Flip Read Online Free PDF Page A

that. If they thought Flip was acting weird, so what? Being six months behind in the curriculum didn’t help, but he managed to blag his way through; in any case, it seemed no one had high academic expectations of Philip Garamond for Alex Gray to live up to. As it happened, Alex was bright, but they would never get to discover that.
    English was with Ms. Sprake. There was homework to hand in—an essay, which he’d found tucked inside an exercise book in Flip’s bag. So that was okay. Not very well written, if the first paragraph was anything to go by, but that didn’t matter. Hand it in. Tick the box. Another lesson survived. Another hour nearer to the end of the day. If nothing else, the schoolwork was a refuge, a foothold on the scary, insurmountable cliff face of what had happened to him. The more he did , the less time he had to think .
    In art, period four, Flip’s cigarette-smoking mate reappeared, parking himself right next to Alex. While the teacher was setting up the interactive whiteboard, the boy leaned in close, whispering, reeking of stale tobacco and fresh sweat, raking his fingers through his just-woke-up brown hair.
    Why hadn’t Flip been at basketball practice that lunchtime? Eh? And why was he being such an idiot?
    “Oh, and, by the way, Donna is well mad at you, man.”
    Jack, he was called. There was his name, in blocky green felt-tip on the cover of his art folder. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, past each elbow, folded tight into his biceps. There was a hyperactivity thing going on: the rocking back and forth on the stool, the thudding of a knee against the underside of the table. He reminded Alex of a lad at Crokeham Hill who popped his thumb into and out of its socket to impress girls and who’d ask questions like Would you rather slam your dick in a door or run across the M25? Looking at Jack, his gurning, dumber than Dumb & Dumber expression, Alex realized that this could well be Flip’s, and therefore his , best friend.
    By the end of the day, Alex was faint with hunger. But Ms. Sprake wasn’t about to let him go without an explanation for his “little trip” to the station that morning. He gave a shrug. Apologized. Said it wouldn’t happen again. That sort of thing.
    “Are you okay, Philip?”
    She’d perched herself on the edge of her desk, fussing again with her reading glasses. Her clothes were creased and her dark blond hair had worked loose here and there. She looked like she was tired but making an effort not to be.
    “I’m fine, miss. I’m just … you know.” Another shrug.
    “This term’s been a struggle, I realize that, but after our chat …” She exhaled. Alex hoped he wouldn’t be expected to remember anything she and Flip had discussed in their chat, whenever that had been. “Look, skiving off isn’t going to help. Is it?”
    “No, miss.”
    “And the work won’t get any easier in Year Ten, I can promise you that.”
    Alex steadied himself against the back of a chair. Quite apart from breakfast and lunch, Flip would’ve scoffed two or three Snickers by now. A struggle . How had Flip done in his Year Nine assessments? Alex had missed his altogether, he realized, along with choosing the next year’s GCSE options. Not to mention Christmas, Easter. The half-term holiday in Cornwall. The borough chess finals. He closed his eyes, woozy all of a sudden. In that instant, the nightmare of the previous night recurred, flashing through his mind. Then, snap , the image vanished as quickly as it had come.
    “Philip? Do you need to sit down?”
    He shook his head. In the afternoon light, the room was rinsed a bright lemony color, and it smelled of chalk dust, drawing him away from the clutches of the dream. The teacher’s face was soft with concern. He noticed her earrings: a small silver guitar on each lobe. Maybe Ms. Sprake wasn’t as boring as she looked.
    He hesitated. “Am I … am I all right, miss? Underneath.”
    “Underneath?”
    “Yeah, like,