Launched! (13 page)

When Bryce reached the bottom of The Peak he was surprised to see the Freewheelers waiting for him. His hopes for a reconciliation soared, but they were soon dashed.

Darcy held up his phone, saying, ‘Your dad rang. He wants you home.’

Bryce slumped on his bike. He looked at the faces of his friends, feeling like a pariah.

‘It’s urgent.’

‘The baby?!’

‘He didn’t say.’

Bryce nodded and spun off, putting as much distance between the Freewheelers and himself as possible. Why did everything in his life have to go wrong?

He arrived home to find Cara resting on the lounge, his dad rubbing her back.

‘You okay?’ asked Bryce.

Cara looked sheepish as she confessed, ‘False alarm.’

Bryce’s dad stood up, whirling to face his son. ‘Didn’t I tell you to come straight home from school?’

Bryce, don’t cross your father.

‘Yes.’

‘Didn’t I tell you you were grounded?!’

‘Yes.’

His father pointed down the hall. ‘Get to your room. I’ll deal with you later.’

With a heavy heart Bryce trudged down the hall, but one thought kept buzzing in his head. He needed to get to the station. And he needed to get to the station now! He flung himself on his bed, burying his face in the pillow.

Half an hour later he was summoned by his father. ‘I try to give you a fair go,’ he said, ‘but you deliberately flout me every time.’

‘I know this looks bad…’ began Bryce.

‘You’re totally, utterly selfish.’

‘But Dad. Let me explain.’

‘There’s nothing to explain. You’re lying, cheating scum who I’m ashamed to call my son.’ Each word thrust like a rapier. ‘Get out of my sight!’

Bryce stumbled away…

Wanting to fly

Willing to try

I don’t know why

I crash to the ground

…but instead of going to his room he tore down the hallway and out of the house. Hopping on his bike he sped away.

‘Bryce is missing!’

At school the following morning the kids huddled in Mrs Burridge’s office, unable to believe what they’d just heard. ‘He’s been missing since about seven thirty last night and his father would like a word with you.’

Mr Tarrant, sitting on a chair beside the desk, looked weary and dishevelled. ‘He’s blown it, you know. It was his last chance before the juvenile home.’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he asked, ‘Where is he? Do you know?’

The kids shook their heads and as one they answered, ‘No.’

‘You must know!’ Mr Tarrant rose to his feet, his voice shards of anger. ‘You’re his friends.’

At the mention of the word ‘friends’, Clem’s stomach crunched. Mio’s alabaster skin turned even whiter. Tong closed his eyes, thinking,
Not again. Everyone I get close to disappears or dies.
As
he had done many times before, he wondered which of the eight paths to enlightenment he had failed in a previous existence to have such bad karma in this life.

‘We don’t know where Bryce is, Mr Tarrant. We only wish we did,’ said Clem.

Mr Tarrant’s eyes narrowed. He pointed an accusing finger as he asked, ‘You’re not covering for him, are you?’

Four heads shook furiously.

‘Not hiding him in one of your homes?’

Clem asked with a touch of defiance, ‘Why would we be hiding him?’

Mio took a step to stand beside Clem. ‘More to the point, Mr Tarrant. Why has Bryce run away?’

Mr Tarrant’s face puckered, ugly. ‘Who knows?! The boy gets a bit flighty, that’s all.’

Clem didn’t like the way he’d deflected the question. ‘Is there something we should know?’

Mr Tarrant ran his fingers through his rumpled hair before conceding, ‘He was upset.’

‘Why?’ demanded Clem.

‘We’d been arguing.’

Clem ignored Darcy’s attempts to shush her. ‘Was he upset because you hit him, Mr Tarrant?’

‘Clem Jacobs! You’ve gone far enough.’ Mrs Burridge reared like an angry bull, but her voice was gentle as she said, ‘Now, Mr Tarrant, it’s
obvious these children know nothing. You’re tired, distraught. I suggest you go back home and leave this in the capable hands of the police.’

Mr Tarrant snorted. ‘As if the police will do anything. To them Bryce’s a serial runaway. Someone
low
down on their list of priorities.’ He slumped back in his chair, his head in his hands as he said, ‘All I want is my son.’

‘All he want is his father.’ Tong’s voice boomed, then petered out as he whispered, ‘All boy want their father…’ Tong thought of his own father. There was a song he used to sing:
Em Co‘n Nho
+
Hay Em DDa˜ Queˆn?
[Do You Still Remember Or Have You Forgotten?].’
Bô
’ [Dad], he pledged to himself.
I will never forget.
He closed his eyes to still their brightness.

Unable to add any more, the kids were sent back to class.

As they walked down the corridor Darcy said, ‘I bet he’s hanging out with those loser friends of his,’ which fired Clem to retort, ‘But what if he’s not?’

‘I’m worried,’ said Mio.

‘Me worry, too,’ said Tong.

