Читать книгу The Boy Who Could Fly - Laura Ruby, Laura Ruby - Страница 13

A few hours later, Georgie found herself nodding at Deter or Dexter or Derek the doorman and schlumping down the street carrying Pinkwater’s Momentary Whatever His Name Was in his tiny gold cage. Other people with birds stopped her every few metres to admire the budgie, ask his name, when she got it, etc. It was only after they’d been chatting for a few minutes that they noticed who they were talking to.

“My Lulabella is just four months old,” one man told her, holding out his arm so that Georgie could admire the scruffy little parrot perched there.

“She’s very pretty,” said Georgie.

“Don’t you just love birds?” the man said.

“Well, actually, this isn’t my bird. I’m bringing it to a friend. I have a cat.”

The man pulled his arm back in and stared at Georgie as if she’d just said, “I have a komodo dragon.”

“What in the world would you want a cat for?” he said. “Cats are the enemies of birds!”

“Cats are cute,” Georgie told him.

“Cute!” the man said. “Say, aren’t you Georgetta Bloomington?”

“Yes,” she said.

“And you like cats?”

“Yes, I do.”

He hurried away, his bird cawing, “Bad, bad, bad.”

“You hear that, Pinkwater?” Georgie said. “I’m bad.”

“Bad,” Pinkwater agreed.

Georgie switched the cage to the other hand. “And people want to know why I like cats.”

She kept walking, wishing that she was invisible again. But then, who knows if she would be able to do it right? Who knows if she’d leave something showing – a hand, a foot, or something totally bizarre like her rib cage or an eyeball? In the beginning, turning invisible was an accident, nothing she had to think about. And later, it always seemed to be something that she did when it was necessary to do, when her life or someone else’s might depend on it. When you’re being chased by a giant rat man with filed teeth or attacked by a bunch of Punks in the subway, you don’t have time to think, Hey, wow, I’m invisible, it feels so weird, I can’t see my hands and how will I reach that door handle, blah blah blah. When you’re being chased, there is no thinking, there is only doing.

But now when she was perfectly safe, when she had time to think and consider, she messed up. And the fact that every limb was about thirty centimetres longer than it used to be made it worse. A good day was a day she didn’t fall flat on her face.

It only took ten minutes for Georgie to reach Bug’s building. She followed a Mrs Hingis look-alike into the building. This old lady was juggling a pile of books and wearing a funny pink hat. Once inside the lift, the woman turned to Georgie.

“Do you like books? Or are you one of those young women who prefers to watch that insufferable celebrity nonsense on television? Or destroy your hearing by stuffing those little contraptions in your ears?”

“I like books,” Georgie said.

“Well,” said the woman. “Then you are an unusual young person. Perhaps you’d like to join our book group.” She handed the books back to Georgie so that she could open the suitcase-sized pocketbook again. She pulled out a flyer. “We meet on the third Thursday of every month.”

“Thanks,” Georgie said.

“But if you come, don’t expect to be reading any mysteries or romances or nonsense for babies.”

“OK.”

The woman grabbed for the pile in Georgie’s arms. “Books aren’t supposed to be fun.”

Georgie frowned. “They aren’t?”

The old woman sniffed and got off on the fifth floor.

As Georgie waited for the lift to get to the top floor, she got more and more nervous, though she wasn’t sure why. She was visiting a friend; people visited friends every day. But she didn’t feel right. She felt like disappearing. She told herself that she shouldn’t, that she would just get it wrong again, but she couldn’t seem to help it. By the time the doors opened, Georgie and the birdcage she held were invisible. She stepped out into the hallway and tripped as her foot caught the lip of the lift.

“Big feet!” chirped Pinkwater.

“Oh, shut up.”

From what Georgie remembered of their last conversation, Bug owned the whole floor. She wondered why he needed a whole floor. He was just one person. But maybe he had lots of friends now. Athlete friends, model friends, dancer friends, friends who all came to hang out at Bug’s enormous apartment. At the thought of this, she nearly turned around and left. But then the budgie chirped, “Agnes!”

