The Bully Chip Read online

  The kids nodded then they all filed slowly back into the classroom.

  Jinx shook his head. “That was a bit rough, wasn’t it?”

  Callum groaned. He’d played right into Cain’s hands. Now he looked like the bad guy.

  He waved Jinx closer and lowered his voice. “This isn’t what you think. That new kid made me crash.”

  “You said you slipped on the grass.”

  “Well, I didn’t. He jammed a piece of wood in my spokes.”

  Jinx’s eyes widened. “Why would he do that?”

  “I dunno. Yesterday he almost knocked Sophie over as well.”

  Jinx thought on this. After a few seconds he replied. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

  Callum shook his head. “No point. I don’t have any proof.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?”

  “Of course it wasn’t,” snapped Callum. “Haven’t you been listening to me?”

  Jinx shuffled uncomfortably. “It’s just … you tend to think everyone’s your enemy.”

  Callum was gobsmacked. “Right, so when Lester and his thugs were trying to kill all of us last year, that was my imagination, was it?”

  “No, but I’ve been talking with my friends and they say that you ignore everyone else at school, aside from Sophie.”

  “They just mean I won’t become their pet project.” Callum put on a mocking tone. “Oh, yes, one of my best friends is disabled.”

  Jinx was losing patience. “People don’t think like that, Cal. Soph and I don’t.”

  “That’s different.”

  “No, it’s not,” shot Jinx. “And if you’re not careful, you won’t have any friends left.”

  “Fine by me,” replied Callum, coldly.

  “Right,” said Jinx, disappointment in his voice. “At least now I know where I stand.” Jinx stomped back up the slope, leaving Callum alone on the hill.

  Callum sighed. I shouldn’t have done that, he thought. But he was too proud to call him back.

  Later that afternoon, Jinx was with his new pals in their usual spot. They spread out on the lawn, making it clear that you could only sit with them if you were invited.

  Jinx was telling the group about the time a piece of space junk had crashed into his house while he was taking a bath. It was part of an old Russian space station and it smashed through the roof and then the floor under the tub. Jinx and the bath fell through the hole and landed on top of the dining room table just as his parents were entertaining friends from work. It put everyone off the soup course.

  The assembled students listened avidly, ohhing and ahhing.

  Once he’d finished, Britney touched him on the arm. “Weren’t you scared?” she said, her big blue eyes open wide.

  Jinx shrugged in what he hoped was a manly fashion. “Nah, stuff like that used to happen to me all the time.”

  “You’re so brave,” purred the girl. “Everyone thinks so.”

  Jinx blushed. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d achieved celebrity status. He suspected the cool kids were only hanging with him because of his novelty value, but he didn’t care. He only knew he was popular and he didn’t want it to end.

  Jinx was just about to launch into another story when he saw Trent approaching with the two new kids in tow. “Hey, everyone, this is Cain and Lucy.”

  The girl gave a sullen nod and then sat on the grass by herself, barely acknowledging anyone. Cain took a different approach. He worked his way through the group, shaking hands, making witty comments and smiling. Before long he stood in front of Jinx.

  “Hey, you’re the one who helped that kid in the wheelchair,” he said loudly. “Man, what’s his problem?”

  Everyone turned towards Jinx. He picked at his sleeve. “He’s all right, once you get to know him.”

  “You reckon? I thought he was a bit of a dork. He seems to think that he’s special, just because he’s in a wheelchair.”

  A murmur of agreement ran through the crowd.

  “He … he’s not like that,” stammered Jinx, his face flushing.

  “Oh,” said Cain. “Well, you might be right. I don’t really know him, and you two seem to be good friends.”

  “Yeah, real close,” growled the girl, Lucy, speaking for the first time.

  Jinx didn’t respond. The new girl was very intimidating.

  Trent spoke up. “Toby can be friends with whoever he likes, but when you’ve got friends like us, I’m not sure why you’d bother with anyone else, especially losers.”

  Jinx shuffled nervously.

