24

BUSTING OUT

I wake up with a fright to see Socks scraping the plastic stick with my DNA into the dish. The clowns are laughing at me. I must have looked silly waking up with such a shock. Then I realise I’m holding something. I’m holding the photo of Deadly D. I check again to see if it’s real. Yep, it’s real. It has the red dust, the tear and the creases. Then Dad’s words come flying back to me. ‘Be him again. Be him and inspire our people. Always remember who you are and where you come from.’

I look up at the clowns with determination in my eyes. ‘Excuse me,’ I say through gritted teeth.

‘What do you want?’ ask Socks.

‘I want to tell you something.’

‘Ooh, I love stories!’ giggles Jocks sarcastically. ‘Let’s hear it!’

I show them the photo. ‘My name is Dylan Conlan,’ I say. ‘You think you’re winning, but you’re not. You have hurt my friends, you have my DNA and you have made me really … really … mad.’

Socks and Jocks look at each other and then back at me. They can feel something is about to happen. The familiar feeling of my body transforming overcomes me — I can’t stop it. My chair rattles uncontrollably. These clowns are going to wish they went to kung-fu school, not clown school. Deadly D is back!

My glittery green top splits down my chest as my shoulder muscles explode outwards. The eleven-year-old kid that was tied up is now morphing into the dynamic Deadly D. My hair grows past my shoulders and my eyes. Prickly stubble pokes out on my chin and over my cheeks. I clench my teeth in pain as every muscle in my body expands. The muscles inside my arms come to life, and they snap the rope that had tied me to the chair. When I stand up, the familiar feeling comes rushing back. Say hello to Deadly D!

‘AAAGGGHHH!’ I growl.

I look around wildly, clenching my gigantic fists. Socks shakes as I tower over him. Even his painted-on happy mouth can’t disguise how scared he is. He drops the DNA dish and tries to make a run for it, but I grab the seat of his pants and lift him up. He tries to run in midair with his clown shoes. With my other hand, I grab Jocks by the collar of his shirt.

‘I want my mummy!’ he cries, begging for mercy.

I push my face close to his. ‘Well tough, ’cause you just got me!’ I roar.

Jocks slumps forward and faints. The sight and sound of Deadly D is way too much for this bozo to handle.

‘Come on kid, please! Let us go! It’s Ringmaster you want!’ yells Socks.

I could hurt them, but that would make me just as bad as they are. Instead, I plonk them each onto a chair and tie them up back-to-back with rope.

‘The police will have a warm bed in jail for you,’ I say, and I grab the purple flower they used to put me to sleep. On the back is a small red button and I squirt the mist into Socks’ face, sending him to sleep with Jocks. His clown nose falls off and rolls along the floor as his head sags downwards.

I grab an old blanket, wrap it around me like a beach towel and I bust out of the caravan. In front of me is the big top and I can see Ringmaster in the middle of the circus ring. He is holding the remote control, ready to send Justice and Coach Bennett to their deaths!