Heartbeat Away (11 page)

I push open our form room door and see her sitting with Sophie, behind Leah and Jodie.

I stride straight up to her. ‘I suppose you think this is funny?' I yell, flinging my lunch bag at her. It drops to the floor by her feet. A dirt-filled sandwich falls out and she eyes it curiously.

‘Well, it's not, d'you understand? It's not funny at all!'

‘What's got into you, Scar-Chest?' she says, leaning back on her chair and looking up at me.

‘I told you not to call me that!'

She looks me squarely in the face and smirks. ‘Oh, so sorry . . . Scar-Chest,' she murmurs sweetly.

‘Shannon, stop it!' shouts Leah.

But it's too late.

This is the moment I flip. The second I completely lose it. That small spark of anger I felt earlier ignites into flames. They burn so furiously around me that I no longer know or care what I am doing. Gathering all my strength, I push Shannon so hard, her chair flips backwards and she falls with a noisy crack onto the polished wooden floor.

For a second, she doesn't move. She just stares up at me in complete shock. I take a step backwards, staring down at her as Leah's voice echoes in my ears.

‘Oh, Becky, what have you done?'

Shannon gives a small tight groan but makes no attempt to get up. Leah rushes forward to help her up but, as she touches her hand, Shannon screams in pain. Darren pokes his head round the door.

‘What's going on?' he asks.

‘Shannon's hurt,' I hear Leah call to him. ‘Go and get help.'

Darren disappears off as Wesley saunters into the room. He looks down at Shannon lying helpless on the floor.

‘Oh gross, man . . .' he mutters. Covering his mouth with his sleeve, his eyes fix on Shannon's left arm, which lies unnaturally bent, with the bone poking through her skin.

The door of Mr Patterson's office opens and Mrs Andrews emerges.

‘You can go in now,' she says in a hushed tone, holding the heavy wooden door open for me. I have only been in the Head's office once before, in Year Seven, when I won a big cross-county race in record time and was congratulated by Mr Patterson before he announced my triumph to the whole school the following day in assembly.

Mr Patterson sits behind his huge desk, writing something on a sheet of paper in front of him. Perched uncomfortably on the edge of a nearby chair is Mum. Her face is pinched and pale and she's frowning. I know that inwardly she's fuming. She barely glances at me as I walk in, stand on the thick patterned rug in front of the desk and wait. Finally Mr Patterson looks up, his expression serious.

‘Well, Becky?'

I shuffle from foot to foot and glance sideways at Mum, who's staring straight ahead.

‘What exactly have you got to say for yourself?' he demands sternly.

I look down at the floor, totally ashamed. I've never deliberately hurt anyone before in my life. ‘I'm really sorry, sir. I don't know what happened. I just lost my temper.'

‘That much I already know. Shannon Walters has a very badly broken wrist, thanks to your lack of self-control.' He sucks in a deep breath. ‘I know you have had an enormous amount of stress to cope with over the past couple of years, Becky, being seriously ill and with your transplant. It's only because of this that I am not going to suspend you from school.'

From the corner of my eye I see Mum take a relieved breath.

‘It would seem that this incident is a one-off and completely out of character, but I've talked to some of your teachers and they've reported that they've noticed a definite change of attitude in you since your return to school this term.'

I fidget uncomfortably as Mr Patterson continues his lecture.

‘Mr McNamara, for example, has repeatedly found you skulking in the cloakroom when you should be in assembly and Miss Devine reports that you've refused to join in many of the group exercises in her drama class. And apparently you've only attended one PE lesson since you returned.'

‘I didn't like . . . I didn't want to be . . .' My voice trails off.

‘The point I am making, Becky, is that although you've certainly been through a very difficult, traumatic time, you're
recovering from this now, yet over the last few weeks you've become increasingly wilful and disobedient. You appear to be a changed girl. And, unlike your former self, a girl who is not a credit to this school. How do you explain this?'

Mr Patterson and Mum stare accusingly at me, waiting for my reply. But how can I explain myself? How can I possibly tell them the truth: that I believe I am experiencing my heart donor's memories, and this is why my behaviour has changed? How can I tell them my deepest and darkest fear: that I'm taking on his whole personality?

