Cloud Busting

by Malorie Blackman

  ‘It was only a joke, sir,’

  Said Alex. ‘I only meant it as a joke.’

  And he started to cry.

  Great, big, rolling tears as he watched Davey.

  ‘Lucy, run to the office

  And tell them to phone

  For an ambulance,’

  said Mr Mackie. ‘And

  For God’s sake – hurry.’

  I turned to Alex

  And saw myself

  And hated what I saw.

  I hated Alex so much.

  But I hated myself more.

  And Davey’s eyes were on me.

  Still watching me.

  Still.

  FINE

  Davey was Ok.

  The pen Mr Mackie

  Jabbed into his leg

  Was a special pen

  Full of adrenalin.

  It did the trick.

  By the time

  The ambulance arrived

  Davey was no longer

  Unconscious.

  He said he was OK.

  ‘I’m fine, Mr Mackie.

  I’m fine.’

  But his face was still red,

  And his lips were swollen

  And he couldn’t stand up

  And he kept scratching his skin.

  Mr Mackie

  Insisted that he went

  To the hospital.

  Davey’s mum was going

  To meet him there.

  As the school secretary

  Helped Davey out

  Of the classroom,

  Mr Mackie closed the door

  And turned to me

  And said, ‘Sam, tell me

  Exactly what’s been going on.

  NOW.’

  So I did. Every detail.

  Mr Mackie picked up

  Alex’s sandwich

  From the floor

  Where it’d fallen

  And opened it.

  One more peanut

  Sat in amongst

  The crisps

  On the other side

  Of the sandwich.

  Mr Mackie was so angry.

  Alex was still crying.

  Mr Mackie took Alex out

  To see the Head.

  Whilst he was gone

  I turned around

  And everyone was looking at me,

  Eyes on me again.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’

  I whispered helplessly,

  Hopelessly.

  ‘If I knew what Alex was up to

  I’d have stopped him.’

  A few eyes turned away at that

  In disgust? In disbelief?

  Why didn’t anyone believe me?

  Davey was my friend.

  I wouldn’t’ve let Alex do it.

  But no one knew Davey was my friend

  Because I didn’t want anyone to know.

  They thought I was with Alex.

  Like Alex.

  Another Alex.

  No, they thought I was Sam.

  Worse than Alex.

  And they were all right.

  I was worse because

  I was a coward.

  Davey could be my friend

  As long as no one found out.

  As long as no one knew.

  Just him and me.

  Just me and him.

  Davey, just you and me.

  Me and you.

  A secret to be shared by two.

  I ran from the room

  I escaped to the toilets

  I locked the door

  And lowered the lid

  And sat down

  And looked down at my shoes

  And watched the water

  Fall from my eyes,

  Escape from my eyes

  Flee, break free and

  Drop from my eyes.

  Splash onto my trainers

  Splish, splash,

  Spatter, splatter.

  HOW COULD YOU?

  Davey’s mum refused

  To let her son come

  Back to a school

  Where anyone could do that

  To her boy.

  Davey’s mum said

  She’d have to be dead,

  Before her son

  Came back to a school

  Where anyone could do that

  To her boy.

  Davey’s mum was more

  Than ready, willing and able

  To move house if she had to

  To move cities if she had to

  To move abroad if she had to

  Before her son

  Came back to a school

  Where anyone could do that

  To her boy.

  DAVEY’S GONE

  I went to visit Davey in hospital.

  I took him some grapes

  And a couple of Spiderman comics

  And my favourite science fiction book

  That I didn’t lend to anyone

  Except good friends,

  Best friends.

  I went with my mum to the hospital.

  Mum chatted to Davey’s mum

  Whilst Davey sat up in bed

  Eating the grapes

  And eyeing the comics

  And flicking through the pages

  Of my science fiction book

  That I didn’t lend to anyone

  Except good friends,

  Best friends.

  Davey’s mum had calmed down by now

  Besides, Davey wanted to stay at school,

  He didn’t want to move to another one.

  ‘Why not?’ asked his mum.

  ‘Because,’ was all Davey would say.

  ‘Because isn’t a reason,’ said his mum.

  Davey shrugged. He’d said everything

  He wanted to say. No more. No less.

  He looked at me. And there were no sparkles

  Or smiles or sideways thoughts in his eyes.

  He looked at me, the way everyone else

  Looked at me. No more. No less.

  ‘What d’you think of these curtains, Davey?’

  I asked desperately. Where had the old Davey

  Gone? ‘They’re OK,’ shrugged Davey.

  OK? They were more than OK.

  The hospital curtains around his bed were

  Swirls of living colour, shouting scarlets,

  Yelling yellows, booming blues, gargling greens.

  Up and down and round and round

  Dancing, melting, merging around each other.

  Hipping, hopping, tapping, bopping

  Alive.

  ‘They’re OK,’ Davey said again.

