Fly, Cherokee Fly by Chris d'Lacey

Author:Chris d'Lacey [D'Lacey, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781408314449
Publisher: Hachette Children's
Published: 2011-01-20T05:00:00+00:00

I’d never stolen anything from Mum and Dad before. But I had to have the money – to pay Warren Spigott. As I crept back up to my room that night, half of me kept wanting to turn right around and bolt into the lounge and throw myself into Mum’s arms and cry, It was me, Mum. It was me. I’m sorry. It’s because…It’s because…

But that was it. How could I tell her it was because of Warren Spigott? If I did, he’d win and Cherokee would have to go back to Barrowmoor. I couldn’t lose her now. I just couldn’t. I loved her. She was my bird. She was – and I’d been forced to steal from my parents to prove it.

At first it hadn’t been so bad with Warren. He’d made me run errands, just stupid things like: Go and unlock Paula’s bike and wheel it to the front gates. Take this book back to the school library. Polish my shoes. Hold this mirror while I comb my hair, slave.

Then one day, it changed. I was playing football with Garry at break-time when Warren whistled. He had what he called his ‘slave’ whistle. It was so loud you could hear it all over the school. When I heard that whistle I was supposed to run to him. I got a Chinese burn if I wasn’t at his side within a minute.

That day, the day he turned me into a thief, I made it in time to the back of the bike sheds.

‘Close,’ he sneered. I put my head down and frowned. I was easily twenty seconds inside the minute. I walked up to him and bowed.

‘You called, sir.’ I got a punch if I didn’t do that.

‘See this,’ he sniffed. I raised my eyes. He squashed a Coke can flat in one hand. ‘Put it in the bin and get me another.’

‘Another squashed one?’ I said.

‘Cheeky sod,’ said Ginger, blowing smoke into the air.

Warren’s face turned dark. ‘Don’t get smart or you’ll regret it, squirt. Get me a full one.’

‘Crisps, too,’ Ginger added.

‘Yeah, crisps,’ Warren nodded. ‘Well, go on. What you waiting for?’

I hardly dared say it. But I had to. I was broke. ‘Money,’ I whispered, and opened my palm.

Warren filled it with pain, slapping his clenched fist hard across my fingers. Then he went for my head, but I ducked that one. ‘You know what, squirt? My dad was only saying about that bird last night. ”I wish I still had that pied hen,” he said. I was almost tempted. Do you know what I mean?’

‘Yes,’ I said. I knew what he meant. And I knew he was lying, but I couldn’t afford to take any risks.

I couldn’t afford the pop or the crisps or the magazines or the sweets or the bus fares or the cigarettes he’d made me buy for several weeks either.

So I’d borrowed from Garry.

Or the phone.

Or Mum’s purse.

And Mum was right: I did feel lost – and sick, and ashamed. I didn’t know where it was going to end.

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