FINAL COVER COMING SOON JOStPHCOtLHO
OStPHCOtLHO ILLUSTRATED BY DAVID BARROW
First published in 2023 in Great Britain by Barrington Stoke Ltd 18 Walker Street, Edinburgh, EH3 7LP Illustrationswww.barringtonstoke.co.ukText©2023JosephCoelho©2023DavidBarrow The moral right of Joseph Coelho and David Barrow to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in any part in any form without the written permission of the publisher A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library upon request ISBN: 978-1-80090-140-7 Printed by Hussar Books, Poland This book is in a super readable format for young readers beginning their independent reading journey.
“Can
Chapter 1 A Chick in a Tree
I’m climbing up a tree with my friend Chris. It’s near my flat, on our estate. The pine’s bark is sticky with sap and the branches brush past my face as I edge my feet around its trunk. you see the top yet?” asks Chris.
I push my head up through the last few branches and come face to beak with a nest of squawking birds! I thought chicks were cute, but these three are enormous and bloated with sticky - out feathers.Thechicks snap at me! I fall down! Just a couple of branches, then I grab hold of the tree trunk. My heart thudding. 2
“You OK, Miles?” shouts Chris, but before I can answer I hear another voice … Mr-Spoiler-Of-Fun … Mr-Thinks-He-Owns-The-Trees … Mr Buxton.“Getout of that tree!” he shouts, and he limps over to us on his walking stick. 3
I shimmy down the trunk in a shower of pine needles. Hit the ground, wipe my sticky hands on my trousers, shake out my curls, jump on my bike and speed after Chris down the main road of the estate, Mr Buxton, our angry neighbour, angry and panting behind us. 4
Chris and I pedal hard, whooping and cheering as we speed away from Mr Buxton.Justaswe reach my block I hear, “MILES, DINNER!” 5
Mum’s voice comes flapping down to us. Wherever I am on the estate I can always hear her. Chris’s mum doesn’t call. Chris gets a text message … I wish I had a phone. * 6
After dinner, Mum and my little sister Mary are staring out the kitchen on the third floor and have great views, but they are looking down at the bushes and trees that grow along the red wall that goes around the whole estate.
window.We’re
7
Mary is giggling. She’s only four, but even she knows that Mr Buxton does not like the kids on the estate going near the trees.
Mr Buxton is down there with a black plastic bag in his hands. He’s swooping it around the branches of the trees like he’s doing some sort of rubbish dance. (Ha ha – RUBBISH DANCE!)
8
“What’s he doing, Mum?” I ask. Mum just shakes her head and takes a big slurp of tea. 9
ChapterBudgie2 The next day I take my bike out on my own. Chris and his family are off on holiday. We never go on holiday. I imagine I’m a lone eagle, soaring through the estate. But it’s not as fun without Chris.
11
On the way back to my block I see a flash of sunshine yellow and lime green. I duck under some branches and head to the red wall, stepping over nettles and brambles.Atthe bottom of the wall is a bright colourful bird. I gasp and then hold my breath in case it flies off. I wish Chris was with me to take a picture – he has a brilliant camera.
12
It’s weird seeing one outside in the wild, not in a cage. It looks frail, trying to hop over old bottles and bricks. I step closer. It flaps its wings but doesn’t fly. Maybe it can’t. I step nearer. It turns its head to one side, looking at me with one eye, then the other.
I know what bird it is … it’s a budgie.
I dart forward and carefully scoop it up in my hands. Its body feels weak, like an empty eggshell, but its heart is strong. I can feel it thumping through its body. I cup the budgie to my chest and rush home. * 13
Mum is looking up university courses again and making notes – her pencil case is bigger than mine! I want to tell her about this amazing bird, but I’m scared she’ll tell me to get rid of it, so I just stand in the doorway halfway between grounded and flying. “What you got there?” asks Mum. I open my hands slowly. 14
“MILES! What have you brought into my Ihouse?”tellher all about the budgie – how it’s got nowhere else to go and how budgies don’t live in the wild in England and if we leave it outside it might die. “OK, OK!” says Mum. “But make sure you wash your hands. I think Sandra downstairs has an old cage.” 15
I can’t believe Mum is letting me keep it. * The budgie pecks bread from my fingers. I fill a bottle cap with water and hold it close and watch as its tiny beak scoops at the water. 16
I open my hand fully and notice a little mucky surprise! Yuck! I put the budgie in an old shoe box and then scrub the poo off my hands. I make it a bed out of ripped‑up paper. It doesn’t try to fly away. 17
I run my fingertips over the crayon box of its feathers, the bright sunburst of its head, the apple candy of its tummy, down each wing with their black and yellow flecks. Its feathers feel a‑kiss‑on‑an‑eyelid soft. I sit on my beanbag opposite my bedroom window as the sky becomes 18
a bird playground. Their black shapes rush and dive, swoop and soar. “Look at them … Pippin … That’s what I’ll call you – Pippin. We’ll get you better and then you’ll be soaring with themPippintoo.” has his head down and his eyes closed. I do the same and we fall asleep. 19