The Case of the Exploding Loo (12 page)

“Oi! What’s
she
doing here?” Jangly Keys Dave hisses when he spots me. “Flaming Nora. As if one of you wasn’t bad enough.”

“Relax,” Porter says while I wonder if Flaming Nora is a famous mathematician.

Jangly Keys Dave doesn’t relax. “You’ve got five minutes.” He snatches Porter’s laptop and flounces out the door.

“Ignore Dave,” Porter says. “He’s a bit touchy but he’s agreed to open locked doors if I let him use my laptop.”

“Huh? The place is full of laptops.”

“Yes, but mine has internet connection.”

I gape at Porter.

Porter grins. “It’s also the only computer in this building that’s not being monitored.”

“How do you know that?” I ask.

“Because Dave’s in charge of monitoring it.”

Porter’s grin fades and he reaches for two of the CCTV room laptops laptops and turns their screens towards me.

“Is this why you were interested in the footage?”

Archimedes!
Images of home flicker in front of me.

I gaze at the laptop screens in disbelief. Each screen is split into four smaller windows. One laptop shows images from inside my house, the other shows images from outside.
Holly is standing in the top-left square of the indoors laptop. As I watch her gaze out through our living-room window, I get a sharp pain in my stomach. Must be the herrings.

Holly’s spiky hand movements suggest she’s arguing with someone outside. I check the other laptop and see Smokin’ Joe and the Toilet Trolls swaggering up the garden path. I
turn up the volume. I shouldn’t have bothered; all I hear are nasty jokes about Mum’s weight.

“Who are those idiots?” Porter asks.

I give him a brief history of my life with Smokin’ Joe. He brightens up when I mention the Toilet Trolls until I explain they hang out in traditional toilets rather than portable ones.
When I get to the part about being dumped in the wheelie bin, Porter grabs the microphone beside the laptop and presses the on switch.

His voice thunders through the speakers, distorted and robotic.

“Smokin’ Joe Slater,” Porter booms. “This is your God speaking.”

Smokin’ Joe looks up at the sky, clutching his chest.

“Leave the Hawkins family alone,” God/Porter orders. “Or I shall be forced to smite you.”

Smokin’ Joe mutters something to the Toilet Trolls, who shrug and screw up their faces.

I put my hand over the microphone. “I don’t think they understand ‘smite’.”

Porter frowns. “Hello! God again. Just to be clear, I’m saying if you continue to bully the Hawkins family I will strike you down with a massive bolt of godly lightning.”
Porter pauses and adds, “Like Thor. From
The Avengers
.”

That works. The Toilet Trolls grab each other for support and Smokin’ Joe cowers behind the hedge.

I grab the mic. “And then I’ll give you a wedgie.”

Although the microphone alters my voice, it’s still higher pitched than Porter’s. Fortunately, no one seems to notice.

Porter mouths, “Not very godlike.”

But I’m on a roll. “And if you don’t get away from my house, I’ll remind everyone about the time you wet your pants in Year Three.”

The Toilet Trolls snigger. Smokin’ Joe punches the nearest one and storms off down the street.

Porter mouths, “
My
house?”

Oops.

“When I say
my
house, I obviously mean in the sense that
all
houses are my house. Because I am God. Of everything. Especially houses.”

The Toilet Trolls are too busy pushing and shoving each other to notice the slip-up. But in the top corner of the indoors laptop, Holly’s jaw drops open and she stumbles backwards, hitting
the sofa. The force of her momentum carries her over the back of the couch and on to Mum’s stomach, which bounces her back on to her feet.

Porter slides off his chair, spluttering with laughter.

“Know-All?” Holly straightens her top, trying to act like nothing happened. “Is that you?”

Outside in the corridor, footsteps are thudding towards the CCTV room. Our five minutes are up. I grab the mic.

“Yes. Quick, Holly! I need to talk to you—”

The door bangs open behind me.

