Rip Tide by Ally Kennen
Introduction by Keith Gray
As soon as I read Ally Kennen’s first book, Beast, I knew she was an exciting and original writer. It’s the clever and witty story of a teenage delinquent and the terrifying creature he’s desperate to keep hidden. It was shortlisted for the Branford Boase Award, the Booktrust Teenage Prize and the Carnegie Medal. Her second book, Beserk, was even better – the chilling story of Chas who gets it into his head that it might be funny to become penpals with a murderer. Being a big fan of Ally I knew she’d come up with something unique and interesting for us on the Virtual Writer in Residency project.
And I feel particularly smug when I say... Told you so.
Riptide is a story of friendship, gently told, but deeply felt. It’s about the fear of being alone and the panic of losing touch. Something frightening happens to two friends when they sneak into a nightclub underage. But then something enlightening happens to them as they walk home. It’s a clever play on the Virtual Writer in Residence theme of communication and it gave me goosebumps the first time I read it. I hope it does the same for you.
Rip Tide by Ally Kennan
‘If you are caught in a Rip Tide do not tire yourself by trying to swim directly back to shore. Instead, swim parallel to the shore to escape the current, then swim back to shore.’
Dept of Atmospheric Sciences, University of Illinois. USA.
It’s two o’clock in the morning and I’m walking barefoot on the pavement. My sandals got twisted off in the crush getting out of the fire exit. I ought to be worried about broken glass and rubbish hurting my feet, but I’m just glad to be safely outside. The city air smells beautiful tonight.
Me and my mate, Moz, walk through the city centre, under the sails of the land-ship and paddle our hot, tired feet in the fountains. The faucets aren’t working, they only switch them on during the Boat Fiesta or on bank holidays, but the cool, chlorinated water stings my nostrils and sends chills up my bare legs.
Moz peers at my face under the big moon lamps. ‘Lexi,’ she says. ‘Have you seen your face? You look insane.’ It’s the first thing she’s said to me since we left the club, except ‘Are you all right?’ This is because she’s cross with me.
I wet my finger with my tongue and rub the skin under my eyes. ‘Better?’
Moz makes a face.
I find a tissue and dab away. I’m not surprised I look a mess. I’ve been crying my eyes out and salt water doesn’t mix very well with the blusher, matt foundation, and three coats of jet mascara I’d layered on to make me look eighteen. But now I feel conspicuous in my short dress and skin glitter. I wish I was wearing my jeans and a T-shirt.
Moz and me come up to the city most weekends to go dancing. Usually we have a good time. Lindy, Moz’s sister, has a spare room and she doesn’t mind us bunking over as long as she knows when we’ll be back. And she knows we have a golden rule, Never ever abandon your mate. Lindy lives about an hour’s walk away. She was supposed to be picking us up at 3.30am but we couldn’t get hold of her so that’s why we’re walking.
Tonight, there was this triple gig at Radiation, followed by a party with an UV room, banging DJ’s and silver stilt walkers juggling fire. We got in, no problem. We didn’t even have to flash our fake ID. Moz was hoping to bump into a particular lad and I just wanted to have some fun and dance. We’d done this kind of thing loads of times and didn’t expect tonight be any different. But it was. And I’m never going out dancing again.
Now we’re walking by the Watershed pub and all the bars are quiet apart from a middle-aged couple having a row at a silver table by the quayside. We skip over Millennium square, trailing our hands in the water pools and dripping water on the big white paving slabs.
‘Moz,’ I say, breaking the silence. ‘What was all that about?’
‘Some nut case,’ says Moz.
The last band had finished, but the dance floor was heaving when my eyes started stinging and my chest began to tighten. There was something bad in the air. People around me were stopping dancing, wiping their eyes. All my worst fears came crashing in on me. I’m usually pretty brave, but I’d started to shake. Ever since those bombs in the tube trains in London I’ve had this little fear in my mind, like, what if a bomb goes off when I’m shopping? Or on the bus? Or anywhere? And tonight, in the club, I thought it was my turn at last. I’m just a kid, I’d thought. My throat felt like it was burning and I coughed and coughed. I had to get out. I looked around for Moz but couldn’t see her. I knew I should look properly for her but my throat was hurting and the panic building up inside me was threatening to spill out. I pushed through the crowds, some of them were coughing but others still danced like nothing was happening. I reached the fire exit, clawing at my streaming eyes. The stuff in the air, whatever it was, was worse over here. I was about to push through the doors and race down the stairs to the street but a bouncer, a small, squat chap with very short blonde hair and a hanky clamped over his mouth, stepped in my way.
‘It’s worse down there,’ he shouted over the music. ‘I can’t let you through.’
I stared at him, I must have heard wrong. ‘Let me out,’ I said. ‘I want to leave.’
‘Didn’t you hear what I just said?’
I looked wildly round for Moz.
‘It’ll be all right,’ shouted the bouncer. ‘It’s just some joker with CS gas. It will clear soon.’
But what’s that? And how did he know?
