Whatever Fairnie had said, the school run was different now. At Jude Lofte’s insistence, Itch, Chloe, and Jack all went to school in the security van with Danny and Chris, and Colonel Fairnie went with them. There was silence as they left the house—none of the usual joking around.

They drove past the golf course, the sites of the twin explosions marked by deep holes in the ground and police tape cordoning off the area. Sand and charred logs were scattered across the lower part of the course. In the light of day, the wreckage was all the more stark and shocking. Small groups of onlookers stood around; they looked up as the van passed by.

“Loads of people heard the explosions,” Jack said, peering out of the tinted rear window. “Natalie, Sam, Jay, and Matt have all changed their Facebook status to things like The golf course exploded! and Whoa! Who’s attacking us now? Then there’s loads of comments; some people said they went down last night to see what had happened.”

Fairnie swiveled around. “What else was posted? Anyone hear the shooting on the beach?”

“Yeah, a few,” Jack replied. “Did anyone hear the gunfire? What was happening on the beach? That kind of thing.”

Fairnie swore quietly.

“What are the chances that this will be picked up by the local news? Or in the paper?” asked Itch.

“Now that it’s on Facebook, I would say every chance. They’ve been cooperative so far, but nothing has been this public until now.”

“What do you mean, they’ve been cooperative? Do they know about me?”

Colonel Fairnie ignored Itch’s question. “The police are saying it was just a bonfire that got out of control, and that should keep it quiet for a while. But if evidence of the gunfight gets out, that might be … a problem. Fireworks will take the blame for most of it, so let’s hope that’s good enough.”

He looked at Itch in the mirror. “Where did you say you’d hidden the rocks?” He smiled, and Itch managed a laugh. This had been their joke back in the military hospital in the summer, when everybody had been trying to tease the location out of Itch.

Itch and Jack avoided each other’s gaze.

The van swung into the academy parking lot, where Kirsten, Moz, and Rachel were waiting for them.

“Feels like we’re arriving at a movie premiere,” said Chloe.

In the mêlée of the reception area, a familiar face caught Itch’s attention.

“Hi, Itch.” It was Mary Lee, the new girl he had met in the science club. “Did you hear the explosions last night? Isn’t the golf course near you? Are you OK?”

“Oh, thanks,” said Itch, blushing already. Chloe and Jack moved away a little, grinning at each other. “Yeah, I’m fine. We were at home; I think it was some fireworks that went wrong or something.”

“So it wasn’t that eleventh grade girl trying to blow you up?” Mary smiled.

“Oh—Lucy, you mean?” said Itch. “No, she’s just mad at me for some reason. What’s that … ?” His raging embarrassment was overcome by curiosity. Mary held a small cardboard box in her hand.

“Oh, well, I guess the cesium really is too dangerous for school, so I brought this in instead.” She held out the box, but before Itch could take it, Moz was beside him.

“Can I see that, please?” He grabbed it, and Mary looked irritated.

“It’s perfectly safe, you know.”

“So you say,” replied Moz. “What is it?”

“Show him; he’ll know.” Mary pointed at Itch.

Moz removed the lid and looked at the large crystal sitting inside on some cotton. He showed it to Itch, who grinned.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” he said, reaching forward to pick it up. He held it to the light. It was about one inch square and seemed to be made up of thin layers of metallic pinks, blues, and yellows. Its neat square edges made it look like a missing piece of a futuristic building kit.

“Safe?” asked Moz.

“Pretty much,” said Itch. “It used to be the last of the stable elements.”

“What is it now, then?”

Itch smiled. “It’s fine, Moz. Really.”

Mary clapped her hands. “Told you! You got it!” She smiled at Moz. “You haven’t a clue though, have you? Tell him, Itch.”

