The Territory (5 page)

Freakoids aren’t always that easy to spot.

A new boy joined our class today: Raf Ferris. Ms Jones introduced him at registration. No one paid much attention at first. He seemed unremarkable. He was wearing scuffed blue jeans and a brown jumper with a small hole at the elbow. And a scarf. Even though it really wasn’t that cold. Jack thought he looked like a right poser. It was only when Raf looked up that everyone took notice. He has these really weird, intense eyes. The left one is bright green but the right one is bright blue. I never even knew a person could have eyes like that. I remember a neighbourhood cat when I was really small having one yellow and one green eye, but never a person.

Hugo sniggered and then obviously Amanda, his lame shadow, started laughing too. They are so predictable. Laughing at anything that is not compleeeeetley perfect. I think his eyes are cool though. Better than perfect. When the freakoids started laughing, Raf just grinned and kept chewing the gum in his mouth. He has a really cool grin. I must have been grinning too ’cos Daisy poked me in the ribs and whispered in my ear, ‘You so luuurrrvve him’. Which I so don’t, obviously. I don’t even know him.

Ms Jones told Raf to go and sit down and then told him to take off his scarf as it wasn’t ‘suitable attire’ for the classroom. She also told him that he needed to buy or borrow a school uniform by tomorrow morning.

‘I am not sure how they ran things at your last school, Rafael, but we do things properly at Hollets. A smart appearance is one step closer to a smart mind.’

She is such a pain, Ms Jones. She says so many completely annoying things that I think she must have a book of annoying phrases somewhere at home and selects a new one every morning.

‘And dispose of your chewing gum this instant. We do not chew the cud. We are not cattle.’

Some days it seems she selects two. And great joke, as there aren’t any cows anymore, except her of course.

When Raf unwrapped his scarf I gasped. There, at the back of his neck, between the second and third vertebrae, was a Node – clear as anything. I prodded Daisy in the ribs and her mouth literally fell open too. At the same time I saw Hugo and Quentin just stop and stare and even Ms Jones flinched. I don’t know who was more shocked: me and Daisy to find out that the cool new boy was actually a freakoid Childe or the freakoids to find out that the mutant-eyed messy boy was actually one of them.

I really don’t get sport. We have to do loads of it, even with the TAA looming, as some Ministry idiot seems to think it’ll help the formation of some new strong, healthy, intelligent master race that’ll lead us out of our current problems. There’s even an exceptionally lame poster in the changing rooms showing a group of guys, supposedly fifteen but even more built than Jack, with the slogan, ‘Team building builds the Territory’. I mean, what crap! As if these teen sporting heroes are going to use their over-developed biceps to somehow pump the Wetlands dry, Superman-style. Methinks not. More likely they’re going to be moaning about torn hamstrings and knee injuries while sitting at their boring desk jobs or dying in the Wetlands as one too many tackle knocked out one too many brain cell.

All lessons were cancelled this afternoon so the whole school could watch our Rugby First Team play in the Schools’ Final against Higgins High, our main rival. Everyone was absurdly excited about the game. Loads of students were wearing or waving the Hollets scarf (super lame and super grim tan and black stripes) and Amanda and some other freakoid girls had painted glittery ‘H’s on their cheeks, lost in the ecstasy of getting to watch Hugo and Quentin run around in short shorts.

Daisy whispered in my ear, ‘Do you think we should tell them Higgins High also starts with an H?’ and I cracked up. Amanda glared at us, not knowing what the joke was, but knowing it was at her expense.

Normally Daisy and I would have skived something like this at all costs, but this time Jack was playing and, knowing this was pretty important to him, we thought we really should support him. He’d been included last minute as Felix, the normal winger, had hurt his shoulder. So when the bell rang, we dutifully filed onto the spectator benches with everyone else and began edging along the row to an empty space. I was looking at the pitch rather than where I was going, so I didn’t stop when the guy in front of me did and ended up embarrassingly tumbling into his lap like a full-on denser. I heard a bump as something fell to the ground.

Looking up, blushing furiously, I saw that I’d landed on Raf, the new freakoid. I stood up, cringing and expecting him to have a massive go at me, trashing me and Norms in general in the usual freakoid way. Fish, Fish, Fish.

Instead, he flashed me an incredible grin and I got to see those magical eyes close up.

‘Um, sorry about that,’ I mumbled. Possibly not my greatest verbal effort, but it was the best I could manage as I stood and straightened myself up. And then I remembered the ‘bump’. ‘Oh God, I think I knocked something onto the ground. I hope it’s not broken.’

‘No problem, really. Please don’t worry,’ Raf insisted a little too much. Like an idiot, I ignored him and dived down again (realising when on the ground that I was far too close to his crotch) returning with a battered paperback book.

‘Thanks,’ Raf said quietly, and tucked the book into his coat pocket before too many prying eyes took notice. Reading’s pretty unusual and reading actual books, rather than the official books supplied on your Scribe, is seen as BAD. Dad only lets me read the books he gives me at home. I guess different rules apply to freakoids. The chances of them growing up and joining the Opposition are a big fat zero so they don’t have the same police attention.

I’d seen the title:
Great Expectations
.

‘It’s good. The book, I mean,’ I said, wanting for some reason to continue the conversation.

