Shrunk! (2 page)

No chance of any more secret clicks, then. Not with Little Miss Perfect watching me.

So I stand puffing at the bus stop, gazing down the street. Tilly pants beside me.

She puts on her sweet voice. ‘I know you picked up that shooting star last night. I think Grandma knows too – where is it? Can I see?'

I ignore her. It's the best way to deal with Tilly.

‘To-m, please.'

The bus appears round the side of the pub and grinds up the hill towards us.

I can't imagine bringing anyone back for tea, not to this house, not in the middle of a model village, not with Tilly, not with Mum and Dad, and certainly not with Grandma cooking.

Anyway – I don't have any friends. I don't know anyone in this stupid place.

But today, I don't mind. I've got a planet in my pocket.

I step on to the bus, and there's nowhere to sit. Tilly's new friend Milly makes space for her, but no one makes space for me. The back seats are taken by Jacob Devlin, the headmaster's son, and his henchmen. He's the school bully and the teacher's pet. He calls me ‘Model Village', as if I
wanted
to live in it. It sounds like it ought to be fun, loads of tiny things everywhere, like a theme park; but it isn't. Apart from anything else it's Grandma's.

The seat in front's mostly loaded with bags, and the other seats are taken. It's only a minibus, you're not allowed to stand up on them, so I end up perched on the end of the bag seat. I try to look like I don't care.

The school's on the other side of the real castle, and it takes ages to get there. I keep trying to shove the bags over, but there's this boy, Eric, from my class, at the end, by the window. He's got his nose in a magazine and he doesn't seem to notice. I can't work out if he's being deliberately mean or just stupid.

I know about Eric's dad. Apparently, he's always claimed that he was abducted by aliens as a baby. That was back in the 1960s. Can't be easy being Eric. It's almost as bad as living in the model village.

‘No friends to sit with, then, Model Village?' says Jacob Devlin, his sharp voice crashing into my thoughts.

I look out the window. I will ignore him.

‘Ahhh,' says one of the henchmen.

‘Ahhh,' says another.

But I don't react.

‘How is it being the son of “Mr and Mrs Magic”?'

I say nothing.

‘Do you get to wear spangly tights, like your mum?'

Silence.

‘Does your dad saw your mum in half before breakfast?'

‘Leave him alone,' says Eric.

Mistake.

There's shuffling in the seat behind while Jacob moves into position behind Eric.

‘What you reading, Snot Face?'

‘Go away, Jacob,' says Eric.

‘What's he reading?' Jacob asks.

‘
Maths Weekly
?' says one of the henchmen.

‘Hey, everyone – Snot Face's reading
Maths Weekly
– he must be soooo interesting!' shouts Jacob to the whole bus.

The henchmen groan, and Eric pulls the magazine closer to the end of his nose.

The bus rumbles on down the road. We're still passing signs to the stupid model village. I wish there weren't so many of them.

‘Want a sweet, Eric?' says Jacob.

‘No,' says Eric.

‘Well, you can have one anyway.' And Jacob shakes the sugar from the bottom of his sweet bag over Eric's head.

Eric doesn't react. He just brushes the sugar from the pages of the magazine and goes on reading.

Jacob watches Eric for a minute. Then he takes a piece of chewing gum from his mouth and sticks it on the seat back behind Eric's head. Eric's got this curly hair that goes off his head in mad spirals. For a moment, I wonder what to do, then, when Jacob's rummaging in his bag for something, I prod Eric and point at the chewing gum.

He peers at me over his glasses. ‘Thanks,' he mutters and sticks a tissue on the gum, carefully removes it and bungs the tissue in his bag. He shoves up a little too, so that there's room on the seat for me.

Jacob moves to the other end of the seat and starts poking some reception kids who were foolish enough to sit near the back of the bus.

I put my middle finger together with my thumb and wonder what Jacob would look like, really small.

First we have English. Jacob's getting ‘I'm a genius' stickers from our form teacher Mr Bell.