Georgie scowled, but then walked to the end of the hallway towards a set of enormous double doors. She was about to set the cage down by the door when it flew open and Bug stomped out, carrying an armful of T-shirts and jeans.

“Ow!” Georgie yelled as he trod on her foot. Pinkwater zoomed around his cage, chirping furiously.

“What the heck?” said Bug. For a second, she just stared at him, knowing he couldn’t see her (at least, she hoped he couldn’t). He looked exactly the same but completely different. Bigger, a little taller, a lot stronger probably, but so worn around the edges that it could have been thirteen years rather than three months since they last saw each other.

“Gurl? Is that you?”

“Georgie,” she said, popping into view. “Who else would it be?”

“You got taller,” he said.

Georgie blushed, unconsciously slouching her shoulders. “So did you.”

Bug scowled as the bird raced around his cage. Georgie was surprised how much she missed that old scowl.

“Your bird’s a little hyper.”

“He’s not mine,” Georgie said. “He’s yours.”

“What do you mean?” said Bug.

“I mean, he’s a present. For you.”

“Oh. Well.” He looked at the budgie as if it were the last thing in the universe he needed. Georgie couldn’t believe Agnes had made her come here.

Bug shifted the pile of T-shirts in his arms. “Thanks. Um. You want to come in?”

“Sure,” said Georgie, certain she’d rather have gum surgery.

Bug led the way through the huge double doors into his apartment. Huge, with wide windows on two sides, it should have been bright and cheerful. Instead, the place had the look of a charity shop, packed with odd, unrelated items and not nearly enough actual furniture. A fine tapestry hung on a wall next to random posters of athletes. A giant stuffed gorilla sat in the corner of the living room. A suit of armour stood by the doors to the apartment. Georgie had heard that living alone made people weird, and this apartment was proof. She wondered where his agent, who was now his legal guardian, was. Bug always made it sound as if the guy was like a father to him.

“Sorry about the mess,” Bug said. “I was just going to do some laundry.” He dropped the clothes he’d been holding on to the ones strewn all over the floor. “There’s a chair around here somewhere.” He kicked through piles of junk to a lone chair set in front of a television the size of a cinema screen. “Here,” he said. “Sit down.”

“Thanks,” Georgie said.

Bug eyed Pinkwater’s cage. “I guess we can put that on the floor.” He set Pinkwater’s cage down. “Do you want something to drink? I’m not sure what I’ve got.”

“Anything is OK,” Georgie said.

He left, and Georgie could hear him banging around in the kitchen. “All I have is Kangaroo Kola.”

“That’s good,” said Georgie.

He came back with two cans, one for her and one for himself. “I did an ad for them,” he said. “They sent me a year’s supply.”

“Great,” said Georgie. She sipped her Kangaroo Kola. If you could fly, Kangaroo Kola could make you fly just a teeny bit higher (or so the advertisements claimed). Georgie supposed that was the only reason why people drank the stuff. It tasted like cough syrup.

“So,” Bug said. “Thanks again for the bird.”

“What’s a Wing without a pet bird, right?” She almost winced as she said this, it was so lame.

“Right,” said Bug. “Maybe I should let him out?”

Georgie shrugged. Bug crouched and opened the door to the cage. The budgie whirled around the room.

Bug said, “Does he have a name?”

“Pinkwater’s Momentary Lapse of Concentration, CD, Number Fourteen,” Georgie told him. “He’s a show bird. They all have names like that.” Abruptly, Pinkwater dive-bombed Georgie’s head, startling her so much that she spilled her Kangaroo Kola. She scrambled to her feet. “Oh no! I hope I didn’t get anything on your chair.”

“Nope. All over yourself, though.”