Surprise registered on his face. ‘You’ve read it? I thought no one else read this stuff anymore. Yeah, it’s brilliant, so far,’ Raf replied. ‘Thought I might get some reading done while everyone was watching the match.’ He gestured at the field and the crowd. ‘This isn’t really my thing.’ Pause. ‘I’m Raf by the way.’

His breath smelt of spearmint gum. ‘I’m Noa.’

And then the whistle blew and the talking stopped.

I know basically nothing about rugby. Jack’s tried to teach me the fundamentals but my brain just switches off. Even so, I could tell that Jack was on fire this afternoon. He seemed to be everywhere at once and moved massively fast for someone so big. Whenever some guy from Higgins had the ball and starting sprinting towards their white line, Jack was there and tackled them down. Huge cheers rang out round the pitch and even freakoids joined in the cheers of, ‘Jack, Jack, Jack.’ Hugo and Quentin and the others were probably all playing fine, but no one cared. This was Jack’s match, and they knew it. I could see the anger on Hugo and Quentin’s faces, even though from where I was sitting they were not much more than fork-sized.

Just before the end of the match, it really kicked off. Jack was tripped. And I don’t mean tackled. I’m talking deliberately tripped, mid-sprint, by a member of his own team: Quentin. Jack literally somersaulted mid-air and came down with a crunch. Daisy and I were left gasping and pointing and there was a general rumble of concern along the Hollets benches. Even Raf got that something was wrong and looked up from his book in confusion. The referee looked a bit shocked, but there really wasn’t anything he could do. It’s not like it was a normal team on team foul or anything. I couldn’t take my eyes of Jack, willing him to get to his feet, hoping that he and, most importantly, his hands, weren’t badly injured.

He eventually got up, winced slightly as he flexed various muscles, and then he slowly and determinedly walked over to Quentin. There was a fixed look on his face and his fists were clenched. I don’t know what would have happened next if the end-of-match whistle hadn’t blown and the Hollets coach hadn’t dragged Jack away and back to the lockers.

Hollets had won and Jack got ‘Best Player’.

But victory seemed pretty empty.

I never thought I could actually enjoy an Assembly, but today’s was something else. First-class Ace-McSpace. Mr Daniels has had a hair transplant. Yes, I’m talking about a full-on removal of the grey squirrel’s tail and all over plugs of golden brown. I think the rumours about him and Ms Forester must be true. She’s at least fifteen years’ younger than him so this must be his attempt to look thirties rather than fifties. But what a result! He looks RIDICULOUS! We’re calling him Aslan from now on, even Daisy, who wouldn’t read anything if she could get away with it and is normally allergic to book references.

We were all made to read
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
in Year 6. Maybe the Ministry thought that books about ‘plucky’ kids fending for themselves would somehow make the idea of being shipped off to the Wetlands less terrifying. Yeah right. Shame there’s no magic door to escape back through.

Anyway, Mr Daniels has got balls though. He walked up onto the stage and began droning on about God’s Love (yeah – not sure his God loves Norms very much) as if nothing whatsoever had happened to his scalp. And then halfway through his limp speech, he actually shook his neck a little to make his hair waft out, like he was a hot sixteen-year-old girl. Jack, Daisy and my shoulders all began to shake like washing machines. I couldn’t look at their faces as I knew the laughter would explode out and TAA points would be haemorrhaged. As it was, Mr Daniels seemed to be able to detect the silent shaking as he stopped, mid-sentence, and did search-beam eyes over the Assembly floor.

I stopped breathing as his eyes swept over the three of us. ‘Please, please, please don’t notice us,’ I said in silent prayer to the God I’m not sure I even believe in.

Miraculously, his eyes kept moving and the next thing I knew, some other poor kid was being yelled at.

‘You. Yes you there. Stand up. What’s your name?’

‘Raf.’

I couldn’t believe it. The new freakoid boy. He must have been laughing too.

‘Raaaaffff.’ Mr Daniels drew out his name like he was stretching a rubber band between his teeth. ‘You’re clearly finding something very amusing. Is there a joke you’d like to share with us?’

‘No, sir. Sorry, sir.’

‘See me in my office after Assembly.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Raf bent his head as he sat down again. He looked a bit scared, but he didn’t look properly sorry. He looked like someone acting sorry who’s a bit of a bad actor. I hope he doesn’t get into too much trouble though. He seems pretty cool for a freakoid. And I swear he was still chewing gum, which is almost a criminal offence at Hollets.

Oh, and Jack got Fished again today. This time it was his locker, which I guess is at least better than his desk. He went to open it at lunch to get out his kit for rugby practice and a super-large, super-grim brown trout plopped out onto the floor. Slime trail down Jack’s clothes, dead eye staring back up. A note ‘Hello Fish Face’ was tied round its neck.

You’d have thought that basically winning the big match single-handedly for Hollets would be seen as a good thing, but the rumour is that someone’s going to be bumped from the first team to make a permanent position for Jack, and the freakoids aren’t happy about it.

Jack said it didn’t bother him. That it just shows what losers the freakoid jocks are. And how much time they have on their hands. Free this weekend? Yes, but after I’ve walked to the river and put on some rubber gloves and fished out some dead diseased fish.

But no one wants their locker to stink of dead fish. And no one wants to be constantly reminded of what’s going to happen if it all goes wrong in June.