Then we sit through Science, and I'm busting to stick my hand up and shout about the planet in my pocket. I turn the plastic capsule round and round, and I can feel the planet vibrating against my leg, but there's no chance to show off. And I'm honestly a bit scared to stand up and wave it round. They might laugh, they might not believe me.

‘Tom – Tom Perks,' Mr Bell shouts. ‘Wake up, lad – what's water when it's a solid?'

‘Jupiter?' I say without thinking.

The classroom erupts with laughter. Even Mr Bell laughs. Everyone laughs, except Eric. He hides his head in his hands and sighs.

‘Ice, you divvy,' shouts Jacob Devlin.

‘Jupiter, Tom,' says Mr Bell, in a way that makes my toes curl, ‘is the second largest body in the solar system.'

And I'd like to shout back that I know, of course I know, it's just that I've got Jupiter in my pocket and it's a bit of a distraction.

At home after school, Mum's trying to train a rabbit, Grandma's knitting miniature bunting and Dad's got this big black mirror box he's been making. He's dragged it out into the garden, so it's standing in the middle of the model village, but luckily we're closed till April, so he can't accidentally vanish any tourists.

Also, luckily, we're out of sight of the road. I really don't want anyone to see this.

Dad's wearing braces with wands and top hats all over them.

I cannot be related to these people.

I've got Jupiter in one pocket and the meteorite in the other, and I'm just thinking of going somewhere private and having another go at shrinking something.

‘Tom, Tom, love – stand in there, would you?' Dad points inside the box.

‘Da-d.'

‘Go on, please.' He leans forward to whisper, ‘Your mum's fed up and your grandma won't fit.'

So I climb in and he shuts the door.

It's completely dark inside.

There's a load of bumps and scrapes and the whole thing shakes around a bit. Then Dad opens the door again. He looks really surprised.

‘You're still there?'

‘I am.'

He slams the door shut again, and this time I push against the back of the box to see if it opens, but nothing happens.

It's really small and hot and stinks of paint. ‘Dad!' I shout.

The door opens again and Dad stands there scratching his bank clerk hairdo. ‘I don't understand.'

Grandma rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She thinks Mum and Dad are mad.

For once I agree with her.

Before he has another go, I run out, and sneak down to the footpath that drops down to the crazy golf course. Grandad built it – on a dingley dell, mushroom, elf theme. It's awful.

I stop, just behind the gnome-covered wall that separates the crazy golf from the seafront, and study the promenade.

Right, left. All clear.

I lift my leg to slip over the wall.

I stop. Someone's rustling in the lavender bushes behind me. Grandma – it must be her. She's about as subtle as a hippo. I'd swear she's following me.

For a second I think I'll give up and go back, but I slide over the wall and run as fast as I can down the harbour steps.

Right. No one here, no one much. There are some tourists having a snooze on deckchairs by the stinky crab pots. They're not looking at me. There's the woman who always wears gloves holding hands with her husband and being soppy. The tide's out so I crunch over the pebbles and yuk and sit on an old concrete post.

I check over my shoulder. No sign of Grandma. I take the capsule out of my pocket and have a really good look at Jupiter.

Wow.

Amazing.

A planet – and it's whizzing around like a silver demon, just for me.

Yeah!

I put Jupiter away and take out the meteorite. It looks just like one of the pebbles on the beach. All lumpy, blackish, but really heavy. I pick up a beach pebble and weigh them against each other, one in either hand.

The meteorite must weigh three times as much.

Wow.

There's a rowing boat that's been lying on the shore behind a breakwater for ages, ever since we first moved here in the summer. I don't think anyone's going to miss it.

Anyway, I probably won't be able to shrink it.

I put my middle finger and thumb together to make an ‘O'.

I freeze. Someone's walking over the pebbles, I can hear the crunch behind me. I lower my hand. Mr and Mrs Albermarle. I know about them, Grandma says he lays beautiful concrete. Whatever that means.

‘Afternoon – Tom, isn't it?' Mrs Albermarle smiles.

‘Building castles are you, Tom, lad?' asks Mr Albermarle.

I nod and rootle about in the sand as if I was making something. I stare off after them. Mr Albermarle appears to float over the pebbles, while Mrs Albermarle makes heavy going of it. Odd.

