Sita, Snake Read online

  We sat in numb silence for a while, both thinking vicious thoughts about Big Matt McBain.

  “But Kylie,” I said after a bit, “I don’t understand what good it’d do Big Matt to steal your dad’s ferret. It’s not as though he can do anything with him, because everyone knows who he belongs to.”

  Kylie gave me a pitying look. “You’ve no idea, Yosser,” she said with a wry smile. “It’s dog-eat-dog in the ferret world. If Big Matt’s got Thunderball, then Thunderball can’t win Best in Show, can he?”

  I was about to tell Kylie that the Fearless Band of Snake-Warriors would stop at nothing to right this terrible wrong, when there was a little tap on the bedroom door. It opened a crack, and I saw the glint of Nani’s glasses.

  “Yosser …may I come in?” she said.

  “Sure,” I said, and shuffled along the bed. Nani sat between me and Kylie, looked us both up and down, and then gave us each a hug.

  “Not so good today?” she said quietly, and Kylie and me shook our heads and smiled bravely. I hoped Nani would think we were just upset about not finding treasure, and wouldn’t ask any awkward questions. And, as it happened, she didn’t.

  As it happened, she had something else on her mind. And it was going to turn what was already a Very Bad Day into the Worst Day In Living Memory …

  “Your dad got a letter yesterday, Yosser,” she said solemnly. “He was home too late to tell you about it, and he and your mum had to go to the fruit market early this morning, so they gave it to me to give you.”

  She pulled a piece of very thick, white, folded paper out of her sleeve and put it in my lap.

  That Sunday must have been my day for being psychic, because I knew what the letter was about without even opening it. And, as I unfolded it, all the blood that had just newly gone back to my head drained away again.

  At the top of the thick white paper, in big red letters, was ‘OUR LADY OF THE SORROWS’, and below it said:

  Dear Mr and Mrs Farooq,

  Re: Entrance exam, Yosser Farooq

  I only read the first paragraph. I hadn’t the heart to read any more. Then I sat very still, staring at the letter as if it was a death warrant; and, somewhere, far, far away in the distance, I heard my own voice saying The entrance exam’s on Friday. I am doomed.

  Which was the precise moment when the Worst Day In Living Memory began in earnest, and it led to the Worst Week in Living Memory.

  Desperate Measures

  Nani gave me another hug, took the horrible letter out of my shaking hand, and shoved it back up her sleeve. Then she pointed a thumb at my Sita picture.

  “Still keen to go, Yosser?” she asked.

  It seemed like a funny question, but I looked up at Sita and her gleaming Snake Pod, and I thought about it. Stolen ferrets and entrance exams had put Thrill City right out of my head, but of course it was still there. I nodded at Nani, just out of politeness.

  “Because if you are,” Nani went on, and she wiggled her eyebrows up and down (which is Nani’s sign that the next sentence contains Vital Information), “I’ll just point out that if you pass the Entrance Exam with Distinction, you get a Bursary. Which means no fees.”

  She got up and headed for the door. Halfway out, she turned, nodded in the direction of Sita, and added, “Which means, I would have thought, a better bargaining position with You-Know-Who – wouldn’t you?” And, with one last, enormous, wink, she was gone.

  Kylie and me sat for a while, letting it all sink in. At last Kylie spoke.

  “If I were you, Yosser,” she said, “know what I’d do?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’d fail,” Kylie said.

  I gasped. “Really?” I said, and Kylie nodded.

  “I know it’s a desperate measure,” she went on, “but if you go to Our Lady of the Sorrows, it’s going to be awful. We’ve got to both go to Greater Malden Comprehensive.”

  I was horrified. Fail the Entrance Exam? Deliberately fail? I sat, stunned.

  Then, just as I was about to tell Kylie I thought her plan was too dreadful for words, she jumped up, grabbed the plastic snakes off my bed-knob, wound the yellow one round her neck, and stood to attention.

  “Come on, Yosser,” she said, in a masterful voice. “There’s no point sitting around all day worrying. There is a great wrong to be righted, and no time to lose.”