So I bite my lip and stay silent.

Mum and I leave Mr Patterson's office and walk down the corridor in silence.

‘Becky,' she asks anxiously as we reach the doors to the main entrance. ‘What's happening to you?'

I hang my head as I feel her eyes burning into me. ‘Nothing,' I tell her. ‘I'm all right. Nothing's happening to me.'

She hesitates for a few seconds before she hurries through the doors, throwing me one last worried glance.

When Mum's gone I have no choice but to head back to my afternoon lessons.

Taking a deep breath, I turn the handle to the door of the science lab and walk reluctantly in.

‘Come on in, Becky,' calls Mrs Williams from the front of the class as soon as she sees me. ‘You're very late.'

‘Sorry, miss.'

‘Where have you been?'

Glancing around the class, I can tell from everyone's expressions that Mrs Williams is the only person in this room who doesn't know exactly what happened this lunchtime.

‘Becky?'

‘Um. Mr Patterson's office, miss.'

‘Oh, I see.' Her voice alters. The sympathetic note vanishes. ‘Well, you're here now. Hurry up and sit down.'

The only empty seat is between Leah and Sophie Morgan. Trying to ignore all the hostile stares, I hurry over
and sink down onto the chair, wishing the ground would open and swallow me up. Sophie Morgan immediately scrapes her chair away from mine in what I suppose is an unspoken protest, and Leah doesn't look up.

‘I'm really sorry, Leah, I don't know what came over me,' I whisper.

‘It's not me you should be apologising to,' she hisses back.

‘Shannon just pushed me over the edge —'

‘It wasn't anything to do with Shannon,' she retorts.

‘What do you mean?' I ask puzzled.

‘It was Masher.'

‘Masher?'

‘Shannon didn't know anything about it.' Leah pulls a face. ‘She's already got enough on her plate. They moved her to another children's home last night. Third one this year.'

‘What you did was totally out of order,' snaps Sophie.

Leah raises her hand.

‘Yes, Leah?' asks Mrs Williams.

‘Can I move over there, please, miss?' says Leah, turning away from me and indicating the other side of the classroom. ‘I can't work here.'

There are only a few days left until half-term, and Shannon is off school for the rest of the week. Thankfully, there are no assemblies and the weather stays dry so I still eat my lunch outside, on my own. I keep my head down and away from everyone else, which isn't hard because everyone, including Leah, stays well away from me. They've seen what happened to Shannon. No one wants to risk a confrontation with the Freak. I have nothing to do but focus on my schoolwork, so when Mum checks with McNamara on Friday, he gives me a glowing report.

‘Apparently you've been working extremely hard and all your teachers are very pleased with you,' she says with a relieved smile as we're having tea.

‘Sounds like things are getting back to normal,' adds Joe.

If only they knew, I think. ‘Can I meet Sam tomorrow then?' I ask. We've been texting each other all week.

Mum glances at Joe, who gives a small shrug. I force a smile to disguise my irritation at him being the one who decides.

‘OK,' says Mum.

‘Tell him to call round here for you then I can ask him what his intentions are.'

‘Joe!' Mum glances at my annoyed face.

‘Only joking,' he says.

‘He's just a friend, OK?' I'm glaring at him now.

‘OK. Keep your wig on.' He grins infuriatingly at Mum. ‘That'll be the bathroom occupied all morning then . . .'

‘Mum! Tell him!'

‘Joe . . . Pack it in.'

But I don't need to worry. On Saturday, both Mum and Joe are on their best non-embarrassing behaviour, and, far from interrogating Sam about ‘his intentions' or any other such rubbish, Joe spends ten long and totally incomprehensible minutes in deep discussion with Sam about the highs and lows of the most recent Man United football game. I'm thinking that I'll never get Sam out of the house, but eventually Mum steps in.

‘Joe,' she says, darting a knowing glance at me, ‘I think that tap in the kitchen's leaking again.'

‘Oh, not again . . .' he groans.

‘Well. Nice to meet you, Sam,' says Mum, flashing him a smile. I can tell she approves. Ushering us both towards the front door, she adds, ‘We'll see you later, Becky. Take care.'

