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Overview
Ruthless killers are hunting Ty so the police move him and his mum to a quiet seaside town. But a horrific attack and a bullet meant for Ty prove that he's not safe.
On the road again, Ty's in hiding with complete strangers . . . who seem to know a lot about him. Meanwhile he's desperate to see his girlfriend Claire, and terrified that she may betray him. Ty can't trust his own judgement and he's making dangerous decisions that could deliver him straight to the gangsters.
A thrilling sequel to When I Was Joe, shot through with drama and suspense.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781907666018 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Frances Lincoln Children's Books |
| Publication date: | 09/02/2010 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 368 |
| File size: | 525 KB |
| Age Range: | 12 - 15 Years |
About the Author
Keren David was brought up in Welwyn Garden City, Hertfordshire, and went to school in Hatfield. She left school at 18 and got a job as a messenger girl on a newspaper, then turned down a place to read English at university to take an apprenticeship as a junior reporter. She was freelancing as a reporter on the old Fleet Street by her mid-twenties and, after living and working in Scotland for two years, was appointed as a news editor on The Independent at the age of 27. She worked at The Independent for six years, moving from news to become a commissioning editor on the Comment pages. She and her family then went to live in Amsterdam for eight years where she was editor in chief of a photo-journalism agency. On returning to the U.K. in 2007 she decided to attend a course on writing for children at the City University. When I Was Joe started out as a project for that course. She lives in London with her husband and two children.
Read an Excerpt
They come to kill me early in the morning. At 6 am when the sky is pink and misty grey, the seagulls are crying overhead and the beach is empty.
I’m not at home when they arrive. I’m the only person on the beach, loving my early morning run – the sound of the waves and the smell of seaweed. It all reminds me that my new name is Jake and Jake lives by the seaside.
Jake’s normally a bit of a sad person – no friends, poor sod – but here, right now, working on my speed and strength, I’m happy that wherever we are and whatever my name is, I can always run, my body is my own.
For a bit I even forget that I’m supposed to be Jake and I run myself back into my last identity, which was Joe, cool popular Joe. I miss Joe. It’s good that I can be him when I run. I never want to be Ty again, my real name, the basic me, but I still dream of being Joe.
Joe never feels lonely, running on his own. It’s Jake who’s miserable at school, where no one talks to him.
Jake never thinks about Claire – my Claire, my lovely Claire – because her name throws him into a dark pit of despair, but when I’m Joe I pretend I’m running to see her and I let myself feel just a little bit of joy . . . excitement . . . hope.
So it’s a good morning, and even when I get near home and have to readjust to being Jake again, there’s still a kind of afterglow that clings to me. A Joe glow for Jake the fake. I’m hot and sweaty and that’s as good as Jake’s life ever gets, but then, when I turn our corner, there are police cars everywhere, and ambulances, and a small crowd of people staring, and they’re putting up tape to stop anyone getting through.
‘Get back! Get back!’ a policeman is shouting, but I push on forward through the crowd to the edge of the tape.
And then I see it. A dark pool of blood at our front door. For a moment the world stops, and my heart isn’t even beating. I’m swaying, and everything is going whiter and smaller and I’m like one of the seagulls flying overhead, looking down on the crowd and screaming to the sky.
I don’t know what to do. I think about just running away, so I never need to find out what happened. Then arms hug me tight and it’s Gran, oh God, it’s Gran, and she’s pulling me over to a police car. My mum’s hunched up in the back. She’s making a weird noise – a kind of gasping, howling, hooting noise. It reminds me of when Jamie Robins had an asthma attack in Year Three – it was scary then and it’s hideous now.
Nicki’s whole face is white, even her lips, and she’s staring right through me – and then Gran slaps her face hard and Mum stops the terrible noise and falls into her arms. They’re both still in their dressing gowns. There’s blood on Gran’s fluffy pink slippers.
Gran sits with her arms around my mum, rocking her back and forth and saying, ‘You’ll be OK, my darling, stay strong, Nicki, you’ll be OK.’
‘What . . . who?’ I ask, but I know. I’m already beginning to piece together what must have happened.
They must have rung our doorbell. Most days, it would have been my mum stumbling down the stairs to the front door. If she had, then I think they would have grabbed her, dragged her upstairs and searched the place for me. When they found no one, what then? Kept her gagged and silent until I came back, then shot us both, I should think.
But Mum didn’t open the door. She’s sitting here in the car, retching and sobbing, doubled over like she’s in pain. It must have been Alistair who went downstairs. Alistair, the guy she had j