Praise for THE BUBBLE BOY
‘Every character is brilliantly realised and deeply human … The Bubble Boy will be read for many years to come, and I’ll certainly be looking out for Stewart Foster’s next novel’
Guardian
‘Heartbreaking in its simple affirmation of the importance of embracing what makes life worth living’
Daily Mail
‘Poignant, hopeful and heartbreaking, the novel charts the loneliness and frustrations of Joe’s days in a uniquely charming voice, until a newcomer changes his world forever’
Fiona Noble, The Bookseller – Ones to Watch
‘Deeply moving and utterly gripping, The Bubble Boy is a stunning novel that makes you laugh and cry … Debut author Stewart Foster carries off an astonishing feat of storytelling in this exceptional book’
Julia Eccleshare, Lovereading4kids.co.uk
‘The Bubble Boy will speak to many readers, as they might find it is their similarity to Joe that surprises them, despite their apparently dramatic differences’
Booktrust
‘A gripping and deeply moving book’
Jamila Gavin, author of Coram Boy
‘A heart-warming story teens and adults alike will love’
Rebecca Smith, Family Traveller magazine
‘A life-affirming story of a boy with superhero-sized dreams who longs for a chance to be brave. Simply wonderful.’
Jenn Bennett, author of Night Owls
JBS
Alex: This is me
My Worry List
1. Everybody is going to die.
2. The glass in the aquarium tanks is going to crack on the school trip tomorrow and all the water will pour out and drown everybody in my class and Mr Francis.
3. It won’t happen if I stay home, but if I don’t go I’ll feel bad for not telling anyone and I’ll feel even worse for being the only person in my class who is still alive.
4. All the fish will pour out of the tanks and flap about on the floor with their mouths wide open. But if they flap hard enough maybe they’ll make it out of the aquarium doors, across the beach and into the sea.
5. All the fish are going to die. They won’t survive in the sea because they’re used to being fed in their tanks and all the bigger fish will eat them up.
6. I’m worried about my worries. I could tell Mum and she’d phone the school and warn them what’s going to happen. But everyone would laugh and think I’ve gone crazy.
If I tell Mum my worries, she’ll worry too. She hates it when I’m worried and I hate it when she worries about me. I could go on the trip and die with all the others, but then Mum and Lizzie would be left at home on their own when I’m gone.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!
Dan: Sharks and dolphins
‘There are four hundred and forty different species of shark in the world and they’re split into eight categories; from the really small ones, like the catfish, to the medium-size hammerheads right up to the huge whale sharks in the Indian and Pacific Oceans.’
The aquarium guide holds his arms out as wide as he can reach. ‘You may have seen whale sharks on TV – they’re often mistaken for actual whales – but you can tell them apart by the ridge on their head and the sharpness of their teeth.’
The guide points to his own teeth and they light up in the dark. Behind him, fish and tiny turtles are swimming around in a giant tank full of coloured lights. There are tanks all around me. It’s like I’m in the water with the fish. I could reach out and touch them if they’d keep still. A big yellow fish swims above my head, slows, twitches its tail and then disappears behind me.
‘Dan.’ I feel a tap on my shoulder, then Mr Francis bends down and whispers in my ear. ‘Are you listening?’ He points at the guide who’s now showing my class a picture of a shark. The big yellow fish swims back over my head.
‘Dan!’
Mr Francis turns my head to face the front. The guide starts talking again.
‘You can get an idea of how big it is when you compare it with the size of the people on the boat.’ The guide points at the picture on the wall. The whale shark is big and grey and loads of people are standing on the deck, pointing cameras at it. It’s so big that if it opened its mouth ten people would fit inside, including me. I wonder if this one ate all the people on the boat after the picture was taken.
‘Does it eat them?’ I ask.
‘Sorry?’ The guide shades his eyes with his hand and looks for me in the dark.
‘If you want to ask a question, raise your hand.’ Miss French stands on tiptoe.
‘Go on, Dan. Put your hand up,’ says Mr Francis.
