Crossfire

by Malorie Blackman

  ‘Of course it’s nonsense, Mum. You can’t honestly believe you’re jinxed.’

  ‘I was beginning to wonder.’ She lets me go and turns me round to face her. ‘So? D’you think you, me and Sonny could live together as a family?’

  ‘If I say yes?’

  ‘Then I tell Sonny that maybe some day.’

  ‘And if I say no?’

  ‘Then Sonny and I stay as we are. This far, no further.’

  Mum smiles and I realize she means it. She’d actually do that for me. I swallow hard, trying to shift the lump in my throat. Oh, Mum …

  ‘Mum, I want you to be happy. You deserve it.’ And I mean that.

  Mum’s smile turns into a grin of relief. ‘I love you, Troy.’

  ‘Love you too, Mum.’

  I head back to the hob to stir the cheese sauce. It’s too late. The sauce is boiling and burnt. I stir it anyway, my mind a hornets’ nest.

  Proof … Sonny challenged me to prove his involvement with my dad’s death. What I should’ve done was go directly to the police to get them to investigate. But, if I’d done that, Mum would’ve been so angry with me. And, more than that, she’d have been so hurt.

  ‘Oh, and Sonny has had the quarry cleared and he’s having it made safe,’ says Mum. ‘That’s a relief, right? He told me to let you know.’

  I just bet he did. My heart drops and stays dropped. Any evidence relating to Dad’s death is now well and truly gone. I’ve left it too late. What the hell do I do now?

  twenty-three. Libby

  * * *

  I lie on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Mum is with Pete in her bedroom. The two of them have been as thick as thieves since I made Mum tell me the truth about my dad. They’ve barely spent an hour apart. And Pete keeps looking at me with that sneering, knowing smile of his, like he knows something I don’t. God, but he makes my skin crawl.

  Knowing the truth about my dad is seriously doing my head in. For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m starting to hope. Maybe he’ll want to get to know me. Maybe he misses me as much as I miss him, even though we’ve never met. Maybe I could actually go and live with him. Maybe – that’s another word for hope. Hope is dangerous. I should know. For years, I hoped Mum might come to love me. Just a little. But it never happened. Hope lost is worse than no hope at all. When I thought I had none, what I did have were my plans for the future and the lines on my arm. They were mine and mine alone. Now there’s a chance for something more and my mind is racing with … possibilities.

  Tomorrow is head-student election day, but I don’t even care. Not any more. I’ve already sent an email to Dad’s office. I couldn’t wait. I needed to make contact. I just have to hope that whoever deals with his emails will pass it on to him. After school tomorrow, I’m going to visit Dad and demand to see him. And I won’t move until I get to meet him. If he tells me to my face that he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me, then at least I’ll know for certain where I stand. I keep telling myself I’ll be no worse off than I am now. How many times have I told myself that I don’t need anyone? Often enough for me to actually start believing it. But I’ve been kidding myself. I’m desperate for Dad to like me, to want to be part of my life just as I need to be part of his. I’m desperate to belong somewhere. Be a part of something. Matter to someone. Otherwise, what’s the point?

  Dad will want to see me. I’m hanging on to that hope with everything I am. He’ll love me, and finally I’ll have someone in my life who likes me for who I am. Wouldn’t that be something? I’m scared though, I admit it. And the thing that scares me the most as I lie here and dream about the perfect reunion in the perfect setting with the perfect outcome? What if I dreamed the whole conversation with Mum where she finally told me the truth about my dad? What if I’m still asleep and dreaming? If I am, then maybe, if there really is a God, I won’t wake up.

  twenty-four. Troy

  * * *

  Debate day has finally arrived and, quite frankly, I’m struggling to care. I have other things on my mind – like Sonny. While I’m racking my brains trying to figure out what to do, life is pulling me along regardless. Here we are, the final three head-student candidates, standing on the stage in front of the whole upper school. Me, Dina and Libby. All the others, including my mate Zane, have dropped out or have been removed from the running – like Meshella. Apparently, she said something she shouldn’t’ve to Mrs Baxter, one of the biology teachers. Removing her from this election was the head’s punishment. When I asked Zane why he’d bailed, he replied, ‘I’m making a political statement.’ It took me too long to realize he’d dropped out to increase my chances of getting elected head boy. It was only the thought of a severe punch to the arm that stopped me from hugging him. Man-style of course!

