – that could wait. He tried reading an astronomy book in bed as a way of researching ideas for his art project, but found it boring and fell asleep. He was losing interest in stars and planets.

He dreamed of the Black Rider again.

5

The dream didn’t come right away because Davidde fell into a long, deep sleep. He’d been very tired. But towards morning he dreamed about his race with Lyndon. It was happening in slow motion. Lyndon was standing up on the seat of his bike, but everything was going too slow and Davidde couldn’t catch up. Then Lyndon was doing a headstand, and Davidde still couldn’t catch up. Then Lyndon was riding the bike with his head on the seat and opening and closing his legs, showing off to his friends and winding up Davidde. Then he was eating a bar of chocolate, drinking a can of pop and lighting up and smoking two cigarettes. Even Davidde had to admit that was impressive.

The Black Rider was there, arms folded.
Davidde tried as hard as he could, and found himself drawing level with Lyndon. Again he tried pushing past using the bike’s power, and again he failed. Then he remembered Dwayne’s advice, and went for the inside. Lyndon (who had by now abandoned his selection of snacks and fags, and had re-assumed a more orthodox riding stance) looked on in horror as Davidde passed him again.

Davidde was filled with elation, and he was doomed to make the same mistake again!

As he rode on, he couldn’t help but turn around and catch Lyndon’s displeasure. He’d never felt anything like it – the feeling of being ahead, the smell of the petrol, the sensation of speed, it was fantastic! It felt even better this time!

When he looked back in front of him, he was heading straight for the pothole, but this time the Black Rider was stood in it, wagging a gloved index finger at Davidde. He tried again to avoid the inevitable, but it was impossible. Davidde slammed into the Black Rider and the pothole and again he went flying.

When he came round he was looking up at the sky. He was waiting for Lyndon to come over
and tell Davidde he rode like his mam. But the Rider was there, looking down at him. Lyndon was riding over from the finishing line, ready to gloat. The Black Rider got up and stood between Lyndon and Davidde. Lyndon stopped and looked at the Rider, then at Davidde, and then back at the Rider, and this time he thought better of gloating. He rode off.

The Rider came back and knelt by Davidde. The visor lifted.

Davidde couldn’t see the face, but where there should have been two eyes, Davidde could see two…

‘Cadbury’s Creme Eggs! Dai, I got us some Cadbury’s Creme Eggs for breakfast – for a change, like. I called in the shop on the way home.’

His dad was sitting on his bed. He’d brought some mugs of tea up as well. He seemed happy.

‘Where’ve you been?’ asked Davidde.

‘Out.’

Ralph cleared his throat and shifted on the bed. Normally Davidde wouldn’t ask any questions if he saw his dad was uncomfortable, for fear he would get angry. This morning though Davidde thought he’d find out.

‘Where though?’

Ralph cleared his throat and then looked hard into his mug.

‘Boys. Cards.’ He coughed. ‘Drinking. Tired. Sleeping.’

He bit the top off his chocolate egg and chewed like a maniac, then smiled, then remembered where he was.

‘Anyway butt, what about the race last night?’

‘How did you know about it?’

‘Saw Lyndon’s old man in work yesterday. I told him you’d kick his boy’s arse. How did you get off?’

‘Lost.’

‘Shame that. I can’t stand Lyndon’s father.’

‘I can’t stand his son.’

‘What happened?’

Davidde went into detail about the race. His dad stopped munching and looked down, apparently deep in thought. Then he started talking with an eloquence that surprised his son. Ralph’s stumbling grunt was replaced with a quiet, low-pitched, thoughtful way of speaking that Davidde found hypnotic. He asked questions that made him rethink the events of the race, especially stuff that
had happened in a split second. Ralph reflected on his son’s answers and made suggestions about what to try next time.

The tea was cold when they finished.

‘I’ll come and watch you next time, Dai. I should have been there last night.’

‘It’s alright, Dad. I’m glad you didn’t see me come off.’

‘Everyone does, son – it’s part of the process. If you’ve never fallen off a bike you’ve never been on one properly. That’s what your gran used to say to me whenever she had to take me to casualty, and she was right.’

