Cyborg Cat and the Masked Marauder, page 5
“Cyborg Cat,” I said to myself as I shut my eyes, “I really, really need your powers now.”
Nothing. Just my body screaming in pain.
Okay, then, I thought – if I’m not Cyborg Cat I’ll just have to do it as Ade. I wasn’t giving up now. I looked at my hospital wheelchair. Yes, I really needed that sports chair.
As I looked at my chair, my whole body began to tingle. The chair started to radiate energy. Suddenly, a burst of light flew out of the wheel rims and up to the ceiling. It bounced back down and into my body.
My Cyborg Cat powers had found me. It was as if my determination to succeed as just Ade, with or without them, had summoned them. I felt the effect immediately.
“B-b-bogey,” spluttered Shed, collapsing. Dexter was in position but struggling to push up.
“Three minutes remaining,” Colin said.
“It’s okay, Dex,” I said. “I’ve got this.” He rolled over gratefully, groaning.
I knew it was going to be tough, but I was not going to fail. I had to do it. I would do it. I was Cyborg Cat.
I pushed up – and almost collapsed immediately.
“Focus,” I told myself. I concentrated on the energy-burst from the chair, feeling it run down my arms and along my back.
The extra power carried me through the first minute, but halfway through the second my arms felt like jelly. It was as if I had a two-ton lorry on my back. As I strained and strained to keep going, I actually saw that two-ton lorry crushing me. It was being driven by someone in a crazy red mask with yellow light beaming out of the eyes.
“You’ll never do it,” screamed the driver. “Never … never … never … ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.”
“I.” Push. “Will.” Push. “Do it!” I shouted out loud, much to the amusement, and bemusement, of everyone watching.
I kept going but I was in agony. My face was clenched in pain and the muscles in my shoulders felt like they would explode.
“Thirty seconds to go,” Colin told me.
“Come on, Ade,” said Salim. “You can do it.”
I glanced again at my wheelchair over by the wall. As I bent my arms for one last press-up, I saw a small pulse of energy leave one of the wheels and travel along the floor.
A buzz went through me as I pushed up and straightened my arms just as Colin clicked down on his stopwatch and said, “That’s it! Three hours – congratulations! You’ve done it!”
I couldn’t speak. None of us could, but inside I was elated. We’d raised the first forty-one pounds and ninety-five pence towards my sports wheelchair.
Now all we had to do was raise the rest. Seven hundred and eight pounds and five pence to go.
9
Cheers, Jeers and Oh Dears
“ONE HUNDRED and thirty-six pounds and sixty-two pee, one hundred and thirty-six pounds and sixty-three pee, one hundred and thirty-six pounds and sixty-four pee.”
“Have you finished now, Brian?” I asked wearily, having spent much of the past half an hour watching Brian count the money we had raised so far, and then count it again because he thought he’d missed a pile of two-penny pieces.
“Yes, that’s definitely the total at the moment,” he said. “Pretty good, isn’t it?”
I had to agree it was.
Since the press-up-athon, we’d done a sponsored bike ride, a sponsored swing for four hours at the park, a sponsored hoopla (though Shed couldn’t really get the hang of it and Dexter’s hoop kept flying off) and we’d set up a stall outside school selling some of our old toys. We’d also sold ice pops every day, which had gone well because the sun had been shining for the last two weeks. The man in the corner shop had donated them to us after Brian and Shed told him he could be the person who helped a future huge worldwide Paralympian superstar get to the top. We were so close to the £250 deposit I needed to give Carlos – I’d decided not to worry about the rest of the money the chair cost right now. If Carlos could put the order in, I’d figure the rest out later.
Next up was a sponsored cheerathon.
It was Emily’s idea. Melody’s football trial was after school tomorrow and Emily had suggested that she teach us some routines and we could become official cheerleaders for Melody throughout the game. She reckoned the idea of watching a bunch of boys cheering and dancing on the sidelines would get people laughing and happy to put some loose change in a donation bucket.