  Britney fluttered her big eyes at him. “I’m sure Toby knows who his real friends are. Don’t you, Toby?”

  Jinx swallowed hard. Everyone was watching him now, the group silent, waiting for his response. “Yeah, of course,” he replied in a small voice. The words feeling like a betrayal as he spoke.

  Jinx’s thumb gave a sudden, small spasm; he grabbed it and covered it with his other hand. In the past, Jinx’s thumb had been an indicator that bad luck was on its way. The worse the shake, the crappier the luck, but his thumb had remained still for almost a year. Jinx scanned the vicinity. No rabid monkeys were rampaging through the school and the sky was mercifully clear of falling zeppelins. His thumb stopped shaking and seemed to have returned to normal. Jinx put it down to a freak muscle seizure and thought no more about it.

  The telephone sat on the outer edge of a neat desk, in a large gloomy office. It was late in the day but the sun hadn’t yet set. Its last remaining rays were shut out of the room by blinds that had been firmly fastened over the windows.

  The phone gave a shrill ring, startling the thin man who stood nearby. He moved swiftly, wrenching the phone from its cradle. He pushed a button and hissed into the mouthpiece.

  “Talk.”

  The voice on the other end of the line spoke quietly.

  “We’ve started. It’s all going to plan.”

  “Good,” grunted the man. “Call back when it’s done.”

  He terminated the call.

  As he stood beside the desk, a thin shaft of light escaped from the edge of the blinds and, for a second, illuminated a scar that cut a half circle from his cheek to under his nostrils. The man ran a finger over the raised skin and then placed the phone back on the desk.

  Four

  The first text arrived on Callum’s mobile at ten o’clock on Monday night.

  His phone mimicked the toot of an oncoming train – the sound he had set to alert him of incoming texts, and a private joke between him, Sophie and Jinx. It gave him quite a start.

  He threw a pillow over the phone to cover the noise and held his breath, listening hard for approaching footsteps. Rose had banned texting after nine-thirty. His bedroom was close to his grandmother’s room but the hallway outside remained quiet.

  Callum had no idea who was texting him at this late hour. He assumed it was Sophie as she and Jinx were the only people who ever contacted him. After his argument with Jinx, he doubted his friend would be the caller. Unless Jinx was texting to apologise.

  That’s probably it, thought Callum.

  He ripped his pillow away and examined the phone’s screen. He opened the flashing text icon and almost dropped the phone in shock.

  Stark black type bit out from the screen. I’M GOING TO GET YOU.

  The sender’s number was blocked and there was nothing to indicate who wrote the message.

  It must have come to me by mistake, was Callum’s immediate thought. But before he could reply and ask who sent it, the message faded from the screen, all evidence of its existence gone.

  Callum stared at his phone, confused. Perhaps it’s a network error, he reasoned.

  Ten minutes later, the sound of an oncoming train blasted from the phone’s speakers once again. This time his grandmother must have heard the sound. Before Callum had a chance to check his new message, there was a stern knock on his bedroom door.

  “You’re not texting in there are you, Callum?” said a shaky vo
ice.

  “Sorry, Gran,” he replied. “I didn’t realise what time it was.”

  “All right. Put the phone away now and go to sleep.”

  “Will do.”

  Callum listened as his grandmother padded back to her room and shut her door. He picked up his phone, switched it to silent and vibrate then opened the message.

  The words YOU’RE DEAD MEAT flickered on the screen.

  Again he tried to reply but once more the type disappeared within seconds of being read. Callum felt a stab of fear. The phone suddenly buzzed in his hand. He dropped it in alarm and then fumbled around in his bedclothes until he retrieved it.

  Callum looked at the flashing text icon on his screen. A feeling of dread passed over him. For a moment he considered not opening the message but knew he had to. This time it was from Sophie.

  She’d received two mysterious and threatening messages from a blocked address and, just like Callum’s, her texts had disappeared within seconds of being opened.

  Callum replied immediately. They agreed to meet the next morning to work out what was going on. Then Callum switched off his phone.