Itch glanced at Mary, uncomfortable with her treatment of Moz. “It’s bismuth,” he said. “Number 83 on the Periodic Table. If she’d brought in the next one along, Moz, then you’d have had a problem.” Moz raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Polonium. Ten one-billionths of a gram could kill you. But this is fine. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It’s quite pretty if you like that kind of thing, I suppose,” he agreed. “Now, can we move along? You have class, I think….”

Itch put the crystal in the box and handed it back to Mary.

“No, you keep it for a bit.” She pushed it back at Itch. “My dad won’t miss it. He’s off traveling again anyway. See you around, Itch!” And she turned and jogged away down the corridor.

Itch watched her go.

“Stop staring,” said Moz quietly in his ear. “Let’s go.”

All morning, Itch kept looking at the crystal. He had seen pictures of bismuth, of course, but had never been tempted to buy any. He hadn’t realized how beautiful it was and wondered how much the crystal was worth.

“Does it have I Love You inscribed on it?” asked Jack at the start of computer science class.

Itch punched her lightly on the arm. “Oh, ha ha, Jack. You are so funny. It’s just a crystal….”

“From her dad’s collection!” laughed Jack. “And you only met her yesterday.”

“Jack, she’s a senior. It’s definitely not me she’s interested in. Use your head.” He put the crystal back in its box. “It’s just that there aren’t exactly many element hunters around, so when you find one—even the daughter of one—you have stuff to talk about. That’s all.” He felt himself start to blush again and pushed the box deep into his backpack.

Jack leaned over again. “Anyway, if you can tear yourself away from your new rock friend, don’t forget my hockey match at lunchtime,” she whispered. “Bit of support would be nice…. It might be quite a tough one.”

“Sure,” said Itch. “I’ll be there. And I’ll flash my bismuth crystal to blind the opposition if they dare to score.”

The explosions on the golf course were the only topic of conversation at school that morning. Itch heard a number of theories, including a car running into the bonfire, a hidden cache of fireworks going off, and—from an excited seventh grade boy—a terrorist rocket attack. Although no one seemed to have been an eyewitness, most assumed that it was something to do with Itch. After the lectures from the MI5 agents about the dangers of online discussions about him, this wasn’t surprising.

Potts and Campbell were keeping well away after the previous day’s run-in with Moz, but on the way out to the playing fields at lunchtime, huddled against a fine drizzle blowing in off the Atlantic, Itch had more than Moz for company.

“Was that you on the golf course yesterday?” asked Tim Abbott. “Did you blow up the bonfire? Bet it was you! That’s so cool!”

“I think it was your bodyguards,” said Craig Murray, pointing at Kirsten, who was, as ever, thirty feet in front of Moz. “They probably saw someone hiding in the woodpile and just took him out.”

“Maybe the whole golf course is covered in land mines. Under every bunker and green.” This was Matt Colston’s theory. “Whaddya think, Itch? They know you walk across the golf course, and eventually you’ll step on one, and … boom!”

Everyone laughed, including Itch.

“Yeah, thanks, Matt. But no, I was at home. As were my bodyguards.”

“Then why was the ambulance called?” asked Tim. “I heard some of your guys got taken out. Is that right?”

“I … I don’t know actually,” replied Itch.

As they approached the hockey field, Itch saw Chloe coming over; she too appeared to have a gang of followers firing questions at her. She waved at her brother and shrugged.

A decent crowd of around thirty students had come out for the match—a practice match: sophomores versus juniors. Both teams had important games coming up, and this was the warm-up—a tryout too for some new hopefuls. There was scattered applause as the two teams ran out onto the field. Rachel Taylor was, as usual, just behind Jack, looking like she was about to referee the match. The players warmed up, flicking hockey balls at each other and hitting shots goalward; the well-padded goalies threw themselves about theatrically.

Jack’s team of tenth graders had only played one match that term, a 3–0 defeat to Launceston College, so they were all eager to improve. Itch studied the eleventh graders, who looked so much bigger, and hoped it wasn’t going to be embarrassing. Lucy Cavendish was the only player he recognized on their team, and he remembered how mean she’d been the previous day. He was still puzzling it over when Craig Harris, the P.E. teacher, blew his whistle. A few shouts of encouragement came from the students spread thinly around the field. Itch noticed that Mary Lee had come out to watch, standing on her own behind the tenth grade team’s goal.

