The Deviants (5 page)

His cat! Phew. ‘What's happened to him?'

Corey sat down on one of the heavy pine chairs at the breakfast table. I got some Diet Cokes from the fridge. Max shook his head when I offered him one and leaned against the wall, taking a roll-up out of his tobacco pouch.

‘Patio,' I said, ordering him towards the French windows. ‘Go on, Corey.'

‘I was outside on my skateboard yesterday, and Mort got in my way.'

‘And you… ran him over?'

‘No,' he said, his eyes creasing up. A single tear fell. ‘I put him on my board. I was gonna Instagram it.'

I bit both my cheeks to stop the laugh. Corey was always doing things like this. His nan sometimes saw my dad – they both did the sugar-craft class at the community centre – and she told him how much Corey got on her nerves with his ‘experiments'. Putting foil in the microwave, just to see. Trying to drive his granddad's car out the garage, just to see. Asking out a supply teacher, just to see. Nothing ever ended well.

Max poked his head through the gap in the French windows. ‘Did I just hear right? You put your
cat
on your
skateboard
?'

I threw Max a death stare and turned back to Corey.

‘OK, so you put him on your board. Then what?'

‘The board went too fast. He got to the bottom of the
close where there's that hilly bit and then the kerb. And it flipped him up and he crashed into the wall.'

I felt bad for Corey, but not for Voldemort. I couldn't stand that cat. It was always wailing outside our French windows, waiting for my dad to make a fuss of it. He even bought tuna for it – from the Finest range. I didn't really like animals, anyway, and cats were the worst of all. And Mort was the worst of all cats. He hated me. His yellow eyes were full of it, like it was thinking,
I know your secret.

‘Right. Well, we better go and scrape him up then. I'll help you bury him.'

Corey pulled back, wiping his nose on his jumper sleeve. ‘No, he's not dead,' he said. ‘He got up straight away and ran off. I haven't seen him since. But he could be injured, Ella. Dying somewhere. We need to look for him.'

‘Why didn't you start looking?' said Max, poking his head through again. ‘Why wait for Ella?'

Corey didn't respond to that. ‘Can you help me, Ella? Please? I don't know where to start. What if Zane's found him? He might do something to him.'

Then I knew for sure who the figure was, standing under the lamp post. It
had
been Zane. I'd seen him a few times in our road, or thought I'd seen him. He didn't live round here, though. He lived on the seafront.

‘OK, Corey, let's get looking. We'll find Mort, I promise.'

Corey leaned in for a hug. ‘I knew you'd help me,' he said.

‘Max'll help too,' I said. ‘Won't you, Max?'

Max rolled his eyes, but flicked his fag butt outside onto the flagstones. At once, I barged past him and went to stamp it out, just in case the world burned down.

‘Why did you feel like you had to help?'

5

An Old Friend
One month earlier – 9 July

C
orey'd had a crap life. Not only had he been born with a disability but his junkie dad died of an overdose when Corey was months old; his junkie mum killing herself a year later. He'd got lucky with his grandparents. They took him in, wrapped him in home knits, organised physio and speech therapists and treated him like a little prince. But at school, he was one of the loners; one of ‘those' kids with an aura of stay-away about them. The last few years had leached something out of him. He looked like Kurt Cobain gone wrong, with his shaggy, dirty-blond hair, baggy jeans and cardigans. He had this low, almost apologetic voice. We'd barely spoken in months.

I still saw him around town, though; a headphone zombie skulking in doorways, sitting on walls eating pasties from a Greggs bag, or in the churchyard, reading comics and fantasy novels. He worked at the computer shop in town, had about six Twitter followers and idolized his cat, Mort. All his Instagram posts were pictures of Mort reaching up to paw at a toy mouse or wearing a little sombrero next to a stand-and-stuff taco.

Everyone knew what Zane was like with Corey. We'd seen the spit glistening in his hair, the bend in his glasses. I was afraid Zane
had
done something to Mort. And it would be my fault if he had. Our last day of school, I'd been in the girls' changing rooms when I heard noises outside:

‘Please, please don't. I'm sorry. I didn't, I swear, I promise. No! Pleeeeease!'