I wave my hand in the air. The class turn round and look at me.
‘Ah, there you are,’ says the guide. ‘Yes, young man,’ he says. ‘What was your question?’
‘Does it eat people? Does it bite people and tear them apart, and splat blood everywhere like in Jaws?’
The class laugh. I laugh too.
‘Boom!’ I lift up my arms and pretend to shoot a harpoon into a shark’s mouth.
The class laugh again.
‘Okay, okay,’ says Mr Francis. ‘Settle down.’
The guide smiles. ‘No, not every shark is like the one in Jaws. They’ve got a bad reputation but they don’t all eat people. In fact, very few do.’
‘Do those?’ I point at two sharks circling, chasing each other’s tails behind his head.
‘No,’ he says. ‘They’re too small.’
‘What about when they grow up?’
Sophie giggles beside me.
‘This is as big as they get. Now, I’d just like to show you the Silvers – the tiny silver fish that you see floating around in shoals. In the ocean, these can be shoals of up to a mile long.’ The guide keeps talking, but I’m not really listening any more because I’m watching the two sharks as they chase each other round a rock in the middle of the tank.
‘Sir!’ I put my hand in the air again. ‘Sir!’
The guide looks at his watch, then at Miss French.
‘I think it might be best if we let them ask questions at the end.’
‘But it’s important,’ I say.
‘Okay,’ says Miss French. ‘Last one, Dan. What is it?’
‘I think those two sharks fancy each other.’
‘Okay, Dan,’ says Mr Francis. ‘I think that’s enough of that. Mr Giles, perhaps you’d like to lead us on to the next tank.’ The class start to walk off with Miss French. ‘Not you, Dan.’
‘But, sir, I—’
‘Come here!’
Sophie and George C. grin as they walk past me.
‘You two get a move on, and Dan, you stand still.’ Mr Francis bends down so his head is level with mine. Two pufferfish swim behind him.
‘Dan, listen to me: you need to settle down. It’s all very well you messing around, but you’re …’
I try to listen to what he says, but it’s hard not to laugh when the pufferfish make him look like he’s got elephant ears. Mr Francis lifts up his hand and shows me three fingers.
‘That’s the third time I’ve told you today.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing. This is a school trip; we’re not going to be allowed to visit these places if you misbehave. You’re here to learn, not be the joker. Do you understand?’
I look over his shoulder. Sophie and George C. have stayed behind and are standing by a tank like they’re waiting for me to play up or do something funny.
‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes. But I don’t want to come again anyway.’
‘I don’t think you mean that.’
‘I do. That old man is weird and s
harks that don’t eat people are boring.’
Mr Francis goes to reply, but stops as Miss French walks back round the corner.
‘We’re moving on to the next tank,’ she says.
‘Okay,’ says Mr Francis. ‘Come on. Let’s go and see the crabs.’
I follow him into a tunnel where tiny silver fish swim beside us as we walk. I blow out my cheeks and I think I hear Mr Francis do the same or it might be the sound of air bubbling in the tanks.
I walk ahead and catch up with Sophie and George C. at the end of the tunnel.
‘What did he say?’ asks Sophie.
‘Nothing much.’
‘He’s an idiot.’
‘Yeah,’ I say.
I don’t really think he is. For a start, he’s better than Mr Gough, my maths teacher, who just sucks cough sweets and stares at the computer all lesson.
We walk into the next room and bump into the back of the others in the dark. The aquarium is like a massive cave: it seems to get darker the further in you go. I hear the tour guide say something about staying together or we’ll get lost.
‘We found someone last week who’d been here for two years and he’d missed taking his GCSEs.’
‘I imagine some of them would like that,’ says Mr Francis.
‘I would!’
‘Yes, Dan. I think we all know that.’
