Crocodile Tears by Anthony Horowitz

protested. “I wasn’t driving.”
    “You know what I mean. How’s Edward? How’s Sabina?”
    “They’re okay. They were shaken up. We all were.”
    “I’m not surprised. Do you know how it happened?”
    Alex hesitated. The one thing he wasn’t going to do was lie to Jack. “Nobody’s quite sure. They haven’t gotten the car out yet. It’s possible they never will. But Edward thinks one of the tires blew out. He felt something just before he lost control.”
    “And what about the man who helped you?”
    “He didn’t hang around. He didn’t even wait to be thanked.”
    Alex wouldn’t have mentioned the accident at all, but he knew it would come out the following weekend when he and Jack went to Heathrow Airport to say good-bye to Sabina and her parents, who were finally returning home.
    It was an uneasy last meeting, the five of them standing together, hemmed in by the crowds and suitcases and bright lights of Terminal Three.
    “We’ll see you again in the spring,” Edward Pleasure said, reaching out and shaking Alex’s hand. “We’ve got a spare room and we can head up the coast. I’m sure you’d enjoy trekking in Yosemite, or we could stay on Big Sur.”
    Sabina’s mother gave him a hug. “I know what you did,” she said quietly. “Sabina told me. Edward would still be in that car if it hadn’t been for you.” Alex said nothing. For some reason, it always embarrassed him, being thanked. “I hope you’ll come and see us. And you too, Jack. Maybe you should come over together.”
    And then it was Sabina’s turn. She and Alex moved a little to one side.
    “Bye, Alex.”
    “Bye, Sabina.”
    “I thought you were brilliant in the car. When I started to swim up to the surface, I was certain I was going to die. But I knew my dad would be all right because you’d promised you’d look after him.”
    “It seems that every time your family meets me, something bad happens,” Alex said. It was true. In Cornwall, the south of France, and now in Scotland . . . sudden violence had never been far away.
    “Will you come to San Francisco?”
    “There’d probably be an earthquake or something.”
    “I don’t mind. I still want to see you.”
    Sabina glanced at her parents. They were standing with their backs to her, talking to Jack. She quickly leaned forward and kissed Alex on the cheek. Then, suddenly, the three of them were picking up their carry-on luggage and making their way through to the security checks and passport control. Sabina looked back one last time and waved. Then they were gone.
     
    The next day, Alex went back to school and the Christmas holidays were forgotten in a whirl of seating assignments, schedules, textbooks, new teachers, and old friends. Brookland was a sprawling, mixed comprehensive school half a mile north of Chelsea. It had been built only about ten years ago and it prided itself on its modern architecture, with double-height windows and bright primary colors. At the same time, though, it still had an old-fashioned, friendly feel. Everyone wore uniforms . . . sober shades of blue and gray. The school even had a Latin motto: Pergo et Perago, which sounded like the story of two Italian cannibals but which actually meant “I try and I achieve.”
    “No running in the corridor, Alex.” Miss Bedfordshire, the school secretary, greeted Alex with one of her favorite phrases, even though Alex had only been walking quickly. She had stepped out of one of the classrooms, blocking his path.
    “Hi, Miss Bedfordshire.”
    “It’s good to see you. Did you have a good Christmas?”
    “Yes, thanks.”
    “And do you plan to stay with us for the whole term? It would certainly make a nice change.”
    Alex had missed almost half the school year, and Miss Bedfordshire had always had her doubts about the series of strange illnesses that had been listed on his doctor’s notes. “I hope so,” he said.
    “Maybe you should eat more fruit. You know . . . an apple a