Things the Eye Can't See. Penny Joelson

kind of help?’

      ‘It’s bad, Libby.’ Kyle’s voice is low and serious. ‘He thinks someone’s going to kill him.’

      I’m so shocked, I open my mouth, but can’t speak. I feel like I’ve swallowed a stone. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

      Finally, I manage one word. ‘What?’

      ‘I know,’ says Kyle. ‘My feelings exactly.’

      ‘So what does he want you to do?’

      ‘He wants me to meet him tomorrow. He’s told me where. I don’t know what to do. I mean, what if I don’t go, and then it happens – he gets killed? I’ll have to go, won’t I? I mean – what do you think?’

      ‘Maybe you should go to the police?’ I suggest.

      ‘The note says clearly, “no police”,’ says Kyle. ‘I guess it could put him in even more danger if whoever’s after him gets wind that he put the police on to them. If he’s asking me to help, he must think there’s something I can do.’

      ‘I guess,’ I say.

      ‘The note says I’m not to tell anyone,’ says Kyle. ‘But he must trust you, as he gave you the note. He must’ve known you’d want to know what was in it.’

      I’m not sure that’s true, but I don’t say anything.

      ‘I think I’ll go,’ Kyle continues, ‘but listen. I want you to memorise the address before I tear it up, so that someone knows where I am. Just in case something happens.’

      ‘What do you think’s going on?’ I ask him.

      ‘I’ve no idea. I’m not sure I even want to know,’ says Kyle.

      I wonder if this is true. Why has Charlie asked Kyle? Why does he think Kyle can help?

      ‘Maybe I should come with you?’ I suggest.

      ‘That’s nice of you, but he asked me,’ says Kyle. ‘And don’t get me wrong, but you and Samson . . . you’re a bit conspicuous. No – I’ll go alone.’

      ‘I’ll give you my number,’ I suggest. ‘Then you can call me and let me know what happens.’

      ‘OK,’ he says. ‘Thanks for letting me talk to you about it. See you tomorrow.’

      ‘Were you talking to Kyle?’ Madz asks, as I approach the cloakroom.

      One problem with not being able to see much is that I never know who’s watching me.

      ‘Were you spying on me?’ I tease.

      ‘Just came to see where you’d got to,’ she says. ‘Why? Is something going on with you two?’

      ‘Of course not! We were talking about our art projects.’

      ‘And you had to go off by yourselves to do that?’ she asks, clearly not believing me.

      ‘So we could hear each other and so I didn’t get knocked about by everyone getting their stuff,’ I say gruffly.

      ‘I think he likes you,’ she tells me. ‘I saw the way he was looking at you.’

      ‘How?’ I ask.

      ‘All intense, like,’ says Madz.

      ‘Really? Well he’s going to be disappointed then.’

      ‘You don’t like him?’

      ‘It’s not that,’ I tell her.

      Madz is so lovestruck that she has a one-track mind, while I know any intense look was because Kyle’s worried about Charlie’s note. But I can’t explain that to Madz.

      ‘He’s good-looking,’ she comments, ‘but he’s a bit brooding. You never quite know what’s going on in his head.’

      ‘You never know what’s going on in anyone’s head,’ I point out. ‘Someone can act like they’re really happy when they’re a mess inside.’

      ‘True,’ says Madz.

      ‘Kyle’s got a nice voice,’ I comment.

      ‘So you do like him!’ she exclaims.

      ‘Can we talk about something else?’ I beg, laughing.

6

      At the time Kyle should be meeting Charlie, I’m trying to concentrate on my maths homework, but failing. It’s frustrating – maths is one of my best subjects. I keep stopping and checking my phone for messages, though I know it will beep if one comes. I barely know Kyle and I’ve not thought about Charlie in the last six months, yet I feel anxious. I pause and lean down to stroke Samson, who’s lying by my feet next to the desk.

      Finally, I get so fed up with waiting that I text Kyle using Voiceover, which translates my voice into text and reads texts out to me. ‘Did you meet?’

      There’s no reply.

      It’s not until I’m getting ready for bed that a message comes through.

      ‘He wasn’t there.’

      My phone speaks the words of Kyle’s message aloud. I had been imagining all sorts of things: Charlie running for his life, someone after him, wanting Kyle to hide him somewhere or wanting money to pay someone off. Somehow I never thought that he might not show at all.

      ‘No way!’ I reply.

      ‘I waited for two hours – just in case.’

      ‘Two hours!’

      ‘Can we meet? I’m not sure what to do.’

      I feel immediately pleased, and then knock myself for feeling it. Surely it would be better if Kyle had met Charlie, sorted out whatever it was, and it was over? I don’t want to get involved – or do I? I can’t help feeling worried about Charlie, and I feel sorry for Kyle. He didn’t ask to be involved either. But maybe we can help Charlie together.

      ‘OK,’ I text back. Am I actually arranging to meet a boy? This feels weird.

      ‘Tomorrow morning? Where’s good for you?’

      I’m glad he’s asking, as it needs to be somewhere I know. ‘How about the park? By the Roman Street gate?’ I suggest. Samson loves it there so at least he’ll get a walk too.

      ‘Great. Around 11am?’

      ‘Fine.’

      *

      Saturday breakfast is one of the few times we’re all together as a family. We all like a lie-in on a Saturday so it is more of a brunch really, at about ten.

      Today we’re having pancakes. I’ve made the batter with Dad’s guidance – he’s the pancake expert – and Joe is responsible for tossing them.

      ‘Is something up, Libby?’ Mum asks.

      Considering she’s not around as much as Dad, Mum can be very perceptive. Sometimes I wish she wasn’t.

      ‘Just a crazy week,’ I tell her. ‘Madz has been busy so I’m doing more without her. I’m getting around the school more on my own.’

      ‘You’re doing so well,’ says Mum.

      ‘She certainly is,’ Dad agrees.

      ‘Keep challenging yourself,’ says Mum. ‘You and Samson will be charging all over town on your own before you know it.’

      ‘Steady on,’ says Dad. ‘There’s no need to rush things. In your own time, Libby.’

      Mum doesn’t answer, but I can tell she’s irritated.

      ‘I’m