Disrupted (10 page)

But Gale wasn’t finished. “Of course, everything turned crazy again when the fall-out accelerated through the atmosphere. Debris from the star ships hit all over earth, causing havoc with fires and demolishing entire buildings. It was a good kind of havoc, though, a fight we could win. Pieces from those ships are still sold as souvenirs, a reminder of the day we survived.”

This time I waited before my next sigh, just to make sure she really was finished.

“Except for South America,” said Chris in a low voice. “They didn’t survive, did they?”

Which made me feel instantly bad. See, this is why Chris has a destiny and I don’t. Here I am, heaving sigh after sigh of relief that my world had been spared, but an entire continent had been wiped out, for God’s sake.

Gale un-hugged herself to reach for Chris’s arm. “I know, Christian Wood. You once told me that was not a decision anyone should ever have to make or live with.”

“I— I did?” stuttered Chris, going a very flaky shade of white.

Gale retracted her hand, suddenly back to hugging herself. “Well, you were actually talking to Drustan, I just happened to overhear.”

“While your ear was pressed to the keyhole,” I said tartly, then immediately told myself off. I was no longer supposed to be wasting this kind of energy just to get one over Gale.

“Why would I say that?” said Chris in a voice of burning stone.

“Well, you’d been in your study a good few hours, alone with a bottle of whiskey. You did that a lot, afterwards... Anyway, by the time Drustan arrived, you were half gone and slurring all kinds of things.”

“That’s not what I mean. How would I know- why would I think that South America’s fate was a decision to be made? Like someone had decided that outcome and then had to live with it? As if it might have been prevented? As if we’d had a choice to stop the Razoks sooner rather than later.”

That’s how sharp Chris is. I would never have picked out the hidden inferences in what had simply seemed like an outcry of sympathy from (according to Gale) the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

But I could also be sharpish.

“Yeah,” I demanded of Gale, “and how come Chris knows what these Razoks look like when they were all supposedly vaporised?”

Gale’s head bopped between Chris and me. “How should I know? I thought Chris was making up the bit about the Razoks to tease me, until I saw for myself today.”

“Obviously they weren’t all vaporised,” pointed out Chris. “We know of at least two that weren’t. Maybe that’s why they’re after me, because I know they made it to earth.”

“But they didn’t, Christian Wood. Hundreds of private satellites followed their every movement from the second the Razok ships entered our galaxy. We would have seen if a capsule broke away and landed.”

Chris looked unconvinced.

I took my cue from him.

“Chris, this could be what your humungous destiny is about,” I said, still being sharp-ish. “Maybe you discover the rogue Razoks and abort a rebellious uprising.”

“My humungous destiny,” snapped Chris, “is a load of bollocks. At best, I pissed off the Razoks and they’re after me now for revenge. At worst, for all I know, Callum Jade wants me dead before I go around making decisions to wipe out South America. I’ll tell you what you can do with your humungous destiny, you can—”

“That’s quite alright,” I interrupted hastily. “No need to get into a flut. You’re not responsible for what the Razoks did.”

“I’m obviously responsible for something bad enough to hole me up in a study getting drunk and mumbling on about decisions and having to live with them.”

“Give it up,” I said crossly. “We don’t actually know a bloody thing about anything, do we?”

“This is all my fault,” wailed Gale. “I should never have told you about the Razoks.”

“Shut up, Gale,” we both snapped.

In the ensuing silence, I stepped into the elevator and gave Chris and Gale the evil eye until they joined me. The idea of hot-wiring a hopper was suddenly a doodle, what with everyone else going about blasting up continents and vaporising fleets.

A female voice husked from above, “Level?”

I looked up. All I saw was an endless shaft that tapered into darkness. “Three hundred?”

“Invalid,” husked the voice.

Gale tried, “Docking platform.”

“Invalid.”

“Our voice or our levels?” I asked.

No answer.

Chris went with, “The roof.”

