'Really?' I said.
'Yeah. Really,' she said, pinching my cheek. 'You're incredibly cute. You can't believe it, can you? "Oh my God, THE Cat DeVrees wants to be my friend." I guess it is pretty amazing for you. I mean it's not like I knew you were even alive until now. But that doesn't mean we can't become friends.'
I wasn't quite sure what to say.
'I guess not,' I said, wondering if this was a dream and thinking that the pinch on the cheek probably would have woken me if it was.
Cat and I didn't chat much after that but I played dumb a couple of times so she'd help me out with some problems.
The buzzer went for the end of the double period. She gathered her things in one cool move. 'Catch you, Mac,' she said. 'And tell Pete we're cool, too.'
'Pete?'
'Your friend,' she said.
'Paul,' I said.
'Yeah, whatever,' she said. 'Tell him "hi" from me.'
And I watched her go. 'See ya, Cat,' I said.
She disappeared into the hall.
I couldn't believe it. I chucked my books into my bag and scurried for the door. In the crush of kids outside I managed to find Paul on the way to English.
'What do you reckon?' I said after giving him a blow-by-blow account. We walked into the room and grabbed a seat. Mrs Astin was copying a quote from Othello on the board. Shakespeare was kind of my enemy right now. We weren't even s'posed to be studying it yet but Astin was obsessed.
'It's a joke,' Paul said.
'She really wants to be friends.'
'You're so gullible,' he said, reefing his books out of his bag.
'I'm not. She's for real,' I said, sounding almost pathetic.
'You're pathetic,' he said. 'Think about it. Why would she suddenly want to be friends with you?'
I had to think for a second. 'She respects guys that win. And we were losers before. Don't you see? We're in her league now. We just had to prove ourselves.'
Paul shook his head. 'Love does weird things to people's heads.'
'As if I love her. I just think she's –'
'Hot,' he said. 'I know. It's disgusting. Are you gonna spend your life believing every girl who doesn't look like my nan?'
'Man, if you'd been there,' I said. 'We were, like, equals. She even said it – that you and I didn't exist for her till now. I feel so good, like this weight's been lifted. Maybe this is what people mean when they say they've been "born again"?'
'That's a Christian thing, poobag. My Aunt Bunnie's one of them. If you're gonna believe her, don't talk to me,' Paul said and he grabbed his things and moved across the aisle.
'Cat said to say "hi",' I said as a last-ditch attempt to sway him.
He turned and gave me black eyes of death that threatened to spit blood at me if I didn't shut up.
So I did. I started copying the quote. Even if Paul was right – which he wasn't – but even if he was, it felt good to be included by someone like Cat. I'd spent my whole life feeling not exactly like a loser but kind of loser-ish, y'know. Different. Like I'd never be accepted by certain people because I was from a weird family or something. I mean, I didn't see a movie till I was eight. I didn't use a computer till I was ten. Mine was not a normal childhood. But now that was kind of changing. 'Geek chic', some dude had called it on the web. 'Gettin' your geek on'. Whatever it was that we were doing, Cat was liking it. And that felt good. It really did.
26
Mrs Porter
'First of all, I want to know who gave you two permission to do something as dangerous as trying to fly a bicycle,' Paul's mum asked.
My mum shrank in her seat. We'd been sitting in Paul's front room for less than sixty seconds and the interrogation had already begun. His house was an orange-bricker in a housing estate called Sunset Downs built in the 1970s. It was deeply ugly and scarily neat. On the weekend, at any given time, there were at least fifty lawnmowers running in his street, trimming any stray blade that might have had five minutes to grow. Every house had tidy little garden beds that said to the world, 'Everything's swell here'. But everything was far from swell in the Porter household. Paul was the youngest of six kids, the only one left at home, and I swear his mum was trying to organise and clean him to death. His dad was a bank teller and had barely said a word since I'd known him.
I shifted in my seat and the plastic covering on the couch crinkled in the silence. My leg was starting to stick. I remember the first time I strayed from the plastic-covered walkways in Paul's house. It was as if I'd taken a dump in the middle of the lounge room floor. His mum went gastro on me. She pulled out the vacuum and bombed the floor with all these crazy chemicals. Then she banned me for, like, two weeks.
