Читать книгу The Ruby Redfort Collection: 4-6: Feed the Fear; Pick Your Poison; Blink and You Die - Lauren Child - Страница 39

RUBY, HITCH AND BLACKER HAD AGREED that the main focus should be trying to anticipate the next item on the thief’s list – trying to get a step ahead of him.

Ruby had to start somewhere and since she had got next to nowhere with the poetry book, she decided to find out more about the Little Yellow Shoes. She checked the newspaper for the film festival listings and made a note of the time.

She was early to school for once and was hanging out waiting for Clancy. Unusually he wasn’t one of the first to make it through the gates, nor was he dressed at all like himself – he looked kind of normal. Ruby was already seated when he finally made an appearance, not late but not overly punctual, as was his style ordinarily.

‘Where have you been and what are you wearing?’

‘What do you mean? I am on time and I look like everyone else,’ said Clancy.

‘Exactly,’ said Ruby, ‘what’s going on?’

‘Nothing,’ replied Clancy, ‘I’m just trying to blend.’

‘But why?’ asked Ruby.

‘It’s an experiment,’ said Clancy, he had second-guessed the grilling Ruby might give him for his weird behaviour and was primed with his answers. ‘You know, we were talking about it the other day, I thought I would see if it really works.’

‘What really works?’

‘Becoming invisible.’

‘Oh that,’ said Ruby, ‘well I have to say, I noticed you as soon as you walked in.’

‘Yeah but that’s different, you were looking out for me.’

‘Maybe,’ said Ruby. ‘Anyway, what I wanted to ask you is, do you feel like cutting class?’

‘I only just got here.’

‘Not now, at lunchtime.’

‘Will we be back for history?’ asked Clancy.

‘No, duhbrain, that’s why I said, “do you feel like cutting class”, as in not go.’

‘Rube, you shouldn’t ask me to do this, I can’t afford to get in trouble.’

‘It’s OK, you won’t, I gotta plan.’

‘You always say you have a plan but often the plan gets me into more trouble than the thing you were planning to keep me out of trouble for.’

Ruby looked at him. ‘I’m finding you hard to follow. Look, are you in or are you out?’

‘Out.’

‘Aw, Clance, don’t say that, it’ll be fun, you gotta come.’ She gave him the Ruby Redfort eye hold. ‘I’ll do your Spanish homework for a week.’

‘I speak fluent Spanish.’

‘OK, biology.’

‘I’m good at biology.’

‘OK, so you pick.’

‘Fine, two weeks of French and math and I’ll cut class.’

‘You drive a hard bargain my friend.’

‘Take it or leave it.’

‘Meet me by the bike racks right before lunch,’ said Ruby. She was already walking away.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To put my plan into operation.’

‘Oh.’

‘Don’t blab.’

‘When do I ever blab?’ called Clancy.

‘Never,’ shouted Ruby.

At that moment Red and Del came in through the doors.

‘She’s in a hurry,’ said Del.

‘Yeah, she has to do something,’ said Clancy.

‘What?’ asked Del.

‘How should I know?’ said Clancy.

‘You look different,’ said Red, giving Clancy the once-over, ‘really different.’

‘I’ve modified my look.’

‘You’ve what?’ said Del.

‘It’s intentional,’ said Clancy. ‘I’ve changed my style.’

‘Nothing about your style is intentional, how can you possibly change it?’

‘I’m taking more of an interest,’ replied Clancy, ‘this look’s on purpose.’

‘You have changed your look to “purposely bland”?’

‘It’s my new style.’

‘Is bland a style?’ asked Red.

After Clancy had spent the hour struggling through math class, he felt a little more motivated about Ruby’s plan – he would join her in skipping school and happily allow her to do his math homework.

They met at the agreed time and managed to dodge Del and the rest of their friends so they didn’t get caught up in any explaining.

‘So where are we going exactly?’ asked Clancy as he unlocked his bike.

‘The flicks,’ replied Ruby. ‘There’s a matinee showing in midtown village and I wanted to catch it.’

‘So why don’t we go after school?’