Bingo. A moment later we were being expressed upward at mach-like speed. Between one blink and the next, the elevator door was sliding open to the sharp glare of direct sunlight and hoppers zipping and dipping above like an infestation of confused monster bugs. It seemed bizarre that the crowded sky wasn’t blasted with the roar of over-revved mini-engines and noxious fumes. But it wasn’t. If you closed your eyes for a moment, and I did, you’d never know there was anything up here sharing the sky with you.

The rooftop wasn’t that big, maybe the size of half a football field. A high wall ringed the area, but the swaying motion beneath my feet reminded me that I probably wouldn’t want to peer over the edge anyway.

The deck was totally crammed with Hoppers. There didn’t appear to be demarcated parking bays or any logical order. Smaller sparrows were wedged in amongst pigeons and sleek eagles. The sea of silvers, blacks and greys was broken by a single speck of colour. Three teenagers were hanging around a vivid green budgie; one guy sitting on the top with his legs dangling down, another propped against a stumpy wing. The girl, golden blonde hair streaming down her back, spun about to look at us.

“We’ve been spotted,” muttered Chris.

“We’re not guilty yet.” If you didn’t count the code-cracking and entering.

I decided to brazenly out-stare the girl (in protest of our innocence), but she wasn’t staring at me and Chris didn’t understand the rules. He was looking everywhere but and in a very non-innocent way.

“Try not to invite them over,” sniped Gale, nearly pinging me with an eyeball.

I ignored her and strolled over to a timid grey sparrow, casually draping my arm over the stubbed beak.

Gale flew to my side. “What are you doing?”

“Just being,” I told her. “In a cool, non-guilty way.”

I tried to hear what the green budgie gang were saying about us, but the wind channelled between the buildings at this height was a constant drone that blurred their words.

I gave up and instead studied the bird beneath my arm, hoping it was less fragile than the sparrow it resembled. It was the length of a small car, only much slimmer with a conical belly. There were no windows to peer through, just a tinted visor above the beak that gave nothing away. When Gale snuck a peek with her infrared vision, I got shifty. “You’re sure you’ve flown one of these before?”

She blinked at me. “I never said I’ve flown a land hopper.”

On the contrary. “When I asked how we were going to fly the thing, you said no problem.”

“It isn’t a problem. I’ve read the manual.”

“You’ve read the manual?” I exploded.

Chris rushed up.

Before he could accuse me of anti-Gale behaviour, I hissed at him, “She’s read the manual.” Then I turned to Gale. “Have you ever even been inside one?”

“I don’t see what the big fuss is,” said Gale, totally avoiding my question. “All land hoppers are fully automated. Manual navigation isn’t permitted within city limits.”

Why did that not make me feel better?

“Well,” said Chris, “if it’s full automated...?”

“Sure, what could possibly go wrong?”

No one picked up on my sarcasm.

While Gale and Chris went deep on how to outwit the scanner lock (without the twenty-digit barcode to scan), I went back to seriously not liking this plan. Forgive me for worrying about a little thing like plunging 300 floors to my death in a finely boned sparrow.

Okay, I reasoned with myself, Gale had estimated we were only two blocks south and three blocks west of Drustan’s building. All we needed was to coax one small (fully automated) hop from the hopper. Up and down. My stomach tightened. That was still an awful lot of down. A whole two blocks south and three blocks west of down. I was so not cut out for this thrills and grills stuff. Jack had been my first bit of gritty, and see how marvellous that had turned out.

And what was up with that girl?

She was so checking Chris out.

Golden Blondie was leaning against the belly of the budgie, pretending to be absorbed in conversation with her friends, but her gaze kept coming back to Chris, over and over and over.

A sudden squawk shredded my nerve endings.

Chris let out a low curse.

“Bad, bad alarm,” whispered Gale, slamming both hands against the bird’s belly. The sparrow responded with another ear-splitting squawk.

Gale glanced up nervously. “Did they hear?”

I came seriously close to scoffing her silly head. “How could they not?”

They’d heard, alright, and they were on the move, only not in the way one might have expected i.e. scrambling for mobiles and screaming, “Thief! Thief! Stop them!”

And if the guys were going for police backup, surely they wouldn’t take the time to hug Golden Blondie goodbye? There was a bit of after-hugging chitter-chatter and grinning as they went on to un-hood the sleek eagle adjacent to the budgie and jump in.

