CHERUB: The Sleepwalker - Robert Muchamore Page 0,51

kid screamed as a football blasted against a door centimetres from his head.

‘So close,’ someone shouted. ‘You’re lucky.’

‘Fahim,’ a muscular Asian boy called Alom shouted.

Alom’s mates chanted, ‘Fahim, Fahim, Fahim,’ as Fahim got grabbed by his collar and bundled against the wall. They were all in Year Nine and Fahim had the dejected look of someone who knew he was beat.

‘Skittles,’ Alom said happily, as he extracted the red packet from Fahim’s blazer.

He ripped them open, tipped back his head and poured them decadently into his mouth. About half of the Skittles made it between Alom’s lips; the remainder bounced off his face and clattered down to the tiled floor. Lauren and Jake stopped walking and leaned against the wall like they were waiting for class.

‘Faaaahim!’ another bully shouted, as he jabbed Fahim in the ribs.

‘Here’s the …’ Alom said, as he struggled with a mouth crammed with Skittles. ‘The thing is, Fahim, I seem to have lost my appetite.’

He gobbed the multicoloured clump of chewed-up Skittles into his hand and broke into an evil smile.

‘I tell you what Fahim, why don’t you eat them?’

Fahim looked desperately up and down the corridor, hoping for a teacher to save his butt.

‘I insist,’ Alom grinned. ‘Eat them up or I’ll be seeing you again outside school.’

A tense crowd had gathered around Fahim, including a few of his fellow Year Sevens. Jake reared forward, but Lauren pulled him back.

‘If we save him now he’ll owe us big,’ Jake said.

‘Use your brain,’ Lauren said. ‘There’ll be a riot if you start on that lot. At best we’ll get busted for fighting, at worst one of those nuts will pull a knife out of his jacket and stick it in your back.’

The crowd had started to chant ‘Eat, eat, eat …’ and Fahim looked close to tears.

‘I’ll batter you, Fahim,’ Alom threatened.

The rest of his gang closed in so that Fahim could smell their breath. Everyone quietened down as Fahim took the blob of spit-soaked Skittles from Alom’s beefy hand. He opened his mouth and raised it to his lips.

‘Chomp it down, fat boy.’

As the blob was almost entering his mouth, Fahim thrust his palm forward and screamed out: ‘Bollocks.’

The Year Nine backed up, but Fahim got Alom in the chin with the blob, then mashed it down the front of his shirt, leaving a multicoloured trail. Everyone was stunned by this turn of events and Fahim used his bulk to surge forward. He shoved desperately through the crowd as it let out a collective gasp.

‘Crazy dog,’ Lauren grinned.

But the Year Nines weren’t so happy. ‘You can run, fat boy,’ Alom shouted, as he stared aghast at his stained shirt. ‘But when I catch you you’re dead.’

Some of the Year-Seven kids started laughing. Lauren glowered at a Year Eleven who said, ‘Hey baby,’ as he brushed past. Then Alom completely lost it. He started lashing out and going psycho.

‘What are you all staring at? Get out of my face, you Year-Seven dicks, or I’ll mash you up.’

Then he turned and saw that some of his own mates were laughing.

‘What’s your problem?’ Alom shouted. ‘Why’d you let him run off?’

The gang all shrugged and mumbled stuff about being taken by surprise.

Lauren looked at her watch, then down at Jake. ‘Go to your classroom and try being nice to Fahim,’ she whispered. ‘My form room is up on the next floor, but I’ve got my phone if you need me.’

‘Cool,’ Jake smiled. ‘Fahim might be a fat arse, but you’ve got to admire his balls.’

22. NICE

James felt depressed as he started his second day at Deluxe Chicken. Kerry had come to work in ripped jeans and the mud-encrusted Nikes she used for running on campus. She deliberately broke the rules by leaving her Deluxe Chicken shirt unbuttoned so that you could see one of Bruce’s T-shirts with the gory poster from a martial arts movie on it.

She was clearly looking for an excuse for a row with the manager, but Gabriel cowered in his tiny office pretending to be busy.

This left Gemma in charge of the staff, which consisted of James, Kerry and a friendly old dude called Harold who worked three days a week to supplement his pension. A couple more would come in at lunchtime to deal with the busy period.

‘Gabriel’s scared of you, Kerry,’ Gemma said happily as the four staff members stood around the kitchen, leaning against the equipment. ‘He knows if you report him for what he did, he might get fired,