The Art of Being Normal by Lisa Williamson

Author:Lisa Williamson [Lisa Williamson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781910200407
Publisher: David Fickling Books
Published: 2015-03-27T16:00:00+00:00

After school I head to the admin office where Miss Clay, one of the school secretaries, confirms Leo has not been in school since last Thursday – the day of the fireworks display in Eden Park.

I head to the library, sit down at our usual table and try to complete some of the maths problems we were working on last week, but I can’t concentrate. Without Leo, the numbers twist about on the page, mocking me, and after twenty minutes I give up and go home.

I would ring Leo, but I don’t have his mobile number. I suggested exchanging numbers several times, but he always resisted, making an excuse or changing the subject. I consider asking Alicia whether she has it, but when I see her at school the next day she’s flanked by Becky and Ruby – her unofficial bodyguards.

This is how, on Thursday after school, I find myself boarding the number fourteen bus bound for Cloverdale. Luckily Mum thinks I’m meeting Leo for tutoring, so I’ve got a few hours to kill before she sends out a search party.

The journey takes what seems like for ever, quickly leaving behind the tree-lined streets of Eden Park and heading south for unfamiliar territory. We pass Cloverdale School, its grounds dark and empty. The building itself resembles a fat office block marooned in the centre of a concrete car park. Behind the school, I can just about make out a tangle of trees, the only greenery in sight. When we stop a bunch of Cloverdale kids clamber on to the bus, rattling past me and up the stairs, and I can’t help but feel glad I chose to sit downstairs, near the driver.

A few minutes later a robotic voice announces the next stop is Cloverdale Estate – East Side. I haven’t a clue which side of Cloverdale Leo lives on, so I figure this is as good a place as any to get off and press the bell.

Although at least five other people get off the bus at the same stop as me, they quickly scatter, disappearing down alleyways, or into waiting cars, swallowed up by the estate, and within a minute I am all alone.

Cloverdale is even quieter than I remember it. I glance over each shoulder before taking out my iPhone and waiting for the GPS signal to kick in. I type in the name of Leo’s street – Sycamore Gardens, and begin to walk, following the pulsing blue cursor on the screen. The route takes me past a small parade of shops in the centre of the estate, some of them already shut up for the day, thick metal grilles pulled down over their windows. Others are unoccupied altogether, just empty shells with faded signs and whitewashed windows. The only shop open for customers appears to be a small supermarket at the far end of the parade. Half the window is boarded up, shards of broken glass glinting on the concrete paving slabs like glitter. Outside the shop,

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