  The kicker is, my original motive for entering this election has been swallowed up. At first I wanted to win just to stick it to Libby. That soon morphed into me wanting to win because I thought … no, I knew I could stand up for the rights of us students – and not in the divisive way Libby has been wittering on about. I’d been looking forward to this day for ages. A chance to show the whole upper school not just who Libby really is, but who I am. But now all my plans on that front seem insignificant. Sonny keeps creeping to the front of my thoughts. Since Sunday dinner at his house, he hasn’t budged out of my head. And, like a gutless wonder, I’ve said and done nothing since. Except worry. And now he wants to marry my mum.

  Over my dead body.

  Looking around the school hall, I see most of our audience look like they could quite easily give it a miss too. People are fidgeting, chatting, looking down at their watches. They can’t leave any more than I can. It’s only the thought of Libby becoming head girl that has got me up on this stage in front of the entire upper school in the first place. The voting takes place later today and I don’t care if I lose, as long as Libby doesn’t win. This election isn’t on my list of priorities, not any more. I glance across at Libby. For once, she’s not working the room, no false smiles at anyone and everyone whose eye she manages to catch. That’s so plastic. And what’s up with Dina? She looks like she’s about to have all her front teeth extracted. God, this is all so … pointless. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at the nearest cop shop, demanding they check out Sonny’s alibi for the day my dad died.

  Sonny …

  Hell! I can’t stop thinking about him.

  Since our dinner at Sonny’s, I’ve had sleepless nights and can’t concentrate. Finally, I realized I needed to talk to someone, confide my fears, before my head exploded, or I did something really stupid. So yesterday I phoned my sister, asking to meet up.

  ‘I can’t tonight,’ Callie said. ‘I’ve got meetings and a report to prepare. How about tomorrow evening? Isn’t it the head-student election tomorrow? If you win, I’ll buy you dinner.’

  ‘And if I lose?’

  ‘I’ll buy you dinner.’

  ‘I was hoping to see you today, not tomorrow, but OK,’ I agreed reluctantly.

  ‘Troy, is everything all right?’

  ‘I need your advice.’

  The stunned silence from my sister spoke volumes. I had never, ever asked for her advice before. She’d given it freely on countless occasions, but this was the first time I’d specifically requested it.

  ‘Is something wrong? Is Mum OK?’

  ‘Mum’s fine. I just need to talk to you about something.’

  ‘And you don’t want to tell me over the phone.’

  I shook my head as if Callie could see me. ‘No. I need to speak to you in person.’

  ‘Look, I could try to come round tonight, though it’d be after midnight—’

  I couldn’t do that to her. She already sounded dog-tired. ‘No, tomorrow will do.’

  ‘OK. Tomorrow evening it is then,’ said Callie. ‘Let’s make it early. Around six?’

  ‘That’s fine. How’s your case going by the way? Proved him innocent yet?’

  ‘I’m wor
king on it,’ Callie replied. ‘Look, why don’t I just see you at home?’

  ‘No! I want to talk to you outside the house.’

  ‘Hmm. OK. I’ll book a table somewhere and send you details,’ said my sister.

  Over twenty-four hours to wait before I can speak to her about Sonny, but it’ll have to do. She’ll put me straight, one way or another. Everything inside me shouts out that I can’t let Mum marry that man. He might be a murderer …

  What if he isn’t?

  But what if he is?

  The not-knowing-for-absolute-certain is doing my head in. The headache I woke up with is definitely getting worse, not better.

  Troy, focus on the here and now.