For the rest of the day the kids were restless, frustrated at not being able to look for Bryce. During the lunch break they hatched a plan.

‘Let’s make a list of all the places Bryce likes to go. Then we’ll split up and see if we can find him.’

They checked the obvious places like The Van and Mr Lark’s, and the less obvious places like the railway bridge and the station. But what the kids didn’t know about was Bryce’s secret place. The courtyard. And what had been happening there.

By the time Bryce reached the courtyard the night before, it was late, with the moon high in the sky. He’d thought of sleeping in The Van but knew it would be the first place people would search, so he decided against it. For a while he’d wandered, stumbling around in a haze, but then his thoughts cleared. He knew that he was in trouble, big trouble, and
without
the Freewheelers to help him. If he could only find Tong’s bike, all his problems would be solved. His dad would understand why he didn’t come home. The judge would, too. The kids would know he had nothing to do with the theft. And he’d be a Freewheeler again. He had to get that bike. He just had to.

And the person who would lead him to it was Charlie.

Bryce spent a fitful night curled up in the courtyard, pressed against a wall for warmth. His body felt as if it had been jammed in a sardine tin, all stiff and crinkly. The crick in his neck protested every time he moved and his arm was numb. The urge to return home was overwhelming, but the urge to clear his name was even stronger. When he opened his eyes he saw the painting of figures floating through the air sprinkling moon-dust in the night sky and knew he was on the right track. Charlie, part-girl, part-legend. It was she who’d done this painting. She who’d left the message at the tower.
Loneliness is the price of flight.

‘Have to find Charlie. Have to find Charlie.’ Bryce repeated it like a mantra as he made his way
to the public part of the station. But the way to find Charlie was through the runaways, which posed its own set of challenges. In the past, every time Bryce had tried to speak to them they’d slipped out of his grasp like quicksilver.
Next time it will be different,
he told himself. He raced to the nook under the stairs, but they weren’t there. He checked under and around the lockers. Not there. They weren’t hanging around the ticket booth either.

Bryce was pondering what to do when he heard a familiar cry. ‘Mar-r-r-kus!’ He waited, and sure enough, the wails of a young child burst from the station entrance.
Heard that before,
thought Bryce, and he bolted around the corner to a familiar scene.

There was Markus, screaming for all his worth, and there were the kids flitting through the milling commuters. Bryce grinned when he recognised the big brother. Bryce stepped into the kerfuffle, then felt a tug at his empty pocket. ‘Cheeky,’ he said aloud. Bryce knew he’d have to act fast or he’d lose the pickpockets again in the crowd. Like a falcon he zoomed in on little Markus, scooped him up, and began to run.

‘Hey!’ yelled the big brother, taking off after them. Several other youngsters followed. Bryce ran into the station, looking left and right as he sussed
out which way to go. He knew the platforms would be jam-packed, same for the walkways. With the siren coming from Markus he’d have to disappear, and quick. Already a railway employee was looking at him strangely.

Bryce ran down some stairs and around a corner, into a part of the station with a barrier that read
Staff Only Beyond This Point.
Ignoring the sign Bryce ploughed through, a stampede behind him. Through the workshop they ran.

‘Get out!’ yelled one workman.

‘Sorry!’ called Bryce, ducking out a doorway towards the back. He headed for the stairway where he’d seen the kids playing Snap before. As he got closer, he slowed down. Markus had stopped screaming a while ago, enjoying his new adventure. Bryce plonked him under the stairs, and was engulfed by an angry mob.

‘Give ’im back,’ said the big brother, trying to reach past and snatch Markus out.

‘Not so fast,’ said Bryce, standing in front of him like a shield.

‘He’s ours.’

‘And you’ll get him, just as long as you give me some info.’

The brother reared up, fixing Bryce with his eye as he asked, ‘Like what?’

‘Like who’s taking the bikes?’

Bryce was surrounded by a sea of stormy faces. He could see how pale and dirty they were. Most looked like they needed a good feed.

‘Who’s stealing the bikes?’ he repeated.

‘Not us.’

‘We done nothing.’

‘We don’t steal no bikes.’

Bryce counted to ten, trying to think of a new angle. They reminded him of…himself! The more his dad persisted, the more he dug in. Bryce knew he had to change tack. ‘I know you’re not stealing bikes,’ he said. ‘But someone is. And I need to know who.’

Fed up with being under the stairs Markus began to cry, but when his brother growled, ‘Cut it out!’ the tears evaporated. This kid was a pro.

‘I’m looking for a bike,’ said Bryce. ‘Stolen last week. It was an old one, done up.’

‘Don’t know nothing.’

‘What about Charlie then?’

At the mention of the word ‘Charlie’ some kids gasped.

Bryce persisted. ‘The Charlie who’s a writer? Who paints beautiful pictures?’

One boy stepped forward, asking, ‘How d’you know about Charlie?’