Plucking at the cold, wet patches on her thighs, she wanted to disappear again. She picked up one foot and shook it, spraying droplets of soda everywhere. “Sorry,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it. All these companies are always sending me T-shirts and stuff that I never use. I’ll get you some.” His eyes brightened. “And you know I’m doing this big ad campaign for Skreechers, right? I’ve got a million pairs of Skreechers trainers. I’m sure I’ll have something that fits you.” He eyed her feet. “You look about the same size as me.”

He turned and walked to the bedroom while Georgie sat, blushing furiously. Great, she thought. She had feet the same size as a guy. Just what every girl dreams of. Maybe she’d grow a moustache, too. Yeah. That would be really cool.

She folded her arms and waited. It was so strange to be here, to see Bug in this big and messy place, like he was some little kid playing house. Which, she thought, he was. So many things here seemed familiar. Like the monkey in the corner. The suit of armour. The tapestry on the wall, just like Bug’s father had in his lair. She hugged herself even tighter.

Bug came out of the bedroom carrying jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of trainers. “Here,” he said. “You can put these on in the bathroom.” He pointed. “Over there.”

“Thanks,” she said. She went to the bathroom and shut the door. She dropped the wet clothes to the floor and pulled on the dry ones. Thankfully, they were big enough to fit her. (It would have been horrible if the stuff had been too small.) Then she looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. The T-shirt said HOT STUFF in orange flames. She was hot stuff, all right. Her hair was in its customary thick ponytail, but random wisps stuck out all over, spraying sideways and tumbling down her shoulders and back. “Hi!” she said to the mirror. “I’m HOT STUFF!”

“What?” Bug called from outside the door. “Did you say something?”

“No!” Georgie said. And then, under her breath, “Just talking to myself like a complete lunatic.” She pulled out the ponytail and tried to comb her hair with her fingers as best she could, but it was no use. Her hair, like her body, was apparently intent on taking over the city.

Georgie threw open the bathroom door. “I have world domination hair,” she said irritably.

Bug frowned. “What?”

“Never mind,” Georgie said. She was going to sit in the chair, but Bug was sitting in it. She searched the room for another chair, but she didn’t see one. She settled for a coffee table shaped like a tree stump. Or maybe it was a tree stump, she didn’t know. Perching on the stump, she said, “Thanks for the stuff. I’ll give it back to you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bug said.

Georgie frantically searched her feeble brain for something to say. “Do you know that pen that your… um… that Sweetcheeks wanted me to steal from my dad?”

“Yeah?”

“You won’t believe what it does.”

“Let me guess: writes?”

Georgie glanced up sharply, a little hurt that Bug sounded so sarcastic. “Yes, it writes. But it makes anything you write with it come true.”

Bug raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. But things come true only the way the pen wants them to come true.”

“No way.”

“That’s what The Professor told my dad. And that’s what my dad told me. That people wouldn’t even be able to fly if someone hadn’t written something about flying a long time ago.”

“I think I remember The Professor hinting around about that the first time we met him. Something about how people weren’t supposed to fly.”

“Yes,” Georgie said. “But whoever started it didn’t write, ‘I wish all people could fly’ or whatever, he wrote something else, something that had nothing to do with flying at all. The pen did whatever it wanted to do. And now, well… you know the rest.”

“Wow,” said Bug.

“Wow is right,” said Georgie. She waited for Bug to say something else, but he didn’t. “So, um, if you had that pen, what would you want to write with it?”

“What?” said Bug. “I don’t know.”

“Come on. You must want something. It’s a pen that makes dreams come true.” Yikes, she thought. She sounded like one of those chain e-mails people send to all their relatives. She was now giving herself the creeps.

“My dreams did come true,” Bug said, fidgeting. “I mean, I’m a Wing now, right? And in all these adverts. Did I tell you about the Skreecher campaign?”

So much for conversation. “Yeah, you did. Just before.”

“Oh.” He pulled the sleeves of his jumper over his hands. He tipped his head, as if he was considering something. “So, how do you like school?”