‘Because it’s only showing this lunchtime; it’s a one-off, all part of the Twinford Film Festival.’

Clancy was by now sitting on his bike.

‘So how are you going to get there?’ he asked.

‘You’re going to give me a backie,’ said Ruby.

‘Oh brother! You’re gonna kill me Ruby, you weigh more than you think, you know that?’

‘Stop complaining man, you’re beginning to sound like your mother.’

‘That is a low blow,’ said Clancy.

They set off at high speed. Clancy was a lot more athletic than he looked and despite his grumbling he found it pretty easy transporting Ruby.

‘So what’s so important about this film?’ shouted Clancy as they sped down Avenue Hill.

‘It features the Little Yellow Shoes, you know, the ones that went missing the other night?’

‘Oh yeah, what’s it called again, something to do with a cat isn’t it?’

‘The Cat that Got the Canary. It was made back in the 1950s. I’m scratching my head here, trying to find a reason why someone would take the shoes, other than because they are a deranged fan I mean.’

‘OK,’ said Clancy, ‘so it’s work – why we’re cutting class I mean?’

‘Oh yeah, it’s work,’ confirmed Ruby. Clancy looked a lot happier – he didn’t mind taking a risk so much if it was in a good cause.

They bought their tickets from the box office guy – he was young and wore big fashion-type glasses and had a badge with his name on; Horace, it said. Ruby and Clancy settled down in the near empty cinema.

The film was enjoyable enough. It was an old-fashioned romantic thriller; not that thrilling, but then to be fair it wasn’t really meant to be. It was all about the dialogue, very sassy and smart. And Margo Bardem shone.

It was about this dancer called Celeste who finds herself invited out on a date by a suave-looking fellow. The fellow is actually a ruthless criminal who is under the surveillance of some unsentimental killer-types. They are hunting for a jewel and rightly figure it is he who has stolen it. The criminal stops to plant the jewel in the dancer’s handbag before hopping out through the bathroom window, leaving the dancer to pick up the check. Unfortunately for the criminal, the killers find him and as soon as he’s blabbed about the jewel’s location, they kill him.

‘Shoulda seen that coming,’ hissed Clancy.

‘They never do,’ replied Ruby.

Naturally, then the murderers turn their attention to the dancer, and she has to run for it, still wearing her glittery yellow tap shoes, running across rooftops and cable-car cables and you name it. The shoes, noisy and sparkly, made her easy to spot.

One had to wonder why this woman couldn’t just stop off and buy a decent pair of sneakers? It would have saved her an awful lot of grief, but then that would spoil the whole premise of the movie.

‘Boy, does she have the loudest scream,’ said Clancy, his ears still ringing as he left the theatre.

‘The loudest scream in Hollywood was what they said,’ said the guy from the ticket booth.

‘It was highly unrealistic,’ commented Clancy, ‘but on balance I liked it.’

‘I think she’s a whole lot better in Don’t Call My Name, but then it’s a much better film,’ said the guy. ‘It’s a total classic.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Ruby.

‘The only reason the Canary is so famous,’ continued the ticket booth guy, ‘is because it’s the movie that made Bardem famous, and that’s only because she does those like totally cool stunts – I mean, without the stunts I don’t reckon Margo Bardem would have even been noticed.’

‘I can’t agree with you there Horace,’ said Ruby. ‘Margo’s got charisma and that goes a long way – she can deliver a comedy line as well as any comedian and that ain’t as easy as it looks.’

Horace shrugged. ‘I guess, but I still think it’s a lame film – take away those stunts and the film would have been a total wipe-out.’

Ruby and Clancy walked out into the sunlight.

‘So, you have a better idea now of who might have taken the shoes?’

‘Not a clue,’ said Ruby.

‘Me either,’ said Clancy.

They rode back towards West Twinford and on to Cedarwood Drive.

‘So what’s your plan,’ said Clancy, ‘the one you came up with to prevent me getting another detention?’

‘You’re taking grade five trumpet,’ said Ruby.

‘But I don’t even play the trumpet,’ said Clancy.

‘Exactly, so you can’t fail,’ said Ruby.

