never know. But don’t worry; I’ll stay close to you. I know how to handle crocs.”
I’ve never liked Berty.
My other concern was not to be stuck in a canoe with James. James was my best friend, but he wasn’t the strongest or fittest guy around and it sounded like rowing could be tough.
“Alex, can I go in a canoe with you?” Carla fluttered her eyelids at me, nearly knocking my socks off. I felt the blood rise to the back of my neck and mumbled something stupid. Everybody laughed.
This may be it, I thought. The prettiest girl in the class finally noticed me! Evenings under the stars . . . I remembered the brilliant night skies of far-away Tromelin Island. Would the stars be just as clear over the Orange River?
“The area around the Orange River is one of the most important agricultural regions in South Africa,” Mr Harlech-Jones, our geography teacher, explained. “While you are there we will take you on a tour of the vineyards of one of the largest farms. It has all been arranged. And then, of course, I shall expect you to write an essay on the Gariep region when you get back – so pay attention.”
Why do teachers always have to spoil our fun?
Mom was acting as if I’d never had to survive without comforts like piped water or her cooking. But William and I had got by without those luxuries when we were fugitives in Europe, and with even less when we spent a couple of days in the International Space Station.
But of course she knew nothing of that.
“The nights can be chilly, Alex,” she warned and packed the red beanie and woollen scarf that I had worn on our trip to New York.
I sighed, and quietly took them out again when she wasn’t looking.
William was snoring in his basket in the corner of my room. He pretended to use the basket when Mom was in my room; otherwise he slept on my bed, stretched out with his head on a pillow. We could use a little more space, I thought. A tree house would be great.
At last everything was ready and my backpack was packed. The school bus was leaving the next day at eight o’clock sharp.
William Makes His Own Plans
“Alex, did you see the car keys?”
It was seven thirty. I was dressed in my soccer shirt and track pants, my backpack slung over my shoulder: ready to go.
“Aren’t they in your handbag, Mom?”
She fretted. “I’ve checked it twice already. I’m sure I left the keys on the table in the hallway like I always do.”
William was stretched out on the carpet, snoring away and oblivious to our problem. Mr Harlech-Jones had warned us that the bus would not wait for anybody. I couldn’t be late!
I started searching, too. Perhaps Mom had dropped the keys when she’d brought the groceries in the previous afternoon. But there were no keys in the car or anywhere on the garage floor. I heard my mom’s heels clicking nervously in the hallway. There was no time to lose.
William got up, yawned and stretched himself lazily. There were the keys, lying on the carpet on the spot where he’d dozed.
“Mom,” I yelled, “I found the keys!”
I prodded William aside and scooped up the keys, scowling. I knew he’d hidden the keys on purpose. Maybe he was only acting up because I was leaving him behind. I suddenly felt guilty and gave him a quick pat. “Be good, boy. I’ll be back soon.”
But he ignored me, yawned and started turning circles on the carpet like he usually does before settling in for a nap.
Mom stormed past me, grabbing the keys. “Hurry, Alex!”
It felt as if all the traffic lights were against us on our way to school. When we finally arrived, there were so many cars parked all the way up the street that we couldn’t find a parking spot close to the bus.
“Just drop me here, Mom,” I pointed to a loading zone. “If I run, I may just make it.”
She stopped the car. I smacked a lopsided kiss on her cheek, grabbed my stuff and hurried towards the bus. A few clingy parents were still lurking on the sidewalk, and one of the teachers was shuffling the last pieces of luggage into the hold.
I thought that no one would notice my late arrival, when . . .
“Psstt! Alex!”
A car had drawn up to the curb and its passenger door opened. There was my dog William, sitting on the seat.
I froze in my tracks.
“William, what are you doing here? How did you get here so quickly? And who is . . .” I gestured towards the driver of the car, a man in a dark suit and sunglasses, who was staring straight ahead.
“Get in!” William said.
“Are you crazy? This is no time for one of your silly games!”
“Hurry up, before someone sees you.”
“William, I am going to the Orange River with my classmates. Deal with it. I’ll be back in less than a week. Just wait for me – you’ll be fine. We’ll build that tree house when I’m back, I promise.”
“Tree house, my tail! And forget about the Orange River. We are off to catch some diamond smugglers.”
Diamond smugglers? I hesitated just for a second too long, and the bus pulled off.
I dropped my backpack on the curb. They’d left me behind – all was lost!
“Take cover!” William urged, and instinctively I dived down. I peeped through the window of the car and saw my mom drive past. She waved at the departing bus through her open window, clearly convinced that I was safely on board.
“Why didn’t they wait for me?” I moaned. “They should’ve known I was on my way!”
“No, you’ve sprained your ankle too badly to go on this trip. When you fell out of the tree, remember? That sort of thing often happens when you try to build a tree house.”
“I what? William, did you tell the teachers that?”
“Yes. I sent a note. In your mom’s name, with a doctor’s certificate and all. You are officially excused from the trip.”
I stamped my feet in anger. “William how could you? I wanted to go, and . . .” I thought about Carla’s blue eyes and campfires beneath the stars on the sandy banks of the river.
“Get in the car, Alex, and stop complaining. We’re going to have much more fun than them. You wouldn’t want to be mucking about on a muddy river when you could go on a great adventure in the Namib Desert, would you?”
“The Namib?” I asked, still glaring at him. “That’s the great desert in Namibia you’re
