The Bubble Boy (26 page)

My legs are starting to ache and my hands are shaking. Greg stands by my side and asks me if I’m okay. I tell him I feel a bit dizzy but I don’t want to miss Henry. He tells me I
won’t and leads me to my bed.

The picture flickers. Henry is back on the screen. He’s sat down on a chair at a table outside Starbucks. The camera zooms in on Henry’s helmet and the cameraman is reflected in the
glass. A woman walks over to Henry and hands him a brown paper bag and a cup of coffee. He holds the cup to his mouth and pretends to drink it. Everyone laughs. I laugh too. I think how much Henry
would like to do it for real but he doesn’t seem to mind.

‘Henry’s just taking a rest here in Starbucks,’ says the reporter. ‘Let’s see if we can get a word.’ She weaves her way through the crowd. A security guard
blocks her way.

‘No, mam,’ he says. ‘Not now, maybe later.’ He looks over his shoulder. Henry’s only been sat down for two minutes but he’s already being moved on.

‘He needs to rest.’

‘Yeah, mate. Maybe they’re thinking about the time.’

Matt runs in front of Henry and grabs hold of his hand. He points ahead. They walk towards an escalator. The photographers run ahead, get on backwards and take pictures as Henry gets on.
He’s smiling and his eyes are shining. It’s like he’s looking right at me. He opens his mouth and makes a shape like an O.

‘I think he said my name.’

‘Yeah,’ says Greg. ‘Think he did, mate.’

Henry lifts up his hand and points at a massive sign with green writing –
Food Hall.

‘I knew it!’ I put my hands on my head. Then I cough and taste metal again.

Henry walks past Burger King, Snack Shack and other shops serving Chinese food and pizzas. People are sitting on silver chairs at silver tables. They stop eating as Henry walks by. Some of them
stand up and clap, the rest smile and wave. Henry stops and puts his hand up to his head.

‘I don’t think he believes what’s happening,’ says the reporter. ‘He’s having so much fun he wants to soak up every minute.’

‘Greg.’

‘Yes, mate.’

‘I think something’s wrong.’

‘He’s having a rest, mate.’

‘No, I think . . .’

Henry’s mum says something to him and signals to one of the nurses.

‘Maybe he just needs some water,’ says Greg.

‘No, his drink is built into his suit.’

Greg shrugs. ‘Then I don’t know, mate.’

Henry’s mum and a nurse lead him to a chair. The reporter pushes her way in front of the camera and holds out her microphone.

‘Henry, you must be one happy guy?’

The camera zooms in on Henry’s face. He’s smiles but I think he’s smiling for the cameras. That’s not how he smiles at me on Skype.

‘Just a few words?’

Henry mouth opens but he looks too tired to speak.

Something’s wrong. I know it. I look at the time. I try to work out how long Henry has been outside but I’m too worried to concentrate. I get off my bed and walk up to the
screen.

Henry, what’s wrong?

Two nurses are bending down by Henry’s side. They’re talking to him but I don’t think he replies. He doesn’t even lift his arm or move his head. More nurses arrive with
medical cases and two paramedics carrying a stretcher. Henry’s head falls forwards like his helmet is too heavy. Maybe his blood count isn’t right. Maybe his air is too pure. But NASA
would have checked that, wouldn’t they?

A man puts his arm around Matt and leads him away. My heart thuds and I feel a lump in my throat. A policeman with a gun on his hip holds up his hand and walks towards the camera. Henry slumps
forwards. His suit crumples like all the energy’s gone out of him, like someone has walked up behind him and pulled out the valve.

‘Greg, what’s wrong with him. He doesn’t look—’

I screw up my face as a pain shoots through my head.

‘Mate, what’s up?’

I hold my hand up to my head. The pain shoots again. It’s like an ice-cream headache but I haven’t eaten any. My monitors start to beep faster. The room starts to spin, round and
round, faster and faster, like Henry’s flying around in a washing machine. Greg’s standing over me. He’s spinning around too.