‘Jeepers,’ whined Clancy, ‘some great plan – I mean, totally foolproof.’

‘What do you mean? No one’s gonna ask you to suddenly play the trumpet,’ said Ruby.

‘That’s what you think,’ said Clancy. ‘Word gets around that I play the trumpet and suddenly I’m appearing at the junior high school concert.’

‘And that’s when you fake a broken finger or get amnesia,’ said Ruby. ‘It’s no biggy.’

‘I think you must have damaged more than your limbs in that fall,’ said Clancy. ‘So what’s your excuse?’

‘I’ve been at physio,’ said Ruby, holding her arm up, ‘damaged arms sure are useful.’

‘You have a legit excuse and I have a totally bogus one,’ moaned Clancy, but Ruby had stopped listening.

‘You know what, Clance, drop me right here on the corner of Lime, I need to get a pack of bubblegum, I’ll catch you tomorrow.’

Ruby hopped off and Clancy cycled towards home, all the time looking out for a possible ambush. He was tired of this feeling; constantly fearing a voice behind him, or worse. Like he needed another gormless Neanderthal patrolling the streets around school, calling him names. Bullies travelled in packs, hunting down the most vulnerable. Clancy fitted the bill, he knew he did, he always had. From his first toddler party, his first morning at kindergarten, he knew it.

There were plenty of kids smaller than him, skinnier, uglier (Clancy would actually be considered nice-looking, but it didn’t count for much when you totted up all the other victim check points). He just fitted a profile that caught the bullies’ attention and although he had a best friend in Ruby Redfort this in some ways only served to make his plight worse. They loathed him the more for it – he had this band of cool kids to hang out with, he was close to the toughest most popular kid of all, but he himself was a loser. What did she see in him, why pick him when she could hang out with better specimens? This was how they always saw it. He sighed to himself. Clancy Crew you are such a loser.

It was when Ruby was nearing Cedarwood Drive that she heard a sort of familiar voice. ‘Hey!’

She looked up and saw the good-looking boy hanging by his fingertips from the top of a street lamp.

‘Oh it’s you, the boy who goes round asking people personal questions.’

‘Hi,’ said the boy. He swung himself back and connected with the lamppost’s trunk and shinned down to the sidewalk.

‘What were you doing?’ asked Ruby.

‘Just testing my nerve, seeing how long I could hang without, you know, falling.’

‘Sounds like an intelligent pursuit,’ said Ruby.

‘You should try it from a crane,’ said the boy, whistling. ‘Really pumps the adrenalin, and, you know, it’s something to do.’

‘That’s your motivation?’ She looked at him with such an intense expression that he looked away uneasily. ‘So,’ said Ruby, ‘what is it?’

‘What?’

‘Your name buster.’

‘My friends call me Beetle,’ said the boy.

‘If that’s what you wanna go by then that’s fine with me,’ shrugged Ruby.

‘You’re Ruby, right?’

‘Word gets around.’

‘Last time I saw you, you had a cast – on your arm.’

‘Yes I did, and now I don’t,’ said Ruby.

‘So they sawed it off?’ he said.

‘It would seem so,’ said Ruby, looking at her cast-free arm.

‘Did it hurt – when they took it off, I mean?’

‘Only when they sawed right through and on into my arm.’

He looked alarmed for a second and then nodded. ‘Oh, you’re kidding.’ He laughed a bit too much, as if trying to show that he really got the joke. ‘Do you maybe want something to drink. . . or eat?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ said Ruby, ‘that’s why I’m heading home.’

‘You wanna grab a bite, like, somewhere else maybe?’

‘Nope,’ said Ruby. ‘I’m not really persuadable that way. Once I’ve made my mind up about what I want to eat, that’s pretty much it.’

‘Some other time?’ ventured the boy.

‘Maybe,’ said Ruby. ‘I’m not making any firm plans today because I got a lot on my mind.’

‘Sure,’ said the boy. ‘By the way, what’s your T-shirt about?’

Ruby looked down; she had forgotten which one she was wearing today. It read: did you spot the gorilla?

‘It’s to remind me of something,’ she said disappearing around the corner.