Lifted (18 page)

‘Sure, hon, said Amanda. ‘I’ll save you a seat.’

You weren’t supposed to go into the classrooms during break-time, but Ruby didn’t care. All she could think about was getting to a PC so she could find out more about the new Robyn Hood pretender. There were some in the lab, near her classroom – that wasn’t usually locked. With luck, she’d be able to let herself in, unnoticed. She waited until the corridor was clear and then tried the door. It opened. Without turning on the light, she made her way over to the computer furthest from the door and woke it up. Then she brought up the internet and typed
Robyn Hood
into a search engine. There were, it said, 183, 471 results, but it was only the most recent ones that interested Ruby.

Robyn Hood unmasked
, read the headline on a supposedly reliable gossip news site.

Unconfirmed reports suggest that the mystery blogger, Robyn Hood, is in police custody. A police source revealed that a teenager came forward this morning and is now helping them with their inquiries …

Before she could read on, the door opened behind her, making her jump, and the fluorescent strip light flickered
into life above her head. Blinking hard against the glare, she closed down the screen as quickly as she could.

‘Who’s in here?’ said a woman in a sharp tone.

Ruby turned around on her chair, her pulse rising. Her eyes were still adjusting to the light, but from the woman’s tall, rather bulky silhouette she could tell that it was Mrs Robins, who taught ICT. That was a stroke of luck. She was OK for a teacher, if anything a bit too soft. ‘Me, Mrs Robins,’ she said, getting up from her chair. ‘It’s Ruby Collins from year eleven.’

‘What are you doing in here at lunchtime, Ruby?’

‘I was doing some research,’ said Ruby, telling the truth.

‘I see. Well, you shouldn’t really be in here without permission.’

‘I know. Sorry, Mrs Robins.’

‘And it’s not good for your eyes to use the computer in the dark. Have you finished now?’

‘Er, yeah. Well, um, I was also going to send an email, to a friend who isn’t in school. I was worried about him and he’s not replying to my texts.’

‘Who, Ruby?’

‘Noah Baker, Mrs Robins.’

‘I didn’t know you were friends with Noah, dear,’ she said, looking Ruby up and down. ‘I’m afraid his mother called in earlier. There’s been a death in the family. He probably won’t be in for a few days, she said.’

‘Oh,’ exclaimed Ruby, shocked by an explanation she
hadn’t even considered. It made her feel sick and panicky. Thoughts galloped through her mind, so fast that she couldn’t keep up. Noah hadn’t mentioned that anyone was ill. It must have been sudden, then. Was it someone close? She wasn’t even sure if he still had any grandparents. Someone young? One of his sisters? Had there been an accident? At least
he
was OK. ‘I didn’t realise,’ she said. ‘Who’s died?’

‘His mother didn’t say,’ said Mrs Robins. ‘Don’t worry, dear, I’m sure he’ll be in touch with you later.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Now, lessons are about to start again. You’d better get back to your classroom.’

The afternoon seemed interminable. They always did to Ruby, but this one surely was the longest ever. She was so anxious that she couldn’t concentrate on anything. She had a long list of things she wanted to do, important things, and hearing Mr Lister bang on about the causes of the Second World War was not on it. She was by turns worried about Noah and concerned for herself. Why hadn’t he told her someone had died? Didn’t he trust her enough? Or was it just a story, a cover, because he was avoiding her? And what should she do about her plans? Put them on hold until she heard from him? But what if he was away for days? What if he didn’t contact her at all? What if he was in a bad way? It wouldn’t be fair. No, she decided, she’d made her mind up and she couldn’t change it. She had to do it today, with or without him.