Just like that. As if they owned it.

Well, obviously they did, only I hadn’t given the possibility a remote thought. I did now, though. I was thinking how easily I might have turned some sass and flirt their way and canoodled ourselves a legitimate ride. Instead of standing here like a helpless twat, watching the eagle lift in a direct vertical, then hover only long enough for the hood to close over their heads.

Chris squinted after the eagle as it soared into the mainstream mayhem above. “What do you think? Are they going to rat on us?”

“I’m thinking,” I said in utter disgust, “that if I wasn’t slower than a dead tortoise, we’d be halfway to Drustan’s by now.”

Chris gave me a befuddled look, but I didn’t have time to catch him up. I glimpsed Golden Blondie slide back the nose of the green budgie to scratch around in the, well, I suppose the equivalent of the glove compartment.

“And I’m also thinking,” I added with less disgust as I watched her extract a beaded sling bag, “that we have a new plan. This is so going to work.”

Chapter 11

“T
his will never work,” muttered Chris. “Why don’t we simply ask for a lift?”

“Because she likes you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I know! I don’t know what she sees either. But she does, and that’s exactly why she’ll be totally miffed if you don’t chat her up a bit first.”

“I agree with Christian Wood. She’s either going to help us or not.”

I patted Gale on the head kindly. “One day, when you’re a real girl, you’ll understand.”

“Why, you—you—”

Chris cupped his hand over Gale’s mouth and dragged her behind him. He shook his head at me. “Why do you do that?”

I shrugged. “For the same reason I smash my alarm clock against the wall when I can’t find the snooze button. It’s quick and effective.”

Chris just looked at me.

And Golden Blondie was on the approach. She’d locked up the budgie, slung her beaded bag over her shoulder, and chosen a route to the elevator that would take her right past us.

“Quick,” I said eagerly, “here she comes.”

“I don’t know, Willow. I’m not much good at lying.”

“Look at her, will you?” I nudged Chris hard. “And then you tell me how much of a lie it will be to gaze into her eyes and tell her how pretty she is, how you took one look at her and couldn’t look away, how you couldn’t go on without spilling your heart at her feet?”

Chris looked.

So did I.

She was coming at us like some freaking model type. I swear she moved in slow motion, one endlessly long leg at a time, silky hair whipped carelessly in the breeze, thick lashes fluttering over ridiculously blue eyes that still strayed to Chris at regular intervals. I’d never actually seen a real live person with peaches and cream skin, until now. Even her clothes were fab, skinny white jeans and a stunning turquoise strappy top.

It’s just not right, is it, when one girl has everything? The face, the hair, the figure, the fashion sense, and the hopper.

This girl had it all.

And I was giving it all to Chris.

My eagerness turned queasy.

A purely business-like queasy, you understand. She was clearly short sighted and about two seconds away from realising what (sorry, whom) she’d been checking out. My wonderful plan would fizzle faster than her misguided ogling and that, I knew without a heartbeat of doubt, was the reason for my clenched tummy muscles.

Anyhow, no time for queasy doubt now.

I put my hands on Chris’s shoulder and turned him in the right direction. Then, with a sympathetic, “Just remember everything I told you,” at his ear, shoved him in Golden Blondie’s path.

“Oh,” she cried, toppling backward.

Chris grabbed out and steadied her in his arms. “S-Sorry about that.”

There, I thought, I’d thrown them in each other’s arms and they couldn’t ask for more than that. The rest was up to fate. And them.

I slid out of sight behind the sparrow and hunched close to the ground, not quite brave enough to watch the carnage.

“We tried our best,” I whispered to Gale. “I guess it’s back to hot-wiring and code-cracking for us.”

“Did your friend just push you at me?” I heard Golden Blondie gasp.

“No, of course not—well, maybe,” babbled Chris. “Willow can be a little strange that way. Sorry.”

Why, the back-stabber.

“Don’t be silly. It’s hardly your fault. Friends, huh? I have one or two like that. Maybe we should get them together and let them have at each other.”