They got ready for work and for school and left, feeling closer than ever.

As Davidde got to the school gates he was lucky not to be knocked over. He was thinking about the race and hadn’t been looking where he was going, and the next thing he heard was the sound of a car’s horn. He jumped out of the way and Miss Pughes-Pervis flashed past him in her big black car. In the passenger seat was Mr Rastud, white-faced and staring straight ahead of him with a look of terror. You could tell that he’d seen
some terrible things sharing a lift with Miss, but that morning he seemed more frightened than usual.

Art was first and it was lively. Dwayne had some surprising news for Davidde.

‘Lyndon wants a rematch, butt. Tomorrow down the Rec. What’ll I tell him?’

‘Tell him aye.’

‘Good. I’ll tell him. I hope you smash him.’

‘Why?’

‘Last night he started acting like a chicken and he knows that I’m scared of birds.’

Davidde didn’t know what to say and went back to his drawing.

Dwayne found it hard to concentrate. He was too busy looking at Ceri Fuss. She was sat next to Kaitlinn sharpening her pencils and lining them up so they were exactly parallel to the edge of the desk. Davidde could hear Kaitlinn telling Ceri about the Suffragettes. He didn’t know much about them, but he wasn’t that interested in any bands from the sixties.

‘I loves her,’ said Dwayne.

‘Why don’t you give her something?’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. Something in a box. Girls like that sort of thing, I think.’

Davidde looked over at Ceri to see what sort of thing she’d like to get in a box. He couldn’t tell, but what he could tell was that Kaitlinn was looking at him. And she didn’t like what she saw. She was cutting up some bright red paper with a pair of shiny scissors, her face a tight scowl. Davidde tried to move so that Dwayne was between him and her. He tried adding to his stars and planets project, but it just wasn’t working. He’d started avoiding Miss so that she wouldn’t see how badly he was doing. She’d never had to speak to him before about not doing his work, so it was easy for Davidde to hide. Whenever she’d start coming around the room towards him he’d feign an interest in something on the wall, or in one of the Art books on the shelves, and he would say he was doing ‘research’.

She was coming round now. Davidde nipped off to look at some of the work on the wall. There was a new piece up. It was called ‘Homage to Salvador Dali’. It featured a pair of scissors sticking out of a horse’s eyeball.

It was by Kaitlinn.

Miss had made it round to Dwayne and was asking him how things were going.

‘Look, Miss, this is rubbish, this is.’

Dwayne showed her, and even he knew that she wanted to agree. Dwayne was probably one of the worst drawers ever to put pencil to paper. Every line he made was a disaster. When he drew an eye, you could tell he’d tried drawing something round, but that was all. It could have been a tin; it could have been a sombrero. When he tried to draw a nose, it could have been a boomerang or a coathanger. Everything was wrong, and then when they all went on the page they never fitted together. The relationships were truly comical, so that people would laugh out loud at his work, thinking it was some marvellous joke. But it wasn’t. It was just Dwayne’s artistic ability.

‘It’s a positive start, Dwayne.’

‘Admit it, Miss, it’s rubbish, innit?’

‘No, Dwayne, you’re trying really hard.’

‘You don’t have to lie, Miss, I can take it. It’s rubbish, innit?’

Miss Pughes-Pervis surveyed Dwayne’s picture. She sighed. ‘Yes, Dwayne. It’s pathetic, frankly. I’m not going to tell you any more lies; you’re hopeless
at Art. I’ve seen slugs with more aesthetic ability than you.’

‘Thanks, Miss.’

Miss sat where Davidde had been sitting. To make herself feel better she started look through Davidde’s work. But apart from a few early sketches, there didn’t seem to be anything there. She called him over and asked him where the rest of his work was.

‘In the house. I’ll bring it in next lesson.’

‘The thing is, I’m depending on you and Kaitlinn not to let me down. Kaitlinn’s got some really good things done already, but I haven’t seen anything from you. I think you’re the only people I’ve taught anything at all to in this year.’