The guide starts to talk about the leatherback sea turtle, how it swims in currents across the ocean and then crawls onto beaches and lays its eggs in the sand. I rest my head against the glass and watch the tiny silver fish shoot off in all directions. I don’t need a tour guide to show me around because I would never get lost in here. I’ve been here so many times with my big brother that it’s like I’ve got a map of the fish tanks in my head. We used to come down on Sundays and he’d help me sneak under the turnstiles when the security guard wasn’t looking. I didn’t need to listen to the tour guide then either, or look at the pictures, because Ben would tell me everything.
‘If you cut an arm off a starfish, it grows another one like worms grow new heads.’
‘If you put your hand in a tank of piranhas, they’ll eat all the flesh and the bones.’
I’d tell him I wouldn’t dare put my hand in there. Ben said he wouldn’t either. The last time we came here he told me how the biggest fish got to be so big.
‘See that big fat one.’ He pointed at a large yellow fish swimming on its own. ‘Well, it used to be a little fish, but then it started to eat all the other fish and it got big and strong. That’s what you’ve got do.’
‘But I don’t like fish,’ I said.
He laughed, said I knew what he meant, then we heard footsteps getting close and Ben searched around on the floor for old tickets that people might have dropped the day before. He found two and gave one to me. The footsteps got louder. Then we saw a shadow and a torchlight flashing. It was the security guard. I turned to run, but Ben grabbed my arm.
‘It’s okay,’ he whispered. ‘They change the colours of the tickets every day, but he won’t be able to tell the difference in the dark.’
‘What are you two up to?’
‘Nothing,’ said Ben. ‘Just looking at the fish.’
‘Mmmm.’ The security guard shone the torch in our faces. My heart was thudding, but Ben just stood still and handed him our tickets. The guard shone his torch on them. Ben nudged me. I could see his teeth as he smiled in the dark. The guard gave the tickets back.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Just don’t hang around; we’re closing in twenty minutes.’ He walked away.
Ben ruffled my hair. ‘Told you,’ he said.
I tap the glass gently. The silver fish gather round my fingertip like they’re trying to eat it. I wish Ben was here now. It was more fun with him than with this lot on a school trip.
‘Dan! Dan!’ I feel a nudge in my ribs. Sophie’s grinning at me. Her teeth and her blonde hair have been turned purple by the lights. ‘This is boring,’ she whispers. ‘Let’s go to the souvenir shop.’
‘Yeah.’ George C. leans in. ‘See what we can get.’ He slides along the glass and me and Sophie follow. Mr Francis and Miss French are watching the rest of the class as they lean over the tank and touch the turtles and crabs.
A bright light shines through a crack as George C. opens the door. I look back at the teachers and the class. The guide is telling them about the crabs, that they’re got exo-blah-blah-blah – a big word for saying crabs’ skeletons are on the outside of their bodies.
Sophie nudges me in the back. ‘Go on,’ she whispers. ‘Now!’
I check one more time and we slide out of the door. I blink in the bright lights of the souvenir shop.
There are two teachers and some kids in blue uniform from another school walking around. Me and Sophie pass books about fish and the ocean and stop by a shelf full of plastic dolphins and sharks. I stand on tiptoe and look over the top of the shelves. There’s a woman behind the till ticking off a list and a security guard by the turnstiles that let people out and in.
Sophie opens her eyes wide and nods towards the dolphins and sharks.
‘Go on,’ she says. ‘It’s your turn. I did it when we went to the museum in London.’
I check that the woman and the security guard aren’t looking.
Sophie nudges me again. ‘Now!’
The security man blows his nose. The woman at the till ticks her list. I reach out, grab a dolphin and put it into my trouser pocket. Sophie grins at me.
I reach out and grab another. I started doing it at Christmas. I was really scared at first, but Ben said it’s like kicking a football: the more you practise, the better you get. He used to do it when we came here together. I didn’t know he’d taken anything until we got outside and he’d give me a plastic turtle or a rubber octopus and say it was a present.
I pick up more sharks and dolphins and jam them in my pockets. I go to take some more, then stop as the door opens. The guide walks into the shop with the rest of my class behind him. Mr Francis is at the back, rubbing his beard and nodding like he’s counting we’re all here. George C. and George W. walk up to me. They look and sound just like each other and have got their fringes stuck up with gel. I slowly pull back my blazer and show them my trouser pockets.