  He suspected the messages were coming from Cain. Questions flooded Callum’s mind. How had the boy got his number? Why would Cain text Sophie? And if it wasn’t him, who was it?

  The next morning Sophie met Callum in her workshop. She told him about the incident with Lucy in the toilets.

  He was horrified and angry. “We have to tell someone.”

  “Okay,” agreed Sophie, “but what are we going to tell them? That I got squirted with some water. That Cain stuck some wood in your spokes, but no one saw it happen. Or that we’ve been getting threatening texts which have now disappeared. Who’s going to believe us?”

  Callum knew she was right. He wheeled his chair back and forth over the workshop floor. “Maybe they’ll get sick of it and stop,” he said.

  “Possibly,” Sophie picked up a screwdriver from her workbench and began tapping it against her leg. “If we don’t react, they might give up.”

  Callum agreed. “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll calm down soon.”

  But it didn’t. If anything, the bullying got worse.

  On Tuesday, a cartoon sketch was passed around the students. It showed a stick figure falling out of his wheelchair and ending up in a crumpled mess on the ground. Callum knew it was supposed to be him and he had a pretty good idea who’d drawn it, but again he had no proof.

  On Wednesday, Sophie got hit by a water bomb as she walked between classrooms. The person who threw it was nowhere to be seen.

  And the texts continued: dozens of them, all through the week, to both Sophie and Callum. They were either threatening or offensive and they all disappeared soon after being received.

  The final straw for Callum came late on Thursday. He was on his way to English class and took his favourite short cut along a thin corridor of grass between the school hall and the toilet block. As he rounded the corner between the two buildings, he saw Cain standing in the toilets’ entrance. Two younger students stood nearby but they scurried away as soon as they saw Callum.

  Cain leaned against the wall, one arm tucked behind his back. When Callum drew level, Cain called out, “Thought you’d come along. I’ve been watching you all week and knew you’d cut through here.”

  Callum ignored him and kept moving.

  Cain pushed off the wall and tracked Callum, keeping slightly behind him.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t feel like chatting?”

  Callum slowed. “I know you’ve been sending those texts.”

  “I dunno what you’re talking about,” said Cain as he moved into Callum’s blind spot, behind his wheelchair.

  Callum spun the Thunderkit around. Cain went with him, staying just out of sight.

  “What exactly is your problem?” said Callum, sharply. No matter how he turned, he couldn’t quite see the other boy.

  Cain suddenly moved in close behind him. “Maybe I just don’t like crips,” he snarled.

  Callum heard the clack of a spray can being shaken then the unmistakeable hiss of paint squirting from a nozzle. Cain shifted from the rear of Callum’s chair round to the side, a spray can spurting in his hand. Callum could see a ragged line of bright yellow paint scarring the clean black lines of the Thunderkit.

  Cain laughed in his face. “Yellow, the coward’s colour. Appropriate, don’t you think?”

  This was too much for Callum. His wheelchair was his pride and joy; his grandmother had saved for three years to buy it and had given it to him as a birthday gift. To see her hard work vandalised tipped him over the edge. He reached into a small pouch that was clipped to the inside of his chair and withdrew a short metal torch. This was no ordinary torch. Sophie had modified it for him and it contained a thin metal rod, designed to help him reach things. Though it was not its intended purpose, the rod could also be used as a baton.

  Callum pressed a button on the top of the torch and engaged the rod. It shot out and locked into place with a solid clack. Cain saw the rod and stepped back in surprise, but he was too late. Callum whipped the torch at the spray can in Cain’s hand, smashing it from his grasp. The can fell to the ground, hissing and spurting. It bounced once then rolled under a nearby bush, spraying one side of the leaves bright yellow. The can gave one final spurt and fell silent.

  Taken aback, Cain scrambled away from Callum, running between the two buildings and emerging in front the school’s chemistry lab, where a large group of junior students milled around, waiting for their next class to start.

