The Serpents of Arakesh (4 page)

In the end, I told Cameron.

I had to — no matter which way I looked at it, I was going to need help. He was the only person I felt I could trust, apart from Cookie — and I didn't want to get her into any kind of trouble.

I told him at athletics practice. We'd both been knocked out of the high jump — I'm no good at it, and Cameron is one of those guys who trips over his own feet. I sidled up to him. ‘Hey, Cameron,' I said in his ear. He jumped about a metre, and looked at me kind of warily from behind his specs. Cameron likes to stay on the right side of the teachers, and you could see he wasn't too sure I belonged on the same side. I gave him a reassuring grin, and stood close so I could mutter in his ear.

‘Hey — you know that bookmark you gave me?'

‘Yeah?' he said cautiously.

‘I filled it in and sent it off, and guess what?' Suddenly I felt shy about telling anyone my amazing news — almost
as if telling might make it vanish in a puff of smoke, or something crazy like that.

‘What?' He was interested now — he'd stopped leaning away and was really listening.

‘Well,' I hissed, looking round to check no one else was within earshot, ‘I got a letter saying I'm in the final ten!'

That got his attention all right. His head whipped round fast enough to dislocate his neck.
‘Wicked!'
he goes, real loud.

‘Shhhh!'

‘Sorry,' he whispered. ‘Adam, that is just
so
cool — you're not kidding me?'

I guess he could see I wasn't. He grinned.
‘Wicked!'
he said again.

I hadn't expected my news to be greeted with this much excitement — in fact, to tell the truth, I'd had a niggling worry he might try to claim the prize. But he seemed really happy for me. It made me like him even more.

‘It
is
wicked, huh? Only thing is, though —'

Quickly, without going into too much detail, I filled him in on the problems with Matron, and how I'd had to take the letter. I wasn't sure he'd approve, being such a goody-good, but all he said was, ‘You nicked it?
Wicked!'

‘Yeah,' I told him, one eye on the sports teacher. ‘I'm going, I've made up my mind about that. Only problem is, I have to figure out how, without Matron smelling a rat. I've looked at the map on the back of the letter, and it's about four-hundred kilometres. I could hitch, I guess —'

He interrupted me: ‘We can't talk about it now — Mr Thomas is giving us funny looks. How about you come home with me after school tomorrow? Bring the letter and we'll make a plan. The whole thing is just way, way cool — you
have
to do it! And hey —' he was really getting into this now, ‘we could play
Quest for the Golden Goblet
, too
— that way, you'd get an idea of what the whole thing's about before you go. Would you be allowed?'

Matron didn't like it, but there wasn't much she could do about a telephone invitation from Cameron's dad — other than get a look on her face as though she was chewing a lemon when she told me I could go.

There's only one word to describe that afternoon at Cameron's.

Wicked!

For starters, somewhere along the line Cameron stopped looking at me as if he expected me to bite his arm off. For the first time I could remember, I felt like maybe — just maybe — I was making a friend.

His dad picked us up in the silver sports car. It had a CD player, loaded up with music kids our age like, not old-fashioned, fuddy-duddy stuff. We turned it up loud and opened the electric windows; Cameron's dad made a face, and some comment about it being lucky we didn't have far to drive. He was real cool, not how you'd imagine a rich person at all.

Their house was like something you'd see on TV. I started to take my shoes off at the door — there were these real pale, soft-looking carpets — but Cameron laughed, threw down his bag in the hall and walked through to the kitchen.

We raided the pantry, and found some doughnuts and these huge nectarines with stickers saying they came from California, and chocolate biscuits with crunchy stuff inside. I couldn't believe we were allowed. ‘Won't your dad be mad?'

Cameron just laughed. ‘That's what it's here for!' I could see he was enjoying himself.

He dug out a bag of popcorn, and we popped it in the microwave. It was magic. We sprinkled on some salt, and piled it on the plates with the rest of the stuff. Then Cameron grabbed two cans of cola from the fridge — a whole can each — and we headed off to his bedroom.

Cameron flopped down on one of the chairs at his desk, and gestured to the one in front of the computer. ‘You take the driver's seat.' I sat down. ‘Right,' he said, ‘business first.'

It took us an hour to put together a plan we both felt sure would work. As Cameron said, this kind of chance didn't come more than once in a lifetime — you wouldn't want to mess it up. It was amazing how easy everything was with the Internet. I'd been worrying myself sick about how to find out about buses and train schedules, but all we needed to do was type in the information we wanted to know, press a key, and there it was.

We put together every detail of what Cameron called my ‘secret mission', making sure the bits connected and it all made sense. The way we worked it, I'd get to Winterton station at about five on the Saturday evening.

Once we were happy with it, I said, ‘Well, I guess I'd better copy it. Have you got a bit of paper and a pencil?' The prospect of writing it down didn't appeal to me at all. I was sure the moment Cameron saw my terrible writing and spelling, he'd remember I was the class dumbhead. He'd stop being friendly and realise it was time I was getting back to Highgate.

‘Nah, we'll do it the lazy way,' said Cameron, flicking on the printer, and printing it all out easy as pie.

