The Fury by Alexander Gordon Smith Read Free Book Online

he’d consumed that afternoon were now rioting in his stomach. Nobody replied, they were all just staring at him, their faces bent with the same stupefied expression. Cal pushed himself through the wide-eyed crowd, trying not to run as he made his way towards the steps. His throat tickled, the way it always did when he was about to hurl. The shake bar didn’t have a toilet, but the library did.
    He crossed the plaza in a dozen strides, dashing through the automatic doors. He stopped for long enough to look back, relief flooding through him when he saw that one of the skateboarders was moving again, that Eddie and Megan and the rest of his mates seemed to be back to normal, chatting away.
    They’ve had you good and proper , he thought as he walked towards the toilets. They’d been taking the mick, something they’d probably conjured up that afternoon while he was getting changed. It was like the time they’d nicked Jack’s school uniform after training, forcing him to spend the rest of the day in his goalkeeping kit. Or when they’d all told Megan that there was a teacher-training day one Thursday and she’d not come to school. They were always playing pranks on each other, and this was no different – Psst, at quarter past seven tonight everyone stare at Cal, see if we can freak him out, pass it on .
    And the worst thing was it had freaked him out. He’d completely lost his cool.
    He slammed open the outer door, pushed his way through the inner door and straight into the only empty cubicle. The second he opened the lid he thought his last shake was coming back, boiling up from his stomach. But after a couple of dry heaves he felt it settle. He stood hunched over the bowl for a minute more, just to be sure, then put the lid down and sat on it.
    What was wrong with him? He was losing it. First the incident with Truman, the way that kid had glared at him. Now this. He’d always thought he was made of sterner stuff, but here he was in the toilet at the library ready to chuck his guts all because his mates had pulled some stupid prank.
    Cal wiped a hand across his forehead, the skin damp, cold, then he walked out of the cubicle, splashing some water on his face and staring at his reflection in the graffitied mirror. He did look a little pale –  peaky , as his mum always said. Maybe he was coming down with something. That would be his excuse, that he’d got swine flu, he wasn’t feeling himself. His mates wouldn’t buy it, of course, but he didn’t care. He was still Cal Morrissey, and everybody loved Cal Morrissey.
    Feeling a little steadier, Cal made his way out of the toilet. He’d suck it up, let his friends have their victory. Girls liked a guy who could laugh at himself. Georgia was always saying that he took things too seriously.
    He walked over the plaza, keeping his head down in mock shame, dodging the skateboarders who criss-crossed the tiles, waiting for the catcalls, the whoops, the jeers. They didn’t come, and it was only when Cal had jogged up the steps that he realised the kids who were sitting there weren’t his mates at all. The Year 11s had occupied every single table, laughing and shouting at each other, a few of them eyeballing him warily.
    What the hell? he said beneath his breath, scanning the inside of the café. Georgia had gone, everyone had gone. He swivelled, seeing no trace of them anywhere in the plaza or the two footpaths that led out towards the high street. He looked at the nearest kid, a girl with green hair and a Linkin Park T-shirt. ‘You see where they all went?’
    ‘No,’ she spat, like it was the stupidest question in the world. She turned away from him and made a comment to her friend, causing them both to snort.
    Cal scratched his head then snapped his hand back down, not wanting to look weak, confused. They were still here, somewhere, he was sure of it. Probably wetting themselves laughing. Jesus, this hadn’t happened since he was eight years old and his three