But then people in Bywater-by-Sea are odd.

They go on round the corner, towards the cliffs.

I turn the meteorite over in my pocket.

I hold my middle finger and thumb together, put the circle up in front of my eye and very quietly, I

Click
.

I can feel something in my hand. I turn it round and in my palm is the boat. Perfect. Tiny in every way. It's got perfect little ropes hanging from the front, a little buoy and even a perfect strand of seaweed stuck on the back.

And it's exactly the size it was through my finger eyepiece. Oh yeah.

I look around to see if anyone's noticed. They haven't.

I lay the boat on the cobbles. It's about an inch long. The size and shape of a chocolate brazil nut, the ones Mum likes.

I think I need to do some more tests. A smallish crab scuttles over the stones.

I put the meteorite on the ground.

Click
.

Nothing happens.

I put the meteorite back in my pocket.

Click
.

The crab appears in my palm, the size of one of those red spiders you find in the wall.

So I definitely need the meteorite.

Another crab.

Click
.

I put them down together so that they can be friends.

A pretty little dinghy, anchored out in the bay.

Click
.

Wow! Oh yes. Oh yes.

It lies in my hand, perfect in every way. A tiny mast and rudder and tiny metal wires reaching up to the top of the mast. It's even green and slimy on the bottom, but it's teeny weeny, because it was so far away. I reckon two things; first, that I need to have the meteorite, really close; and second, that everything I shrink, ends up the size I see it. That would explain why Jupiter's just a tiny flashing ball. So if I want to shrink things to exactly the size I want, I have to be far enough away from them, so that they fit inside the ‘O' of my finger, and the further away I am, the smaller they are.

I swing round, waving my arms.

I'm a God. I'm an all-powerful being – I've got the power of life and death.

I'm a superhero. Unlike Dad, I can do real magic – oh yes!

I may not have any friends, but I'm 100% fantastic.

Well, almost.

Wow!

‘Tom?'

Grandma. She's up on the promenade, staring down at me. She's got a stupidly small walking stick dangling from her arm. I try really hard to look innocent, which probably makes me look guiltier.

‘Tom, love – time for tea,' she says. ‘Kidney and chard casserole. But just pop with me a second to get some horseradish sauce from the shop.'

She's staring at me as if I might explode or something.

‘OK, Grandma, just wanted some pebbles and stuff for my model railway.' Oh yes, very quick thinking.

I rummage about on the beach, and try to bury the boats in my pocket. They don't really fit, though, so I grab a load of seaweed from the beach and fold the boats inside. Then I pick up some shiny black stones and rest them on top.

She looks at me doubtfully as I clamber up from the beach to the promenade. She's peering at my pile of stones, so I hold them closer. I hope the mast isn't sticking out or anything.

‘Do, hurry up, Tom. There's a cloud coming over. Looks like rain.'

Tap, step; tap, step.

You can hear her coming for miles.

I follow her just close enough for her to know I'm there, and I hope, just far enough away for no one to think I'm related. It's not that I don't like Grandma – it's more that she really scares me. I've never even seen her cross, but I'm sure it isn't nice.

In the shop, a man with curly red hair and very thick glasses is loading the shelves. He's kind of lopsided, like half of him's bigger than the other half. It's Eric's dad. He sees Grandma and turns, his face full of joy.

‘Amalthea,' he says.

‘Colin,' says Grandma. ‘Have you any horseradish?'

‘I do – but I'm watching the sky, Amalthea. I'm waiting.'

‘Are you, dear?'

‘For Them – it must be Them.'

‘Yes, dear.'

‘They've taken Jupiter. It's a sign.'

Grandma catches my eye. I put on my absolutely most innocent expression. I really don't want her finding out about Jupiter.

‘Anyway – horseradish, Colin, dear.'

He searches around, in a weird and floaty way. Dancing the jars on the shelf. ‘Wouldn't you rather have this wasabi and ginseng paste? It's made by Karma Imports – de-licious.'

‘No, dear. Horseradish will be lovely.'