As I folded it up carefully and put it away in my pocket, I had a sudden, sickening thought. It felt just like one minute I'd been strolling along with my hands in my pockets and next second I'd dropped off the edge of the planet. Reality, I guess.

Cameron was nattering away, but he must have sensed something, because he stopped and gave me this look. ‘What's up?'

I looked away. I felt ashamed and miserable and utterly hopeless. ‘Nothing,' I mumbled.

‘Yeah, there is. Come on, Adam — why have you gone quiet?'

‘It's just … it's just that …'

‘Just that what? Whatever it is, let's sort it out quick — we've still got
Golden Goblet
to do before you leave, and it's half past four already!'

There was this big lump blocking my mind — pride, I guess. With a huge effort, I moved it over to the side, out of the way. ‘It won't work.'

‘What do you mean, it won't work?' he said impatiently. ‘Of course it'll work — we've just spent the last hour making sure it'll work perfectly!'

‘You don't understand,' I said hopelessly. After all, how could he? This house — the computer — the car — the food — every single thing about Cameron was so different from me that we might as well have been in separate worlds. He could never understand the kind of problems that existed for me. How
could
he? How could we even
begin
to be friends?

Cameron looked at me from behind his thick glasses and said: ‘What don't I understand?'

So I blurted it out. ‘We forgot about money. It would all cost money, all the buses and trains and stuff.'

Cameron carried on staring at me, waiting for more. ‘So?'

‘I don't
have
any.' I was mad at myself for not thinking of it before … and ashamed to have to admit it in front of Cameron.

He looked at me as though I'd slapped him in the face. A blush crept over his cheeks, and his glasses kind of
misted over. He looked down. He's ashamed, too, I thought. Ashamed he ever invited me here.

‘I'm sorry,' he said, so softly I had to struggle to hear him. ‘I never even thought. Of course you don't have any money.' He gave me this little glinting shy glance. ‘I don't suppose … I don't want to offend you, or anything.' He took a deep breath. ‘But I have heaps. I can give you, or lend you, or whatever, enough to pay for the train fares and stuff, and a bit extra, without even noticing. Would you let me? As my contribution to your secret mission?'

I thought about it — for about a millisecond. I'm pretty good at recognising when I have a choice, and when I don't. ‘Well, thanks, I guess,' I said, ‘but it's a loan, right? I'll pay you back the second I have money of my own. Only thing is …' I found I was grinning at him, ‘don't hold your breath, OK?'

‘OK,' he said, and held out his hand. I held out mine too, and we shook.

‘Deal,' he said.

‘Deal.' But in my mind, I wasn't really shaking on that. In my mind, I was hearing
friend
.

It sounded like the best word I'd ever heard.

What with end-of-term tests and athletic trials, the next few days passed in a blur. Before I knew it, it was Friday. The last day of school — and the day before I was due to set off. I still couldn't believe it was really going to happen — and that was another reason I was glad I'd told Cameron. Without him counting down the hours with me, I reckon I'd have written the whole thing off as a crazy dream.

Miss McCracken handed out our reports, along with the usual lecture about them being addressed to our parents —
and guardians
, with a meaningful look at me — not us, so we must on no account open them.

We took all the artwork and projects off the walls and everyone was given theirs to take home. Cameron rolled his up carefully and asked Miss McCracken for a rubber band to keep them all together.

I screwed mine up and tossed them in the bin.

‘
Adam!
' said Cameron. ‘Why did you do that?'

Anyone who looked at my stuff for more than a millisecond wouldn't need to ask. It was rubbish — even Miss McCracken didn't pretend any different, always sticking it up way off in one corner, or behind a pot plant. ‘I don't keep that kind of junk,' I told him. ‘Don't have the space.'

At last the bell went. On the way to the door, Cameron gave me a dig in the ribs. ‘Hey, Adam — good luck!' He pushed a piece of paper into my hand. ‘This is my e-mail address. If you get the chance, let me know you made it. You can tell me all about it next term — don't forget a single detail!' Cameron was going overseas for the holidays with his family, and wouldn't get back until a couple of days before the new term.

Once the other guys had peeled off home and I was trudging up the last stretch of the hill on my own, I dug my report out of my bag and opened it. Not that I really cared what was in it — but experience had taught me it was better to know what it said in advance.

Language
, said the first heading. I slowed down and screwed up my eyes, trying to read Miss McCracken's writing. It wasn't so great — especially for someone who moaned so much about other people's.
Adam has a wide-ranging vocabulary, though an unfortunate tendency to use it inappropriately.
Huh?
His verbal skills do not extend to his written work, which remains poor. Spelling and presentation have shown no improvement over the past term.

I sighed. This wasn't looking good.
Reading. Adam remains a reluctant reader, lacking the fluency we would expect at this age. He is easily distracted, and frequently disrupts silent reading periods as a result.

Roughly, I shoved the report back into its envelope and stuffed it into my pocket.
School's over
, I thought.
Don't think about all that — think about tomorrow, instead. This time tomorrow you'll be almost four-hundred kilometres away from
school. And Miss McCracken. And Matron and her precious Geoffrey.