She thought about sneaking out before the final period of the day, but it wasn’t worth the risk of ending up in detention and having to stay in school even later. So she waited until the final bell, grabbed her things from her locker and ran out of the back doors, before Hanni or Amanda or any of her other friends could catch up with her. She was lucky. The bus came straight away and within minutes had deposited her on the high street, exactly where she wanted to be. This was what she’d been planning: her final shoplifting spree. One last, delicious steal. She had always known that once her identity was revealed she wouldn’t be able to do it again; that was the price she’d pay. But, when people knew
she
was the blogger, and not that stupid imposter who was wasting everyone’s time, she wouldn’t need to do it again, she was sure of that. She wanted things to be neat, symmetrical, so she chose to return to the scene of her very first crime, the store from which she had stolen the tights. This time she would take something good, something substantial. If she was caught in the act she would make sure the police were called to arrest her. She would do whatever it took: swear, be disrespectful, try to run. Yet, she wouldn’t get caught deliberately. She had to do it properly, using everything she’d learned and according to the rules she’d devised. Only one detail would be different: there would be no charity shop donation. If fate decreed that she got away with her crime, as she had so many times before, she would go home, show her mum what she’d stolen and
then force her to take her to the police station.

She was surprised not to feel the usual thrill of anticipation as she walked into the store, only a dull, empty sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her heartbeat barely increased at all and her palms remained dry and cold. It was like waking up on Christmas morning and realising, with disappointment, that you’re not excited because you’re no longer a kid, and you don’t believe in Santa Claus. Maybe it was because she’d been thinking about it too much, but it felt like she was doing a job that needed to be done, merely going through the motions. She scoped the shop, noting the position of the shop assistants and the cameras, and decided on her target: a long, grey wool cardigan with silver buttons. It was something she might like to wear, although she knew she never would. The cardigan was on a hanger, along with several others, in various sizes. She paused to rifle through them, choosing one in her size – not that it mattered – and laying it over her arm so that the hanger swung perilously from its shoulders. She took it into the unmanned changing room, along with a few other items that she casually picked up en route. This shop really is far too easy to steal from, she thought. Staff who can’t be bothered, no security guard, no changing-room assistants. I bet there isn’t even any film in those cameras. Shame I won’t be coming back.

She had brought a pair of pliers with her, from the toolkit in the garage, so she could remove the security tag. But, as she set to work, it struck her that she’d be better
off leaving the tag on. She needed proof that she was a thief, and without its security tag the cardigan wouldn’t do as a piece of evidence. So she put the pliers away and, with its tag still attached, stuffed the cardigan into her bag and left the changing room. Then she loitered in the shop until she saw some other shoppers head for the exit. The idea was to blend into the group, so that when the alarm went off at the door, it wouldn’t be obvious who had triggered it. In the confusion, she’d be able to get away unnoticed. She managed to wedge herself between two women, one a doddery old lady, and one middle-aged. Her daughter, probably. They both wore hats and matching gloves and moved painfully slowly. ‘Sorry in advance,’ muttered Ruby, unintelligibly to her innocent escorts, as they all reached the security barrier at the exit. She took a deep breath and held it in, waiting for the wail of the siren, practically willing it, but it didn’t come. The automatic doors slid open and closed behind her, in graceful silence. As she stepped outside, all she could hear was the chatter of shoppers on the street and the low moan of passing traffic. She laughed to herself, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed. The tag must have been faulty, or the barriers broken. It was surely a sign, but of what she couldn’t say.

Ruby walked home briskly, so briskly that she didn’t take in the local paper sandwich board outside the newsagent, which displayed the headline:
Robyn Hood Held. More details inside.
All she could think about was
reaching home and preparing herself before Mum came back from work. As she put the key into the lock she twisted her head around to look up at Noah’s bedroom. He wasn’t at the window and the lights were off in his room. The whole house looked dark, as if his entire family had gone away. Noah’s absence made her feel terribly lonely. She hadn’t acknowledged how comforting it was to know that he was always there, watching out for her, across the street. Poor Noah, she thought, feeling guilty that she’d doubted him. Whatever had happened must have been awful. She texted him again:
R u OK? Rly worried about you xxx.

No reply came, so she opened the front door and walked into the hall, catching sight of herself in the mirror. The zits on her chin were glowing angrily again. She took off her coat, went upstairs and put her bag down on her bed, taking out the stolen cardigan and folding it into a neat square, so that, for now, the incriminating tag was out of view. Then she switched on her computer. She intended to check her Facebook account, and she thought she might send Noah a quick email too, just in case he couldn’t text her. She opened up her email programme, expecting to find the usual junk that collected there while she was out at school. What she didn’t expect to see was a message with the heading:
Important. Please Read.
The sender was named Robyn Hood.

