The following morning everything seemed normal again. The storm was over, the sun was shining, and John's mother had cooked pancakes for breakfast.
Tina was waiting outside when he ran out to catch the bus.
‘Hi,’ she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek as if everything was okay.
The bus arrived quietly, and on time, and they talked about ordinary, happy things, as if ignoring all the stuff that had happened the day before would make things better today. And it seemed to work.
The first few classes of the day went well, and none of their teachers said anything about make-up classes. And the canteen had plenty of ice-cream at recess. But then came lunchtime.
John and Tina were sitting on a patch of grass, under a large jacaranda tree, eating their lunch, when Tina looked up to see a strange shape in the sky. It shimmered and glowed and seemed somewhat insubstantial. She squinted into the sunlight. Was it? Was it the Fat Man's starfighter?
She quickly looked away, breathing hard.
‘What is it?’ asked John. ‘What's the matter?’
Tina looked back up to the sky. A passenger aeroplane was flying across the blue, cloudless expanse.
‘Nothing,’ she said, shaking her head.
It was at that moment that John glanced across the crowded school grounds and caught a glimpse of someone familiar.
‘Look!’ he snapped, pointing.
‘What?’
‘That guy over there,’ said John, still pointing. ‘Isn't that …’
‘No,’ said Tina, looking down and returning to her lunch.
‘I think it is.’
Tina didn't respond, instead she took a large bite of her apple.
John jumped to his feet and ran after the kid. Tina watched him go, desperately wanting to just ignore anything unusual and stick with the things that were going right. But John seemed determined to pursue this. She reluctantly followed him.
‘Stop!’ said John, clamping a hand down on the boy's shoulder and spinning him around.
The boy was taller and slimmer, his hair was shorter, his face not quite as round, his clothes not as fancy, but it was definitely him.
‘How the hell did you get here, snotling?’ asked John.
‘The name's Giles,’ said the boy, turning to go.
But John yanked him back.
‘I had my own key,’ said Giles, as if that was all the explanation that was needed. Tina approached as John stared at him. Giles sighed loudly. ‘Even without the money I would have got for the sword o’ light, I had more than enough in my account to get me here. I also searched that thief's pockets and discovered a credit stick equivalent to six hundred gold pieces.’
‘Why here?’ demanded John, still not satisfied. ‘What are you up to? Why are you following us?’
‘I'm not following you,’ replied Giles. ‘In fact, I don't give a stuff about you. I'm not in Suburbia because of you. I'm here because this is where I always come.’
‘You expect us to believe that?’ said John, shoving Giles.
‘Leave it,’ said Tina, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘It's not worth it.’
‘I really don't care what you believe,’ said Giles, turning to walk off.
John jumped forward to block his way. ‘You're not leaving till you tell us why you're here.’
‘Why am I here?’ said Giles, stopping to look John in the eye, a mass of emotions bubbling up within him. ‘You want to know? Well, I come here because in this world I'm not a princeling. I'm just an ordinary kid. I come here because in this world I've got a family who loves me and friends who want to spend time with me. I come here so I don't have to worry about who's plotting to steal my throne or assassinate me. I come here so that I can try to forget the fact that I am personally responsible for the untimely deaths of nine of my family members. And the fact that I will undoubtedly be responsible for the demise of further siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles in order to maintain my position.’ Giles took a step towards John so that they were almost nose-to-nose. ‘I come here because it makes me happy. And you being here kind of wrecks that. Now, can you please leave me alone?’ With that, Giles turned and walked away.
‘Let it go,’ said Tina, putting a hand on John's shoulder. ‘He has as much right to be here as we do.’
‘It's just that,’ began John, ‘there have been too many strange things already. And now him.’
‘Forget him,’ coaxed Tina. ‘He's younger than us. He won't be in our classes.’
‘I suppose.’
The lunch bell rang.
‘Come on.’ Tina led the way to their next class. They sat at their desks amongst a buzz of excitement. All the other kids were talking about having a new maths teacher.
‘Ms Waverly died,’ said one of the boys.
‘Yeah,’ said another. ‘I heard she got run over by a school bus.’
‘No she didn't,’ protested one of the girls. ‘It was a heart attack, or her liver, or something like that.’
‘Yeah well, she's gone anyway.’
‘So who's the sub?’
‘Don't know.’
‘I heard it's some new bloke. A real tough nut.’
‘Yeah! What's his name? Mr Cr — ’
Someone cleared his throat very loudly and all the kids immediately fell silent, heads snapping up to face the front of the class. The new teacher, dressed in a grey suit, stood in front of the whiteboard, back to the class, writing his name. When he finished, he held up his right hand and slowly, deliberately, cracked each of his knuckles, one by one.
Tina gasped.
John stared, horror-stricken as the teacher stepped to one side, revealing the name he had written on the board:
Mr Cracker.
John jumped up from his desk, grabbed Tina's arm and raced from the classroom. As they ran down the corridor, echoing laughter followed them.