I was waiting for the day that Paul would come to school wrapped in plastic.
'Did you authorise this, Carolyn?' she asked my mum.
'Well, I don't know that I authorised –'
'But did you know about it?' Sue Porter asked again.
'Yes, I did, but –'
'Right. Thank you for being honest, Carolyn. Finally. Now can you also tell me why Paul has been home late, very late, every night this week?'
'It's ...' Paul began.
'No,' said his mum. 'I am asking Mac's mother. She may decide to give me a straight answer. But who knows? Why am I always the one kept in the dark?' Mrs Porter looked my mum up and down, glaring at her long, rainbow-coloured floral dress and sandals.
'Well,' said my mum, looking at me. 'The boys have been taking part in a cool search.'
'Hunt,' I corrected.
'Hunt,' Mum said. 'And they, well, there were two ... Mac came to me and –'
She was drowning. She knew too much. We needed a diversion. Like a turkey burning in the oven. Or Molly, their annoying little dog, going feral and gnawing Mrs Porter's leg off. Or maybe the engine from a 747 dropping through the ceiling, narrowly missing us all but, sadly, crushing Mrs Porter and Molly.
But none of this happened. So I thought I'd better step in.
'Mrs Porter,' I said. 'We've been given the chance to, um, to take part in a competition and –'
'Who?' she said. 'Who gave you the chance?'
'These dudes. Guys,' I corrected. 'Speed and Tony.'
'Who?' she said. 'Where are they from?'
My ma leaned forward in her seat. She wanted to hear this, too. Paul stood and started sleuthing out of the room like he had an important job to do.
'Back!' snapped his mum. Paul reversed and sat again, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
'Well, they're from ... a website –'
'What do you mean, "from a website"? They can't be from a website. Are they locals or are they from Mars? Where do they come from?' said Mrs Porter.
'Well, they're from England. And France, I think. And they want us to be reporters, sort of. Well, me really but Paul's helping out.'
'And what do they get out of it? You reporting for them?' she said. My mum's eyes narrowed. This was the big question. I thought for a second. And I didn't really know. I looked at the clock. It was nearly 4:20 and we hadn't shot anything for today's piece. I would have eaten another dog food sandwich to be out shooting at that moment.
'Don't look at the time. You look me in the eye,' Paul's mum said. Man, was she tough. You'd think she'd at least pretend to be nice in front of my mum. Wasn't that what adults did? I pitied the workers at the bank she managed. Including Paul's dad. I imagined her using the safe as a torture chamber for staff members who were twenty cents short at the end of the day. I cleared my throat.
'Um, well, I guess they get people visiting their site?' I said.
'And how do they make money out of that?' she said.
'I dunno. Advertising maybe?' I said.
'Right. And are you being paid for this?' she asked.
'Not yet but –'
'Not yet,' she said, mimicking my voice. 'Well, I'd like to meet these men. When can I meet them?'
'So would I, Mac,' my mum said gently. 'You don't know what you're getti
ng caught up in. I mean, you may be sending out the message that all kids have to be cool. And I think what Sue is saying is that you may be assisting in selling unattainable lifestyles to –'
'No, I'm not saying that at all, Carolyn,' said Paul's mum. 'Please don't put words into my mouth. I think they're paedophiles.'
'Not everyone on the internet is a paedophile,' I said.
'Well, let's arrange a meeting,' she said. 'And we'll see.' Paul's mum was obsessed with meetings. 'Where are they now?' she asked.
Sweat pricked my palms. I had no idea where they were. But then I remembered.
'The Great Barrier Reef,' I said. 'Maybe you could email them?'
She forced a laugh. 'Yes, well, oh, that's perfect, isn't it? I'm sure they'll be very nice on email. That's the way to find out if they're molesters or not.'
How did she manage to make this whole thing sound dodgy?
I looked to Paul. He was squeezing a zit. He did that when he was nervous.
'Look, I don't particularly care what Mac's mother is going to do but, Paul, you're not to have any further part of this until I have met with these men and found out exactly what it is they are after. And Carolyn, I'd appreciate it if you could be on my side on this one and ensure that they aren't sneaking around.'