‘Thanks, Mum. Bye then.'

It's good to be with Sam again and forget about everything that has happened at school recently, but, as we near the
park, I begin to feel uneasy. No matter how much I try not to think about it, what I did to Shannon keeps running through my head. The feeling builds. Finally, as we walk through the park gates, I can stand it no longer.

‘Sam,' I ask tentatively, ‘can I ask you something?'

‘I'm not explaining the off-side rule,' he jokes.

‘I'm serious,' I say.

‘OK, what is it?' He's looking disconcerted now.

I take a deep breath, desperately hoping I'm not going to upset him, then plunge straight in.

‘Your friend, Callum. What was he like?'

I glance over at Sam. He's staring back at me. ‘What d'you mean?'

‘Tell me about him.'

Sam hesitates for a second or two. ‘Full of life. Clever. Funny. Fearless.' He shrugs. ‘He was my best mate . . . even though he'd always borrow my homework then start telling me what I'd got wrong.' His face clouds. ‘He was the brother I never had.'

We walk up to the bandstand and sit down on the wooden steps. Sam is quiet now, deep in thought.

‘So, what was he into?' I ask.

‘Usual boy stuff. He was annoyingly good at sport – even talent-spotted for a football academy once.'

‘Wow.'

‘He didn't go, though.'

‘He didn't go? Why not?'

‘Typical Callum. Said he liked hockey better.'

‘I guess he was brilliant at that too.' I can hear my voice
and know it sounds odd. I dart a look at Sam, relieved that he hasn't noticed.

‘He was amazing. Used to play for county. Their top goal scorer.'

I turn away so Sam can't see my face. ‘What else?' I ask.

‘He was always going on about the environment. Wouldn't eat meat.' Sam gives a small laugh. ‘Used to survive on peanut butter sandwiches.'

I don't move. I don't say a word, but my mind's spinning.

‘You OK?' Sam asks a few moments later.

‘Um . . . yeah, course.' I say, turning back to him and forcing what I hope is a calm smile.

Down at the boating lake the herons are nesting on the little horseshoe-shaped island. Two swans swim sedately past, trailing a V of fluffy cygnets and pointedly ignoring the children throwing chunks of bread to encourage them onto the path.

‘Did Callum like swans?' I ask.

‘Swans?'

Perplexed, Sam thinks for a few seconds. ‘Not specially. He liked all animals. Went on marches against animal cruelty and stuff like that.'

‘He sounds pretty serious . . .'

‘No, he was really funny. We'd be laughing all the time, although to be honest, I never knew what he was going to get up to next.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘Once we were in this really long, boring assembly, end of term thing. So, after ten minutes, before I could stop him, he
sneaks out and no one sees him till we're all let out at breaktime. We go onto the playing field and see he's hauled all the desks out of our classroom and put them out on the grass in exactly the same positions.'

‘Did he get caught?'

‘Nah, he never did.'

I give a secret but huge sigh of relief. Callum sounds like he was an incredibly talented, caring but normal fifteen- year-old lad.

‘We'd been friends since primary school. We were going to go backpacking when we finished school – see the whole world. But . . .' There's a note of hesitation in his voice as it trails off.

I look at him. He's frowning now.

‘He changed, though. The last month of his life he was different,' he says finally.

‘How?'

‘Don't know. He got angry a lot. Secretive. We started arguing.'

‘So what was going on?' I feel the blood draining from my face as I dread Sam's reply.

‘He wouldn't tell me. I asked him. Kept asking him. But whatever it was that was eating him up, he wouldn't share it. Kept it all inside.' The bitterness in Sam's voice is growing. As much as I know this is hurting him I have to find out the truth.

‘Then what happened?'

Sam shrugs and is silent for a moment. ‘He started skipping lessons, then some days he just didn't turn up to
school at all. The week before he died, he got suspended for fighting. That day was the last day I saw him.'

‘Who was he fighting with?'

There's no answer.

‘Sam. Tell me. Who was it?' I glance anxiously at him, his dark eyes fixed on the lake.