“Run, Holly. Go to the comput—”

Jangly Keys Dave snatches the microphone. “What do you think you’re doing? Ms Grimm watches these recordings.”

The colour drains from Porter’s face.

“Don’t worry,” I reassure him. “You’re still alive. She can’t know you’ve been sneaking out.”

Some of Porter’s colour returns.

“There must be lots of things Dave doesn’t show her.”

Little blobs of red appear on Dave’s cheeks. “I don’t like giving her bad news. She gets a little . . . excited.”

“Yeah. I can imagine.” Porter sits up. “So can we agree this won’t appear in your highlights reel?”

“I’ll go one better and edit it out altogether. You’re not the only ones who’ll suffer if she sees it.” Dave plugs in his earphones and scans the footage in
reverse. “Blimey. Does that girl ever sit still?”

He plays it forwards and we watch at high speed as Holly tries to get through the front door disguised as a dog, a rat, a potted plant and a large cockroach. I’m particularly impressed by
her attempt to scuttle out beneath the folds of Vigil-Aunty’s vintage fox-fur coat. I’ve never been convinced that old fox died before it became a piece of clothing, so it’s good
to see Holly emerge unbitten. She doesn’t make it through the door though. Vigil-Aunty fishes her out and deposits her back in the living room.

Dave shakes his head, presses a few buttons and scans forward to real time as Holly heads up to my room, presumably to use the computer.

He thrusts Porter’s laptop at us and sticks his earphones back in. “Done. Now clear off.”

“Distract him for five minutes,” I hiss at Porter. “Get him away from that computer.”

Porter tugs at Dave’s earphones and pulls him across to look at another laptop, where Remarkable Student Aisha is punishment-jogging up and down the stairs. I hope it’s not because
of our conversation.

Scowling at Dave’s laughter, I rub my leg muscles, still sore from my own punishment-jog, and vow Aisha will not suffer in vain.

One eye on Dave, I switch on the indoor laptop’s webcam and point it at the mirror. The webcam will now capture all the footage reflected in the mirror – from our front room, my
bedroom, my parents’ bedroom and the entrance hall. All I have to do is make a call to Porter’s laptop and send the images from the webcam to his screen. Then I’ll be able to see
everything that’s happening at home on Porter’s laptop, wherever I am in the building.

Perfect. “Time to go!” I announce.

“Too right!” Dave tears his attention away from Aisha and bundles us out the door, locking it behind us.

I head for Reading Hour with Porter’s laptop clasped beneath my arm.

Porter veers left.

“Where are you going?” I ask him.

“Out. Digging for gold,” he says with a twisted smile.

“Wait for me. I’ll come with you. I want to talk to Holly.”

He shakes his head. “The receptionist will call Mother if we leave together, but she’s used to me popping out after school to check on new portaloo displays. Better if you stay here
and cover for me. I’ll pop in on Holly if you want.”

“But she won’t . . . Wait . . .”

Too late. Porter slips through the front door before I can warn him that he might not get a very friendly greeting from my sister.

I feel lost. Even though I’m not sure I can trust him, Porter is the closest thing I’ve got to a friend in here.

No one looks up when I walk into Reading Hour. They’re all either plugged into their iPods or fussing over Remarkable Student Aisha, whose nose is bleeding. Must be all that running. I
keep telling people exercise is dangerous.

It’s weird. I’d never seen anyone have a nosebleed before Mum had hers last month, but now they’re happening all over the place. I try to convince myself it’s just a
coincidence and my brain is fooling itself into creating patterns where they don’t exist. But I can’t escape the feeling that everything is somehow connected.

I glance around the room and spot a quiet corner out of camera range and half hidden by a fake pot plant. I don’t turn on my iPod, but I slip in my earphones. Easier to blend in when you
act like everyone else.

I flip open Porter’s laptop and watch Holly stumble through the Meccano solar system to get to my computer.

