Chapter One

   Yoshi Tigometo rolled out of his metal bunker, affixed to the constantly moving wall of the Lotus.  He ached, the dronings of the ship’s insides throbbed in his ears, and the ever present stench of fish guts made him nauseous.  He, quite simply, hated that God-forsaken boat. 

   It was the middle of the night, and the rain lashed out across the depths of the vast and ferocious Pacific Ocean.  Yoshi stumbled out into the narrow corridor, bashing into several of his crew mates as he went.  He didn’t know why the emergency lights were flashing; they’d never done it before.  As he reached the open deck he was sprayed with rain, the only light coming from the flashing red lights spinning round on the walls. 

   “There’s a problem with one of the engines,” someone yelled above Yoshi’s head. 

   “What’s the problem?” someone else yelled back.  The was a pause. 

   “It’s not there anymore.”

   What the-? Yoshi didn’t have time to think about it for long; the boat suddenly rocked to one side, causing everyone to flail and curse.  Something heavy landed with a thud not too far away from where Yoshi was grasping onto the ship’s edge.  He peered into the darkness; people were shouting and running all over the place, but Yoshi kept his eyes on the source of the thump.  What the Hell was going on?

   Without warning, people started screaming, falling over, the whole boat was going crazy.  Yoshi turned to run for it, but something cold and tentacle-like slithered round his feet and yanked him to the floor.  He yelled out in fright and tried to pry the thing off, but then there were more tentacles, grabbing all over his body, until finally wrapping round his face, and shooting something into his ear. 

***

   “Miss Smith, just exactly what do you think you are doing?”

   “Er - nothing Mr Furlong,” replied Ama quickly, hiding the drawing she had been working on hastily in her bag and grabbing a test-tube from the experiment she was supposed to be doing.  Unfortunately, she grabbed it a little too fast, and the damn thing slipped from her fingers and smashed all over the floor, spraying some interesting coloured liquid all over Mike Rosado’s brand spanking new Nikes.  “Fuck!”  The word escaped her lips before she had even begun to think.  Mr Furlong strode over and Mike looked horrified at his ruined trainers.  Ama covered her eyes and tried to make herself look invisible. 

   “Spectacular, Miss Smith,” commented their science teacher with his usual lacings of sarcasm, “it seems you’ll be buying Mr Rosado here some new trainers for his birthday.”

   Ama peeked out from behind her fingers.  All the other Sophomores in the room had crowded round in order to see the damage in more detail; some were laughing at her typical display of clumsiness, others at their star quarter back hopping round trying to pull the sneakers from his feet before whatever it was in the test tube did some permanent damage. 

   “Mr Rosado, get those things off your feet now,” continued Mr Furlong needlessly, “and Miss Smith - I suggest we take a look at what was captivating your attention so.”

   In one swift move, he bent down and grabbed the scribblings, still half poking out of Ama’s rucksack.  “Don’t-!” she started, but there was no use.  Mr Furlong held the lined paper up so it was in his eye line, before rolling his one good eye.  “It’s an illustration for the school newspaper,” she said weakly, her face burning.  People were sniggering even more. 

   “I think the term ‘illustration’ was perhaps a little too generous here Miss Smith,” he said wryly.  She was tempted to point out it wasn’t finished, but she reckoned that would be pushing her luck.  “Whatever it is,” he carried on, “it does not belong in Chemistry 101.  Detention for you, I’m afraid.” He chuckled to himself.  “I’ll let Mike here sort out the business with his footwear.”

   Ama kept her eyes on the floor for the rest of the lesson, not daring to look at the most popular boy in their class as he swung his dazzling white socks under his stool and glared at her.  She had well and truly ruined her chances for Homecoming next Fall now…not that she really had any anyway though.  Not only would he be going with Rachael Summers again, they would almost definitely be crowned king and queen again, with the likes of Ama left to look on from the shadows. 

   The bell signaling lunch couldn’t have come sooner as far as she was concerned.  She slung her bag over her shoulder and picked her drawing off Mr Furlong’s desk as she hastily made her way into the packed corridor.  She had a rehearsal to get to, and Olli would kill her if she was late again. 

   Suddenly, for the second time in under an hour, Ama found herself on the wrong end of an accident, except this time, it was she that ended up all over the floor.  “Watch where you’re going!” she cried as her bag tumbled to the floor, spilling the contents everywhere. 

   “Sorry,” mumbled the boy who had smacked head long into her, and he tried to help her gather her things.  Mike Rosado, however, chose this particular moment to come strolling past, the ever gorgeous Rachael attached to his arm.  They both sniggered to them selves. 

   “Hey, Smithy!” cried Jake Lorgan, one of Mike’s lackeys, “maybe we oughta put training wheals on you.”

   “Yeah, stick em up her ass man!” joined in some other nameless football player.  The two guys high-fived like the baboons they were. 

   “Careful what you wish for guys,” came the silky taunting of Rachael Summers as she passed, “Jamie boy has already got her to the ground, you might be next.”  The party passed, taking their hooting and giggling with them. 

   Ama clenched her teeth and snatched up her bag.  James Ridley tried to help her stand.  “Get off me you fucking fag,” she cried, trying in vain not to get upset, “you’ve already caused enough God damn shit.”  She pushed him out of the way and practically ran to the safety of the Drama studio.