WOBIE HAD EATEN a bacon sandwich for breakfast—the ketchup was still bright on his shirt, like new-spilled blood—and unwisely opted for the paler tweed; dark circles were already spreading from his armpits into the stains of earlier sweat. His next cigar was tucked between his lips, wobbling as he muttered to himself.
Sep watched him dab his tongue on his fingers, wetting them just enough to tease the newsprint apart.
He’d sat in this seat hundreds of times, and knew it with his soul: the brownness; the heat; the dusty, clammy air; the textbooks; the yellow walls, from which drooped Kitchener’s mustache and a curling world map with the British Empire shaded pink. Everything was the same.
Except today Hadley had sat next to him, and everything was different.
People kept looking over and whispering behind their hands. He sat straight, self-conscious and alert. Hadley ignored them all—just drew intricate patterns on her folder, and looked at him every so often.
Wobie’s poached-egg eyes peered over the front page, then disappeared.
“Having trouble, Hope?” said Wobie.
The eyes of the class turned to Sep. “No, sir.”
“Then is there another reason you are staring into space, an expression of the utmost vacuity on your unremarkable little face?”
“No, sir.”
“You retrieved your textbook from Miss Wright following your gallant loan, did you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you have consequently availed yourself of the impact of the Corn Laws’ repeal?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Woe betide you if you lie, Master Hope—the muse of examination is an unforgiving mistress, and she is not like to be sated by the undeserving.”
“No, sir.”
“No, sir,” said Stephen, turning in his seat and flicking his wrist at Sep.
“Shut up,” said Sep and Hadley together.
The class gasped. Stephen frowned. The newspaper lowered.
“Master Hope, Miss Anderson—it may be that the Face and Hair of Stephen Ashton is a despicable cretin . . .”
The class waited. Stephen shifted in his seat.
Wobie licked his fingers and raised the newspaper.
“But?” said Sep.
The dribbly eyes reappeared. “But what?” said Wobie.
There was a knock on the door. Arkle came into the room. He shot Sep and Hadley a grin, then handed Wobie a note.
Wobie looked at him, eyebrows furrowed to a single caterpillar.
“What are you wearing, Master Hooper?”
“My T-shirt? It says: ‘Come with me if you want to live,’ sir. It’s from Terminator.”
Wobie gave him a slow blink.
“Or did you mean my foil helmet, sir?”
“I did,” said Wobie, nodding at Arkle’s pointy tinfoil hat.
“They’re very in,” said Arkle. “You should get one.”
“Perhaps tomorrow,” said Wobie, opening the note.
The cigar fell from his lips.
Then he rose, placing a heavy four-fingered hand on Arkle’s shoulder, and stood in front of the class.
Hadley looked over in alarm. Sep craned his neck.
He had never seen Wobie’s legs before—they were always hidden by the desk, or piles of unmarked assignments. The class leaned forward, expecting something bizarre—some dangling appendage or tentacular sprawl, glistening under smears of mustard.
But there were just the short, stocky legs of an elderly man—the knees of which were visibly shaking.
“The school has just been informed,” he said, dabbing his lips with his tongue, “‘that Mrs. Maguire has suffered a dreadful accident—’”
“Holy shit,” whispered Hadley, “is she dead?”
“‘She was attacked in her home late last night, and remains in a serious but stable condition at Hill Ford General,’” read Wobie, his voice breaking. “‘Given that the nature of her assault remains unknown, the school will be closed until further notice. You are instructed to make your way straight home, immediately. Make sure you’re not alone; go with friends—talk to no one you don’t know and trust.’”
He crushed the paper in his hand. “Be safe. Pack up your things. Off you go now.”
He slumped in his chair, fumbled the cigar back between his lips, and lit it with trembling hands. The class watched him, silent and unmoving.
“There’s another note, sir,” said Arkle.
Wobie looked at his desk. “Oh yes,” he said. He unfolded the piece of card, scanned it quickly, then looked at Sep. “Hope, you’re to attend the headmaster. Go on now, the rest of you. And be careful.”
The class rose and packed up in a stupefied quiet, then shuffled away. Nobody ran, nobody tried to catch their friends—they just moved with an eerie stillness.
“What does he want now?” said Hadley.
“I don’t know,” said Sep, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder.
Wobie was letting the cigar burn, watching the smoke’s thread unravel into the air.
“Are you all right, sir?” said Sep.
Wobie shook his head without looking up. “She does so much for others,” he said. “It’s terrible.”
Sep went to pat him on the shoulder, but stopped his hand halfway and made an awkward fist instead. He turned to go.
“You’ve gotten out of detention, anyway,” said Arkle once they were outside the room.
“Jesus, Darren,” said Hadley.
“Keep your hair on, Milky. I’m just kidding. It’s grimbiscuits what’s happened to old Magpie, it really is. And, by the way, nice secret diary—as if Mack didn’t have a big enough head already.”
Hadley kicked his shin, and he grinned.
“I passed Lamb in the corridor just now,” he said. “She told me to tell you to get your butts back to her farm, pronto.”
“Why her farm? Shouldn’t we just head to the woods?” said Hadley.