‘Go on, have it!'

Cough Cough. Nggghhhhhhhhh.

‘Do it!' A burst of laughter.

Cough. Aaaarggghhh. Nggghhh.

It was coming from outside, by the wheelie bins, so I stood up on the bench and peeked through the top-opening window. There were three of them around Corey, who was on the ground, curled up like one of those little cellophane fish you get in Christmas crackers. His cries echoed off the bins – muffled, because he had a banana skin in his mouth. Zane Walker kicked him in the stomach. Then the other two joined in, and I felt every kick like it was ricocheting back onto me. A fire started to glow in my belly.

‘Streak of piss. You wet your pants yet? Let's have a look,' came Zane's unmistakable Essex twang. One of his mates yanked down Corey's trousers.

Without any more thinking, I grabbed a hockey stick from the pegs, ran to the fire exit and banged down on the bar, bursting through into the open air.

‘Get off him!' I yelled, gripping the stick with both hands to stop them shaking.

Corey squirmed away to yank up his trousers as the other boys turned to me. Three pigs – Zane Walker, Danny Leech and Andrew Tanner. Danny Leech did rugby and was a good shot-putter. He was also a wuss. He ran off straightaway, sunshine bouncing off his highlights.

Andy Tanner's mum was a receptionist at our GP surgery. I also happened to know her pet name for him; I'd heard her call him once.

‘Run along,
Piglet
. Unless you want me to call Mummy and rat you out?'

Tanner went violently puce in both cheeks, gobbing on Corey's hair as a parting shot. ‘Hit me up when you're done, Walks. See you in town.' They fist-bumped and Piglet swaggered off, giving me a finger on each hand as he went.

And then there was Zane.

He was a big guy these days; all hench and shaven-headed with a scowl in his eyes that could shatter glass. But I knew all his weak points. Fear of horror stories, horror movies, bees. Fear of being fat. But he wasn't afraid of me. He'd taken me out in our judo bouts on Max's living room carpet a million times. And he was a superstar fly-half on the rugby team now. He looked me up, then down, and laughed. ‘What do you care,
Estella
?'

The fury took over, and I ran forward, ramming my whole body into him until his back hit the wall. I was strong, but I couldn't hold him – he laughed, grabbing the stick and throwing it to the ground. Then he got right up in my face, so I could smell the Germolene on his zit scabs. Rage ran through my body like a bush fire. I got my stance, levelled my fists and swung my right arm back into a punch that I could hear sweeping the air. But I missed.

‘Ha! Try again, babe. You got a good action there.'

To my horror, I found myself doing the exact same thing.

‘You're lucky I'm in a good mood,' he said, killing himself laughing.

It was then that I saw the kitchen slop bucket by one of the bins.

‘And you're lucky these are
today's
leftovers.' In one
movement, I lunged across for the bucket and launched the contents straight over his head. In seconds, Zane was covered in a chunky, vomity goo of custard, mince, mash, soggy bread, chips, rice pudding, pasta and peas. The raging fire inside me fizzled into joy like popping candy.

‘Oh, you are DEAD,' the Abominable Lunch Man roared, lunging after me. By the grace of God – and the vomity goo – he slipped as he came, landing hard on his backside.

‘Quick, come on!' I said, grabbing the hockey stick and practically dragging Corey back through the fire exit before Zane dived after us.

We headed for the girls' toilets, cuss words peppering the air behind us.

‘You're dead! Both of you.
Deceased
!'

I locked the bathroom door behind us, barricading it with the hockey stick, then parked a shivering Corey on a toilet, his glasses hanging on his ear by one bent arm.

Within seconds, Zane was banging and kicking the door from the other side.

‘Get out here, bitch!'
Bang bang bang.
‘I'm gonna kill you!'

The door pulsed and rattled but I tried to take no notice, although really I was petrified. ‘He'll go away in a minute.'