'Well, I don't think they've –'
'Thank you,' said Paul's mum. 'Now, if you don't mind I have to get back to the bank for lock-up. Some of us have jobs.'
She ushered us out of our seats, straightened the couch-plastic and showed us the door.
It was just the start of a very bad afternoon.
27
Intruder
The workshop door hung wide open.
It wasn't exactly a high security facility but, around here, it didn't need to be. Least I didn't think so. But someone had snapped the green bike chain we used to secure the door.
'Hello?'
No response.
'Anybody there?' I said again. The workshop was dark, sheltered from the afternoon sun by the mangrove trees. It was quiet, too. I picked up a stick and ventured closer to the door, pressing myself against the outside. I breathed for a second, wondering who would bother to break into our workshop.
'Hey!' I called sharply, trying to catch them off guard, as I swung into the mouth of the door.
No one. I slowly moved through the doorway, stick pointed. I wasn't too sure how a twig was going to stop a ruthless thief but it was the best I could do at short notice. I scanned the room. Our half-assembled trike was still there. We'd been planning to vlog a test run with the trike for today's entry.
I checked that none of our tools were missing. Then a bolt of panic jarred my body. I dived up the ladder and checked under the old painting dropsheets where we'd hidden the camera in its box late the night before.
'No way,' I whispered as I pulled the sheet away.
The box was there. But the camera was gone.
Whoever had broken in knew what they were looking for. I checked my watch. Five on the nose. I had three hours to get my Thursday vlog up and stay in the competition. I had no camera guy, a dodgily assembled trike and no camera.
I thought about Cat asking me where our workshop was in Maths that day. But I pushed the thought away. She wouldn't do that. I mean, we were friends now.
28
Two Hours And Forty-Six Minutes To Go
'Psssst,' I hissed.
No reaction.
'Pssssssssssssst.'
Nothing. Did this guy have ears?
Paul was sitting on his bed, his back to the open window. I was standing on the Porters' incredibly clean Otto bin in the pathway beside his house, down by the hot-water heater. I was praying that Molly, the little rat, wasn't snorting around in the back yard, ready to blow my cover. Mrs Porter's car was back and I imagined she wouldn't be too keen on seeing me so soon.
'Paul!' I hissed.
Nothing.
I grabbed the hacky-sack from my pocket and chucked it at him. He finally turned around, annoyed. He'd been counting his bread-tie collection again. Paul collected those little plastic things that go around the neck of the bread. He'd always start counting and get distracted halfway through and lose count. He reckoned he had about ten thousand but I thought it was closer to two. He got excited about rare colours like a purple one he got when he was on holidays in Tamworth.
'What?' he said. 'Whaddya want? I lost count, you idiot!'
'Sorry. I just thought I should let you know the camera's gone,' I said.
'What?' Paul's brain spacked out for a second. He climbed across his bed to the window and about a thousand bread ties scattered to the floor. 'Gone? Where? Why? How do you know?'
I told him the story.
'You gotta come,' I said. 'We've got to bodge the trike together somehow and have a crack at getting it up. I don't have anything else to vlog.'
He looked at me like I was insane.
'You're insane,' he said. 'Aircraft cannot be assembled in an hour. I don't know where we can get another camera and Mum will murder me if I go with you.'
'And?' I said.
He exhaled loudly. 'Just give me a second. I'll grab my shoes.'
I smiled and, at that very moment, the lid of Paul's bin collapsed under my weight. I half fell in with a crunch of plastic. Somewhere in the house the Rat started yapping and I heard, 'Molly, shut up!' It was Paul's dad. That was one of the rare things you heard him say. That and, 'I just want some peace and quiet!'
I tried to climb out of the bin but my leg had been kind of wedged between the rim and the crushed lid. Paul stuck his head out the window.
'What are you doing?'
'Just hangin' out,' I said. 'I can't get enough of this bin.'
The Rat kept yapping and I heard the sliding door go at the back of the house. I kicked the lid in with my other foot, jumped clear of the bin and it fell over. I had no choice but to keep moving. Paul was trapped in the window of his room with no bin to climb on to. He heard his mum coming around the back of the house. He jumped to the ground, rolled, hit the fence and bolted up the path.