Davidde felt bad for lying.

‘Next lesson, Miss.’

The rematch with Lyndon came around soon enough. Davidde was surprised to find that even though he felt nervous, he really wanted to race Lyndon again. He felt that it was his duty, not just for himself, but for his father. Ralph, when he was about, would ask Davidde what he would do in different situations, and Davidde found it helped
him visualise events in the race. He’d gone round the course so many times in his head he felt he could do it with his eyes shut.

He spent less time in the library as well, less time waiting for the night to come. The night had been when he had felt safer, in his house looking at the stars, or next door with Mr and Mrs Leighton. But now he spent more time wandering the school in the daytime, and found he had more people to say hello to. He took more notice of faces and less of the floor. As he walked up the narrow stairway by the canteen, with two of Betty’s legendary rock-hard baps in his hands, he felt pretty pleased with himself. That’s when he felt the wetness on the top of his head, and when he heard the mocking laughter.

He saw six or seven faces peering over at him from the floor above, where Lyndon and the boys used to hang around. Davidde had forgotten the risk involved in climbing these stairs at the wrong time. The wrong time was now, when they were holding one of their spitting competitions. It was said that Pickle could lower eight inches of phlegm from his mouth, pick up a fifty pence piece with it and suck it back up to his mouth without using
his hands. One of the faces was Pickle’s. Davidde put his hand to his head, it did feel quite sticky.

‘Terrible rain we’re having, boys,’ said Lyndon, and they laughed again. Davidde saw Dwayne laughing along with them.

‘You coming down the Rec tonight then?’ asked Lyndon.

‘Yeah. You scared I’m going to beat you?’

‘Just thought you might be washing your hair, that’s all. See you later, loser.’

Lyndon and the boys ambled away, but Dwayne was at the back of the pack, though he couldn’t bring himself to look back at Davidde. Davidde waited for them to go, then went to the toilets to wipe off whatever was on his head.

He wanted to drive his bike over Lyndon’s face and leave permanent tyre marks on it; the sort of thing he’d seen in cartoons, only this time for real.

He would get his revenge, he thought, bent double with his head under the drier. Oh yes, he would get his revenge.

Davidde was a little late getting to registration and the rest of the class had left. He apologised to Mr Lunt. Mr Lunt did a double take and pointed at Davidde’s head.

‘Nice hair, butt. That’s proper trendy, that is!’

Davidde left without saying anything more. He hated it when teachers were sarcastic.

‘There’s nice your hair is, love.’

Even Mrs Leighton was being sarcastic now!

‘It’s proper trendy. I never thought you were trendy, I thought you were a geek. Tell him his hair’s looking nice, Charles.’

Mr Leighton had his binoculars trained on the Rec. He didn’t look up.

‘Aye, it looks antique.’

‘I said I thought he was a geek, not he looked antique. I think it’s very nice, Davidde.’

Davidde had been aware that people had been looking at his head all afternoon. It unsettled him, but not enough to put him off the race. He was understanding what people meant by getting focused. He was running different scenarios around in his head, and he was applying solutions to potential problems that could crop up later. He was also thinking about Dwayne walking away with the rest of Lyndon’s gang. Why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t he act like a friend? He’d helped Davidde so much recently, and Davidde liked to think he’d given in return.

‘I’ve called the police. We won’t be seeing any old scramblers tonight, I’m sure,’ said Mr Leighton triumphantly.

We’ll see about that, thought Davidde, as he made his excuses, and went next door to get ready for the big race.

Davidde made sure not to turn up too early. When he got there, Lyndon’s crew were gathered around him. Craig was relaxing him by rubbing his shoulders, and Pickle was entertaining him by doing tricks with phlegm. They were a very confident group, except for Dwayne, who was skulking about on his hands and knees, doing some last-minute work on Lyndon’s bike.

‘Here he is, boys, Darth Vader.’ They all laughed.

‘Alright, butt,’ said Davidde, ‘so I got a black helmet that’s too big for me. It wasn’t funny first time.’