I grabbed the roll of loo paper from the cistern behind Corey and wound it around and around my hand, then rinsed it under the cold tap.

Bang bang bang
. ‘I'll have you, bitch, I'll kill the pair of you! Get out here
now
!'

I crouched down beside Corey and inspected his face. Blood ran from his mouth.

‘Don't worry, he won't get in,' I told him, dabbing with shaky hands. ‘Do you remember when he wet his pants in the middle of our Nativity? And that picnic, when he got
stung by the bee? And Jessica telling us horror stories on sleepovers – Zane was the
worst
wuss. They had to call his mum once!'

Bang bang BANG BANG BANG.
Corey winced.

‘Jessica told the best stories.' He bowed his head. ‘The one about the Witch's Pool was my favourite. Remember when she told that on Halloween night? I go through the graveyard and sit beside her sometimes. Stupid.'

‘It's not stupid, Corey. I've done that too,' I said. ‘I always felt like she was my sister as well as Max's. I wished she was. Instead I've got two great big brothers who still think it's funny to fart on my head.'

Corey smiled.

‘Oh, you think that's funny, do you? Olly once put blue food colouring on my toothbrush. I had blue teeth
all
day. My mum went mental.'

Corey laughed properly at that, the sound taking me way back. It was only then I realised the banging outside had stopped. There were appalled voices outside. Teachers. Zane wasn't about to admit a girl had thrown slops over him – he must have come up with an explanation for them. The voices died away into the distance.

‘See? Told you he'd go away,' I said, holding the cold compress to Corey's eyebrow.

‘I saw you at County Champs,' he said. ‘You were amazing. Like Volcano Girl.'

‘That's what they call me,' I said, recalling the recent headline in the local paper.

‘No, the
real
Volcano Girl. She's a superhero in one of my comics. She's faster than Flash, and she's got lava coming out of her heels.'

‘I'm not into comics.' I dropped the wad of bloody paper and bundled up another one, ready to wet it.

Corey sucked his bottom lip, split where Zane had punched it. ‘I saw you erupt at your house, too. I was walking past and your lounge curtains were open. You were punching the pillar in your lounge.'

My cheeks burned. ‘You might have a scar. It's going to look cool, though. Let's check your vision. OK, how many fingers am I holding up?'

‘Three.'

‘Er—'

‘How many were you holding up?'

‘Almost three.'

There was a depressed silence.

‘I've never seen him go at anyone like he does with you,' I said, returning to the toilet cubicle with another batch of wet compresses. ‘You used to be such good mates.'

‘It's because I know his secret. He thinks I'll tell everyone. But I haven't. I wouldn't.'

‘What secret?' My phone buzzed in my pocket. Without looking, I knew it was a text from Max.

Corey shrugged. ‘I promised I wouldn't tell.'

Automatically, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the message.

Are you done with education yet? Fancy coming over to mine? The olds are out. We've got all afternoon. Maxxx

I turned off my phone and looked back at Corey. ‘School's over now. I don't have anywhere to be. So what's Zane's secret?'

‘Did he tell you Zane's secret?'

6

An Adventure Beckons

N
o, he wouldn't tell me. He'd sworn to Zane that he would keep his secret, and he wasn't going to budge. That was the kind of boy Corey was. If not for his condition, he'd have been perfect for the SAS; no way was anything going to break him. He was a much better person than me.

Zane had gone by the time we trooped down the hill on our quest for Mort. Thank God. He'd always been a bit weird as a kid – he ate too much, swore too much, he insisted on always challenging us to duels or fights. He had this stupid habit of hiding our things and making us look for them and he was also the stopper of sneezes – surely the most evil of all vices. But at school, these things had been amplified. He swore at teachers, shagged around, picked fights with any ‘poof' who dared to argue with him. Corey was exactly the kind of geek a brainless beefcake like Zane Walker grown up
would
bully, but I still didn't understand why you'd pick on someone who'd been one of your best friends.