The driver opens the sliding door of LOSERS’ van and glances at his watch while I take Holly through my list of Things to Remember While I’m Away.
#1: DO NOT use the chainsaw.
#2: DO keep an eye on Mum – especially her nosebleeds.
I squint through the front window and wave at the back of Mum’s head. She turns slightly and for a moment I think she might make eye contact, but the moment passes and she burrows deeper into the sofa.
The driver helps me into the van, explaining that the eleven Remarkable Students inside are on their way back from a field trip to a nuclear power plant. They have paired off, leaving the person no one else wants to sit by up front, reading a book. That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with that person. That person is usually me.
The unwanted student turns and I see it’s not a book he’s reading – it’s a catalogue of portaloo toilets and accessories.
Porter Lewis!
CLUE 19
Porter is a student at LOSERS.
“Porter? What are you –?”
“Shhh.” Porter puts his finger to his lips.
“Why?”
Why didn’t Porter say he was a student at LOSERS? “What happened to you on Thursday?”
“Shhh,” he hisses again. “Talk about something different.”
“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you at all.” I pull out my mobile phone and text Holly, using textspeak in case anyone’s looking over my shoulder.
UR nvr gonna geS hu iz n d LUSRs bus . . . Porter! smTIN wErd goin on.
I can’t believe it. I was right. Toilet-faced Porter was one of the attractive, clever-looking students I saw on LOSERS’ website.
“I need a ruler.”
“Why?” Porter asks.
Oops. Didn’t realise I said that out loud. Well, he did ask me to talk about something different.
“You are abnormally photogenic,” I say. “I want to measure your face to see if it matches the rules of proportion.”
Someone sniggers behind me and a paper aeroplane lands in my lap. I unfold it and find a leaflet advertising LOSERS, with Porter’s face plastered across it. No wonder the other Remarkable Students are avoiding him – Porter is LOSERS’ poster boy.
Porter screws up the leaflet.
“Abnormally photogenic?” He pulls a curl, which immediately springs back into place. “Not with this hair.”
“The hair’s part of it. It makes you look like Michelangelo’s statue of David.” Crossed with a toilet, I think, but I manage not to say that bit out loud. “With clothes on, of course. It would be weird otherwise. Plus, he had a very small . . .”
The sniggers get louder. This might be a good time to stop talking.
No one says much for the rest of the journey. The other Remarkable Students are probably quiet because they’re thinking remarkable thoughts. I’m quiet because I can’t think of anything remarkable to say and I don’t want to continue the naked-statue conversation.
As we scramble out of the minibus, I notice the name tag on Porter’s bag: “Porter Grimm”. Grimm? I thought he was Porter Lewis?
Porter catches me staring. “Not such a Greek statue any more?”
“Greek statue?” Going into Know-All mode helps me stay calm. “Michelangelo’s David isn’t a Greek statue. It was sculpted during the Renaissance. Surely the Face of LOSERS should know something like that?”
Disturbed by the hurt expression on Porter’s face, I walk straight into the huge grey statue. “Oof!”
Ms Grimm looks even grimmer in the twilight, up there on her pedestal, glaring down at me.
“Watch out for Mother,” Porter warns.
“Mother?! Copernicus!” This is worse than I thought.
“Copper . . . whats?”
“Renaissance mathematician and astronomer who proposed that the Earth moves round the sun,” I mutter absently. “Ms Grimm’s your mother? Seriously?”
Porter nods and does an impressive impersonation of Ms Grimm. “‘I’m so proud of my school, I even enrolled my son.’”
As if on cue, the huge double doors swing open, revealing the Grimm Reaper (Holly’s new name for her) in all her gory glory. I scan her face for similarities to Porter and find none. Where Porter is all symmetry and toilet-bowl curves, Ms Grimm is sharp and pointy with protruding eyeballs that make her look as though someone’s tried to strangle her with the tassels of her ugly velvet cloak. The dark cape and chalky-white skin give the impression she’s just walked off the set of a Halloween movie and is simply counting the hours before returning to the undead.
She pulls out a box labelled MOBILES and demands our phones.
Before I put mine inside, I send a quick text to Holly: U wont BLEv dis. TGR iz Porters mum!