From: Robyn Hood
Subject: Important. Please read.
Date: 20th April 6:00 PM
To: Ruby Collins

Hi Ruby,

If you haven’t already guessed, it’s Noah here.

Before I start, I want to say sorry. I’m sorry I’ve stolen your name and I’m sorry for what I’m about to do. I know you’ll be angry with me and that you might even hate me, but one day you’ll understand why I’ve done it. One day you’ll realise I did it for you.

If you’re thinking of rushing around to my house, don’t! It’s too late to stop me and I won’t be at home, anyway. I wrote this email hours ago, but I delayed it, to make sure
you didn’t receive it until you got back from school. I couldn’t risk you trying to talk me out of this. I don’t know exactly where I’ll be when you read this. At the police station, probably. That’s where I’m going as soon as I’ve finished typing this email.

As you must have guessed by now, I’m going to tell the police that I am Robyn Hood. And they are going to believe me because I’ve got all the evidence to prove it. Once they see it, they won’t care that I’m a guy and Robyn Hood is supposed to be a girl. Like you said, you can be whoever you want to be in a blog. I’m not going to get technical on you, but I can show them the computer codes, the traces from when I set up the blog and from every time I moved it for you. If that’s not enough, I can also give them physical evidence: the earrings you took. The shop will have reported them stolen, and they’ve got a serial number on them (which I don’t think you noticed). I’m sorry I lied and said I’d thrown them away.

But I don’t think the police will be very interested in Robyn Hood, a blog and a bit of shoplifting when they find out what else I’ve been up to. Remember when you got caught at Zenda and I rescued you by pretending to be your dad? You asked how I paid for the tops you stole and I told you not to worry about it. It was better that you didn’t know. I actually paid for them using your dad’s credit card. It was a stupid thing to do, but I had to think fast, and I had access to the details right in front of me. What I didn’t tell you is that my hacking programme has given me access
to the bank account and credit card details of everyone we know. I could have spent millions, if I’d wanted to, but I only ever meant to show up the gaps in the system. Still, I couldn’t not help you when you needed it. I can’t believe your dad never said anything about it, that he didn’t notice he’d spent money at a shop called Zenda, when he couldn’t have been there. Please say sorry to him from me.

I don’t know what will happen to me now. Internet credit card fraud is pretty serious. Maybe they’ll let me off with a warning, or maybe they’ll throw the book at me and cart me off to a young offenders’ institution. Only joking. Hey, I might even get offered a job at Microsoft or in the Secret Service, hacking into terrorist websites. Don’t worry about me, OK? I was going to tell the police about the hacking soon, anyway. They need to know because if I can hack into those sites, so can other people – serious criminals. This way, I’ve killed two birds with one stone and saved you doing something you’d regret. Whatever you say, Ruby, you don’t always want to be known as the girl who was Robyn Hood. You don’t want to be remembered for being a shoplifter, a thief. You’re worth so much more than that, if only you could see it.

I guess you’ll probably never talk to me again now, will you? If I thought there was a way to avoid losing you, I wouldn’t do this. But I can’t see one. I know that you’ll never think I’m good enough for you. I know that whatever you say you’ll never be able to tell your friends about us. And I know that the blog has been tying us together. So,
whatever happens, I’m sure I’m going to lose you. At least, by doing this, I get to save you first.

Be happy, Ruby. Please don’t hate me.

Love Noah x

Ruby read Noah’s email five times, in the vain hope that on the next reading, or the one after that, it might say something different. But, however many times she scanned them, the words didn’t change, and neither did their meaning. Noah had taken matters into his own hands and it was too late for her to do anything about it. He had helped her create Robyn Hood and now he’d taken her away. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair! And yet … it was amazing too, that he cared about her that much, that he’d sacrificed himself for her. For
her
. How many times had he saved her now – three, four? An image of his lovely face came into her mind and she felt a surge of warmth in her belly. God, she wanted to talk to him now. He was incredible and she really didn’t deserve him, not after the way she’d treated him. But wasn’t he stupid! And why hadn’t he talked to her first? And it wasn’t really his decision to make, was it?