Melody thought it might be embarrassing, but the rest of us loved the idea. She eventually agreed because, as Dexter pointed out, hearing the crowd chant your name is something real, professional footballers have to get used to.
After school we headed to the football pitch and found a spot by the halfway line. We’d worked out some chants at lunchtime and practised a few moves we were looking forward to trying out. Emily was doing lots to help us, and Brian had suggested that we ask her to become part of the gang. The others thought it was a good idea, but I wasn’t sure. Even though my Cyborg Cat senses told me she was okay now, Emily had gone out of her way as the Night Spider to attack me. Could she really be one of the Parsons Road Gang? We always stuck together – could she have changed enough?
“Where’s Melody?” I asked, looking at my watch.
“She should be here by now,” Shed said. “The others are already warming up.”
“Yeah, Spencer and his mates look like they’re about to go to war,” Dexter pointed out.
We glanced over to see them fist-pumping and shouting at each other with fierce determination on their faces.
“Maybe she needs a little bit of encouragement,” I said. “Ready everyone?”
The others nodded and we burst into our first chant.
“Mel, Mel, Melody. Mel, Mel, Melody. Mel, Mel, Melody.”
We kept going, but with kick-off fast approaching I could tell we were all wondering why she still hadn’t appeared.
“There she is!” shouted Dexter as he spotted Melody coming out of the changing rooms.
We started chanting even louder, but it was obvious that something was wrong. She should have been sprinting towards the pitch, but she was trudging over as if there were weights attached to her feet.
As she came by us, we stopped chanting.
“What’s the matter, Melody?”
“My lucky boots,” she said dejectedly. “I can’t find them anywhere.”
“That’s impossible,” said Shed. “You definitely had them when you left home this morning – I remember you checking.”
“I did,” she said. “They were in my bag. But we had PE earlier and there must have been some sort of mix-up, because they’re not in there now. I had to borrow this pair.”
“They look all right,” said Brian.
“Yeah,” I said. “You’ll be fine with them, Melody.”
“But they’re not my lucky boots,” said Melody.
I was about to tell her that they were just normal boots and that she was such a good player she didn’t need a special pair to score anyway, when Spencer and his mates came over.
“Seen my new boots?” sneered Spencer. “They’re Adidas, top of the range. All the professionals have them. What are you wearing, Melody?”
“Get lost, Spencer!” I shouted.
“Okay, okay, I just came over to wish her good luck,” he said. “She’s going to need it, ha ha ha.” They all sprinted back to the centre of the pitch as the referee blew the whistle.
“Just ignore Spencer,” I told her. “You’re a great player, Melody. And with the Parsons Road Gang supporting you, you’ll absolutely smash it!”
“Yeah,” said Emily. “And we’re going to be cheering for you the whole time! Mel, Mel, Melody. Mel, Mel, Melody …”
We all joined in, but as the game kicked off I didn’t need superpowers to see that all was not well. Without her lucky boots, Melody’s confidence was shot to pieces. The first three times the ball came to her she mis-controlled it, and then, just before half time, she had a great chance to score, but she hit the ball way over the bar.
Our cheerleading didn’t seem to be helping at all. We kept it up throughout the first half and got quite a lot of donations, but I wasn’t sure whether or not we should continue in the second half.
“We can stop chanting if you like, Melody,” I said to her as she sat alone on the touchline eating a banana.
She was about to reply when we heard a horrible and familiar voice.
“What’s the matter, looooosers?”
It was Spencer. Again. He’d come over to gloat.
“Are you sad because Wonder Girl has become Blunder Girl?” he continued meanly. “There’s no way a gurrrl will ever make it into my team. Enjoy the second half, losers, ha ha ha!”
For a second, I thought Melody might throw what was left of her banana at Spencer, like she usually would, but then sadness returned to her face.
