Free Skellig by David Almond

said. “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry.”
    Coot kicked the ball back and forth against the boards.
    “Don’t do that,” I said. “You’ll knock it down.”
    He sniggered.
    “Oh, aye?”
    He went on doing it.
    “Don’t do it,” I said.
    I got up and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.
    “Stop doing it,” I said.
    He sniggered again.
    “Doing what, Michael?” he said in a high girlish voice.
    I shoved him back against the garage. I thumped my hand against the boards beside his head.
    He winked at Leakey.
    “See what I mean?” he said.
    I thumped the boards beside his head again. There was a loud crack and the whole garage trembled. Coot jumped away. We stared at the boards.
    “Bloody hell,” said Leakey.
    There was another crack and another shudder and then silence.
    I opened the gate into the yard and we tiptoedinside. We stared through the door into the gloomy garage. Dust was falling thicker than ever through the light.
    There was another crack.
    “Bloody hell,” said Coot.
    “I’d better get my dad,” I said.

VERY GENTLY, USING A LITTLE HAMMER and long thin nails, he nailed some boards across the door. The garage trembled as he worked. He told us to keep back. We stood in the backyard staring, shaking our heads. He got some black gloss paint and wrote DANGER across the boards. He brought some Coke for us and some beer for himself and we all sat against the house wall and stared at the garage.
    “Better get it made safe, eh?” said Dad.
    “My uncle’s a builder,” said Coot. “Always doing garages and extensions and things.”
    “Aye?” said Dad.
    “He’d tell you knock the whole thing down and start again.”
    “Aye?”
    “Aye. Some folk fight to keep things that should’ve been smashed years back.”
    I looked at the garage and imagined it gone, saw the big emptiness that would take its place.
    “Aye,” said Coot again. “He says the best jobs start with a massive sledgehammer and a massive Dumpster.”
    He swigged his Coke. The blackbird flew onto the edge of the garage roof and perched there. I knew it would be watching the yard, looking for beetles and fat worms for its babies.
    “He wants us gone,” I said.
    Coot cocked his finger and thumb like a gun. He eyed the bird like he was aiming.
    “Gotcha,” he said, and his hand recoiled like he’d fired.
    Dad told Leakey and Coot it was good to see them again.
    “Michael’s been moping,” he said. “A good session with his pals’ll be just what the doctor ordered.”
    “Not against the garage, though,” said Leakey.
    “Not against the blinking garage, no.”
    We took the ball and went through the house into the front street again. Mina wasn’t there. I played better now, but I couldn’t help turning to the empty tree. I imagined her alone with Skellig in the dark house.
    I caught them laughing at me.
    “Missing her already?” said Coot.
    I raised my eyes and tried to grin. I went to sit on our front garden wall.
    “Who is she, anyway?” said Leakey.
    I shrugged.
    “She’s called Mina.”
    “What school’s she at?”
    “She doesn’t go to school.”
    They looked at me.
    “How’s that?” said Leakey.
    “Plays hooky?” said Coot.
    “Her mother teaches her,” I said.
    They looked again.
    “Bloody hell,” said Leakey. “I thought you had to go to school.”
    “Imagine it,” said Coot.
    They imagined it for a while.
    “Lucky dog,” said Leakey.
    “What’ll she do for pals, though?” said Coot. “And who’d like to be stuck at home all day?”
    “They think schools stop you from learning,” I said. “They think schools try to make everybody just the same.”
    “That’s bull,” said Coot.
    “Aye,” said Leakey. “You’re learning all day long in school.”
    I shrugged.
    “Maybe.”
    “Is that why you’ve not been coming in?” said Leakey. “Is it ’cause you’re never coming back again? You’re going to let that girl’s mother teach you?”
    “Course not,” I said. “But