Scrambled by Huw Davies Page A

problem. He had enough experts to help him after all.
    Dwayne walked over to Davidde with his hand out. He looked sheepish.
    ‘Well done, butt.’
    Davidde couldn’t really understand why Dwayne was congratulating him. It was hardly like Lyndon’s boys to be magnanimous in their leader’s defeat. Davidde shook hands with Dwayne. He found it weird.
    ‘Well done, butt, you did real well.’ As they shook hands Dwayne tried to signal something at Davidde with his eyes. ‘Real good like.’
    ‘Did you see anyone looking at the race?’
    ‘Only your father.’
    ‘Did you see anyone on a black bike. Black leathers?
    ‘Can’t say I saw anything like. Anyway, you done well.’
    Davidde could feel something in Dwayne’s hand.
    ‘Real tidy. Time for you to go though now, innit.’
    ‘Thanks Dwayne. That means a lot, butt.’
    Dwayne went back to the group. Davidde looked down at his palm. Dwayne had left a wingnut in it.
    The wingnut that held the front wheel on a scrambler.
     
    Ralph was pushing Davidde’s bike up the crooked alley behind their house, on the way to put it in the garage. When Mr Leighton’s kitchen window came into view, Davidde stopped his father.
    ‘What you doing?’ asked Ralph.
    ‘I don’t want Mr Leighton to see me.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘He’ll go nuts. He was helping me look for a telescope, but I spent all my money on my bike. And he spends most of his time phoning the police complaining about the kids down the Rec on bikes.’
    ‘And he doesn’t know that you’re one of them?’
    ‘Correct.’
    ‘That’s hilarious, that is.’ Ralph took a moment. He looked into Davidde’s eyes. ‘He needs to learn that sometimes things change. Sometimes wechange. Sometimes some things can change us, deep inside.’
    ‘Are you feeling alright?’
    ‘Er, yeah, I’m fine. Look – I might not be around much this weekend. Will you be OK?’
    ‘What’s happening?’
    ‘Nothing, I’m just not going to be around much, OK?’
    ‘OK, I’ve got plenty to be getting on with.’
    ‘Tidy.’

6
    The week passed quickly and the proper race came around soon enough. Davidde had decided to use gel in his hair, after he realised that he was getting genuinely positive messages about how Pickle’s mucus made it stand up on its own. It wasn’t sarcasm at all. He didn’t get much further with his Art project, though he had managed to avoid Miss for another week. Dwayne had said nothing about his sabotage of Lyndon’s bike either – it was something to be left completely unacknowledged. Dwayne had been friendly in Art lessons, but Kaitlinn was going the other way completely. Davidde stayed out of her way. He also seemed to be seeing less of his dad – he was hardly in at nights at all. Davidde wondered how much poker one man could play?
    Lyndon had also kept a low profile. Whether it was the ignominy of losing, or just of flying over his handlebars and landing head-first in a hole, it was hard to tell. Either way, Davidde didn’t see much of him until the posters went up.
    They appeared one day, plastered all over the school.

    There was great excitement. On the Tuesday before the race, Ceri Fuss walked over to Davidde in the yard at breaktime.
    ‘Oh, my gawd, like I’ve heard you are wicked on the bike like.’
    Davidde didn’t know what to say.
    ‘I’m alright like,’ he said.
    But he was chuffed. This sort of thing didn’t usually happen to him. And Ceri Fuss wasn’t the only one. Younger boys in Year 7 looked at him in awe. Davidde felt great.
    On Wednesday, he was teasing his gelled-up hair in front of the mirror in the toilet before Art. Pickle came in by himself and did a double take when he saw Davidde. Pickle went straight for Davidde’s throat. He grabbed him and held him against the cold, wet wall.
    ‘Listen, Dai, I’m only going to say this once, pal, so listen carefully.’
    Davidde knew there was nothing he could do. Over the years he’d learned to keep his head down and not to