The chupacabra was free.

  For a moment it just stood there, almost as if it was surprised. The bedsheet had come off its head. It glanced over at them. The hair on Marcus’s neck stood up and his breath caught in his throat. Then, without warning, it leaped through the forest, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

  ‘Lise, did you get it?’ Marcus cried as he rushed over.

  ‘Yep,’ Lise said as she brushed the dirt off her trousers. Stacey, Marcus and Asim all high-fived her, whooping and cheering.

  ‘All right, let’s go find this chupacabra!’ Stacey cried.

  Lise reached into her backpack and pulled out a small tablet, bringing up an app with a cat icon.

  ‘This is an app for cats?’ Asim asked, eyebrow raised.

  ‘I made some changes to the cat tracker we had at home,’ Lise replied. ‘Cats, chupacabras – same difference.’

  Asim chuckled.

  ‘Hey, if it does the job, it does the job,’ Marcus said. ‘It’ll work out, right, Lise?’

  Lise smiled at Marcus before typing a code into the app, bringing up a radar on the screen. ‘It looks like it’s this way.’ Lise pointed back towards their school. They all looked at each other in determination, and then began to walk there.

  The radar led them out of the forest, and back onto the streets.

  People stared at them. Marcus didn’t really understand why until he noticed they were all covered in dirt. Him in particular. And Lise’s hands were stained with something dark and shiny, almost like oil, but Marcus couldn’t work out what it was.

  ‘This way,’ Lise said, pointing the group down an alley. Marcus followed her, looking around. The further they went into it, the more he had an odd feeling. He’d been here before, in this very alleyway. He was sure of it. He used to walk through here with Oyin and Patrick. But why . . . ?

  ‘We’re almost there. It should be right ahead of us,’ Lise said excitedly.

  She stopped in front of a large skip, filled to the brim with rubbish. It was giving off a very unpleasant smell. Next to it was a big barrel full of a black oily liquid, and there were black stains splattered all over the ground.

  ‘I don’t see any sign of that creature here,’ Marcus murmured. He shook his head, but didn’t say any more. He didn’t even want to consider that they might have lost the chupacabra. The adrenaline in his veins had long ago run dry, and he felt sore all over from having been dragged across the forest floor.

  ‘Maybe it’s hiding in the skip?’ Lise suggested. ‘Asim, give me a leg up.’ Lise passed the tablet to Stacey and then Asim hoisted her into the skip.

  Stacey watched, her nose wrinkled. Lise reached out to pick up some of the rubbish and sniffed it gingerly. ‘Ugh!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘You think it’s hiding underneath all that rubbish?’ Marcus shook his head again. ‘I think I’ll leave that to you.’

  There was a rustling and then a great thud from the skip. Marcus glanced up. Lise’s legs were in the air.

  ‘I think I slipped on something really bad,’ she said, her voice muffled.

  An illustration showing Marcus, Stacey and Asim looking at a skip full of rubbish. Lise is in the skip with her legs in the air.

  ‘Rather you than me!’ Stacey said. ‘That’s weird, though. Why is the tracker saying that the chupacabra should be right –’ she pointed forcefully at the ground ‘here?’

  ‘Maybe it’s broken,’ Asim suggested.

  ‘It can’t be. I tested it so many times,’ Lise said, righting herself and eventually jumping off the skip. Everyone around took a step back at the smell. ‘And I’ve already turned the app off and on again. Look.’ Lise walked over to Asim and Stacey. Both recoiled slightly at the smell.

  Marcus walked around, keeping his eyes trained on the floor, tuning out the sound of Lise trying to force the others to look at her tablet and stop calling her smelly. And then he saw it.

  ‘I think I understand,’ Marcus said quietly. When the others didn’t stop squabbling, he said again, louder, ‘I get it! I know why the tracker led us here!’

  The other three fell silent as he reached down and lifted the tracker from the floor.

  ‘Because it’s here.’

  Stacey walked over to him and peered at the tracker. ‘It must’ve fallen off when the chupacabra ran through here,’ she said.

  ‘We’re not going to be able to find it now, are we?’ Lise said. Her head dropped.

  ‘No,’ Asim replied. The word crumbled as it left his lips.