“You can’t stop cheering, you need to keep raising money, Ade,” she said.
“That’s okay,” I said. “We’ve got other things planned and if it’s putting you off …”
“No,” she said. “Keep going. At least then something good will have come out of today.”
The second half started and we resumed our chanting with ‘There’s only one Melody Watson …’
Unfortunately, things didn’t really improve on the pitch. Melody didn’t play as badly as she had in the first half, but that was mainly because she kept out of the action. The few times the ball did come to her, she played very simple passes and then faded back into obscurity. She didn’t do anything to make herself stand out.
Nonetheless, when she came off the pitch at the end we gave her a huge cheer.
“Well played, loser!” shouted Spencer, smirking, but we just cheered even louder to drown him out.
“Thanks, you lot,” said Melody. “I just wish I hadn’t lost my boots. I would have played much better with them on.”
“If I find out who took them …” said Brian, making it very clear who he thought it was by shooting a look over at Spencer.
“You don’t need the boots, Melody,” I said.
“Thanks, Ade,” she replied, “but I think I do. I played terribly today.”
“That’s because you think you need them,” I said. “It’s all in your mind.”
“Careful,” said Melody. “You’re beginning to sound like Dexter with all his meditation and stuff.”
“Oh-mmmmmmmmmm,” hummed Dexter, overhearing our conversation.
“Oh no,” said Shed. “Now look what you’ve started.”
“Oh-mmmmmmmmmm,” continued Dexter.
We all covered our ears, expecting him to go on for ages, but for some reason he suddenly stopped.
“Oh dear,” he said. “I think I might have got a bit too relaxed.”
“What do you … Oh my goodness!” I shrieked. “That is the worst thing I’ve ever smelt. How many portions of beans did you have at lunch?”
“Only four,” said Dexter.
“Quick – run!” I shouted. “Before we all pass out.”
We charged away from Dexter, laughing. Even Melody was grinning and I felt pleased that we’d managed to cheer her up.
Unfortunately, that feeling changed very quickly when I almost wheeled straight into my mother.
“Mum!” I shouted, startled. “What are you doing here?”
She didn’t answer my question. She had a question of her own.
“Doyin, what is this about?” she said, handing me a piece of paper.
It was Emily’s poster. There was a picture of all of us cheering Melody’s name by the side of a football pitch, alongside the words, ‘Sponsored Cheerathon: Raising Money for Ade’s Sports Wheelchair’.
The others had taken one look at my Mum’s expression and scarpered, leaving the two of us standing there by the football pitch. I didn’t blame them. I’d have got away too if I could. I didn’t know what to say.
“You know what we said about this, Doyin,” said Mum.
“I know, Mum, but …”
“Hahh, Doyin.” Her Nigerian accent was stronger than ever. “There can only be one reason why you want a sports wheelchair and your father made it very clear that we don’t think you should be wasting your time playing basketball.”
“But I’m good, Mum, really I am – the manager of the team saw me play and he thought so.”
“I’m sure you are, Doyin,” she said, and sighed. “It’s great that you’re raising money, but why don’t you think about giving it to a proper cause, a charity or something? They would be very grateful and at least then it would be going to something important rather than this basketball nonsense.”
“It isn’t nonsense, Mum!”
“I know you don’t think so, Doyin,” said Mum kindly. “But will you at least consider what I’ve said? There are a lot of very deserving charities out there.”
“Okay, Mum,” I said. “Er, does Dad know about all this?”
“No, he does not. I haven’t told him. Yet. But you know what he thinks. This basketball thing, it’s not a good idea, not a good idea at all, Adedoyin.”
10
All in the Same Vote
“SHE didn’t say you couldn’t carry on fundraising, did she?” said Salim. “She just said you ought to think about donating the money?”
We were at the Parsons Road Gang emergency summit meeting that I’d called – I’d heard someone say ‘emergency summit meeting’ on television and thought it sounded good.