  Callum was onto Cain in a flash; he pushed the wheelchair forwards and burst out between the buildings, ramming the chair’s footrests into the back of Cain’s legs. The bully yelled in pain, buckled and fell sideways onto the grass, before rolling onto his back. Callum flicked up his footrests and ran the Thunderkit over the top of Cain’s body, his main wheels on either side of his opponent, the seat of the chair above the downed boy’s waist. He stopped over Cain’s chest then lowered the footrests onto the boy’s ribcage, pinning him to the ground.

  He leaned forwards and screamed into Cain’s face. “Who’s a coward now?”

  Cain didn’t reply. His eyes flicked behind Callum and, just for a second, a sly smile danced over his lips.

  “What’s going on here?” boomed a voice from behind Callum.

  A tall barrel-chested man loomed. It was Mr Drummond, the school’s chemistry teacher, best known for his short temper, bald head and neatly trimmed beard.

  Cain spoke before Callum had a chance. “I was on my way to class when this boy chased me and ran me down.” He gave a small, convincing moan. “I dunno why he did it; I didn’t do anything to him.”

  “That’s a lie,” exclaimed Callum. “He sprayed yellow paint all over my wheelchair.”

  The teacher bent down and examined the Thunderkit. “I don’t see anything.”

  Callum twisted until he could see the side of his chair. The yellow paint had vanished. Callum’s mouth dropped open.

  “But …”

  Mr Drummond cut him short. “Get off him,” he thundered.

  Callum lifted his footrests and wheeled reluctantly backwards until Cain was free. The boy pulled himself unsteadily to his feet.

  “Thank you,” he gasped at the teacher.

  “The spray can!” cried Callum, desperate to find some evidence of Cain’s crimes.

  He whipped his chair around and pointed at the toilet block. “There’ll be a yellow spray can lying under the bush next to the boys’ toilets.”

  The teacher shot him a dubious look. He called to a ginger-headed boy who stood nearby.

  “You,” he commanded. “Have a look by the toilets and see if you can find anything.”

  The boy ran off.

  Drummond fixed Cain and Callum with a hard stare. “We will not tolerate bullying at this school. One of you is in very big trouble.”

  The ginger-headed boy returned quickly. “I couldn’t find an
ything,” he said with a shrug.

  “Someone must have picked it up,” replied Callum, urgently. “Did you see any yellow paint on the bush?”

  The boy shook his head.

  Mr Drummond waved a meaty hand at Cain. “Get out of here,” he ordered.

  Cain didn’t need to be told twice. He hurried away without so much as a backwards glance.

  The teacher placed his other hand on Callum’s chair. “You’re coming with me,” he said.

  There was no point arguing.

  Callum knew he couldn’t continue to plead his innocence. Cain had completely fooled him. He wouldn’t underestimate the boy again.

  Callum received a severe telling off and a week’s detention, starting that afternoon. It could have been much worse. The fact that Callum was one of Mr Drummond’s pupils worked in his favour. He had a good academic record and had seldom been in trouble. Mr Drummond took this into account and decided to deal with the matter himself, rather than involve the principal.

  Callum rang his grandmother to say he was studying late at school – he didn’t want to worry her with the truth – then he spent a depressing hour picking up litter from the school grounds.

  As he finally headed home, the hoot of an incoming text made him jump.

  I really must change that ringtone, he thought as he checked the message.

  He was half expecting it to be another abusive text but the message was from the school office. It instructed him to return to school at once and report to the chemistry lab.

  That’s odd, thought Callum as he headed back to school. He wondered if Mr Drummond had somehow discovered the truth about Cain. Maybe a witness had come forward and cleared him? Whatever it was, he knew it had to be important for the school to call him back at this late hour.

  Before long Callum was sitting outside the chemistry lab. The school was deserted and the classroom lights were switched off, but the door was wide open.

  Callum thought he saw movement inside the room. He felt uneasy as he moved quietly up the ramp. “Is anyone there? Mr Drummond, is that you?” he called.