‘Wicked.’ George W. laughs. ‘But how are you going to get them out of here?’
‘Easy.’ I start to stroll down the aisle, but my pockets are bulging like I’m a cowboy with guns. I’m going to get caught if I walk out like this.
‘Five minutes, everyone!’ shouts Mr Francis.
I stop at the end of the aisle where Elliott Gibbs is standing on his own, looking at a map of the oceans.
‘Stay there,’ I say to him.
Elliott flinches.
‘It’s okay, I’m not going to hit you or anything.’
‘Not this time anyway,’ Sophie adds.
‘What do you want then?’ Elliott says in a wimpy voice.
‘Just stand still. I need your bag,’ I say.
‘But I haven’t got anything in there.’ He squirms as Sophie pulls one of his straps.
‘Stay still,’ she says, ‘or we’ll throw all your stuff on the beach and then we’ll get your weirdo friend when we’re back at school. Where is the little squirt anyway?’
Elliott shrugs. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Too scared that we’d get him here?’
Elliott looks at the ground and mumbles something.
‘What did you say?’ Sophie steps closer to him.
Elliott looks up. ‘I said, why do you have to pick on Alex?’
‘Aww,’ says Sophie. ‘He cares more about his little friend than he does about himself.’ Then she pushes her face up close to Elliott like she’s looking in a mirror. Compared to Elliott she’s so big and strong she could knock him over against the shelves. ‘But you’re not his friend now … are you?!’
‘No,’ Elliott says. ‘I don’t talk to him any more.’
‘Good.’ S
ophie holds Elliott still. I take the dolphins and sharks out of my pockets and slip them into his bag. He tries to turn away as me and Sophie pull the straps tight.
‘Don’t tell anyone,’ she says.
I push Elliott in front of me and we shuffle forward in the line.
The security guard nods like he’s counting sheep into a pen. I nudge Elliott in the back and he walks through the turnstile.
‘Thanks!’ I give the security guard the thumbs up like Ben used to do.
‘That’s okay, son,’ he says. ‘Be sure to come again.’
‘I will.’
My heart beats fast as I push through the turnstile and run out on to the seafront.
Ben said his heart used to do that too.
Alex: A little fish
‘Love, how much longer?’
Mum knocks on the door.
‘Alex, can you hear me?’
‘Yes.’
‘How much longer? You missed school yesterday and you’re making everyone late today.’
‘I know, Mum. I’m trying.’
I squirt the antibacterial soap on my hands and put them under the tap. The water’s so hot it stings the cracks and sores on my fingers. I wince, squirt more soap and rinse them under the tap again. As usual, I’m stuck in the bathroom. The door isn’t locked and my bum’s not stuck to the toilet seat with superglue. But I’m stuck, stuck and I can’t stop washing. My hands are clean, but as soon as I touch the taps to turn them off my hands are dirty again and even if I didn’t turn the taps off there are germs on the towel. There are germs everywhere I look. On the taps, on the towels, on the light cord, on the door handle.
Another knock on the door.
‘Alex, love.’ Mum’s back again. ‘Come on! Elliott’s dad is outside. You know he has to get to work on time and you’re going to make me late for work too.’
Water’s steaming up into my face. I hear Elliott’s dad beeping the car horn outside and I don’t want to make Mum late because last week she got a warning from her supermarket boss.
I’ll just have one last wash before I go. I rub my hands together; they sting and they’re red-raw like a pomegranate.
But they’re clean finally.
Turn the tap off, I think. Turn the tap off. Use your elbow like doctors do in hospitals.
I bend over, knock the tap with my elbow. It turns a little. I knock it again, then again until the stream of water is a dribble. Mum will turn it off after I’m done. My hands are throbbing. I hold them in the air. The water drips down my forearms to my elbows.
All the Things That Could Go Wrong Page 1