“That’s true,” I agreed.
“So I think we should carry on,” Salim said. “When we’ve got enough for your chair, we can think of something that will convince your mum and dad it’s a good idea.”
“Yeah,” said Dexter. “You could show them some of your cool moves, like that 360-degree wheelie spin.”
“Or that trick where you lift up on one wheel and skid round a corner,” Brian said.
I wasn’t convinced that was the sort of thing that would work with Mum and Dad, but I knew I didn’t want to stop fundraising.
“Okay, let’s put it to a vote,” I said.
“Why?” said Melody. “We all agree.”
“Because that’s what people do when they want to decide things,” I said. “And anyway, we don’t know if everyone agrees. What do you think, Shed?”
“Eh?” Shed seemed startled, as if he’d just woken up from a dream.
“Do you think we should keep fundraising?”
“Oh, I can’t right now, I’ve got to be home in fifteen minutes,” he said.
We all laughed.
“Not right now, you silly sausage,” said Brian. “Generally, should we carry on?”
“Oh, yeah. I guess so, yeah,” he said.
“Right, well, now we’re all in agreement,” said Melody.
“I still think we should take a vote,” I insisted.
“How about we take a vote about whether or not we should take a vote?” suggested Brian.
“Why?”
“Well,” Brian said, “because we can’t all agree that we want to take a vote on whether or not we think we should carry on fundraising, even though we do all agree we should carry on fundraising, so if we take a vote on whether or not to take a vote, then we can take a vote on whether or not to carry on fundraising. Or not. I think.”
We all fell about laughing again at that.
“The main thing,” said Salim, when we’d all stopped giggling, “is that the Parsons Road Gang are still on the case, and nothing is going to stop us raising the money for Ade’s chair. Am I right?”
“Yes!” we all said, punching the air.
“Then the vote has been taken,” he said, smiling.
We left in a good mood and, just over a week later, we’d raised even more money thanks to Melody’s older brother and his cousin busking outside the local underground station, a book sale that we’d organised at school and a sponsored car wash.
Fundraising was going so well that Salim started to talk about what basketball chair I should think of getting.
“The Chevron 700 Baller!” he enthused. “It’s by far the best on the market for the money you’re gonna spend. Aluminium frame, 25-inch wheels and rollerblade front casters. You’ll be unstoppable.”
His excitement got me dreaming about the chair as well.
With just one minute to go in the Paralympic final, basketball’s newest star, Ade Adepitan, takes to the court in his gleaming Chevron 700 Baller. With the game between Great Britain and the USA tied at 68–68, can he make the difference and write his name into the history books?
The crowd certainly think so! Just listen to that cheer as the referee restarts the match. Adepitan is immediately involved. He picks up the ball, weaves between two Americans and plays a beautiful pass to his teammate. Now he’s off, charging forward, trying to evade his marker. This is incredible, I’ve never seen anyone manouevre a chair like this; it’s like this player and his chair are one. His marker doesn’t stand a chance, and, in fact … Oh my goodness! The marker has become so disorientated by Adepitan’s movement, his chair has toppled over. Now Adepitan is in the clear and, yes, that’s a great pass back to him. This is it. If he can find the basket with this shot, Great Britain will become Paralympic champions. He’s lining it up and … there it goes. It’s the perfect shot, through the hoop without touching the sides! Great Britain have won and it’s all thanks to the brilliant Ade Adepitan!
At some point in the night that basketball dream must have turned into the zombie one and then into the waking nightmare of Brian pounding on my front door to tell me the news of his terrible discovery: that all the money had been stolen and I had a new nemesis, the Masked Marauder.
I was tempted to call another emergency summit meeting, but we had all gone to the park after getting together at the scene of the crime, so it was pretty much like we were having one anyway.
“It has to be someone on the basketball team,” said Brian. “They’ve seen how good you are and they don’t want you to join in case they lose their place.”