  ‘But we can try again,’ Stacey said fiercely. She looked at each one of them in turn, trying to catch their eyes, as if the confidence she felt would be transferred to them if only they would look at her.

  Marcus didn’t meet her eyes. Neither did Asim. But, after a moment, Lise looked up. ‘We know how to attract it – we just have to do it again, but better this time. We can do that, right?’ No one responded. A grim mood had descended on the detectives.

  Marcus glanced up at the skip once more. Beneath the rubbish, something stood out to him.

  ‘Wait . . . is that what I think it is?’ he exclaimed. He didn’t wait for anyone to respond – he just scrambled up into the skip and began clearing things out the way: a full nappy, a moth-eaten rug, some mouldy takeaway . . .

  And then he could reach it. It was a little flat, but unmistakable. He yanked it into the air. ‘It’s my football – I can’t believe it! My football’s here!’ Marcus yelled. He jumped down from the skip and punched the air. A great welling of emotion washed through him. His last chance and he had finally found it!

  Stacey clambered up onto the skip and looked inside. ‘This can’t be it,’ she murmured after a couple of seconds.

  ‘This can’t be what?’ Marcus replied absent-mindedly. He was already off in his head, imagining Lola playing football with him, showing him how to fix his touch.

  ‘There aren’t enough things here; it’s not the Chupacabra’s nest.’ Stacey got down, shaking her head. ‘It must have just dropped the football here accidentally. No one else’s stuff seems to be here.’

  ‘But what did you lose, Stacey? We can take a look in the skip later.’ Marcus wasn’t even looking at her. He was doing keepy-uppies with his football, his eyes bright with glee.

  ‘I didn’t . . .’ Stacey spoke so quietly that Marcus barely heard her.

  Marcus kicked the ball wrong, and it tumbled to the floor. ‘C’mon, Stacey. Why don’t you tell us what you lost?’ he asked again.

  ‘I didn’t lose anything, OK? I don’t have anything to get back from the chupacabra.’ Stacey’s voice was strained.

  Marcus stared at her. ‘Then why are you here?’ he asked. Asim and Lise were watching the two of them awkwardly.

  Stacey’s face dropped. There was a hurt look in her eyes. ‘You really don’t know?’

  ‘No,’ Marcus replied in a flat voice.

  ‘Then you’re stupid.’ The words burst out of Stacey’s mouth.

  Marcus’s eyebrows bunched up. His ears felt hot. ‘You know what?’ he said. ‘That’s fine. I’ll just take my football and go home. I’m done here anyway; I was only part of this group to get my football back.’

  ‘But the mystery isn’t over. We still need to find the chupacabra and find out what it is and get the rest of everyone’s stuff back,’ Lise said, looking between Marcus and Stacey nervously. ‘We should stick together.’

  ‘Should we?’ Asim murmured. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Marcus said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  ‘Maybe you should leave, then,’ Stacey snapped back.

  Without responding, Marcus picked up his football, spun round and walked away from Stacey, Lise and Asim.

  An illustration showing a suitcase.

  Marcus kicked the football. The first touches he made were small, little taps that sent the ball this way and that. Then he was hitting it a little harder. The football thundered off the wall and spun back at him, too fast for him to handle. It cannoned off his toe and disappeared behind him. Marcus groaned.

  He slouched off to collect the ball from where it had settled, underneath a car.

  He was in a space on his estate just to the left of the recycling bins, a space that had always been his. He’d always used it to practise, but now things weren’t going as well as they usually did.

  He was sure that this had once been easier.

  Maybe it was just that the football wasn’t properly pumped? But he’d pumped it up a few times now, so surely that couldn’t be the problem.

  An illustration showing Marcus practising kicking a football.

  Or was it all those thoughts buzzing around his head? When he closed his eyes, that morning’s argument with the Breakfast Club Investigators just kept replaying itself, over and over again. That look in Stacey’s eye. The slow, fracturing smile on Lise’s face. He’d hurt them, and he didn’t like that.

  Marcus shook the thoughts away. There wasn’t anything he could do about it now, right?

  All he could do was wait for Lola to arrive. She’d get him back on track, and that was all he needed, because that’s how things had always been.

