Attack of the Cupids by John Dickinson Page B

homework, which could wait!). He had jumped the bumps a few times and found it was harder than he had hoped to get both wheels off the ground. Plus, it was like getting kicked in the butt every time his rear wheel hit. Jeez! The Year Nine boys seemed to like it. They pedalled themselves towards the bumps harder and harder and howled with glee as their bikes bounced them into the air. They looked as if they could go on doing it for ever.
    Here, on the other hand, was Billie. He didn’tknow her too well but she seemed to be a nice kid and obviously pleased to see him. That was cool. Lots of girls of all ages at Darlington High were keen on him. He was dimly aware that certain people felt they had rights over him, and that others would interfere with him at their peril. But he owed no one any loyalty. Like a benign spirit, he was at peace with all forms of lower life and bestowed himself wherever he pleased. Besides, there seemed to be sausages on offer.
    â€˜Sure,’ he said, and leaned his bike up against the railings. He let himself in through the gate.
    He even let Billie take his hand. He saw no harm in it.
    â€˜Oh,’ said Ellen under her breath. ‘Em. Gee.’
    â€˜
I
thought he was with Viola,’ said Annie.
    â€˜Trouble,’ said Eva.
    â€˜
I
thought,’ whispered Sally, ‘she said no boys.’
    They watched the couple walking up to the barbecue, arm in arm. Beside them Imogen sat up. Her frizzy hair was untidy. Her face was blotched from resting on her arms. She stared blearily at the scene below her. ‘What’s she doing?’ she asked.
    â€˜Viola’s going to go ballistic,’ whispered Lolo.
    There was a short silence.
    Viola wasn’t really older than anyone else in the class. She just acted that way. So did Cassie. So did all that group – Millie, Tara . . .
    And there was no way Imogen wasn’t going to tell them.
    â€˜I think I’m going to have flu on Monday,’ said Annie in a small voice. ‘Good luck, the rest of you.’
    â€˜I,’ said Holly, ‘am leaving for Mongolia’.
    Something had hit Muddlespot in the chest, so hard that it had hurt. He remembered that clearly. He was surprised to find that it had stopped hurting almost at once.
    He could still feel it, though. He could feel something – different. It was as if all the scenery had just waited for that instant in which his eyes were closed, and had swapped itself around subtly so that he could not quite see what had happened or how. Everything seemed to be brighter. Snatches of pale gold mist hung in the corners of his sight. He was lying on his back, looking up into the face of . . .
    Windleberry.
    And suddenly everything was clear.
    His fear had gone. His hate . . . Hate? Could he possibly have been
hating
Windleberry? No! Hehad been hating himself. He could see that now. He had been confused. He had blinded himself to what was real. But now he could see. He knew the truth at last.
    â€˜Windleberry,’ he breathed.
    The sound of the angel’s name from his own lips stirred his heart. Something inside his chest opened, slowly, gloriously, like a flower. The air was full of music. There was a spring in his muscles, a lightness. In that instant he could have leaped buildings or flown to mountain tops. There was newness and hope. There was a reason for everything, and it was before his very eyes.
    â€˜Windleberry,’ he repeated. He smiled a huge smile. ‘My
hero
.’
    â€˜What?’ said Windleberry.
    â€˜Windleberry – I’ve always admired you! Even as I’ve been your enemy. I want you to know this. There’s been this feeling for you inside me . . .’
    â€˜Oh no . . .’ said Windleberry. He tried to step back, but Muddlespot rolled and caught him by the ankle, hugging his foot to his cheek.
    â€˜Be mine!’ he cried. ‘I cannot live without