Both sides were in the academy colors of black and white, with the tenth graders wearing diagonal yellow sashes to distinguish them. In the November gloom and mud, the match soon became a messy affair; Mr. Harris had to warn both teams about their tactics and language. Fiona Bones, the eleventh grade captain, had a nasty tangle with Darcy Campbell in the tenth graders’ goal and had to be held back by her teammates. Itch found himself hoping Bones would thump Campbell and get them both sent off; he guessed Jack was thinking the same.

The most combative player on the field was Lucy Cavendish. Playing in the eleventh graders’ midfield, she was at the heart of everything her team did. She was ferocious: on two occasions tenth grade players lost their grip on their sticks after a crunching Cavendish tackle. She yelled at her teammates and trashed her opponents. Itch tended to watch Jack more than the ball, so he spotted Lucy yelling quite a lot at her, particularly when Mr. Harris wasn’t watching.

Jack seemed to be ignoring Lucy—the usual Lofte response to verbal abuse from classmates, though they’d never had trouble with older students. As he watched, Lucy ran past Jack and let a trailing stick catch Jack’s shin. Jack cried out, and Lucy put her hands up in apology, but Itch was sure she’d done it on purpose.

The tenth graders thought so too. Debbie Rice, playing in their defense, pointed at Lucy. “Mr. Harris! Sir!” she called. “Cavendish fouled Jack! Watch her!”

Jack was rubbing her leg where the stick had broken her skin, but was playing on.

The eleventh graders had a short corner, and as the ball was played to Lucy, they rushed out to defend their goal. Lucy swung her stick at the ball, missed, but found the head of Izzy Batstone—a new tenth grade girl—instead. As the girl dropped to her knees, Natalie Hussain pushed Lucy and grabbed hold of her ponytail, but Fiona Bones, the eleventh grade captain, charged over and smacked Natalie in the face.

This was the cue for a fight that involved almost every player, apart from the eleventh grade goalie, who couldn’t get there in time. Jack had scratches on her face and was pushing an older girl away by the time Craig Harris finally got control. This was due in no small measure to agents Kirsten and Rachel jogging over “to see if they could help.”

With tempers calmed, Mr. Harris gave them all a final warning and allowed play to continue.

Itch hadn’t watched a hockey match for years—maybe ever—but he was surprised how violent it was. “You OK?” he called as Jack ran past.

She nodded quickly as she faced up to another attack. Being fast and tricky made her a useful player; being as tall as an eleventh grader made her invaluable. Itch still sometimes felt weak after his bone marrow transplant in the summer, but Jack appeared to be going at full steam again.

After fifteen minutes Darcy Campbell, in the tenth graders’ goal, kicked the ball clear, and Izzy Batstone flicked it through to Jack. Pushing the ball past a stocky eleventh grade girl sixty feet out, Jack had a clear sight of the goal, with only the goalie, Jackson Baker, to beat. As Baker came rushing out, Lucy Cavendish and another girl on her team closed in on Jack from behind, one on each side. Running without the ball, they were soon within tackling distance.

Itch heard Lucy shout, “She’s mine!” and as Jack ran wide to find an angle to shoot from, she barged into her. Losing her balance, Jack shortened her stride but found Lucy’s stick between her feet. Realizing she was falling, Jack dropped her stick to break her fall. As her hands hit the turf, one of Lucy Cavendish’s cleats stomped hard on her fingers. The crunch echoed around the field.

The players raced toward Jack, who was lying on her side, cradling a damaged right hand. Led by the huge padded figure of goalie Darcy Campbell, the tenth graders surrounded Lucy, and the slapping, hair-pulling, and scratching started up again. Mr. Harris waved his hands and blew his whistle, but it was Kirsten who restored order. She pulled a bloodied Lucy Cavendish out from under two tenth graders—her shirt ripped at the neck and her ear starting to swell.