‘Greg, I don’t feel well. I can taste metal.’

My head falls back on my pillow. Sweat runs down my neck.

‘You’re okay, mate. Take it easy, I’m here.’

‘Greg, I don’t—’

‘Mate. Joe!’

Greg reaches over me and presses the emergency button.

The world turns black.

Beep
.

Beep
.

Beep
.

Room temp.
: 19

Air purity
: 98.1

Heart rate: 113

Beep
.

Beep
.

Beep
.

I’ve got aeroplanes inside my head. They’re circling round, stacked high in the sky –
Air New Zealand
,
British Airways
and
Virgin Atlantic
– they go
round and round and round and round.
Air New Zealand
,
British Airways
,
Virgin Atlantic
.

There’s so many they make me dizzy.

Air New Zealand, British Airways, Virgin Atlantic.

Air New Zealand, British Airways –

‘What’s that, mate?’

‘. . . Virgin Atlantic.’ I open my eyes. The lights are dimmed. My room is full of shadows and the screens are as black as the night sky. I take a deep breath and feel a hand on my
arm. Greg is sat beside me. He’s dark and fuzzy and merges in with the wall. My eyelids fall down. I hear Greg talking to other people but I can’t hear what they’re saying . . .
it’s like they’re all talking underwater. I try to lift my head, but it aches too much and my body hurts in every place it touches the bed. I force my eyes open again and try to speak.
A sharp pain shoots through the middle of my head when I cough. Greg leans over me and presses a cup against my lips.

‘Try and drink, mate,’ he says.

I take a sip but my throat is so sore it’s like I’ve got a hedgehog stuck in it. I cough again. Greg raises my bed. I see the shadows of doctors and nurses.

‘It’s happened rather suddenly.’

‘BP?’

‘100/80.’

‘Heart rate?’

‘117.’

‘Let’s try . . .’

My room starts to spin. My stomach feels like it’s coming up through my throat.

‘I feel sick.’

Greg puts his hand around my shoulders and I’m sick in a bowl.

‘Easy, mate. Easy.’ He wipes my mouth. I look down at my arm. A tube comes out of it across my bed and up into a plastic bag.

‘What happened?’ I whisper.

‘Not now, mate. Just relax.’

Greg puts a wet flannel on my forehead. It’s so cold it freezes my brain.

I shiver.

Greg pulls my covers up to my chin. My head falls back. The shadows move and talk in front of the window. Outside, the lights in the glass building are dull and the sky is turning from black to
grey. Another plane flies across the inside of my head. I wish I could go and see them again but I don’t think I’d want to go if I came back feeling like there’s a bug crawling
through my body. I don’t want any bugs. I hate bugs . . .

‘I hate bugs . . .’

‘He’s very restless, let’s try something to bring his temperature down . . . Paracetamol . . . and increase the fluids to . . .’

‘I hate bugs.’

‘I know, mate, just take it easy.’ Greg’s back by my side. He puts a clean bowl on my bed. I try to talk but it comes out as a whisper.

‘What happened?’ I ask.

Greg looks at the doctors then back at me. ‘We’re not sure, mate. One minute you were watching Henry, the next you’d passed out.’

I turn my head slowly and look at the screens. They’re all blank and the red standby lights are blurred. I close my eyes and try to remember what I was watching. Henry in the mall, smiling
and waving on the escalator. I wait for him to get off but the escalator goes on and on and he never reaches the top. It’s like I’ve got a DVD in my head stuck on repeat.

I open my eyes and close them again. Henry’s jumped ahead, he’s outside McDonald’s with people all around him cheering and smiling. Then I see Henry start to fall forward.

‘Henry!’

‘Wow, mate, stay still.’ Greg puts his hand on my arm.

‘But Henry . . . ?’ I swallow and screw my eyes as pain shoots again. ‘Is he okay?’

‘Mate, please, lay still.’

‘Can I check . . . ? Can I message him?’

