Heatwave Oliver Davies (story reading .txt) đ
- Author: Oliver Davies
Book online «Heatwave Oliver Davies (story reading .txt) đ». Author Oliver Davies
âWhere is he, then?â
âYeah, Iâm boiling out here.â
Jules ignored the pair of them, taking his cigarette back and sucking deep. The smoke left his fingernails yellow and got caught in his clothes, but the heady relief of the nicotine made it worth the cost.
âThere- Thatâs him,â Jules said, straightening up. His friends stirred, craning their heads to pick out the kid, who couldnât have been taller than five foot and was sporting a ragged haircut that looked like itâd been done by his mum while she was drunk.
âJesus, Jay, you canât be serious.â
âShut up.â
Jules wouldnât usually pay any attention to a kid like that, nerdy and pale unless he was pushing him around for his snack money, but this particular one had changed his mind. Plus, the kind of kid who had been bullied since primary school always turned loyal as a bulldog to a guy like Jules if he took them under his wing. He had every belief that this would turn out to be a sweet deal.
The lad was wearing a black rucksack that resembled a leech that had sucked itself fat and swollen, his shoulder all hunched up. Jules makes a mental note to himself about what the kid would have to change if he wanted to get in with Julesâ group, and that dorky haircut would be the first to go.
When the boy got near the school gates, Jules stepped out, heading straight for him. One of the school teachers had been lingering by the school bus, keeping an eye on Julesâ lot in a way she probably thought was subtle. She straightened up as Jules made his move, clearly debating whether to intervene or to fetch help. Jules ignored her.
âHey, kid, hold up.â
If he was expecting wariness or fear from the skinny nipper, which he was if he was honest with himself, Jules was disappointed. The kid was cool and seemingly unbothered as Jules and his three bulky mates blocked his way, even though the boy had to tilt his head up to look at them.
âWhoâre you?â His voice hasnât broken yet, and he sounded like a choirboy. The hard look on his pale face wasnât angelic, though, and his dark hair hung limp and greasy.
Julesâs mate mocked the kidâs squeaky voice, and Jules watched the lad, taken aback when the kid didnât so much as blink. No anger or embarrassment was visible, and there was certainly no fear. He just looked at them. Julesâs habitual scowl deepened, hiding an uneasiness he wasnât used to feeling.
âDoesnât matter who we are, squirt,â Jules said roughly. âYouâre Ali Pumphrey, am I right? Weâve heard about you, Ali.â
The kid, Ali, stared back at him evenly, his chin tilted up fearlessly. He didnât fidget on his feet, and his dark eyes were weirdly unnerving, considering he was nothing more than a rat-faced little kid.
âSo?â he said finally.
He took a purposeful step to the side and made to go around them, but Jules blocked him immediately. In his peripheral, he saw that the school teacher had joined forces with a frumpy dinner lady, but Jules didnât pay them any mind. If they thought that some stern glares, hands on hips, and scolding would make him leave before heâd got what he wanted, they were going to get the shock of their lives.
âSo,â Jules said, drawing the word out. âWeâve got a use for you.â
âYeah? What do I get?â Ali said.
âWhat do you get?â Julesâ best mate grunted, a guy who topped Julesâs height and was as wide as this kid was tall. âYou get to stay outta hospital, yâlittle-â
Jules put a hand out when his friend pushed forwards. It was an act, of course. Beating up a scrawny kid like Ali would look weak, like Jules was scared of dealing with anyone his own size. And heâd rather cut off his own hand than look weak. A little push, though, was different, and Jules took a step forward and gave the insolent squirt a firm shove in his bony chest, sending him sprawling back on the hot tarmac.
The teacher was hurrying over now, ready to pounce, so Jules made a show of leaning down to grab Aliâs skinny arm and heaving the kid back to his feet, patting him on the shoulder and brushing imaginary dust off him.
âAre these young men bothering you, Alistair?â the teacher demanded, slightly out of breath from her scurrying over to them. The dinner lady turned up behind her, giving Jules a narrow-eyed look that meant sheâd seen Jules around or knew of him.
Jules gave them both a bright smile, flicking his blond hair out of his face. Sure, he wasnât a cute fourteen-year-old anymore, but having blue eyes and blond curls could charm even the most irritable adults.
âBothering him?â he said warmly, straightening out Aliâs second-hand blazer and stepping back. âWeâre friends, arenât we, Ali?â
âOf course,â Ali said immediately, his thin voice flat and certain. Jules had expected some hesitation or uneasiness, but the kid was either a born actor or genuinely unafraid. âExcuse me, Mrs Peters.â
He moved around Jules and walked away purposefully. Jules watched him go, surprised, before turning to give the frowning teacher an innocent smile and helpless shrug as if to say, âKids, right?â
He didnât wait for her to protest before he headed off after the kid, his mates following after him. He had no intention of letting Ali run off before theyâd gotten him to join the gang, by persuasion or otherwise. Jules got what he wanted. He always did.
âYou were smooth there,
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