  The debate is about to start.

  The noise in the assembly hall is a low rumble as the entire upper school, including all the teachers, are now seated, waiting for the debate to begin. Mrs Paxton raises her hands for quiet. Immediate silence. I swear that woman could quell a horse stampede with one look. The head’s impressive locks are piled high on her head in a grey-white bun that in itself commands respect. Callie says that Mrs Paxton used to frighten the hell out of everyone even when she attended this school. I guess time moves on, but some things never change.

  Without warning, Dina lurches towards Mrs Paxton and they begin an urgent conversation in hushed tones. Dina has her back to everyone else seated in the assembly hall, but, from where I’m standing on the stage, I can see that she is adamant about something. She keeps shaking her head, though Mrs Paxton is trying to tell her something. Finally, the head sighs and nods reluctantly. Dina immediately rushes down the stairs and leaves the hall. Frowning, I watch her speedy exit. What’s that all about? Is she ill?

  ‘Good morning to you all,’ Mrs Paxton begins. ‘The role of head boy or head girl has been established at our school for decades. It is a time-honoured position where one head student is elected by the whole upper school to represent them and their interests. Teachers do not get a vote. After all the weeks of campaigning, our final two candidates are Libby Jackman and Troy Ealing. Unfortunately Dina Myan is feeling unwell and has asked to be withdrawn from consideration. Libby and Troy will take part in a debate where they will answer questions that you, the students, have previously submitted. If we have time, we’ll take more questions from the floor. Each candidate will have up to sixty seconds to answer each question. At the end of that time, a buzzer will sound, and the candidate will be allowed to finish their sentence. This debate will last for one hour and I want you all to pay close attention. Listen to the arguments put forward by both aspirants and, when it is time to vote, I urge you to select the best person for the role. These elections, like all elections, should be taken seriously. The winner will speak for you and represent you, so choose well.’

  Thanks, Mrs Paxton. Like I’m not nervous enough already. Why has Dina pulled out? Is illness the real reason? I see Zane seated down in the hall, and catch his eye. He shrugs at me, obviously having no clue either.

  ‘Now all the question boxes from around the school have been emptied into this one, and I will be drawing the questions out at random.’ Mrs Paxton opens a large black cardboard box and draws out the first folded piece of paper. She reads it and smiles. ‘An excellent question to start us off. “Why should we vote for you?” Which one of you two would like to take that one first?’

  Mrs Paxton looks expectantly at me, then at Libby. Libby steps forward, her microphone in her hand, that false smile already on her lips.

  ‘To answer that excellent question, I urge you all to vote for me because I care.’

  Oh. My. God! Pass a sick bag.

  I shake my head at the performance. Libby casts me a look. ‘Troy, my opponent, is already shaking his head. He thinks caring is weak. A dirty word. I disagree. I care about what kind of food is served in our food hall. I care about increasing our school counsellor’s hours so that she works full time, not just three days a week. I care about making sure we all get proper, timely feedback as far as our classwork and our homework are concerned. I care about after-school clubs and music lessons for all those who want them, not just those who can afford them. I care about having not just one but two school librarians to help out in our library. I care. Can you say the same, Troy?’

  Libby smiles triumphantly and lowers her mic. She’s that confident, I’m surprised she didn’t just drop it.

  Bitch, please!

  Casting Libby a withering look, I raise my mic. ‘Take a look at Liberty, everyone. Take a long, hard look. I readily admit that she’s a better politician than I will ever be. Check the way she started her speech – with an immediate attack on me. She made one statement about herself, then proceeded to trash-talk me, implying – based on absolutely no evidence whatsoever – that I don’t care about what happens at this school. Sit comfortably and watch Liberty go totally toxic on me. I’ll tell you exactly what she’ll say. Liberty is going to promise to listen to each and every one of you. She’s gonna be there for you, fight on your behalf. She’s on your side. But don’t believe a word of it. Like most politicians, she’ll make promises she has no intention of keeping. Like most politicians, she’ll say and do anything to become head girl, including promising each of you her firstborn if that’s what it takes. Don’t fall for it. I’m Troy Ealing and, for those who don’t know me personally, I’ll tell you who – and what – I am. A straight talker. With me, what you see is what you get. I want to be head boy not because it looks great on a university application form or for a chance to get back at all those I’ve got a grudge against, but because I believe I can make our great school an even better place.’

