Rain In My Heart (3 page)

‘
So why are they stuck together, then
?
’

I guess Curtis did
n’
t have the patience for artistic vision.  I wanted to tell Miss Nevis to save her breath.  Then Leon stepped in.

‘
The
y’
re not
stuck,
you dolt.  The
y’
re holding hands.  The
y’
re dancing.  I
t’
s meant to be arty.  Kate knows what sh
e’
s doing
.
’

He caught my eye.  I blushed, rocked on my heels, distracted myself with pastel dust.  In that moment, it did
n’
t matter that Miss Nevis had lost the paint or that the rain was ridiculous.   Leon Prentice was flirting.  With me.   I was just about to give him a smile, when the door burst open. 

Miss Nevis raised an eyebrow.

            
 ‘
Ryan
?
’ she said.
 ‘
What are you doing here
?
’

              In the entrance, at the top of the steps, was a young man - tatty grey blazer, messy hair, round glasses, headphones.  His face was red and sweaty, like he'd been physically exerting himself.  All he did was stare at us.  For a moment, I thought I recognised him, then I noticed the Hurst College logo on his bag and realised he was another student. 
I’
d probably seen him in corridors or halls or lunch queue
s–
or maybe around Vis A.  Yes, definitely Vis A.  He had distinctive eyes: dark, deep-set, the whites barely visible. You do
n’
t see eyes like that very often.  He was sort of cute in a scruffy, off-hand kind of way, but his attractiveness was marred by his surly expression.  He took his headphones off.

            
 ‘
Hi
,’
he said quietly, barely a grunt.

He was soaked through.  The water dripped off his nose. 

Miss Nevis beckoned him in.

‘
I
t’
s Saturday, Ryan.'  She looked concerned.  'Are you here to -
?
’

             
Before she could finish, Curtis was up in his face.

            
 
‘
Yo, son
!’
he said.
 ‘
This is, like, a
private
function, bro.  What are you here for
?
’

‘
The mural
,’
said Ryan, eyes shifting from side to side.

Curtis sneered.
 ‘
What mural
?
’

            
 ‘
Oh,
Curtis
,’
Miss Nevis sighed.
 ‘
You
know
what mural - the mural yo
u’
re here to help paint, to make up for the mess you and your friends created last week.  Or has that escaped your memory
?
’

            
 ‘
Lots of things escape my memory, Miss.  And I also make lots of mess, so i
t’
s hard to keep track.  Man,
I’
m thirsty.  I need me a sugar fix.  Got any cherry cola in your cupboard
?
’

            
 ‘
Curtis La Mont for Prime Minister, anyone
?’
whispered Gemma.

              Meanwhile, the newcomer - Ryan - walked towards us.  Close up, he smelled of stale smoke and unwashed clothes.  His shoes were caked in mud, like h
e’
d trudged through the hills to get here. His hair hung in wide, soggyclumps.  It needed a brush more than mine.  His eyes were something though.  I could
n’
t stop looking at them.             

‘I’
m here to help paint
,’
he said. 

            
 ‘
Oh
,’
said Miss Nevis
.‘
Well, okay then.  Thank you,Ryan.  The more the merrier, I guess.  But do
n’
t get mud everywhere
.
’

            
 ‘
I wo
n’
t
,’
he said, without looking up. 

As he took of his shoes, he did
n’
t once acknowledge the rest of us.  It got me thinking.  Did he
really
have nothing better to do on a rainy Saturday afternoon?  There was such a shyness in his manner, an awkwardness, I started to feel sorry for him.  But when I glanced at Gemma and Leon and Greg and I could tell they were thinking something different: 

Weirdo.  Intruder.

Chapter Three

We watched from the rain-splattered window as Miss Nevis left the building, bound for the retail park at the other end of town.  Curtis pressed his face to the glass.

‘
Mind the bodywork
!’
he yelled, as she squeezed alongside his car.
 ‘
And do
n’
t forget to bring back snacks!  Pot noodles, extra hot!  Man,
I’
m starving
!
’

The rain was too fierce for Miss Nevis to hear him.  By the time she was seated, she was soaked.  I felt bad for her.  Sh
e’
d gone out of her way to organise this mural - sh
e’
d given up her free time to
o–
and all Curtis wanted to do was eat. 

            
 ‘
Is
n’
t Miss Nevis supposed to be the adult in charge
?’
he said, as her car pulled away.
 ‘
What if we all go crazy and start smashing everything
?
’

            
 ‘
Yo
u’
re the only one at risk of doing that
,’
said Greg.
 ‘
The rest of us can manage fine without a baby-sitter
.
’

With Miss Nevis gone, the atmosphere changed. Gemma and Greg disappeared into the store cupboard.  Leon and I leant against a radiator and made small talk.  Curtis demonstrated juggling tricks, using two sponges and a jam jar.  And Ryan, the new boy, kept himself to himself.  From the corner of my eye, I could see him crouching at the back of the room, doing something - but I couldn't tell what. 