And maybe I’d just have a quick go at her. I mean, she knew very well that one of the ‘Friends’ she was talking about was within unavoidable earshot.

Chris strangled a laugh.

I looked to Gale, but she was no support. Her eyeballs were spinning (and I don’t mean figuratively) with the hilarity of Chris and Golden Blondie bonding over their mutual dislike of me.

“I’m Clarrie, by the way.”

Chris introduced himself, and I was just happy they’d moved on from me when the conversation turned awkward again.

“So,” Golden Blondie (er, Clarrie) was saying, “you meeting Tommy up here?”

“Tommy?”

“Tommy Farrel.” Chris must have looked totally vague because she added, “Only, that’s his bird you set off.”

“Yes, well, um, about that...”

Gale latched onto my arm.

I held my breath.

The silence indicated Clarrie was also waiting in breathless anticipation.

Come on, Chris. All he had to say was something like, “Oh, yeah, Tommy, of course I know Tommy. He’s used to us setting off his bird. For a lark, you know. Ha ha, get it? Bird? Lark?”

How difficult could it be? A bit of eye contact, a half grin, not too interested, hold it... hold it... lean in slightly, reluctantly, trying but failing to resist the pull of her wondrous lips.

I did resist—showing myself, that is—but I was gagging for a glimpse of what was going down. I mean, in the time it had taken Chris to say absolutely nothing, I’d cleared us with a temporary alibi and made an excellent start at picking up my first girl.

“You were saying?” prompted Clarrie, earning top points for endurance.

I’d have been on my way with rolling eyes and a flurried “Wha’ever” eons ago.

“You are so pretty,” said Chris with less emotion that a stone.

Oh, no. He did know I’d not meant him to actually say the words, didn’t he?

“I took one look at you and couldn’t look away,” went on Chris in that robotic voice.

No, no, no.

Okay, so he didn’t know the subtle differences between body language and the English language. I grabbed a stubbed wing to haul myself up against the belly of the swallow. I didn’t want to look, not anymore, but how could I not? Maybe I could do something to fix this.

“I couldn’t go on without spilling my heart,” said Chris.

No I couldn’t.

And Chris wasn’t even red in the cheeks. Did he not know how big he’d ooped?

“What are you doing?” asked Clarrie, sounding a lot less horrified than I was.

Yes, Chris, I fumed silently, that’s exactly what I’d love to know.

Chris looked at her (was that a cheesy smile?) and then he said, “I really don’t know.”

“That much is obvious.”

This girl was like my mental twin. I thought the words and they came out of her mouth.

What happened next, however, was a lot less twinny. So much for our three microns of mental telepathy.

I gaped (yes, open-mouthed) as I watched.

“Then maybe I should show you how to do it properly.” Clarrie reached out with both hands, slowly, artfully, curled her fingers into Chris’s collar and reeled herself in and up, onto her toes, and she didn’t stop until they were lip to lip.

Now I really didn’t want to look, but couldn’t seem to turn away. This was no usual first kiss. There was slobbering and rubbing and what not. She still had Chris hooked by the collar, although it was painfully clear he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. I found my gaze fixed on his arms (hanging limply at his sides) and a funny feeling in my tummy. Any minute now, I knew, his hands would move, start exploring more of what was on offer.

They didn’t.

Which was just so Chris.

But he also wasn’t stopping the kiss. Neither was Golden Blondie. And the kiss wasn’t going to stop itself.

The feeling in my tummy was anything but funny. It felt more like I’d swallowed a bucket load of sour worms and they’d gone to war on each other.

I glared at the kissing duo. How long could one kiss possibly last? What about air, that’s what I wanted to know. That small matter of actually taking a breath now and then— Oh, okay, but did she have to keep at nibbling his lower lip while they came up for air?

A few sour worms left the battlefield, were now squirming up my throat. It was scream or gag, likely both, and I didn’t even know why. It’s not as if I had any designs on Chris. As if I cared who stuck their tongue down his throat (because I was pretty sure Golden Blondie was doing most of the work.)

I didn’t care.

I had Jack.

But no, I didn’t. Why did I keep forgetting? Jack and I were finished. Finito. Over. And not because of the trump card thing either. It was that other thing, that him being a cold-blooded murderer thing.