“And I need to go home for a new sacrifice,” said Sep.
Arkle shrugged. “I’m just passing on the message. She’s definitely mad keen to get to the box. Like, she was running when I saw her.”
“Was that all she said?”
“Oh no—she called me an asshole and gave me a dead arm.”
Hadley nodded.
“What’s with the tinfoil?” said Sep as they turned down the main corridor. It was already empty, and their feet echoed along its length.
“Clever, right?” said Arkle. “Tench gave me notes to give to all the teachers, so when I was in the home-ec room, I nicked some foil. And a thing of cookie dough.”
“Why?”
“I was hungry.”
“No, why did you steal tinfoil? And why are you wearing it?”
“Cosmic rays, Sepster. Like you said, the asteroid—”
“Comet,” said Hadley.
“—is poisoning us, right? But if we wear these, we’re sorted!”
He tilted his head as though he’d reached the end of a catwalk, the corridor’s strip lights bouncing off his head.
“Darren, the comet’s got nothing to do with all this.”
“But you said it did! And you know about everything, like . . . photosynthesis! And math!”
“I know, but—”
“And the Soviets, too—I’m on to them.”
Sep shared a look with Hadley. “What are you going to do, invade Russia?”
“What? No, obviously not, I’m only fifteen. I’m going to nick one of those counters from the science cupboard, so I know if they’re trying to poison us with radiation. Smart, huh?”
“A Geiger counter?” said Hadley.
“Yes, that,” said Arkle, snapping his fingers at her. “The Pube thinks I don’t know the door code for the cupboard, but I do—it’s the same as his briefcase.”
“Why would you need to know the code for the science cupboard?” said Sep.
Arkle looked at him blankly. “Magnesium,” he said.
“Why is Mr. Bailey called ‘The Pube’?” said Hadley.
“Don’t you even know that?” said Arkle. “He’s only got one pube, right? But it’s massive, like, six feet long—he has to roll it up to get it in his pants.”
“That is so not true,” said Hadley.
“It is!” said Arkle, indignant. “McCall saw him in the swimming baths last summer. Ask him.”
“Ask Mr. Bailey if he’s got a six-foot pube?”
“No, don’t ask him—ask McCall!”
They reached the stairwell. A column of silent children spiraled down it, wobbling like penguins. A few people spoke, but they got no answers, everyone unsure of how to react, of how to hide their fear.
“Hey, look!” shouted a voice. “It’s the li’l sweetheart who’s into Macejewski! I love him! Oh, Mack, I love him!”
They turned to see Manbat, wads of bloody cotton wool up his nose, Stephen looming behind him.
“Piss off, asshole,” said Arkle. “I’ve already bust your nose—you want me to smash your mouth, too?”
“You’re Tench’s little bitch now,” said Manbat, sweeping past them as Stephen knocked into Sep with his shoulder. “You might still be in detention when . . . if . . . you graduate. Laters!”
Arkle gave their backs the finger.
“We need to go,” said Hadley. “Lamb’ll be waiting for us.”
“I need to see Tench first,” said Sep.
“I’ll come with you, Sepster,” said Arkle. “We’ll be there, Milky. It’s cool.”
“You’d better be. I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.”
Sep nodded. “We’ll be at the box soon. Don’t worry.”
Hadley’s hand brushed Sep’s as she turned to go, and electricity lit his arm.
“I’m scared,” she said.
“We’ll be fine,” said Arkle. “Nothing bad ever happens during the day in a horror film, so we’re good for ages yet.”
“What about The Shining?” said Hadley as she was swallowed by the crowd.
“I haven’t seen it,” called Arkle.
Sep watched her move down the stairs.
“You’re in there,” said Arkle, digging Sep’s ribs.
“What?” said Sep.
“I said you’re in there,” said Arkle again, louder. “With the Milkybar Kid, I mean—she’s got a geek-on for you.”
“She does not,” said Sep.
“She does too. You could talk about the periodic table of the elements.”
“Shut up.”
“You could hold hands and name all the bones in your fingers.”
“Shut up.”
“Then maybe she’ll feel your bo—”
“Darren, seriously—shut up,” said Sep, holding open the swing doors. “How much trouble did you get in?”
“Not much, considering I hit someone in class. Tench hardly even reacted. This Maguire thing’s got him pretty distracted.”
They were outside Tench’s office. The corridor was spookily quiet.
“What do you think he wants to see me for?” said Sep.
“God knows,” said Arkle. “Maybe he’s got new waders and he wants to give you a fashion show.”
“Maguire’s properly hurt, you know. You don’t think that’s weird?”
“How?”
“That all this stuff is happening to us, then she gets hurt?”
Sep ran his tongue over his tooth and waited for a flash of pain.
“Nah.” Arkle shrugged. “Right, in you go—I’ll get the goggle—”
“Geiger.”
“Geiger counter, then I’ll wait for you out here.”
“Why?” said Sep, half turning from the doorway.
“Just cuz . . . you know.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah. Like, friends,” said Arkle. He set to playing with his lighter.
“All right,” said Sep, and went inside.