‘
Seriously
,’
said Curtis, leaning towards Leon and I.
 ‘
What kind of weirdo freely gives up their weekend to paint a poxy mural on a school wall?  I
t’
s different for us because w
e’
ve been
made
to come here, but h
e’
s here of his own accord.  Wha
t’
s
that
about
?
’

I shrugged.

‘
Has anyone spoken to him to find out
?’
I said.

‘
No one speaks to him
,’
said Leon.
 ‘
H
e’
s a loner.  I remember him from my Geography field trip last year.  Does
n’
t talk to anyone.  Super-brain.  But proper weird
.
’

‘
Le
t’
s get him over
,’
said Curtis, a gleam in his eye.

They started to call
,‘
Oi, Ryan!  Come here!  Come talk to us
!
’

Ryan looked up.

‘I’
m busy
,’
he muttered.
 ‘
And for your information, my name is Byron
.
’

‘
Byron
?’
said Leon
.‘
I thought it was
-
’

‘
I changed it
,’
snapped Byron - or Ryan - or whatever.

‘
Easy now
,’
said Curtis.
 ‘
No need to get snarky.  Only being friendly
.
’

Friendly, but there was cruelty in there, too.  Why are boys like that?  Always competing, trying to outrank each other.  Curtis did
n’
t want to be friends with Byron.  He just wanted to toy with him.  Byron, however, paid no attention and carried on with what he was doing.  Curious, I edged around the table so I could get a better view.  I saw that he was counting pencils, lining them up in order of colour and size.  H
e’
d finally taken his wet blazer off.  Beneath it, he was wearing a white shirt and a knitted tank top, which made him look old-fashioned, like someone from a different era. 

‘
Hi
,’
I said. 

‘
Hi
.
’

I pointed to the orderly line of pencils.

‘
Tha
t’
s...
neat
,
’ I said.

‘
My exercise
.
’

‘
Does
n’
t look like exercise
.
’

Byron shook his head.

‘
Not the kind of exercise Leon Prentice is good at.  I
t’
s a
mind
exercise
.
’

‘
A what
?
’

‘I’
m training my brain to notice the finer details of how things look, sound, feel, taste and smell - otherwise known as
‘
sensory acuit
y’
.  According to the books, if you get good at it, you can teach yourself to interpret the human mind.  Did you know your surface behaviour leaks all kinds of messages about your innerthoughts?  Like, yo
u’
ve come over here now to be polite.  Yo
u’
re trying to be friendly, but yo
u’
re nervous, too.  I make you nervous.  The way yo
u’
re flicking your finger nails and glancing from side-to-side
-
’

‘I–
ye
s
– ’

I checked myself, stuffed my hands in my pockets, tried to keep my gaze in one place.

‘
You do
n’
t haveto be nervous
,’
he said, looking down at the pencils, swapping a couple.
‘
You of all people
.
’

‘
Right.  Thanks
.
’

I smiled, baffled by his matter-of-fact manner.

‘
So whypencils
?
’

He smiled back.

‘
They are
n’
t as interesting as people obviously, but I kind ofneed the practice
.
’

‘
Why would anyone call themselves Byron
?’
said Curtis.
 ‘
What kind of name is
that
?
’

‘
I mean
,’
said Leon
,‘
if he likes the letter B, he could just call himself Bryan
.
’

They laughed.  I made a point of not joining in.  Leon looked at me.

‘
Sorry, Kate
,’
he said.
 ‘
Is Byron your mate now
?
’

‘
No
.
’

‘
Saw you talking to him
.
’

“
I was just being polite
,’
I protested.
 ‘
It was no big deal
.
’

‘
Hey,
I’
ve got it
!’
said Leon.
 ‘
I bet he'shere because h
e’
s got a crush on Miss Nevis
.
’

‘
Yesss
!
’
said Curtis.
 ‘
Bingo!  He fancies Nevis so bad, he comes and helps her at the weekends.  You know what, he must be blazing that h
e’
s arrived to find w
e’
re all here, too
!
’

‘
Yeah, like he must be desperate to get her alone in the store cupboard so he can show her his tank-top
!
’

They both fell about laughing.

I did
n’
t like where this was going.  I stood up, to show I did
n’
t want to be part of the ridicule.  Leon looked at me apologetically.  I opened my mouth to speak, then suddenly an enormous cracking sound shattered the quiet. 

We all froze.

‘
What the hell was
that
?’
said Curtis.

The cracking was followed by a deep, loud rumble. 

‘
The river!' yelled Greg, as he emerged from the store cupboard.

His mouth dropped open. 

We all looked to where he was looking, through the back window, towards the forest,and tha
t’
s when we saw i
t–
a massive rush of foamy brown water, twenty meters wide, as high as a house, cascading down the hill, overwhelming the narrow river that ran past the school, swamping the pine trees, swallowing everything. 

Like something from a film.

‘
Holy shit
!’
said Curtis.

It did
n’
t look real.  And because it did
n’
t look real, it did
n’
t look dangerous.  Except, a torrent of water like that, I knew it
had
to be dangerous.  In less than three seconds, it was at the school gates, crashing over the six-foot metal perimeter fence, tearing up the bicycle shed. 

Heading straight for us.