  Marcus picked up the football and walked back up the stairs. He opened the door to his flat and immediately heard the sound of voices. He could make out his mum’s voice, and another one that was familiar but unfamiliar at the same time. Marcus followed the sound through to the kitchen.

  ‘Hey, Marcus.’ Lola sat at the table next to a suitcase. ‘Wow, you’ve grown.’ She gave a toothy grin. She was still taller than him, but not by much any more. Her braids were tied up into a ponytail, and she looked lean and strong. It’d only been six months, but it felt like so much longer.

  An illustration showing Marcus’s cousin Lola sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea.

  ‘Of course he has – I’ve been feeding him,’ Marcus’s mum said proudly.

  Marcus stared at his cousin in shock. ‘Lola! What—? Mum, what’s she doing here?’ He could hardly get any words out.

  ‘Surprise!’ Lola stood up to give him a tight hug. ‘I got here a few hours early.’ Her voice had a slight American twang to it now. Marcus raised his eyebrow – that was different.

  ‘Well, I need to get some things from the shops.’ Marcus’s mum squeezed past them on her way to the front door. ‘I’ll leave you two to catch up.’

  ‘You good?’ Lola said as the door closed. She walked over to the living room and collapsed down into the couch. ‘What’ve you been up to? How’s the first half of year seven been? I can’t believe I haven’t been here for any of it! Made any new friends?’

  Marcus followed her, taking the opportunity to look at her from different angles. He couldn’t believe she was really here.

  ‘No,’ Marcus said. ‘Well, maybe – I mean . . .’ He trailed off.

  ‘I think I know how that feels.’ Lola gave him a tight smile. ‘The football team at my college is pretty good, but it’s super competitive, especially with that scholarship, so it was hard for me to make friends at first.’ She paused. ‘But things are much better now.’ She grinned broadly. ‘So, do you want to tell me about your new frien—?’

  ‘I have the football.’ The words spilled out of Marcus’s mouth as he cut her off.

  ‘The football?’ Lola asked, looking confused.

  ‘The one you gave me when you left,’ Marcus said. The tips of his ears were starting to feel hot.

  ‘Ah, that football! You still have it? I thought you would have moved on to another one by now – it’s a bit old,’ Lola said absent-mindedly.

  ‘No, it’s not. It’s great,’ Marcus insisted. His ears felt as if they were on fire now. He had to take a deep breath before he spoke again. ‘Do you wanna go outside and play a little?’

  ‘Maybe not right now – I’m still a little tired from the flight – but we definitely will soon,’ Lola responded, smiling through a dramatic yawn.

  Marcus forced a smile onto his face. ‘Sure,’ he said.

  Once Marcus’s mum got back from the shops, the three of them had dinner at their small table. It felt just like the old days, but at the same time it felt different.

  ‘This is so good!’ Lola said, helping herself to more potatoes. ‘Thank you so much, Aunty. I’ve been missing your home cooking.’

  The smile on Marcus’s mum’s face widened. ‘Oh, well, after a long trip we have to make sure you’re eating well.’ She sounded pleased.

  ‘No, seriously, this is the best thing I’ve eaten in months. It’s amazing, isn’t it, Marcus?’ Lola said. But Marcus wasn’t listening. He couldn’t get the feeling that something was different and wrong out of his head. His fork absent-mindedly circled the edge of his plate as he tried to think of what it was. ‘Isn’t it, Marcus?’ Lola said a little more loudly this time.

  Marcus’s head shot up. ‘Huh? Oh, yeah, great,’ he muttered.

  Marcus didn’t hear the rest of his mum’s and Lola’s conversation. He’d retreated back inside himself, sitting with the slowly building feeling that something was wrong. But he just couldn’t put his finger on what.

  Marcus went to sleep frustrated a couple of hours later. He’d been waiting for Lola to come back for so long, but it hadn’t been anything like he’d expected. She didn’t want to have a kick around with him, and she didn’t even remember the football. What was going on?

  An illustration showing a football.

  Marcus woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of his front door closing. He crept out of bed and stood in the corridor in his pyjamas, glancing left and right. The lights inside were off, but soft light from the street lamps outside lit the flat in a gentle glow. Marcus could just about see down the corridor, but no one was there.

