The Bubble Boy (27 page)

11 years, 3 months and 13 days

The sun is out and the clouds are rolling slowly over the glass building. The doctors are standing at the end of my bed. Dr Hussein has got his arms folded. Dr Moore is holding
his chin. They smile when they see me looking.

‘Hey, young man.’ Dr Moore walks towards me and sits on the edge of my bed. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Not very good,’ I say.

‘No, you’ve had a tough night,’ he says softly. Then he looks at me for a long time like he’s waiting for me to say something. I don’t want to say anything. All I
want is for the pain to go away.

Dr Moore rests his notes on my bed. ‘Just tell me about the pain, Joe,’ he says softly.

‘It’s bad.’

‘I know, but where is it?’

‘All over and I feel really hot.’

‘Okay, let’s stay with the pain. Tell me where it hurts most?’

‘My legs, my arms, my back. It’s everywhere.’

‘But mainly?’

‘In my head and my mouth is really sore too.’

‘How bad is the pain? On a scale of one to ten?’

My eyelids fall down. How bad is this pain? Sometimes it’s a dull ache – that’s about a four. Sometimes it’s a throbbing pain – that’s about a six.

I wince as the paint shoots again. ‘Eight, I think it’s an e-i-g-h-t’.

The pain stabs like a knife in my head, fades to an ache.

Dr Moore taps my hand. ‘Joe, we need to give you something more for that. Okay?’

This must be serious. Dr Moore doesn’t usually talk to me as quietly as this. He’s usually smiling and making jokes with Dr Hussein and the only time he calls me Joe is when
I’ve done something wrong.

He taps my hand again like he’s trying to wake me up. ‘Okay, young man. I think you know how this goes.’

‘More tests?’

‘I’m afraid so. It’s an infection. We know that. We’re just not sure where it came from. It’s like investigating a crime. We have to eliminate all the suspects
until we’re left with the culprit . . . But we think it’s fungal.’

‘In my blood.’

‘Yes.’

‘And sometimes it can affect the lungs.’

He rubs my head gently and glances up at Dr Hussein. ‘It’s taken a while,’ he says, ‘but I think we’ve got our man back again.’

I smile. I don’t feel well but I feel better. I feel better because the doctors are here.

Dr Moore stands up. ‘So Joe, this is how it goes. You need to take it easy . . . stay in bed a few days. Dr Hussein’s going to take a look at you, then we’ll do those tests and
we’ll give you something for the pain. Okay?’ He scribbles something down on his pad.

‘Is it really serious?’

‘Well, you know that any infection is serious. We’ll do all the usual things like check the air purity and the ventilation system, but this really shouldn’t have got in here.
It’s something new that we’ve not come across before.’ Dr Moore turns and talks quietly to Dr Hussein.

I know I should help them search for the infection. They’re really busy looking after the other kids. I could save them time. They don’t have to do all the tests or change all the
filters. I could tell them the reason I’m ill is because I went outside. Every time I’ve had an infection before, it’s just happened; they tell me it’s just bad luck. But
this time it’s my fault. I should tell them now but I can’t. I don’t want to get into trouble, but most of all I don’t want to snitch on Amir. He shouldn’t get into
trouble for giving me the most exciting night of my life.

‘Hey,’ Dr Moore stands above me. ‘Don’t look so worried. We can do this . . . You’re a superhero. We all know superheroes bounce back.’

I smile and try to lift my arm to show them my muscles, but it aches too much.

‘Don’t worry,’ says Dr Hussein. ‘We’ll soon have those muscles as strong as Thor’s . . . Now, let’s take a look at you.’

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ says Dr Moore. ‘I’ll be back later – and Joe?’ He stops by the door. ‘Everything will be fine, even if it is the filters,
there are back-up systems to stop the really bad stuff getting through.’

I nod as he goes out of the door. He doesn’t know that when I was outside all I had was my helmet. I lean forward. Dr Hussein puts his hand on my back and taps it with his fingers. He
tells me to breathe in and out. I’ve had this done so many times I know what to do. When he’s finished tapping on my back, he does the same on my chest. Then he looks in my mouth and in
my ears. He makes a ‘hmmm’ sound, then writes in his notes. Then he sits down and asks me more questions – do I still feel sick? Have the bright lights stopped flashing in my
head?

I tell him I feel a bit dizzy and that the lights have gone away. More ‘hmmm’s. More notes.

My head falls back onto my pillow and my eyes meet the ceiling. The pain throbs through my head every time the monitors beep. I take a deep breath and try to slow it down. Then another –
seven seconds in. Eleven seconds out.

Seven seconds in. Eleven seconds out.
Just like Amir taught me.

My heart rate slows, the pain weakens and Dr Hussein’s words start to fade like he’s walking away from me into another room.

I’m floating through the air, over the tops of skyscrapers. I touch each one with my fingertips, push gently, then float on to the next. The sky is blue but the streets are grey, and
empty – there are no cars, no busses or taxis, and there are no people walking.

It’s like everyone has left and gone to a new planet. Why didn’t they tell me? I didn’t see them fly past me.

I look ahead. Another skyscraper comes towards me. I float over it and out to sea.

Beep
.

Beep
.

Beep
.

Room temp.
: 19C

Body temp.
: 40.1C

Heart rate
: 114

Air purity
: 99.1

My room is white. Outside, the glass building is blue. There’s music playing quietly.

Charlotte R is standing beside me with a syringe in her hand. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘It’s me again.’

I close my eyes and feel the sting as the needle goes in.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Not brilliant.’ I wince.