But that wasn’t the point. The point was, I didn’t fancy Chris. So why was that kiss (and it was still going on) regurgitating sour worms I hadn’t even eaten?

Golden Blondie moved on to gently sucking his upper lip, and finally I couldn’t watch anymore. I lifted my eyes to the sky, confused and angry, searching to blot my mind of Chris and Golden Blondie.

I think I blotted too much.

You know when you put a question out there, never expecting (or wanting) the universe to throw back an answer? Well, apparently this was my lucky day. Not.

Caroline Mewlin.

I’d known Caroline for just about ever. We weren’t best friends or anything, we just were.

Caroline and I were thrown together on our first day of infant school. Our mom’s had bumped into each other on the long first walk down the road and decided here was a readymade friendship less than a block away and what could be more convenient? At the tender age of five, we hadn’t known any better and then, when we did, it was too late. One sleepover too many, one common friend too many, and we couldn’t suddenly fall out without a valid reason. And there hadn’t really been a reason, it wasn’t as if we’d actively disliked each other. Until Peter Gradson, that is.

Now Peter is one of my best friends. He’d moved into the adjoining mews terrace at the beginning of Year 7, straight from Minnessota, USA and we’d taken an instant liking to each other.

Unfortunately, Peter had also taken one look at Caroline, fallen head over heels, and never got up again. Caroline had latched right onto him, of course. Not because he was the hottest thing this side of the Atlantic, but because he was different, spoke with a twangy drawl, had that broad, healthy thing going with sun-bleached hair and a deep tan. Once the exotic appeal had worn off, however, she’d dumped him.

I’d picked him up (no, not like that. I really wasn’t into Peter.) Anyway, I dusted him off and sent him out (crawling) into a date with Mandy Evans. And suddenly Caroline was all hot for him again.

The start of a horrific pattern that Peter refused to see. Caroline didn’t fancy him, but she didn’t want anyone else to have the only exotic guy at school.

Finally my threadbare duster gave up the ghost and I told Peter as much one day.

Do you know what he said?

“I don’t love Caroline because she’s perfect, Willow.”

That’s how nice Peter is.

And how horrible Caroline is.

And, okay, Chris isn’t exactly exotic, but he is different and out of the ordinary. Ask anyone in the 22
nd
century, apparently.

I didn’t want to be Caroline.

I wouldn’t be Caroline Mewlin, I decided then and there. I would not suddenly want Chris just because Golden Blondie wants him. I would not suddenly want Chris just because I don’t want anyone else to have the boy destined to greatness. I would not be Caroline Mewlin if it killed me to not be her.

With that, I pasted on my brightest smile, banned all predatory urges, and brought my gaze down from the skies.

In time to see Golden Blondie pull out of the kiss and take back her hands.

“Do you know what you’re doing now?” she asked in a seriously husky voice.

I smiled brighter, waiting for Chris to respond.

Look how flushed Chris was now. The flush of passion, of course. How absolutely adorable.

I was so happy for him.

And Golden—no, I mean Clarrie.

And me. I could do this. I could so not be Caroline Mewlin.

“Asking for a favour?” Chris brought his arms up, but changed his mind before he could fold them across his chest and instead slid his hands into his pockets. “I was hoping you could give my friends and me a lift in your hopper. It’s only a couple of blocks, shouldn’t take more than a minute or so.”

I stared at the two of them in shock. As responses go, that was about a nine on the Richter Scale of ‘blowing it’.

Clarrie turned her head, slowly, until she was staring into my stare.

My heart tried to soar, because who needs a ride when Chris had blown his chances with Clarrie? I immediately snagged the grasping organ and shoved it down low, somewhere under my feet.

Clarrie tilted her chin at me. Her eyes slid to Chris. “Friend?”

“Just friends,” I called out firmly, and plucked Gale up by the scruff of her tubing to be viewed and assessed in full sight.

Gale wriggled and contorted until she slipped free on a squeal of disgust.

“Don’t mind her,” I told Clarrie cheerfully. “She’s quite harmless.”