  Tossing the green plastic snake over to me, she added, “I’m Sita today, and you’re the Humble Vassal, so I’ve decided to dispense with the gloves!”

  And with that, she led the way down the stairs.

  I followed Kylie out into the sunshine, and as soon as we were marching down the path I began to feel a whole lot better. I coiled my snake more tightly round my neck, so that I could see its yellow, glinting, snake-eyes, and I thought of the terrible thing Big Matt McBain had done; and the nearer we got to his house, the braver I felt.

  “Right,” said Kylie, stopping at a corner where a big privet hedge blocked our view, “we’re getting close. We must proceed with caution.”

  And, keeping hard in to the hedge, she crept round the corner.

  “On no account,” she whispered, “must Spike get wind of us.”

  I gulped. Spike must be the name of the Dog from Hell, I realised, and there was no way on this earth I wanted him getting wind of me. I held my breath as we tiptoed along.

  The big privet hedge seemed endless, but finally we reached a gate. The gate had a notice nailed to it, which said:

  We looked over into Big Matt McBain’s garden.

  I could hardly believe my eyes. It looked like a rubbish dump! There were bits of old furniture, and car tyres, and broken beer barrels, lying all over the place, and in between grew long grass, and thistles, and nettles.

  There was a path of sorts, that led past Big Matt’s front door and on to another gate, and beyond that gate, partly hidden by bushes, were dozens and dozens of rusty, rickety cages. The cages were piled untidily one on top of each other. They were all painted in different colours, and the paint was faded and peeling.

  “Wow!” I breathed. “What a mess!”

  “It’s a proper disgrace,” muttered Kylie angrily. “And to think Thunderball Silver the Third could be in there!”

  She sighed. “My dad keeps him in the most beautiful cage you could imagine. He’ll not know what’s hit him.”

  We stood, leaning on the gate, wondering how poor Thunderball was coping with coming down in the world.

  “It’s really quiet,” I said after a while. “Maybe Big Matt’s out somewhere, with Spike…”

  “Maybe he is,” said Kylie, and she pushed the gate. It opened with a loud creak, and as soon as it did, all hell broke loose.

  At first there was nothing to be seen. All we heard was the most almighty, high-pitched roar coming from somewhere in the long grass. Then we realised the roar was getting louder and louder, and then, suddenly we saw a narrow channel in the grass that was getting closer by the second. It looked as though a very small, but very strong, tornado was hurtling towards us.

  “Quick!” yelled Kylie, pushing me backwards and out on to the pavement again. In the nick of time, she slammed the gate shut.

  Frozen in horror, we watched as Spike hurled his tight little body at the gate, growling and snarling and baring his evil yellow fangs at us, his bloodshot eyes glowing like the very Fires of Hell.

  Then the front door was flung open and Big Matt’s enormous form appeared on the doorstep. He was barefoot and wearing pyjama bottoms. His chest was bare except for a tattooed red heart with an arrow through it, and a thick growth of curly white hair. He shook his fist at Kylie and me.

  “What the devil do yous think yous’re doing?” he yelled at us. “Can’t yous read?”

  Kylie drew herself up as tall as she could, and gripped the yellow snake round her neck. She took a big breath, and when she spoke I was beside myself with admiration.

  “Mr McBain, we have reason to suspect you are holding my dad’
s prize ferret against his will,” she said, as calm and as steady as could be.

  Big Matt’s big mouth opened wide for a moment. Then he threw back his big head and howled with laughter. After a while he stopped. His smile faded clean away, and he glared at us as malevolently as I’ve ever been glared at. You could have cut the silence with a knife.

  When he spoke again, his voice was low and grim.

  “I’ll tell you what, Kylie Teasdale,” he growled, “if you say one thing to anyone about your dad’s Thunderball, you’ll wish you’d never been born …”

  He took a few steps along the path towards us, then thought better of it and retreated back into the doorway. Kylie opened her mouth and closed it again. She began to back away, pulling my arm.

  “Yous have no proof! So make yourselves scarce,” Big Matt yelled. “And if yous dare come nosing around, I’ll set my dog on you!”

  And with that he called Spike to heel, and the two disappeared into the house.