Bryce sensed victory. ‘Charlie’s a friend of mine. We used to be on the same crew. Not many
girls called Charlie. You know where she is? I need to talk to her.’

Curiosity turned to animosity in a second.

‘Tell you what,’ said Bryce. ‘We trade. You bring Charlie to me and I give you Markus.’

The kids didn’t take him up on the offer. Keeping Charlie a secret was obviously very important to them. But why?

‘I need Charlie,’ said Bryce. ‘I need her now.’

After a heavy silence, one boy stepped forward. ‘I’ll get her for you. Wait.’

When Bryce saw the matted blonde hair emerge from the darkened corridor he broke out into a sweat. He hadn’t seen her for so long. Words failed him. All he could squeak was, ‘Charlie.’ She was thin, thinner than before. Not a fragile sort of thin; a wiry sort of thin.

Charlie sidled closer, peering into the murky light. ‘Bryce?’

Suddenly the months melted away. Once again they were two lonely and frightened kids, depending on each other to survive. Charlie punched Bryce on the arm. He was surprised how much it stung. ‘It is you, isn’t it, Bryce?’

Bryce nodded and grabbed her arm, saying, ‘We need to talk.’

‘Come.’

And talk they did. There was so much to catch
up on. A lifetime of changes squashed into one short year. Bryce discovered that Charlie was still a writer, although no longer a part of their old crew. And Charlie discovered that Bryce was living with his dad, going to school, completely straight.

‘Don’t you want to go home?’ Bryce asked.

Charlie scoffed, ‘Course not,’ then her voice softened as she said, ‘I have a home. It’s here.’ She gestured around the station. ‘With my kids.’ If the light had been better Bryce would’ve seen her blush. ‘I’m sort of like their mum.’ She grabbed his sleeve, saying, ‘Look. I’ll show you.’

She led Bryce through a series of doors and passages.

‘Where’s that torch of yours?’ she asked, adding sheepishly, ‘I knew it was
your
key-ring the moment the kids brought it down. Sorry they nicked it. I’ve been looking for you since.’

Pulling out his key-ring Bryce shone the torch into the tunnel. He could see how the kids had made it a home. Half-burnt candles rested on wooden crates, surrounded by pools of wax. Flicking a lighter from her pocket Charlie lit up the place, explaining, ‘We only use the candles at night. We don’t want to be discovered. Most days we’re outside, on bin patrol.’

‘Good old bin patrol.’

‘Yeah. Still looking for stuff—food, foil, paper. Anything.’

Bryce continued his inspection. Old mattresses littered the floor, covered with holey blankets and threadbare rags. It was chilly and Bryce shivered. He wondered how
these
kids coped in the winter. What happened when they got sick? Then it hit him how lucky he was to have escaped this.

Charlie sniffed and scratched her head. ‘Lice,’ she said, making no apology or attempt to move away.

‘How many of you are there?’ Bryce managed to ask.

Charlie shrugged. ‘Varies. Sometimes as many as eight or ten. Sometimes we’re down to three or four. Depends.’

Bryce didn’t know what to say. ‘It’s hard enough looking out for yourself on the street,’ he managed. ‘Let alone nine more!’

Charlie laughed. ‘Life’s a challenge.’

‘Why’d you write PHREE, Charlie? It was you, wasn’t it?’

Charlie nodded then chuckled again. ‘It was the only way I knew to get your attention.’

‘Why didn’t you just come to my place?’

‘I didn’t know where you lived!’ Charlie’s voice grew hushed. ‘And I didn’t know if you’d want to see me again…’

Bryce walked over and stood in front of her. ‘Course I do.’

‘What about your probation?’

The question floated for some time. Bryce wrestled with his answer. In the end he knew there was only one. ‘What about it?’ Lights flickered, giving the room an eerie feel.

Bryce leant forward, shadows dancing under his eyes so he looked like an animated skull. ‘I’m trying to find a bike. Can you help?’

Charlie’s voice was like steel. ‘I don’t have it.’

‘Figured you didn’t. Thought you might know who does.’

‘Why?’

‘Friend of mine’s missing his.’

‘It’s just a bike.’

Bryce could hear the resistance in her voice, so he asked, ‘Why’d you want to get hold of me, Charlie?’

Charlie closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, then her answer rang out, ‘I need money.
We
need money. All these mouths to feed. Scrounging only goes so far. They’ve all got bad coughs. They need medicine.’

‘Charlie, I’m broke.’

‘Steal some from your dad.’

‘No.’ Bryce flinched, but his voice held firm, ‘I’m not taking money from Dad.’

‘Well where then? How’m I going to get cough medicine?’

Bryce thought of the Freewheelers. He knew if he asked them they’d help. But he didn’t want to go begging, not when he’d fallen so far in their eyes. Bryce sighed. A week ago his only worry was the bike trials.

The bike trials!

‘Charlie, I know how we can get the money.’