Boys Don't Cry
Authors: Malorie Blackman
DOUBLEDAY
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Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781407078366
BOYS DON’T CRY
A DOUBLEDAY BOOK 978 0 385 60479 6
TRADE PAPERBACK 978 0 385 61930 1
Published in Great Britain by Doubleday, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books A Random House Group Company
This edition published 2010
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Copyright © Oneta Malorie Blackman, 2010
The right of Malorie Blackman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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For Neil and Lizzy,
with love – as always
By Malorie Blackman and
published by Doubleday/Corgi Books:
The Noughts & Crosses sequence
Noughts & Crosses
Knife Edge
Checkmate
Double Cross
A.N.T.I.D.O.T.E.
Dangerous Reality
Dead Gorgeous
Hacker
Pig-Heart Boy
The Deadly Dare Mysteries
The Stuff of Nightmares
Thief!
Unheard Voices
(An anthology of short stories and poems,
collected by Malorie Blackman)
For junior readers, published by Corgi Yearling Books:
Cloud Busting
Operation Gadgetman!
Whizziwig and Whizziwig Returns
For beginner readers, published
by Corgi Pups/ Young Corgi Books:
Jack Sweettooth
Snow Dog
Space Race
The Monster Crisp-Guzzler
Audio editions available on CDs
Noughts & Crosses
Knife Edge
Checkmate
Double Cross
Praise for Malorie Blackman:
Noughts & Crosses
‘A book which will linger in the mind long after it has been read and which will challenge children to think again and again about the clichés and stereotypes with which they are presented’
Observer
Knife Edge
‘A powerful story of race and prejudice’
Sunday Times
Checkmate
‘Another emotional hard-hitter . . . bluntly told and ingeniously constructed’
Sunday Times
Double Cross
‘Blackman “gets” people . . . she “gets” humanity as a whole, too. Most of all, she writes a stonking good story’
Guardian
Pig-Heart Boy
‘A powerful story about friendship, loyalty and family’
Guardian
Hacker
‘Refreshingly new . . . Malorie Blackman writes with such winsome vitality’
Telegraph
A.N.T.I.D.O.T.E
.
‘Strong characterisation and pacy dialogue make this a real winner’
Independent
Thief!
‘. . . impossible to put down’
Sunday Telegraph
Dangerous Reality
‘A whodunnit, a cyber-thriller and a family drama: readers of nine or over won’t be able to resist the suspense’
Sunday Times
Unheard Voices
‘This excellent collection of stories, poems and first-hand accounts is published to commemorate the 200th anniversary of the abolition of the Slave Trade Act’
Carousel
Dante
Good luck today. Hope you get what you want and need
.
Phone in hand, I smiled at the text my girl Collette had sent me. My smile didn’t last long though. I was too wound up. Thursday. A level results day! I must admit, I didn’t expect to be quite so nervous. I knew for certain I’d done well. What I mean is, I
almost
knew for certain. But it was the
almost
that was the killer. Between having my exam papers collected and having them marked, there was a world of possibilities. The person doing the marking might’ve pranged their car or had a fight with their partner – anything might’ve happened to put the test marker in a really bad mood which they would then take out on my exam papers. Hell! A cosmic ray could’ve hit my exam papers and changed all the answers – and not for the better – for all I knew.
‘Don’t be a plank – you’ve passed,’ I told myself.
It was simple. I had to pass. There was no other choice.
Four good A level grades, that was what I needed. Then it was off to university. Up, up and out of here. And a year earlier than all my friends.
You’ve passed
. . .
Positive thinking. I tried to dredge up confidence from somewhere deep inside. Then I felt like even more of a plank and stopped trying. But it was like Dad constantly said: ‘
Temptation leans on the doorbell, but opportunity knocks only once
.’ And I knew only too well that my A levels were my best opportunity to not just hit the ground running but to take off and
fly
. Dad was full of fortune cookie quotes like that. His ‘life lessons’ as he called them were all tedious homilies that my brother Adam and I had heard at least a thousand times before. But every time we tried to tell that to Dad, he replied, ‘I wasted all the chances that life threw my way. I’m damned if I’m going to let my sons do the same.’ In other words,
Tough!
Dante, stop worrying. You’ve passed
. . .
University was just a means to an end. I mean, yes, I was looking forward to college; meeting new people, learning new things, being somewhere different and being totally independent. But I was looking way beyond that. Once I had a decent job, things would be different – or at least they would when I’d paid off my student loan. But the point was, my family wouldn’t have to scratch for every penny. I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d had a holiday abroad.
Three impatient strides took me to the sitting-room window. Pushing aside the grimy-grey doily-effect net curtains, I stared up and down the road. The August morning was already bright and sunny. Maybe that was a good omen – if anyone believed in such things. Out loud, I didn’t.
Where the hell was the postman?
Didn’t he know he held my whole future in his satchel? Funny how one sheet of paper was going to change the rest of my life.
I need to pass my exams . . . I really need to pass
. . .
The words played through my mind like a recurring phrase from a really irritating song. I’d never, ever wanted anything so badly in my life. Maybe because my A level exam results
were
my life. My whole future rested on a slip of paper and a few letters at the beginning of the alphabet – the closer to the top of the alphabet the better.
I let the net curtain fall back into place, wiping my dusty hands on my jeans. What was it about the dust on grubby net curtains that made them seem almost sticky? I eyed the curtains critically. When was the last time they’d seen detergent and water? When was the first time, come to that? They’d been hanging there since I’d helped Mum put them up. When was that? About nine years ago, or thereabouts? Whenever it was my turn to vacuum, I’d suck the curtains down the vacuum cleaner hose, hoping to get rid of some of the dust that way. But the nets had become too fragile to withstand that sort of treatment any more. Dad kept promising to take them down and wash them or to buy some new ones, but somehow he never got round to either. Looking around the room, I wondered what I could do to pass the time? Something to occupy my mind . . . something to take my thoughts off—