I Predict a Riot. Catherine Bruton

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      The New Kid frowned when she said this. His pebble eyes went blank and I wished I’d been filming then so I could catch his expression.

      ‘No worries,’ he said, putting the books down on the desk and pulling his massive earphones back on to his head. ‘I’ll just leave it.’

      He went out into the lobby then and called the lift. I kept following him, because he had somehow become the hero of my film and I needed to see how his story panned out.

      The lift doors hovered open and I jumped in just before they closed. I stared at the New Kid’s feet, and his hands which seemed empty without a book in them.

      ‘Are you following me?’

      I jumped. He was looking at me and I felt myself go bright red. The lift was probably halfway down. ‘No,’ I murmured.

      He tugged his earphones off and looked at me even harder than before.

      ‘I saw you in the park yesterday, didn’t I?’ he said. ‘When it all kicked off. You were there.’

      I could feel myself going pinker by the minute. I gave a sort of shrug.

      The lift doors opened. We both hesitated, then the New Kid stepped back to let me go out first, like my dad always does. Did.

      ‘Thanks,’ I said quietly, avoiding his eye as we both stepped out into the lobby and headed towards the exit.

      ‘Seriously, are you some kind of spy or what?’ said the New Kid, when we reached the glass doors. He had a look in his eyes that might have been a challenge or might have been amusement.

      ‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. The words came out way posher sounding than I meant them to.

      The New Kid gave me another weird look then turned round and shrugged as he stepped out on to the concrete outside.

      Coronation Road Library is an award-winning design, my dad told me once. It’s built in the shape of a C – for Coronation Road – and it’s all multicoloured glass and chrome. Outside, in the curve of the C, is a courtyard scattered with these giant stone globes, some half submerged in the concrete, some barely rising out of the surface, and all covered in tiny multicoloured tiles. There are some strange metal benches that look more like sculptures than seats, and they’re dead uncomfortable. Some people hate that library – my mum included – but my dad and I like the shapes, the way they intersect with the sky and the rubble and the estate that runs for miles behind them.

      The New Kid plonked himself down on one of the funny sculpture benches. ‘You want to join me?’ he asked, looking up and staring me right in the eye.

      I hesitated for a second before I said, ‘Um, OK.’

      So I perched next to him and we sat there, watching the pigeons and not saying much. He definitely wasn’t your typical hero, this skinny, smiley-faced bookworm, who went around saving kids from being stabbed in the park. But there was something about him, some kind of quality which seemed to shine out of him, even here, surrounded by litter and concrete.

      ‘Why did you do it?’ I asked.

      ‘Do what?’ said the New Kid.

      I bit my lip nervously. ‘Um, help Little Pea in the park yesterday.’

      ‘Is Little Pea the boy with the big shoes?’

      I nodded and waited for him to go on, but he didn’t, so I said, ‘So why did you then? Do it?’

      He shrugged and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. It had been one of the hottest summers on record. There had been no rain for so many weeks that everyone had forgotten what a cloudy sky looked like. ‘Probably cos I’m an idiot,’ he said.

      ‘I thought you were brave,’ I said, feeling my cheeks burning again. ‘I never saw anyone stand up to the Starfish Gang before.’

      ‘Maybe. It was still stupid,’ he said. Then he sighed. ‘I promised my mum two things: to stay out of trouble and always brush my teeth.’ He turned to me with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘And what do I go and do? Get myself in a whole heap of trouble first week of the school holidays.’

      I wanted to ask him why his mum made him promise to stay out of trouble, but I didn’t want him to think I was prying into his business, so I just said, ‘Your teeth look OK.’

      He grinned with his big sunshine smile, properly this time, and I found myself smiling back.

      ‘Who did you say those other kids were anyway?’ he asked. ‘The ones who were beating on Pea or whatever you say his name is?’

      ‘The Starfish Gang?’ I said, staring down at my thin, grubby fingers. ‘And the boy with the knife is called Shiv. Shiv Karunga.’

      The New Kid looked down at the tatty Vans on his feet and frowned.

      ‘You’re not from around here, are you?’ I said.

      A shadow passed over his eyes and he said quickly, ‘It’s none of your business where I’m from.’

      ‘Sorry,’ I said quietly.

      He sighed again. ‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bite your head off. It’s just . . .’ He hesitated, then said something I wasn’t expecting. ‘You filmed it all, right?’

      My fingers curled tightly round the camera in my pocket.

      ‘I saw you with a camera so I figured maybe you filmed what happened.’

      He was looking me up and down and I wondered what I looked like to him: a skinny, purple-haired girl with a face like a freckly elf, wearing an ET T-shirt, boys’ surfing shorts and massive cherry-red boots.

      He had the kind of face you couldn’t lie to, so I just nodded.

      ‘You got it with you then?’

      I pulled my camera out of my pocket and passed it to him, looking down at my hands again.

      ‘Cool,’ he said, checking it out. He flicked it on and pressed the play button. The footage I’d taken in the park yesterday appeared on the tiny screen and his own face came into view – close up, with that gutted-and-something-else expression I couldn’t make out.

      His brow furrowed as he watched, but he didn’t say anything. He let it play for another thirty seconds or so then turned it off.

      ‘Yup, I’m an idiot!’ he said, handing it back to me. ‘So do you always go around filming people when they’re not looking?’

      ‘I didn’t exactly mean to,’ I said awkwardly. ‘I’m sort of making a movie.’

      ‘Serious?’ He looked genuinely interested.

      ‘There’s this competition,’ I found myself saying, ‘for young film-makers, and I want to enter it.’

      I shrugged and looked down at my beloved cherry-red, steel-cap DM boots, with a sad face Tippexed on one foot and a happy face on the other. My mum hated those СКАЧАТЬ