  Where had the old Davey gone?

  OK

  I knocked for Davey today.

  ‘Wanna go to the park?’ I said.

  ‘OK,’ he nodded.

  OK … I don’t like that word.

  We walked to the park in silence.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’ I said.

  ‘OK,’ he shrugged.

  There was that word again.

  The park wasn’t too busy.

  ‘Fancy a game of football?’ I asked.

  ‘OK,’ he replied.

  That word again and again.

  I glanced around.

  Find something quick.

  ‘Or would you rather muck around

  In the adventure playground?’

  ‘Fine. OK,’ said Davey.

  ‘No, it’s not OK!’ I shouted.

  ‘Stop saying that word.

  I hate that word.’

  ‘What d’you want me to say?’

  asked Davey.

  ‘I don’t care. As long as it’s

  Not OK!’ I barked at him.

  ‘And what’s wrong with OK?’

  asked Davey.

  ‘It’s boring. It’s nothing.

  It’s not you,’ I tried to explain.

  But the words in my head

  Didn’t make any sense.

  Excep
t that Davey wasn’t OK.

  So why say the word?

  ‘But this is what my mum wants,

  And this is what you want,

  And this is what the whole world wants.

  I’m the same as everyone else,’

  Said Davey. ‘I’m OK.’

  CLOUD BUSTING

  Davey turned and walked away.

  ‘Where’re you going?’ I asked.

  ‘Home,’ Davey replied.

  ‘I don’t belong here.’

  And as I watched him go

  I felt like I was letting

  Liquid sunshine trickle

  Through my fingers.

  I wanted to call him back

  But I knew he wouldn’t come.

  I checked the grass for glass

  And other nasty things.

  And when I found a patch

  Of grass and nothing else

  I sat down and thought.

  Then lay down with my eyes closed.

  When I opened my eyes,

  Clouds filled them.

  Clouds so near

  I could almost reach out

  And touch them.

  Time to go cloud busting.

  Two was better than one

  But one would have to do.

  Cloud busting

  Staring upwards

  Letting the clouds

  Fill, not just my eyes

  But my ears and my mouth

  And my nose. Touching

  The clouds. Breathing them,

  Sensing them. Being them.

  Davey taught me how to do that.

  WHAT SHOULD’VE HAPPENED

  So I pointed straight up.

  ‘You look like a rabbit

  With long, fluffy ears.

  And you’re a cow’s head

  Winking at me.

  And you …’

  ‘That one doesn’t look anything like

  A cow’s head!’ said Davey.

  He’d come back.

  He lay down beside me.

  ‘That one looks like

  A table with two vases on it.’

  ‘Don’t talk wet! It’s a cow’s head.’

  ‘A table.’

  ‘A cow’s head.’

  ‘A table.’

  ‘You need glasses,’ I told him.

  ‘I invented cloud busting,’

  Said Davey. ‘So what I say goes.’

  ‘But you’re not the only one

  With an imagination,’ I replied.

  ‘You two OK?’ asked a woman

  Walking by.

  ‘No, we’re better than OK,’ I told her.

  ‘We’re fantastic.’

  ‘We’re terrific.’

  ‘We’re tremendous.’

  ‘We’re stupendous.’

  ‘The grass is wet

  We may be rusting

  But we’re having fun

  Cloud busting.’

  The woman gave us a funny look

  And walked off.

  And Davey and I looked at each other

  And burst out laughing.

  ‘And we’re best friends,’

  I shouted after her.

  ‘Secret best friends,’ Davey said,

  His smile fading.

  ‘Not any more,’ I told him.

  I stood up and shouted

  With all the breath in my body

  And all the power in my throat,

  ‘Dave is my best friend.

  So what d’you think of that then?’

  ‘Good for you!’ An old man

  Shouted back at us.

  WHAT DID HAPPEN

  I lay still, cloud busting.

  On my own.

  Myself.

  Alone.

  Me.

  I.

  AFTER

  Davey and I still spoke

  Still walked to school

  Still played together sometimes

  But it was never the same.

  He was one of them now.

  The same as Alex,

  Pete, Barry. He talked

  About football and sport.

  He played computer games

  And read the occasional book.

  But any music he didn’t like

  Was a waste of energy.

  And any book he didn’t read

  Was a waste of time.

  And any person he didn’t like

  Was a waste of space.

  He started hanging out with

  Alex and the others,

  Like a loose-fitting shirt.

  Not one of them

  But not so apart any more.

  Not like me.

  And Alex allowed this.

  Like a kindly king,

  So everyone said.

  Like a guilty king

  Ashamed and wary,

  I thought, my thoughts my own.

  Alex was showing the world

  He could be generous

  He could be noble

  He could be better than me.

  Davey started hanging out

  With Alex and the others.

  The ones who used to hang around

  With me – a lifetime ago.

  And everyone forgot

  About Alex and the peanut

  But no one forgot

  About Davey and me.