  A ding. My allotted time is up.

  I’m just getting started.

  Libby scowls at me. It’s on!

  twenty-five. Libby

  * * *

  How dare you, Troy Ealing? What right d’you have to say that? I’m not running for head girl just to get back at all those who might’ve pissed me off in the past. I’m not that petty.

  How dare you?

  ‘Our next question is …’ Mrs Paxton frowns slightly as she reads on without speaking. ‘OK … our next question is, “Name two good things and one bad thing about your opponent.” Troy, would you like to go first?’

  This should be good. Eyes narrowed, I wait to hear just what he’s going to say.

  twenty-six. Troy

  * * *

  Crap! Two good things? About Libby? That’s a tall order. Like Mount Everest tall.

  ‘Er … I hear Libby is loyal to her friends and that she’s good at history. The bad thing would be her ambition to become head girl for all the wrong reasons. Not for your benefit, but for her own. Libby has about as much political insight as a stale cheese sandwich. And she couldn’t care less about any student issues. She sees being head girl as a stepping stone, nothing more.’

  OK, not my best effort, but all I could think of on the spur of the moment. Libby’s expression hardens like quick-drying cement. She’s going to let me have it – both barrels.

  ‘It’s hard to come up with one good thing to say about Troy Ealing, never mind two,’ says Libby. ‘But I can think of a bad thing. Back in the day, Troy’s mum got knocked up by a Nought extremist called Callum McGregor who was hanged for being a terrorist. Is that really the sort of person we want as head student representing our school?’

  The shocked gasp that ripples through the hall is nothing compared to the crippling gut punch I feel at Libby’s words. Gut punch? Hell! It was more like being kicked in the nuts by a horse, then run over by a tank. My mouth falls open as I stare at Libby, unable to believe that she went there. She actually went there. She’s the one person I told in confidence when we used to be friends. Even when our friendship died, I still believed she’d keep my secret, just like I kept hers. Quid pro quo. I glance out across the assembly hall. The volume of the murmurs is steadily rising. I raise my mic.

  ‘My mum’s past has nothing to do with me. That’s her busine
ss, not mine. My mum was married to Nathan Ealing and he’s my dad. So at least I know who my dad is. Can you say the same, Libby? From what I hear, your dad could be any one of twenty different guys.’

  More gasps from around the hall.

  ‘Right. That is quite enough of that from both of you,’ Mrs Paxton intervenes, her dark brown eyes flashing. ‘This is a serious debate about your proposed student policies and what each of you can bring to the role. This is not a race to the bottom where each of you shows just how low you can go. I won’t have it. Not in this school. Ever.’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Paxton,’ mumbles Libby.

  I was the one who should’ve received that apology, not the head.

  Mrs Paxton turns to me, waiting to hear similar fall from my mouth.

  ‘My apologies, Mrs Paxton,’ I say clearly. ‘You’re right, I shouldn’t have descended to Liberty’s level.’ I look at my opponent with scorn. ‘When she went low, I should’ve gone high because both my parents taught me better. And I apologize to all of you in the audience. Just because most real politicians behave like Libby doesn’t mean any of us have to follow their example. I mean, I certainly don’t.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ says Mrs Paxton, still vexed. She dips into the box again. ‘I expect all of us to continue this debate in a civilized manner. The next question is …’

  I look across the hall as Mrs Paxton asks the next question. Every student is now facing forward in rapt attention. The only thing missing is the popcorn. I turn to Libby. She’s looking at me with total loathing. I return her look with interest.