Nobody Real
The stunningly original new YA novel from renowned spoken-word poet Steven Camden. With a dash of Inception and a bit of Jennifer Niven, this is the story of a teen girl and her imaginary friend, and we guarantee you have never read anything like it…Marcie is real. With real problems.For years she has been hitching a ride on the train of her best friend Cara’s life. Now there’s only one more summer until they’re off to college together.Just like they planned.But Marcie has a secret, and time is running out for her to decide what she really wants.Years ago, Thor was also Marcie’s friend before she cast him out, back to his own world. Time is running out for him too.If he doesn’t make a decision soon, he’s going to face the fade.But Thor is not real. And that’s a real problem . . .
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2018
Published in this ebook edition in 2018
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Text copyright © Steven Camden 2018
Cover design © Leo Nickolls
Cover illustration © Leo Nickolls
Steven Camden asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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Source ISBN: 9780008168384
Ebook Edition © 2018 ISBN: 9780008311735
Version: 2018-05-08
For Lenny,
your music sparked a fire in me
and I am forever grateful.
I love you, man x
Contents
Prologue
You’re almost twelve.
Staring through the fire at Sean. The tips of the flames lick the top branches of the bush you’ve both spent all day hollowing out.
You’re holding the stolen aerosol can. Sean’s nervous smile.
Your willing apprentice.
He can’t see me, even though I’m standing right next to him.
You look at the can. Then at me. The flames dance in between us.
“Do it,” I say.
You smile at Sean, then throw it in.
I’m sensing resistance.
You are? That’s weird.
You don’t think this is useful?
I’m sure it’s amazing.
That tone is what I’m talking about.
You don’t like my tone?
It’s not about what I like, Thor. This is about you. Your anger.
Who’s angry?
Shall we start?
I thought we had.
Why don’t you begin by telling me how you’re feeling, right now?
Right now? I’m feeling tired.
OK, and why is that?
I dunno, maybe it’s something to do with the fact that I’ve spent the last week and a half working ten-hour days, demolishing a castle, by myself, my second this month, and tomorrow I’ll get a new job and it all starts again. Now, on top of that, I have to come here. For this.
I could move your slot to the mornings if that’s better for you?
Whatever you say, Adam.
Alan. You understand the importance of these sessions though, don’t you?
How old are you?
Is that important?
You seem young.
You’re deflecting now, Thor.
Am I?
Have you been in any fights lately?
Is that in the file?
Yes.
I don’t do that any more. I’m done with that. Haven’t fought for weeks. Months.
That’s good. So knocking down empty buildings is enough to keep your hands busy these days?
Do these look like hands to you?
I’m sorry, paws.
Look, Adam …
My name is Alan.
Whatever. I get it. This is your job, to “counsel”. That’s great, and yes, I’ve had issues with my temper in the past, but I’m done with that. I’ve accepted what happened. I’ve moved on.
I’m glad to hear that, Thor, but this is still compulsory. You have two weeks until the fade. Those of us who were sent away by our makers have a different set of feelings to deal with to those who were simply forgotten.
So you were sent away too?
We’re here to talk about you. Can we do that?
There’s nothing to say. Ten years ago, she made me. Six years ago, she sent me away; now, in two weeks, none of it matters anyway. I reach ten years, pass through the fade and then that’s that. I either grow old and bitter or lose my mind like the zoomers in the park.
And those are the only two options?
What do I know?
That’s where I can help.
Who says I need help?
Everyone needs help when they reach the fade. Especially those who were sent away. Unresolved feelings will fester, trust me. If we can talk, I’m sure I can help you transition through it smoothly into the rest of your time.
Just like that.
Thor, I’m not trying to trick you. I understand the feelings. Our makers need us, then they don’t need us, and that can leave us lost, but, at the end of the day, we still live on.
They don’t know what they need.
OK, a thought, that’s good. Would you care to elaborate?
Not really.
Your maker is a girl, right? Marcie? Loves drawing.
Loved.
Right. It says she made you when she was seven, after her mother left?
Nearly eight.
OK, so quite late, and that would make her nearly eighteen now?
I guess so.
Good. See? We’re off and running.
Whoopee.
So, by my maths, that would mean she was nearly twelve when she sent you away? Why don’t we start with that?
