Animal Lab

Rose Malcolm

Description

Jamie is fifteen - and he's as bald as the monkey he is looking after at the local animal lab. The drug company he is working for say the monkey is helping them to find a cure for his baldness. Jamie's sister says the animal experiments are wrong - and she's going to stop them. Who is right? And what will Jamie do when he is forced to decide?Recently republished as a new edition, this book is one of the Shades 2.0 series. This book is perfect for reluctant teens who still want an exciting, unpatronising story that is relevant to their interests and concerns, but who don't want to read a longer novel. With a length of only 6,000 words, and filled with drama, this story will appeal to all reluctant teen readers.

Informations

• Publié par: Ransom Publishing Limited
• Date de parution: 01 octobre 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781781274569
• Langue: English

Extrait

“ ‘What’s his name?’
‘Name?’ Hazel looked puzzled. ‘We don’t – ’ She stopped and read the label attached to his cage. ‘He’s MT1043.’
I didn’t say anything, but it wasn’t much of a name. I decided to call him Matt. Matt the marmoset. That way, he meant much more to me. ”

CONTENTS

Title Page 1 Headgear 2 Animal Lab 3 Scapegoats 4 Brain Damage 5 Endpoint 6 Death Row 7 Bloodstain More Shades 2.0 titles Copyright
ONE
Headgear
Families are rubbish, aren’t they? Something’s always happening that screws them up. Mine’s got to win some sort of prize. Dad poured beer down the back of the telly when he was watching the news. Blew it up. Again. Petra – my big sis – is locked up in a police cell. Again. Mum’s more-or-less normal. She’s trying to hold it all together. And me. I’m the last straw. That’s what she calls me. ‘Jamie. You and your hair! You’re the last straw!’ Then she lets out this squeal and runs off upstairs. She’s okay again when she comes back down half an hour later.
Even Elvis the cat’s screwed up. Last week, he brought this mouse into the house. Sort-of mouse anyway. Real weird. Like a little bundle of bones in a grey bag. No fur at all. Petra took one look, went ‘Aah’, and ran off. Upset and guilty, like it was her fault. She’s been big on animals – and down on cruelty – ever since she found out ham is dead pig and beef is dead cow. She’s a veggie. Dad pointed at the mouse and laughed. ‘It’s just like you, Jamie!’ Mum gave him one of her stares.
Me, I like headgear. Hats, caps and hoods. Hardly ever seen without one. Except in school, because it’s against the rules. I’d wear a balaclava if I thought I could get away with it.
I don’t like mobiles. The last text message I got before I dumped mine was:

u should b the school’s head boy –
a shining light 4 the rest of us.
Don’t know who sent that piece of wit. Could have been almost anyone.
It’s pretty obvious what’s screwing me up. At the age of fifteen, I’m as bald as the mouse Elvis brought in. Having no hair isn’t a girl magnet. It’s not a friend magnet either. The only thing it attracts is jokes. Everyone thinks it’s funny. Apart from me. Oh, and teachers try to help. Try to stop the kids getting at me. But having teachers on my side just makes it worse.
I bet the kids who texted me with reminders that I’m bald are scared. They probably think they can catch it, like a cold. Touch Jamie Littlewood and your hair will fall out. You’ll wake up in the morning with handfuls of the stuff stuck to your pillow. You’ll rub shampoo all over your head and your hands will look like a gorilla’s. Do gorillas have hairy hands? Anyway, that’s what happens and it ain’t fun. It’s called alopecia or something. I don’t care what it’s called. I just know what it does.
The doctors did tests. ‘Stress,’ they said. ‘That’s what’s doing it.’ Stress! What stress? A sister in and out of jail. A dad who beats the neighbours up if they have a barbecue. A mum who’s too busy to notice me because she’s always collecting Petra from the police station and frozen food from wherever Dad’s thrown it. Usually out of the freezer, through the window and into the garden. And then there’s the texts I used to get. No nits, no comb, no mates. Let’s meet outside the hairdresser’s. Got hair anywhere else , Cue Ball? It’s like every little thing winds me up just a bit more. I don’t know what happens in the end. Maybe I explode like the telly.