CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Noah struggled along the street with the ridiculously heavy and cumbersome box that Josh had given him. A bead of sweat had formed on his forehead and he had chafed his wrist from the rough cardboard. He was pretty sure a blister was forming on his toe. Who would have thought that running your own business would be such hard work?

For Gran, he kept telling himself. Anything for Gran.

“Oh no,” he muttered, as Harry and Pierre came around the corner and made a beeline for him.

“What’s in the box?” Harry said.

“Just stuff.” Noah shrugged. “How are you? I’m fine.”

“Big box,” said Pierre.

“Yes. It is a big box. I’m transporting some big stuff,” Noah said.

“Is it my birthday present?” Harry asked.

“Your birthday’s not until October.”

Harry nodded. “I was joking. That’s cool. You’ve got a big, secret box.”

“It’s not a secret box!” Noah insisted. “It’s just stuff.”

Harry crossed his arms. “We’re off to the cinema. Coming?”

“What, now? This evening?” Noah looked sharply between Harry and Pierre. How could they arrange something like this with such short notice? Was Noah supposed to just drop everything and go along? Why hadn’t there been adequate warning? If he’d had warning, he might have been able to get some cash together.

“Maybe get a pizza first?” Pierre said.

“This is all very last minute!” Noah protested.

“Got plans with your big, secret box?” Harry grinned.

“No. Maybe,” Noah replied. He sort of did have plans with the box. He wanted to make a start shifting some of the protein powder. “It’s only…”

“It’s fine if you’re busy,” Harry said.

“We see the film without you,” Pierre added.

Oh yes, Pierre would bloody love that, wouldn’t he? Bloody love being all alone with Harry in a darkened, romantic cinema, sharing a bucket of popcorn and a vat of Coke, holding one another’s hands in the scary bits, getting seats on the back row, because that’s where people sit for extracurricular cinema fun.

“Eva’s in the park, in case you were wondering,” Harry said.

Shit. Eva. He’d forgotten about her. But that was mainly her fault, in fairness. She was proving to be a crap exchange student: sullen, moody and completely unforthcoming with interesting titbits about her culture. “Great, I’ll check she’s OK,” Noah said.

“Cool,” Harry said. “Well, Mum’s taking us over to the cinema at six thirty, so be at mine if you want to come along.”

“OK, so I will try to do that, if I can, but—”

“The box, I get it,” Harry said. “Big, secret box.” He patted Pierre on the back. “Come on, Pierre.”

Harry grinned at Noah and sauntered off with Pierre. This was hardly an ideal situation, but needs must. This multilevel marketing scheme couldn’t fail.

“Yoo-hoo! Eva!” Noah called across the park, as he struggled with his box towards the small group of depressed-looking teens sitting in a circle on the grass. “It’s me! Noah Grimes! Your exchange host!”

Noah noticed a furtive shuffling between the young people. He knew what was going on, all right. They had probably been secretly smoking cigarettes!

“Hello, Eva,” Noah said, reaching them. “I didn’t know where you’d got to.”

“Cool,” Eva said.

Noah eyed the scene and recognized the three feral undesirables who came to his door yesterday. “I see you have a two-litre bottle of 7 Up,” Noah commented to one of the youths. He raised his eyebrows a little, just to show, whatever the reply, that he knew that bottle probably contained some form of alcohol. He knew what was what. He was streetwise and hip too. “That’s cool.”

The kid took a defiant chug of 7 Up – straight from the bottle, didn’t even decant it into a little plastic cup first. Noah smiled to himself. Four people sharing a bottle? Not an antibacterial wipe in sight? It could only end one way. Rhinovirus. It spread like wildfire.

Noah turned his attention to Eva. He couldn’t allow her to languish here, amongst such types. It was his duty, as host, to save her from these people.

He squatted down so his eyes were level to hers. He’d seen this technique on Supernanny. “Eva,” he smiled. “I like to play ping-pong at the youth club. Et tu?” Noah nodded. He couldn’t think of anything more hateful, but maybe it was different in France – the language textbooks at school might have been a bit dated, but the kids in those dialogues always liked to play ping-pong in youth clubs for some reason, and he couldn’t see why it would be any different today. Plus, a girl like her, who was predominantly limbs, would probably excel at ping-pong, being able to dart effortlessly around the table, like a daddy-long-legs.

Eva shook her head and appeared to be laughing.

Fine. Laugh at me! Noah thought. Go ahead and contract lung cancer or a runny nose in a crap park in England.

He stood back up. “Right. Fine. But I’m locking the front door at ten sharp tonight, so you’d better be back by then.” He picked up his box and started backing away from the group, not trusting he could turn his back on them until he was a little further away. “I know you’re immature and will now do rude signs at me when I turn my back, but just to let you know, I don’t care about that. OK? Just because you make a wanking gesture at me doesn’t mean anything, so do it because I don’t even care.”

Noah turned his back on them and defiantly walked on.

The next thing he knew, an empty two-litre bottle of 7 Up collided with the back of his head.

He stood there, frozen, shocked.

Took a deep breath.

Counted to ten.

He didn’t look back.

Just walked stoically on.

He would not dignify their actions with a response. No! That’s what they wanted!

Walk on. Be proud. Be—

A pine cone clipped him on the back of his head.

Fine. That was fine. It stung a bit, but—

Thwack! Another direct hit by a cone! And then whack! A hail of pine cones was fired from the direction of the feral kids. Noah was under attack! He clutched his box tightly to his chest and struggled out of the park, heart pounding, keeping his head low.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t see the man and woman sitting in the car watching him.