‘No, Greg said you didn’t have a great night. But let’s hope that’s the worst.’

‘I’m worried about my friend too.’

‘I know. Greg said he’s going to try and call the hospital when he comes in.’ She taps my arm. ‘There . . . all done.’

I see the time on her watch. It’s 11:15. Greg won’t be here until six. I can’t wait that long to find out about Henry. I reach for my laptop.

‘No,’ Charlotte R says. ‘You’re supposed to be taking it easy.’

I give her my best
Please let me!
look.

‘Stop doing that meerkat thing. It doesn’t work.’

I do the meerkat again. I
know
it will.

Charlotte tuts. ‘Look, I’m sure he’s okay.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘But I just want to check. Please.’

She sighs. ‘I’ve just got to take this down to the lab.’ She slides my laptop onto my bed. ‘I’ll be gone five minutes.’

I give her my best
Thank you
look.

She walks back to the door. ‘Five,’ she mouths and holds up her fingers.

I open my laptop. Henry might be tired but it doesn’t take much energy to type a message. We’ve always been able to do it before when one of us has had a cold or been sick.
We’ve even messaged in the middle of transfusions. I’m really ill and I can do it. But maybe he’s feeling even worse than me.

I check Skype. He still hasn’t replied.

I wish I could contact his mum and dad but I’ve only ever spoken to them on Skype when they’re with Henry. They’ve never called or texted me. They send me
Christmas and birthday cards but I don’t have an address to send anything back. But they would get hold of me, wouldn’t they? They would know I am worried.

I look at the time. Charlotte said she would be five minutes but it takes longer than that to go down to the lab and back.

There must be news about Henry somewhere. I switch to the internet and start to type.

Boy in a Spacesuit. Philadelphia Shopping Mall.

My finger hovers over the enter key. I want to know how he is, but I don’t want to know if he’s really ill. It’s like when the doctors tell me what’s wrong with me. I
don’t want to know how bad it is but I still go on the internet and look it up.

I close my eyes, press the key, then open my eyes again.

Bubble Boy Collapses At Philly Shopping Mall.

There’s a picture of Henry slumped in his chair with his mum and the nurses surrounding him. I click on the link and start to read but it doesn’t say any more than I
already know, only that they couldn’t do anything for him at the Mall because it meant getting him out of his suit. They took him back to the hospital in an ambulance. I look at the next
search result:

Bubble Boy Burst – YouTube

I click off the screen. I’ve seen Henry collapse once. I don’t want to see it again.

I should be resting but I can’t relax when my best friend is ill. I have to do something. There are two messages on the BBC website.

The words start to blur like I’m revising for a history test.

My phone buzzes on my bed and makes me jump. It’s Beth. I haven’t spoken to her since I went outside. I don’t want her to worry about me or find out what I’ve done. I
open her message.

I look at my phone and wonder what she knows. My phone buzzes again.

I really want to see Beth but she was really mad that I didn’t tell her I was ill when the television people were here. She’ll be even madder now.

I don’t know what to write. I don’t want to lie.

My phone buzzes in my hand. I said I was okay. I told her not to call me.

‘Come on, what’s wrong?’

My chest goes tight. It’s bad enough not telling her the truth by text; it’s even harder now I can hear her voice.

‘It’s nothing,’ I say.

‘Are you feeling really bad?’

‘I don’t feel great.’

‘But there’s something else? Come on, you can tell me.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘Because I’m your sister.’

I hate lying. Especially to her. But I have to tell her something. ‘It’s Henry,’ I say. ‘He’s ill.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’ She sounds worried.

‘I don’t know. No one will tell me.’

‘Can’t Greg or Amir find out?’

‘Greg’s going to try later.’

‘And Amir?’

‘He’s looking for crop circles.’

‘What?’

‘He’s on holiday.’

‘Oh.’ The phone goes quiet. I can tell she’s worried. She sighs. ‘Joe, you sound really down.’

I slide down in my bed. I tell Beth about the mall, how Henry was loving all the cheering crowds and that they were waving and he was waving back. I tell her that it was all going great until he
went down the escalator. Beth says it just sounds like he might have got too tired. I tell her I think it’s more than that. He would message me if he could.

‘But maybe no news is good news,’ she says. ‘That’s what Mum used to say.’

‘Did she?’

‘Yes. No news is good news and all news is bad news. When did you last watch the news and feel happy?’

‘I can’t . . . I can’t remember.’

Beth laughs. ‘See?’

I smile. I know she’s trying to cheer me up.

‘I’m sure he’s fine. But we’ve got to make sure you are too. So I’m coming down.’

‘You don’t have—’

‘Too late . . . It’s booked!’

The door slides open and Charlotte R walks in. She kicks her foot against the bottom of my bed.

‘Oops! Sorry!’

‘Who’s that?’ Beth says.

I tell her it’s Charlotte R and Beth asks to speak to her. I pass over the phone.

‘Hi,’ Charlotte R looks at me and smiles. I can still hear Beth talking. Charlotte R walks towards the door. ‘No, he’s not having a great time but he looks a bit happier
now.’ She steps into the transition zone.

I’m not happier but I do feel a little better. Beth might be right. No news is good news. Henry was on TV. If anything had happened to him it would be on the internet by now. Maybe
he’s sat in his room opening his presents with Matt. They’ll be playing with the remote control car, or maybe they got two? They’ll race each other on an imaginary race track and
weave them in between the legs of the bed like Mario Kart. Matt would be Bowser, Henry would be Luigi and if I was there I would be Mario and I’d use turbo-boost to overtake them both.