“Go away. Now. And take your team with you,” Kirsten yelled at Lucy. No one argued, and Mr. Harris was grateful for her help.

The tenth graders then turned their attention to their stricken teammate. Jack was lying in the mud sobbing quietly when Itch got there, but Rachel, kneeling beside her, asked everyone to keep back. She was quickly joined by Kirsten.

“You need to show me the damage, Jack. Let’s see your hand.”

Jack shook her head, her eyes and mouth squeezed shut as she tried to block out the pain.

“OK. Hold still. Got some painkillers on the way.” Rachel took off her padded coat and draped it over Jack, who had started to shake from shock.

Itch noticed that Mr. Harris was jogging after the departing eleventh graders, and he ran to catch up. The P.E. teacher shouted, “Lucy, a word please.”

Flushed and bloody, Lucy Cavendish turned and trotted over to him, her hockey stick over her shoulder. “Sir?”

“Well, what do you think, Lucy? What happened there?”

“Just an accident, sir. She fell and I tried to avoid her, but we were running so fast, I couldn’t get out of the way in time and I stepped on her hand. Sorry, sir.”

“You may well be sorry, but that was the worst-tempered match I have ever seen, and you were part of the problem. I couldn’t see what was going on through the tangle of legs, but I’ll talk to Jack when she’s in less pain. You’d better go and clean up. Don’t go home until I’ve spoken to you.”

Lucy nodded, and had turned to go when Itch stepped in front of her.

“Excuse me,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I need to go and shower.” She managed a smile which succeeded in being sweet and dangerous in equal measure.

“But I saw you! I saw you.” Itch knew he was shouting, but he didn’t care; he was furious. “I saw you and I heard you. You said, ‘She’s mine,’ then pushed Jack over. And you could have avoided her hand; in fact, I think you stomped on her hand on purpose!”

Mr. Harris pushed him away. “Itch, leave it for now. We’ll sort this out in school once everyone has calmed down. Lucy, go and shower. Itch, walk away. We have to get Jack to the hospital, then we can deal with … all of this.”

Kirsten was coming toward them. “Jack is clearly suffering from shock as well as broken bones; Rachel has called an ambulance—she’ll go with her. My guess is three broken fingers, but we’ll find out soon enough. She’s asking for you, Itch, by the way.”

They both ran back to where Rachel crouched beside Jack. Most of the members of the tenth grade team were still standing around, incensed about what had happened to their teammate. Itch knelt down in the mud next to Jack, who managed a weak smile for her cousin.

“Hospital again?” Itch smiled.

“Looks like it,” she said hoarsely. “Did you hear the crack?”

Itch winced again. “Everyone did. You’ve got noisy bones. Can I see?”

Jack slowly raised her right hand, which she’d been cradling in her left. It looked as though Lucy’s cleats had crushed every finger—they looked like badly cooked sausages. She whispered something, but Itch didn’t catch it; he leaned in closer.

“She spoke to me, you know. After she stepped on my hand. Lucy. It must have looked like she was just seeing if I was all right, but you’ll never guess what she said.” Itch leaned in closer, and she clutched at his sleeve with her good hand. “She said, ‘You had that coming, bitch.’”

He recoiled and gasped at the same time.

“You all right?” asked Rachel.

“Er, yeah … sure.” Itch was reeling with shock. “You … are … kidding … me … right?” he whispered to Jack. It didn’t make sense. What had happened to turn Lucy against them? he wondered. “Why would she say that?” he whispered.

“No idea,” said Jack, closing her eyes.

She seemed to be shutting off the conversation, and Itch thought he’d better let the painkillers do their work before trying again. The sound of an ambulance siren suggested that the questions would have to be resumed in Stratton General Hospital.