There was a hideous squawk of 'Paul Porter. Get your butt back here,' as Paul and I jumped into the getaway vehicle – our bike with sidecar – and tore off up Sunrise Boulevard at top speed.
'She's gonna lose it so badly,' Paul said once we we'd turned into Sunset Drive.
'Oh, boohoo,' I said. 'Where do we get a camera, bread-tie boy?'
29
Stakeout
'Get your head in,' I snapped at Paul. He ducked behind the enormous pine tree, one of about twenty along the beachfront.
We were across the road from the DeVrees house. Behind us was McMasters Beach, the most exclusive beach in Kings. I poked one eye out from behind the tree and gazed at Cat's place.
Imagine living in a house with no driver's seat, I thought. Or smelling the ocean rather than 'processed' chickens. Or having a bedroom without a 'Push for Emergency Exit' sticker on the window.
Cat's garage was at road-level and there was a security gate on the right that led up some steps to her pool. If you followed the path up past the pool you reached the house – sandstone, three storey, 180-degree ocean views, worth jillions. Cat's room was on the top floor, far right. Not that I'd hidden behind this tree before. I hadn't. Really. Only once.
'Just walk up there and ask her,' Paul said.
'Why me? This is such a dumb idea.'
'What else have you got?' he asked.
It was true. I had nothing. We'd already wasted half an hour at school, begging a cleaner to let us borrow a camera. We'd tried Sear's, an electrical store in town. Paul's family cam had been trashed on Sunday when the bike went down. We even tried Denson but he didn't have a camera.
'You're going up there to ask her if we can borrow her camera,' Paul said.
'There's no way,' I said.
'You made out like you guys were practically getting married this morning. Surely she'll help out her old buddy, Mac, with the loan o
f a camera for a couple of hours.'
'She's probably using it,' I said. 'And she's our competition. She's hardly –'
The front door of the house opened and we ducked behind the tree. Two girls came out. They stood there talking. I could tell it was Cat but I didn't know who she was talking to. A minute later they hugged, the girl headed down the path and Cat went inside.
'Get down!' I said to Paul. 'I swear you'd never make a detective.'
'Whatever, Sherlock,' he said.
'Who?'
'Don't worry,' he said. 'Look!'
Exiting the security gate was someone we never expected to see. She looked both ways and seemed to stare straight at us. Then she took off, looking behind her a couple more times, super-sketchy. She crossed the road and walked along the beach towards town.
30
One Hour And Twenty-Seven Minutes To Go
Paul and I stared hopelessly at the mess of bike parts sprawled around our workshop. Even if we had a camera, there was no way we were doing a test flight today. Or anytime soon.
We'd spent the whole ride back trying to come up with a good reason why Jewels had been coming out of Cat's place. We both knew there was only one answer. I tried not to point the finger but Paul wasn't messing around.
'She's the only one who could easily get in here without anyone noticing her,' Paul kept on saying. 'And we caught her red-handed on enemy turf.'
'Yeah but what's her motive?' I asked him.
'The most popular chick in our year wants to be her friend. She prob'ly flipped out like you did,' Paul said. 'Yes, Cat. Whatever you say, Cat. Can I lick your bum, Cat?'
'What, and I said that, did I?' I asked him.
'Yeah, you did. You wanna fight about it? Right here, right now,' Paul said, putting up his dukes, old-skool style.
'I'm not afraid to dance, dude,' I said and shaped up to him. We sparred with punches, narrowly missing eyes, noses and ears while we talked.
'D'you really think Jewels'd do that?' I said.
'I don't know why anyone would believe Cat,' he spat and landed a punch on my ribs. I pulled out a roundhouse and tried to give him a dead arm just below the shoulder but it was all bone and it hurt my knuckle more than his arm. 'All I know,' Paul continued, 'is the camera's gone and I saw Jewels coming out of Cat's place on the day that Cat faked being friends with everyone. And Jewels can't stand Cat. She's worse than me. If that's not suss, then I'm heavyweight champion of the world. Now I'm bailing before my mum changes the locks.' He started backing up towards the door.
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