  AWAY

  Davey became me.

  And I became him.

  I look at the summer sky

  And see the bottom of

  Heaven’s ocean.

  I look at a tree

  And stand and stare

  As the branches

  Like arms

  Beckon me near.

  I look up at the stars

  And see holes in

  The floor of heaven.

  A light so bright

  It burns my heart.

  I look at people’s faces

  And see myself in their

  Selections of expressions.

  Reflections.

  Contact.

  And my friends drifted away

  Walked away

  Ran away – including Dave –

  Because I wasn’t Sam

  Any more.

  Davey left school

  Six months after his

  Allergic reaction.

  His mum got a better job

  In another town.

  Davey didn’t tell anyone,

  He just left.

  One week he was there

  The next week

  He was gone.

  And he never said goodbye.

  Not to me.

  Not to anyone.

  He just left.

  But he’d already gone.

  HOMEWORK

  So there you have it, Mr Mackie.

  This is my homework

  About my best friend, Davey

  Who used to be called Fizzy Feet.

  And how he went away.

  But he left something behind

  A thought, a feeling, an idea,

  A different way to look at the world.

  He left something behind, Mr Mackie.

  He left me.

  And I’m not Davey as he was.

  And I’m not Sam as I was.

  I’m Sam here and now.

  And I hold out my hands every day

  And spin round and round and say,

  Isn’t life cherry ice cream with chunky chocolate chips?

  Isn’t life a theme park, a rolling, rip-roaring rollercoaster ride?

  Isn’t life all the shades of the rainbow seeping through every pore?

  Isn’t life roast lamb and Mum’s rice with slices of cucumber on the side?

  Isn’t life pop music, class music, a box of paints and a world through each door?

  Isn’t life a burst of light, a scent to delight, a phoenix rising, dazzling in the night?

  Isn’t life a magnificent mountain peak or silent woods or warm waves lapping a sandy shore?
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  Isn’t life anything, everything you make it and then much, much, so much, oh much, more?

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  I started writing poems for my own amusement long before I began to write stories. Nursery rhymes, playground songs and pop songs were as much a part of my life as breathing. I was reading at an early age, but this was a deliberate, though fun activity. Reading was something I had to be taught, something I had to sit down and do. Poetry was different. Poetry for me was in the way the branches of a tree danced in the wind, in the way snow fell to the ground bringing silence with it, in running water, in smiles, in music, in skipping songs, in insults, in chants – poetry was everywhere.

  In Cloud Busting, I used many different forms of poetry as inspiration – haikus, blank verse, limericks, a shape poem. I hasten to add that these were used for inspiration – I didn’t stick rigidly to their forms (which are discussed below in more detail). I wanted most of the poems in Cloud Busting to be free-form and fluid. I wanted it to sound as if you’re really inside the head of Sam, who is telling the story in his own way, without worrying about whether or not his poems conform to a particular style or rhyme.

  HAIKUS

  Haikus traditionally have seventeen syllables. They are set out in three lines, the first with five syllables, the second with seven, the third with five. Chapter 3 is told entirely in haikus. Strictly speaking, haikus should include a seasonal theme and capture a moment in nature or time. Traditionally, haikus are used for learning and teaching, especially in Zen Buddhism. My verses in Chapter 3 are not strict haikus because some of my sentences follow on and they shouldn’t!

  LIMERICKS

  A limerick is a poem of five lines. The rhyming scheme is a-a-b-b-a. Lines one, two and five have seven to ten syllables and lines three and four have five to seven syllables. In Chapter 5, once again, I don’t stick rigidly to the limerick syllable structure.

  BLANK VERSE

  Chapter 7 is based on blank verse, i.e. unrhymed five-stress lines (iambic pentameters). What that means is each line has ten syllables, which can be split into five pairs with the rhythm, dee-dum, dee-dum, dee-dum, dee-dum, dee-dum. It’s said to be the nearest verse form to the rhythms of speech.

  SHAPE POEMS

  I love shape poems. They’re about fitting words not just to a shape but to a relevant meaning as well. There’s not much point in writing a poem about a dog and shaping it like a pineapple – unless, of course, that’s the point of the poem!

  TITLES

  In Cloud Busting, I use each chapter title as part of the meaning of the chapter. I wanted to make every word count.

  I hope you like Cloud Busting. Perhaps it will inspire you to write your own poems.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MALORIE BLACKMAN is acknowledged as one of today’s most imaginative and convincing writers for young readers. Her book Noughts & Crosses has won several prizes, including the Children’s Book Award. Malorie is also the only author to have won the Young Telegraph/Gimme 5 Award twice with Hacker and Thief! Her work has appeared on screen, with Pig-Heart Boy, which was shortlisted for the Carnegie Medal, being adapted into a BAFTA-award-winning TV serial. Malorie has also written a number of titles for younger readers.