  We made ourselves scarce as quickly as we could. We didn’t stop running till we reached my street. Then we sat on the wall outside my house, and when we’d got our breath back we looked at one another in utter dismay. Our snakes suddenly looked very limp, and very plastic.

  “Can’t we go to the police?” I said.

  “It’s no good,” said Kylie. “Big Matt’s right. We’ve no proof.”

  We both sighed. It was true. You couldn’t report someone to the police for having ripply trousers and a bad look in their eye. We sat in gloomy silence, considering the situation. The Grand Ferret Championship was six days away. My Entrance Exam for Our Lady of the Sorrows was five days away. Things couldn’t have been more hopeless if they’d tried.

  “It’ll take more than a couple of plastic snakes to get us out of this mess,” Kylie said at last, uncoiling hers and handing it sadly back to me.

  And, as things turned out, in a way she was right. But, in another way, she was wrong.

  A Terrible, Tempting Idea

  How Kylie and I got through the next week, I do not know.

  Every day after school Kylie, armed with the yellow Sita-snake, would set off for another lonely vigil behind Big Matt McBain’s privet hedge, hoping to catch sight of Thunderball Silver the Third. And every day I would set off home, armed with a load of worksheets from Ms Albright, for another exciting evening swotting maths and English Grammar.

  By Thursday morning, we’d both hit rock bottom.

  “Any luck last night?” I asked Kylie as she joined me on the wall outside the school. I knew from the way she’d been walking, with her head right down, that she hadn’t had any luck, but I felt I had to ask anyway.

  Kylie shook her head. “Not that I ever get close enough to see,” she said, dismally.

  “Doesn’t Big Matt ever go out?” I asked.

  I had a horrible picture in my head of Big Matt sitting by the window with a telescope trained on the gate, surrounded by enough boxes of food, drink and dog biscuits to last till the Grand Ferret Championship.

  “Sure he goes out,” Kylie said. “But he leaves that vicious little hell-hound behind. He wasn’t born yesterday.”

  I gave Kylie’s arm a sympathetic squeeze, and agreed that he certainly wasn’t.

  “I don’t know how he sleeps at night,” I said. “He must have no conscience whatsoever.”

  Kylie nodded. “Completely unprincipled,” she said. “How’s the swotting?”

  As soon as the word swotting was out, my stomach heaved and I felt sick.

  I’d been feeling sick all week, actually, though that wasn’t because of the swotting. I’m a bit shaky on maths, but I’m quite good at things like spelling and writing stories; so that wasn’t the problem.

  I wasn’t feeling sick because of the thought of sitting the exam either, though it did scare me, particularly when I remembered Sister Mary Ignatius’s huge eyes and thought of them watching me.

  The sick feeling was because of something even worse. It was the idea – the terrible, tempting idea – that Kylie had given me, of failing the entrance exam. That was what made my stomach churn. I just couldn’t think of anything else during the day, and even at night, when I managed to get to sleep, it haunted my dreams.

  I knew it was an absolutely awful, dishonest thing to do. I knew it would hurt Mum and Dad like anything. But I kept thinking how easy it would be to do it, and how, if I did do it, all my problems would be solved.

  The way I saw it was this. If I passed the entrance exam, I’d have to spend the next six years in a red tartan uniform, working my socks off, without Kylie around. And since I probably wouldn’t pass with Distinction and get a Bursary, because hardly anyone did, passing would also mean I wouldn’t ever get to ride in Sita’s Snake-Pod with Nani.

  Sure, I’d make Mum and Dad happy, and I’d get my Hidden Potential unleashed. But it didn’t seem like a fun way to do it.

  If I failed, on the other hand, I could go to Great Malden Comprehensive, wear my combats to school, have Kylie there beside me all the way, and, as like as not, unleash my Hidden Potential into the bargain.

  And, when I thought about it like that, there didn’t seem much choice.

  “The swotting’s fine,” I told Kylie. “But I’ve decided to fail.”

  Kylie stared at me. “You haven’t!” she gasped.

  I stared back at her, wondering why on earth she was so shocked. “But Kylie,” I said, “it was your idea! Why’re you looking at me like that?”

