If I Could Fly by Jill Hucklesby Page B

into the pockets of his low-slung jeans and glances at the floor. I notice that both his trainer laces are undone.
    ‘Don’t you get scared?’ I ask.
    ‘Only when I look in the mirror,’ he answers, his wide smile and thick eyebrows stretching into the funniest contortions. One moment, he looks like a geeky scientist, the next a naughty puppy with droopy ears. I start to laugh and Alfie gives me a big grin. ‘What about you?’
    I want to say, ‘I’m afraid every minute of every day,’ but that sounds lame so I raise my shoulders in a ‘maybe’ sort of gesture.
    ‘Do you know where the crazy guy has gone?’ asks Alfie. The huskiness has returned to his voice. Must be the damp air in here.
    ‘Nope. And Dair’s OK,’ I state defensively. ‘I’ve lost Furball,’ I add sadly. ‘I’m going to search for her in the grounds tomorrow, just in case she’s hiding.’
    ‘Good plan.’ Alfie nods. There’s an awkward silence.
    ‘Don’t you want to know what I’m doing here?’ I ask him warily.
    ‘Living a life of wild adventure?’
    ‘Don’t be silly. I’m only thirteen.’
    ‘We could be twins. Kicking!’ says Alfie, pleased.
    ‘Get lost, I’m half Thai.’ I realise how nice it is to have someone to talk to again.
    ‘Have you ridden an elephant?’ he asks, impressed.
    Only in my dreams, Little Bird
. ‘Nope,’ I admit. ‘Not many of those in Collingford.’
    ‘That’s in Zone Four, isn’t it?’ Alfie asks, then notices my discomfort. ‘Look, you don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.’
    I hold his gaze for a moment, wondering if I dare begin. Can I trust him? He’s watched me for three weeks and hasn’t reported me, not even to his mum. It would be so great to have a mate my age to share secrets with. But it feels too soon, too risky, to open up.
    ‘I get it. Mystery Girl,’ he says. ‘That’s what I’ve called you on my blog.’
    I look horrified at this and am about to lay into him about the danger of meddling in other people’s lives, when he puts a finger to his lips. ‘Kidding,’ he saysquietly. ‘Blogs have been banned, anyway.’
    ‘Since when?’ I ask.
    ‘A few weeks ago. Some new law from Europe. The president said it was a good idea,’ he replies. ‘Mum calls him Banana Head.’
    ‘So you haven’t written anything about me, or told anyone about me – not your best friend, your worst enemy, your auntie, your cousin, your newspaper boy?’ I press him, agitated.
    ‘Look, I just wanted to see if you were all right.’ He seems offended and is half turning, as if he is about to leave.
    ‘I’m sooty and tired and confused, but good, thanks,’ I tell him, holding out my hand.
    ‘Well, Sooty, it was nice to meet you.’ Alfie takes my hand and shakes it. His touch is so gentle I can hardly feel it.
    ‘You can visit me again, if you like,’ I say, as warmly as I can.
    ‘If I’m not too booked up.’ He’s smiling now,pointing at my paperbacks. ‘And if the place hasn’t fallen down. Might be a good idea to live downstairs,’ he suggests.
    ‘So you’ll come?’
    ‘Yabradoodle,’ he barks.
    ‘Promise?’ I press him.
    ‘On my fart and hope to fly,’ he answers, hand on his heart.
    ‘Are you always this mad?’ I ask.
    Alfie grins and starts to move away.
    ‘My name’s Calypso, if you want to know.’
    He takes this in, frowns, then shakes his head.
    ‘Sooty’s better,’ he replies, giving me a little wave. Moments later, he is gone. When I glance at my clock, it reads seven a.m.



Chapter Eighteen
    I’m moving house – downsizing. I decided I should take Alfie’s advice. It’s probably not safe to live on the first floor any more. He’s here helping me carry my stuff down to the café. He kept his promise.
    ‘Can’t you live in a sleeping bag like any normal runaway, Sooty?’ he asks, puffing under the weight of a big box of books. He’s the complete opposite of Crease, I’m thinking. Under that baggy Superman T-shirt, he’s