Marcus Harris sat at the top of the school ramp, gripping the wheels of his brand-new wheelchair. It gleamed slightly in the sunshine, as if it knew it was important. Marcus wasn’t so sure. His leg was wrapped in a sturdy blue cast, and although everyone kept calling him “brave,” he didn’t feel like a hero. He felt… wobbly. Like jelly without a bowl.
“Right then,” Marcus muttered. “Let’s try this.”
Inside his head, a familiar cheeky voice piped up.
“Oh excellent,” said Nelson Haddoc Popeye Harris the XXIV, his slightly mischievous blue-green glass eye. “Wheels! Finally, some proper pirate transport. All you need now is a cannon.”
“I do not need a cannon,” Marcus whispered, glancing around.
“Every great captain needs one,” Nelson insisted. “And a parrot. And possibly a dramatic theme tune.”
Marcus rolled forward cautiously. The wheelchair moved smoothly. A bit too smoothly.
“Steady…” Marcus said.
“Faster!” cried Nelson.
“I am not going faster!”
But the ramp had other ideas.
Suddenly, Marcus began to roll quicker, then quicker still.
“Nelson!” he hissed. “We’re going too fast!”
“This,” Nelson declared grandly, “is called an entrance!”
Marcus zoomed down the ramp, past the flowerbeds, past Mrs Jenkins who nearly dropped her watering can, and straight across the playground.
“STOPPPPP!” Marcus shouted.
He aimed carefully, remembering what the physiotherapist had told him. Hands on the wheels. Gentle pressure.
Instead, Nelson shouted, “Lean into it, Captain!”
Marcus wobbled. The chair swerved. For a terrifying moment, it felt like they were going to crash into the bike rack.
But at the last second, Marcus managed to slow down. The wheels squeaked. The chair stopped.
Silence.
Marcus blinked. He was still upright.
“Well,” Nelson said after a pause, “ten out of ten for drama.”
Marcus couldn’t help it. He laughed. A proper laugh, the kind that bounced out of him.
“Maybe… maybe I can do this,” he said.
Just then, his friends ran over.
“Marcus! That was amazing!” shouted Ben.
“Are you okay?” asked Lucy.
“I’m fine,” Marcus grinned. “Just practising.”
Nelson, of course, was not done.
“Oh look,” he said suddenly. “Snacks.”
On a nearby table sat a tray of jelly cups for the school party.
“Nelson,” Marcus warned.
But it was too late.
“Forward!” Nelson cried.
Marcus rolled gently this time, carefully steering… until Nelson insisted on “just a tiny turn,” which was absolutely not tiny.
The wheelchair nudged the table.
The table wobbled.
The jelly wobbled.
And then…
SPLAT.
Bright, wibbly jelly slid everywhere, including onto Marcus’s wheels, the ground, and unfortunately, Mr Davies’ shoes.
“Oh dear,” said Nelson, with absolutely no regret. “We appear to have discovered… jelly navigation.”
Marcus groaned, then giggled.
“Nelson, you are impossible.”
“And yet,” Nelson replied proudly, “life would be terribly boring without me.”
Marcus looked down at his wheelchair, now slightly decorated with pink jelly.
It wasn’t so scary anymore.
In fact, with Nelson along for the ride, it might even be… an adventure.