I try to reach for my laptop. My head spins again. Another nurse stands my by side and puts her hand on my shoulder. Greg puts his hand on my chest.

‘Mate, this is serious. You’re not well enough for that.’

‘But—’ My chests rattles and I cough. ‘But I need to find out . . . I really need to know.’

Greg looks towards the doctors. ‘It’s important . . . I don’t think he’s going to rest till he knows.’

I don’t hear the reply but I think I see a shadow shake its head. Greg gets up and walks towards them. They nod and start to whisper.

‘I think . . .’

‘I know but . . .’

‘Just for . . .’

‘Okay. Okay.’

They stop talking. Greg comes back to me. ‘Just one message’ he says. ‘Just to check.’

‘Okay.’

He slides my laptop onto my bed and lifts up the screen. I try to move the mouse but the keyboard is all blurry and the letters move up and down they’re floating on the sea. I blink. My
head clears a little and I check my messages. There’s two from my teachers, eleven for Bubble Boy but nothing on Skype from Henry. I start to type.

I wait for the pencil to start scribbling. But it doesn’t.

I cough and a bright light flashes through the middle of my head. I scrunch my eyes. The light flashes again, a million times brighter than the car headlights I passed on the
road with Amir. I shout to Greg. All that comes out is a croak. The lights shine again. I twist in my bed, reach for my pillow and try to wrap it round my head.

‘Easy, Joe. Easy.’

A hand on my shoulder. A hand on my leg.

‘Hold him. Hold him!’

Another bright light.

‘No, Joe. Don’t take it off. I tell you, not to take it off.’ Amir’s stood in front of the car headlights with his hand in the air. ‘Joe, I tell you. No take it
off.’

I didn’t take it off. I don’t think I took my helmet off? I bite my teeth together as the pain comes again.

I’m at the airfield with Amir. Planes are roaring over my head. My helmet is rocking backwards and forwards on the grass.

‘Pick it up, Joe. You put it back on!’ Amir runs towards me but it’s like he’s moving in slow motion. He looks back at the car then back at me. Bugs and midges buzz
around in the headlights.

Amir keeps running. Bugs fly around his legs, his body and in his hair.

‘Joe! Hurry, they coming.’

I pick up my helmet and try to put it on. My hands are shaking and my gloves are too thick to fasten the straps. The bugs are all around me, biting at my suit, crawling up my arms and my
shoulders towards my neck.

‘Amir! Amir!’

‘Joe! Joe!’

I open my eyes. I’m back in my room. Greg’s standing over me shouting my name.

I try to sit up.

‘The bugs,’ I say. ‘They’re everywhere! Don’t let them get me! Don’t let the bugs get me!’

‘Joe, there are no bugs.’

Can’t he see the bugs are in my room? There’s millions of them, crawling over the monitors, down my IV tube and into me. They’re biting my hands and my neck. They’re
going to eat me until all that’s left is bones. I try to shout but they’re crawling up my neck into my mouth. Doctors and nurses all around me. Bugs buzzing everywhere. They’re
bouncing off the ceiling and scratching on the floor.

‘There are!’ I scratch the bugs off my body and my head.

‘Okay. Okay, let’s sedate.’

More hands on my arms and legs.

‘It’s all right, mate. It’s okay.’

My head starts to go dizzy. I feel something cold in my arm, like ice is travelling through my veins. I take a deep breath, then another. Fuzzy faces look down at me.

‘There we go. There we go.’

I feel like Spidey when he fought Morlun. He got smashed against cars and thrown from the highest towers. Then he swung Morlun around in a circle and threw him against the Empire State Building.
Spidey’s suit was torn and he lay crumpled on the floor. It was the hardest fight Spidey ever had. No one had hit him harder than Morlun, not even the Hulk. But he kept getting up every time
Morlun knocked him down, he wouldn’t give up, as long as his heart kept beating he would keep fighting every moment and, in the end, he found a way to win.

I turn my head. Something is scratching under the door. The bugs are coming back again.