All through dinner that thought was going round and round in my head, as comforting as a heartbeat:
This time tomorrow, I won't be here.
I usually looked forward to Friday's steak, egg and chips, but today my stomach was churning, and the food seemed to stick in my throat. I ate it all, though — I reckoned I needed to keep my strength up for the morning.

I planned to leave right after breakfast, as I needed to be at the bus stop by nine thirty. The bus would take me to the station, where I'd catch the ten-thirty train. One change at Cranmer, a short wait, and I'd be at Winterton by late afternoon. From there it looked like an easy walk to Quested Court.

Matron's voice cut into my thoughts. ‘Children, your attention, please. Those of you being collected for the holidays need to finish your packing and wait in the recreation room for your guardians. Those on washing-up duty go through to the kitchen and begin. As for the rest of you, trays away as usual.' Then her eyes fixed on me like a laser. ‘Adam Equinox, I will see you in my office.'

My heart sank. What now? It couldn't be the report — it hadn't been any worse than expected, and Matron didn't usually make a fuss about that kind of thing.

Desperately sifting through everything I'd done — and not done — over the past few days, I slouched down the passage to Matron's door and waited outside. Her heels came clacking after me. She opened the door, marched in and sat behind the desk. I followed her. There were chairs on my side of the desk, too, but I knew better than to sit. They were for visitors; I was expected to stand.

Matron slid open her top drawer and took something out. For a heart-lurching second I thought it was my Quentin Quested letter … but when she slapped it down on the desk I saw it was my school report.

‘I have had the pleasure of reading your term report,' said Matron. ‘Its contents will come as a surprise, as naturally you haven't read it.' I flushed — even I could see the rip in the envelope where I'd torn it open. ‘I am most disappointed. Listen to your teacher's closing comment:
Adam is a boy who makes no effort whatsoever to apply himself, and takes no pride in any aspect of his school work. He has poor social skills and is a negative influence on his peers. He is disruptive in class, undisciplined and lacking in consideration and a fundamental sense of responsibility. Adam needs to learn to apply himself, and to develop a sense of self-respect.

I felt my face burn. It wasn't true! I wasn't like that! However much I pretended not to care, it hurt to hear that Miss McCracken thought I was so hopeless.

But there was worse to come.

‘This is unacceptable, Adam,' said Matron, her voice like ice. ‘Your behaviour and poor performance reflect directly on Highgate, and thus on me. I have no alternative other than to punish you for this shameful report. I have thought long and hard about what action would be most appropriate.'

I waited.

Matron looked me dead in the eyes, and smiled.

‘I've decided you will be confined to the boys' dormitory until lunch time tomorrow: a period of quiet contemplation to assist you in improving your attitude and behaviour.'

Her eyes were like flints. Suddenly I saw this was about much more than the report. This was about the letter from Quentin Quested.

Like a fool, I'd believed Matron had forgotten. But now
I knew she hadn't: she couldn't be sure I'd taken the letter, but
just in case
she was going to lock me up like a prisoner until she knew it would be too late for me to do anything about it.

That night I cried myself to sleep. I hadn't done that since I was a little kid and I thought I'd developed a hard enough shell for it never to happen again. I was wrong. I stuffed my shawl into my mouth and bit down on it so no one would hear. Most of all, I didn't want Geoffrey to know.

When I woke up, it was raining. My head felt swollen and stupid, and my eyes were puffed up like a boxer's. I turned to face the wall, so no one would see. After a while Matron came clacking over to my bed, and stood there for a minute in silence. I lay with my back to her, ignoring her.

‘Sulking, are we?' she said. ‘Very well: you can stay there with no breakfast, if that's what you'd prefer. And since you will doubtless feel the same at lunch time, perhaps you'd better miss that, too.'

Her heels clicked away to the door. I heard it snap shut behind her, and the sound of the key in the lock. It would have been a luxury to cry in private, but I had no tears left.

I spent the morning wondering what the time was, and imagining the ten-thirty train to Cranmer pulling away from the platform without me. And playing my penny whistle. And thinking.

When Matron unlocked the door again after lunch, I did my best to look as hang-dog and miserable as possible. I must have done a pretty good job, because she gave a satisfied nod and said, ‘Get dressed and come through to the recreation room. Outside play is cancelled because of
the rain. You will sit with your back to the television, and read a book.

‘And Adam …' Her lips twitched into a small smile. ‘Don't
ever
try to get the better of me again.'

One thing about Matron — she loves a good exit line. She turned on her heel and clacked off in the direction of her office.

The second she was gone, I leapt out of bed and grabbed my bag. I was already packed, dressed and ready to go, my plastic waterproof over my sweatshirt. I crept through the dormitory door and down the passageway past Matron's office. The door was closed. I reached the rec room and slipped past with my heart in my mouth. To the front door — edged it open, praying it wouldn't creak. Slid through.

I'd imagined myself slinking through the garden like a spy, making the most of the cover of trees and bushes on my way to the gate. But the moment the door closed behind me, I was off down the drive like an Olympic sprinter, gravel spurting out from under my feet and rain in my face, heading for the tall white gate and freedom.