  An illustration showing Marcus peeking outside his front door at night-time.

  He crept into the living room and saw that the sofa bed that Lola normally slept on was empty. That was weird. He could hear his mum snoring in her bedroom. Marcus walked over to the front door and opened it. A soft, echoey, rhythmic thump came every couple of seconds. What was that? A gust of wind breezed by, and Marcus began to shiver. The conversations he’d had with Stacey about vampires popped into his head. What if they were real? What if they’d taken Lola? What if they were the source of that weird sound?

  Marcus grabbed his coat and his trainers and went outside. He followed the sound down the stairs. The closer he got, the more he began to recognize the thumping sound.

  It was a football hitting a wall.

  He found Lola kicking a ball against the wall over and over again. Marcus couldn’t help but admire her technique. Each touch of the ball was perfect. She made it look easy. This was exactly what Marcus needed!

  ‘Sorry if I woke you,’ Lola said to Marcus, without even having to turn her head to see him. ‘Maybe it’s jet lag or something, but I just couldn’t get to sleep. Wanna join in?’ The ball bounced off the wall and settled underneath her foot, and she expertly flicked her foot forward. The ball slowly rolled over to Marcus and stopped at his feet. He hadn’t seen this one before. He looked down at it, but didn’t make any move to kick it back to her.

  ‘Why aren’t you using our football?’ Marcus swallowed hard and clenched his fists. ‘The football you gave me?’

  Lola raised her eyebrows. ‘What’s so important about it?’ she asked in a soft voice.

  What’s so important about it? You really don’t know? Marcus wanted to ask. But he didn’t. He remembered that Stacey had said that to him earlier. Now he understood how much a question can hurt.

  ‘I thought you were going to teach me everything, all your moves, but you just left.’ Almost before he knew what he was saying, the words flooded out of his mouth. ‘I’ve been waiting for you, you know. I lost my touch. I’ve even stopped playing football, because I wanted you to help me. I’ve been waiting for you to teach me.’ Marcus kicked Lola’s ball, sending it spinning off into the night. ‘And you don’t even remember the football – you told me to take care of it so we could play when you were back.’

  ‘Wait – you’ve stopped playing football?’ Lola asked in a quiet voice.

  ‘Only for a little bit,’ Marcus muttered, looking at the ground.

  ‘What were you thinking?’ Lola said. ‘You love football, don’t you?’

  Marcus looked at Lola. ‘I wanted to be good, and I needed someone to teach me. I needed you.’

  Lola walked over to Marcus and sat cross-legged on the ground in front of him. Marcus sat opposite her, resting his back against the wall.

  ‘I’m not the only person who can teach you how to be good at football. I mean, I’m barely good myself,’ Lola said.

  ‘But—’ Marcus started. Lola didn’t let him finish.

  ‘Do you know how many good footballers there are around here who play in the Cage every day?’ Lola said. ‘Who do you think taught me how to play football?’

  Marcus shrugged.

  ‘It was my friends and family. We have a whole community here – you have to lean on that, be a part of that.’ Lola gestured around the estate.

  ‘But that’s not how it used to be. It used to just be me and you,’ Marcus said.

  Lola smiled. ‘It used to be, and it still will be sometimes, just not all the time. When I gave you that ball and asked you to look after it, I was just trying to tell you that, even though things were changing, you’d be able to keep playing, and we’d still always be able to have a kick around when I was home. And that I’d always be there for you. It wasn’t about that ball, Marcus.’ She paused. ‘I know how you feel, you know. I live in America now where everyone talks in funny accents, and I can’t see you, your mum or any of my friends—’

  ‘That sounds awful,’ Marcus interrupted, but Lola went on.

  ‘But there’s good in that too. I got a scholarship, so I don’t have to pay for uni. I’ve met a whole bunch of new friends, and I get to see a country that I’ve never been to before.’ Lola sighed then locked eyes with Marcus. ‘We can’t get back the things we lose, not really. But we can build new things. That’s how we grow. At least that’s how I think it happens. Things change. We want them to change. We need them to change.’

 

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