“OK,” said Georgie, too embarrassed to tell him about Roma Radisson. Too embarrassed to tell him that even though she might be The Richest Girl in the Universe, no one liked her any better for it.

“I’ve got tutors,” said Bug. “Too much work to do to go to school.”

“I don’t know that falling into the East River counts as work.” She hadn’t meant to say that, but out it popped. When your arms and legs and feet and hair are threatening to take over the world and you’re wearing a T-shirt that says HOT STUFF in orange flames, things that you don’t intend pop out.

“I didn’t fall,” Bug said. “Something pulled me into the water.”

“OK,” said Georgie. “Whatever you say.”

Bug’s cheeks got noticeably redder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Georgie said, backtracking. “I don’t know what happened. I heard about it on TV. I wasn’t there.”

“No, you weren’t there.” He muttered something under his breath, something that sounded like “You’re never there.”

“What?” Georgie said.

Bug shook his head, a lock of sandy-brown hair falling into his eyes. “Forget it.”

More silence. Pinkwater’s Momentary Lapse of Concentration seemed to feel the tension, seemed to want to fix it. He darted back and forth between Bug and Georgie, as if he were trying to stitch them together. “Hello!” he squeaked. “Hello, you person!” He alighted on Bug’s shoulder, and proceeded to bonk Bug in the cheek with the top of his little blue head. Bonk, bonk.

“I think he wants you to pet him,” said Georgie.

Bonk.

“Oh,” Bug said. He reached up and petted the bird.

“Purr,” the bird said.

“Once he stops dive-bombing, he’s OK,” Bug said.

“Purr,” said the bird.

Georgie watched Bug pet the bird. “I think he likes you.”

“I think he does too,” Bug said. “So where’s Noodle?”

“Home,” Georgie said. “Which is probably where I should be going.” She felt tired and she felt stupid and she missed Noodle and she missed Agnes and the edge of the tree stump was making her bum ache. Maybe, she thought, she was outgrowing more than clothes and shoes. Maybe she was outgrowing her friend, too. That thought made her achy right in the middle of her chest.

Bug looked down at the clothes spread across the floor like wads of seaweed left by a storm surge. “It’s OK. I’ve got lots to do anyway.”

He seemed so lonely that for a second Georgie almost changed her mind, almost said something crazy like “Hey, maybe we could go flying in the park. Maybe we could make ourselves invisible and sneak into the cinema.” But she didn’t say these things. What she said was: “I like your suit of armour.”

“Thanks,” Bug said. “I found it. Well, that’s not exactly true. There were these guys moving out a couple of floors down. I think they meant to take it with them, but they forgot it in the hallway.”

“So you stole it,” Georgie said.

“I didn’t steal it. They forgot it,” Bug said.

“You could have found them,” said Georgie.

“How would I do that?”

“You could have asked around for their new address.” She had no idea why she was saying this stuff. She didn’t care about the suit of armour. And for all she knew, those guys didn’t want it any more and left it on purpose. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. “You could have shipped it to them.”

“I said, they forgot it.”

“Fine,” said Georgie.

“Anyway, you should talk.”

“What?”

“You’ve stolen things before,” Bug said. “A lot of things.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” said Georgie, getting angry.

“No? There was Noodle. She was just wandering around, and you kept her. And you don’t seem to feel too bad about it. What’s so different?”

Georgie felt the rush of blood through her veins, as if all of sudden she had too much blood and not nearly enough vein. “You sound just like your father.”

Bug sounded like a robot when he said: “Get out.”

“Bug, I just meant—”

Bug flew forwards so fast that he blurred before her eyes, and Pinkwater exploded into the air in a burst of feathers. “Get out!”

Georgie jumped back, whipped round and charged towards the door. As she ran, she misjudged her footing, slamming into the suit of armour. It fell over like a stack of pots and pans. She opened the door, Pinkwater’s disapproving chirp following her out:

“Bad!”