I’m halfway through replying that Porter’s not ‘rly’ a ‘:@)’ when the Grimm Reaper walks into iPod hour. I stuff the laptop into the pot
plant and pretend to be listening to my iPod. For the next fifteen minutes I put all my energy into looking innocent.

When Ms Grimm is distracted by yet another student nosebleed, I risk a glance through the fake foliage at the CCTV images on the laptop screen.

Fibonacci!
Fake Insurance Man is back at the house with Ug and Thug. I watch in horror as Ug grabs Holly, who wriggles like a hyperactive worm and makes a dive for the chainsaw.

Too slow.

Thug whips the chainsaw from her grip and whirls it dangerously close to her head. Nasty. You don’t want to be hit by a chainsaw, even if it’s switched off. As Holly tries to break
free, Thug carries the tool out of the room.

Why does Holly have to fight everyone? She’s going to get hurt and I’m not there to help or at least to call for someone else to help! I’m clutching the tops of my arms so
tightly I cut the skin with my nails. I try to relax my grip but it’s hard when Ug has Holly in a headlock.

Thug is back. He heads across to the window. What’s he doing? No. NO. NO! Not my computer.
Archimedes!
There goes the hard drive. And one, two, three, four, five, six monitors.
They must know we’ve been in contact.

They’ll be coming for me next.

Ms Grimm doesn’t look at me as she leaves the room. Is that a good sign? Or is she lulling me into a false sense of security before slicing me into tiny pieces? Where is
Porter? Does he know about the raid on my house? Can I trust him?

My fingers hover over the laptop keyboard and before I can stop myself I hit alt + tab. Porter’s Hotmail page pops up, email address entered, just waiting for the password.

Hacking is a criminal offence and Porter is a (sort of ) friend, but he did admit he planted the taxi at the Valentine’s market and he still hasn’t explained why.

I glance around guiltily and type: P-o-r-t-e-r-1.

Ping.
That password is incorrect. Try again.

That’s probably a sign I should respect Porter’s privacy, but I can’t stop my brain flicking through the password-relevant things I know about him. Dad says guessing other
people’s passwords is all about getting inside their heads.

I’ve been inside Porter’s brain: I’ve watched his portaloo movie.

Slowly, carefully, I type: s-p-l-e-n-d-a-m-i-n-i-3-0-0-0

And I’m in. It’s that easy.

I skim Porter’s inbox. There are a lot of communications with portaloo companies. Between these are a few messages from [email protected]. I feel better about hacking into
Porter’s account when I spot one titled, USE PORTALOO EXPLOSION FOOTAGE TO GET NOELLE HAWKINS TO LINDON.

Ada Lovelace!
The Great Leader and Porter are plotting against me. I hadn’t realised how much I wanted to trust Porter until now, when I find out I can’t.

I skim the email but it just gives my address and the cab driver’s number. Nothing about why the Great Leader wants me here or what happened to Dad.

The other messages from [email protected] are group emails to All Remarkable Students. I read the most recent:

The poem is so bad it’s almost funny, but I can’t laugh at the idea of a legion of ex-LOSERS awaiting their call to action:

A physically feeble army, perhaps, but an army with brains.

They have to be stopped. But who’s going to stop them? I can’t trust Porter, I can no longer contact Holly and Ms Grimm could be coming for me at any minute.

There’s only one solution – escape! If Porter can leave LOSERS so can I. I’ve already worked out how. Our ground-floor dorm backs on to the alleyway where the bins are stored.
All the windows have child-proof locks “for student safety”, but someone has fiddled with the lock on my cubicle window so it opens. I like to think this is a sign Gemma Gold arranged
her own disappearance – although every time I look at the tatty comfort blanket I get a bad feeling.

I still have the cameras to worry about, but if I leave when the Grimm Reaper is busy, I’m confident it’ll be hours before Jangly Keys Dave builds up enough courage to tell her
I’ve gone. I stroke the calculator money in my pocket. I should be far away by then.