  Kylie bit her lip, and so did I. After all, I’d expected her to be pleased.

  “I just didn’t think you’d do it,” she said. “I felt bad afterwards for even suggesting it. Somehow I didn’t think being dishonest was your ‘thing’…”

  At that point the bell rang and we slipped down off the wall and began to walk to the lines. As we arrived Ms Albright, who had bought herself a little whistle, was blowing very loudly and shrilly at the football stragglers.

  “I have to fail,” I whispered to Kylie above the racket. “I can’t go it alone for the next six years…”

  Ms Albright, her face extremely red, stopped whistling to draw breath. Hastily, I zipped my mouth and placed a finger on my lips, and Kylie did the same.

  At Ms Albright’s signal, we all began to shuffle towards the door.

  “Yosser…” Kylie hissed, being careful not to move her finger.

  “What?” I said.

  “I just wanted to say,” she whispered, “that even if you don’t fail, and you do go to Our Lady of the Sorrows, you won’t go it alone.” She shot a quick glance over her shoulder. “Because wherever you are, I’ll always be there for you.”

  Which is the nicest thing anyone ever said to me.

  The Entrance Exam

  Remember that feeling I told you about, that’s like an electric current rushing up your back?

  Well, there is a feeling that’s opposite to that one. It feels like everything in your whole body is sinking into your feet, and on the way down it’s making your stomach do back-flips and your legs wobble. It’s the most horrible feeling there is, and it’s the feeling I got when Mum dropped me off at Our Lady of the Sorrows for my Entrance Exam.

  All the way there I’d sat in the back of the car, between Nani and Bilal, not saying a word. And I’d cuddled Bilal like anything, and wished we’d never, ever arrive.

  But of course we did, and as I got out everyone gave me a kiss (actually, Bilal’s kiss was more of a Sniff-n-Suck, but it was greatly appreciated), and Nani pressed something small and soft into my hand.

  “Good luck, Yosser,” she said. “And don’t be afraid to use it!” she added.

  Then Mum pressed the accelerator hard and they zoomed off, leaving me all alone with only the horrible sinking feeling, and the small soft thing, for company.

  I climbed the steps to the main entrance, and as I did I opened my hand and looked at Nani’s present. It was a green rubber with a yellow snake on it.

  Sister Mary Ignatius
was waiting in the entrance hall. There was another nun standing beside her, who was quite young and very big. The big nun had the widest smile, and the sparkliest blue eyes, I’d ever seen.

  “Come along, Yosser,” said Sister Mary Ignatius. “Best foot forward.” And she led the way to the hall, which was bursting at the seams with girls. All the girls were sitting at desks with their pencils poised – and none of them looked as terrified as I was.

  The first paper was maths. Now, I’d spent the last week thinking out my Failing Strategy, so I knew just what I was going to do. There was no point, I reckoned, in just writing down rubbish answers. That would only arouse suspicion.

  No, I knew my Failing Strategy would only work if I calculated the correct answer and then put down an answer that was just slightly wrong. Which was a bit of a pain, because it meant I actually had to do a whole load of work for nothing.

  “Pick up your pencils, girls,” Sister Mary Ignatius said, in her quiet, determined voice, “and begin.”

  I read the first question, and was quite surprised. I’d expected, given that maths isn’t my strong point, to find the sums impossible. But actually they weren’t. I pretty well sailed through them, working them out on scrap paper and then writing down wrong answers on the sheet.

  But as I did, a strange thing began to happen. Every time I wrote down a wrong answer I had this uncanny feeling that Sister Mary Ignatius’ big black eyes were on me, watching what I was up to. I kept looking at her, and every time I did, I’ll swear she was looking straight at me. And given there must have been about a hundred girls in that hall – was that spooky or what?

  Then another strange thing happened. I started to have visions, in my head. Not holy visions of angels or anything. Unholy visions of Big Matt McBain, with his shock of white hair and his wink that you couldn’t put your finger on.

  Big Matt McBain, who’d ferret-napped Kylie’s dad’s precious Thunderball Silver the Third so he could win Best in Show.