‘FOO FOO FOO … FOO FOO FOO … You’re DEAD, NED!’ said Riley, an arsenal of homemade weapons sticking out the back of his t-shirt and pants and even his socks.
‘Nah, I’m wearing a bulletproof vest, dude.’
‘Yeah, but I just shot you in the butt! You’re not wearing a butt vest, are you?’ said Riley triumphantly.
‘Will you two stop talking like bloody American gangsters!’ said Mrs Taylor. Her hair was in a messy bun that looked more like a collapsed pannacotta sliding off the side of her head. ‘You’re kids from the suburbs, and I need to do the laundry.’
Ned and Riley dissolved into laughter. So did Mrs Taylor. She disentangled Ned’s arms and legs from the washing basket he was wearing as a bulletproof vest (truth be told, he looked more like a ninja turtle) and disappeared back inside the house.
‘It’s true. He definitely got you in the butt, Ned.’ The words came out of Blue’s mouth before she even realised she was going to speak.
Startled, Ned and Riley looked up to where the voice had come from.
‘You an expert in the trajectory of imaginary bullets, Girl Next Door?’ asked Ned.
‘Um, no,’ said Blue.
‘Didn’t think so,’ said Ned with a winner’s grin.
‘Seems like she knows what she’s talking about to me,’ said Riley. ‘You’re just a sore loser, Ned. Hey, do you want to play? You can be my wingman any day, Ice Princess.’
‘My name’s Blue. I’d love to, but I’ve got practice to do.’
‘Yeah, what do you play?’ asked Ned. ‘I’m learning the guitar.’
‘I know. I’ve heard you. I’ve got to practise walking in high heels.’
‘Oh, how posh!’ said Ned. He did his very best impersonation of a lady walking in high heels. Riley fell about laughing.
‘You’re better than me!’ said Blue.
‘IS THAT YOU, BLUE? YOU’RE NOT TALKING TO THOSE DIRTY CHILDREN NEXT DOOR, ARE YOU?’ yelled Blue’s mother from the garden below.
Blue shut her window and stepped back as fast as she could so that her mother wouldn’t see her. She lay down on her bed and flicked her diamond-studded high heels across the room.
Her mother was wrong about the Taylors. Their hair might have always looked a shambles, but they were nice people. And she was wrong about the Boogaloos, too. They weren’t crazy at all. But her mother was right about one thing. Blue hadn’t felt as much as a ‘hee’ or a ‘ha’ or a ‘ho’ since she’d been there. Blue began to fret that one more day with the Boogaloos wasn’t going to change a thing. She crossed all her toes and all her fingers. She even crossed her arms and legs till she looked like a giant pretzel. Blue made a wish seven times –
Please make tomorrow the day.
Please make tomorrow the day.
Please make tomorrow the day.
Please make tomorrow the day.
Please make tomorrow the day.
Please make tomorrow the day.
Please make tomorrow the day …
CHAPTER 12
A Hum
The next day Bessie arrived on the iBike. After more than a week of treatment, the magic of the bike had become almost everyday.
‘Morning, Bessie. Who’s that playing?’ said Blue.
‘Oh, that’s the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra with my favourite punk singer from Alaska. And I’m on horns.’ Bessie squeezed a bright yellow horn on the handlebars.
HONK, HONK!
Off they went. Bessie’s skirt billowed out like butterfly wings. Blue closed her eyes and felt the iBike lift up into the sky.
‘Oh, that voice!’ said Bessie. ‘Gives me a squishy, rolling feeling inside, like hot fudge chocolate pudding! And listen to those strings! That’s a wild duck melody, for sure. Feel that pull in your belly? That’s them calling to their young, “Keep up, little ones, big winds are coming.” Wings and strings, Blue. You can’t have one without the other, luv.’
While Blue didn’t quite understand what Bessie was saying, she loved listening to her talk about music. Before the Boogaloos, music was just something they played at assembly through tinny speakers. But now, it was something entirely different. It was a huge new world that had opened up. It felt like a wilderness on the inside, a place Blue could escape to and roam around in.
‘Bessie?’ asked Blue, remembering to keep her eyes firmly shut.
‘Yes, luv.’
‘How does music fix people?’
‘Hmm. Well, that’s complicated.’ Bessie paused for a minute. ‘Think of it this way, luv. Music lets your heart fly. You can feel your heart flutter as soon as the music hits you, right? That’s the wings being attached. Snap, snap! Then if you pay close attention, you can feel your heart nudging your ribs, dipping into your stomach and flying out through your skin. That’s that tingling feeling.’
‘Then what happens?’
‘Well then, it’s out in the world, soaring high above the clouds, all the while attached to you with an invisible golden thread that’s stronger than a spider’s web. Sometimes our strings get tangled up with other people’s strings. That’s called falling in love. That’s why you can’t fall in love without music. It’s just not possible! And that’s why musicians fall in love all the time. And why everyone falls in love with them! You see, whenever they play they’re in danger of getting their strings all tangled up. That’s just a fact. Sometimes they even get tangled up with more than one person at a time. Boy, does that cause a kerfuffle!’
‘Does everyone’s heart do that when they hear music?’
‘Not everyone hears the right music, Blue. Or knows how to listen. And they suffer terribly. That’s why the clinic is always so busy. If you don’t let your heart fly, your tune gets right out of whack. It’s a bit like spending your whole life indoors. It’s just not good for your health, luv.’
Blue imagined her heart soaring high above her like a balloon. She imagined the sky full of heart-shaped balloons and people’s strings all a
