We all liked the Special Appeal plan, but then Tom said that even if we did put the appeal in a newspaper, the newspaper would only be sold in England and Ahmet’s mum and dad and anyone who might have seen them would never see it. He knew, because when he lived in America he only ever saw American newspapers, and that’s what it must be like in all the countries of the world too.
Then Michael told us about his plan. “We should write to the High Court, to the judge sitting in the highest chair in the land, and ask them to order all the security guards to open the gates when they see Ahmet’s mum and dad,” he whispered. “It’s called an appeal too. I’ve heard my mum talking about them because her law firm is always doing them for people. I’d ask her to help Ahmet but she’s always complaining about how much work she has to do and she charges hundreds of pounds an hour.”
“But we can’t afford that!” cried Tom.
“I know,” replied Michael, rolling his eyes. “Which is why I’m saying we should do the appeal ourselves.”
“Is it an appeal like my newspaper one?” asked Josie.
“Sort of. Except it’s for a judge. All we need to do is find out who the Highest Judge in the Land is and write to them!” replied Michael. “We could even send them your appeal,” he said, giving Josie a nudge on the arm. “We’d only need to change it a little bit. Mum’s always saying that judges have nothing better to do than read appeals all the time.”
We were all excited about this idea the most, and as no one could think of anything that might be wrong with it, we decided to go to the school library after school to find out the name of the Highest Judge in the Land. So, when the last bell rang, we told Ahmet we had to get home quickly so he wouldn’t follow us, and headed straight there.
Our school library isn’t as big as the one Mum works in, but it has larger windows and lots more sunlight, which means you can see all the books better. Mrs. Finnicky is our librarian. She always wears bright-colored clothes and bright red lipstick, and you don’t ever have to look for her because she’s always standing behind the library counter.
I like Mrs. Finnicky because she always gets excited when you ask her anything. She lectures people for not looking after their books properly, just like Mum. She has a large sign on the counter that says BOOKS ARE LIKE PEOPLE. LOOK PAST THEIR COVERS AND THEY’LL TAKE YOU ON A GREAT ADVENTURE! I like it because it’s fun to imagine people as books and guess what kind of adventure they might take you on.
When we got to the library counter, we all looked up at Mrs. Finnicky—she was wearing a sky-blue top and a sky-blue skirt—and Mrs. Finnicky smiled and looked down at all of us and said, “Hello! And how can I help you all today?”
Tom and Josie and I all looked over at Michael and waited, so he asked, “Miss, do you know where we can find out who the Highest Judge in the Land is? We need to find out…for…er…homework!”
“Really?” said Mrs. Finnicky, frowning.
We all nodded. Mrs. Finnicky scratched her chin. “I think we’ll have to look online for that,” she said, and she started typing into her computer.
We nodded and waited excitedly for an answer as Mrs. Finnicky narrowed her eyes and looked at the screen. After a few seconds she said, “Here we go…right. Was it the name of the lord chief justice you were after, or the High Court judge for the Family Division?”
We all looked at each other and then Michael said, “Family Division, please!”
Mrs. Finnicky wrote the name out on a piece of paper. When she gave it to Michael, we all looked over his shoulder and read, “HC Family Division, Dame Leslie Williamson.”
“Anything else?” asked Mrs. Finnicky.
Josie said, “Does it have her address there, miss?”
Mrs. Finnicky frowned again. “Her address?” she asked. “You have to send her a letter as part of your homework?”
We all nodded.
“So that it gets to her by tomorrow,” I added.
“It’s the High Court of Justice you’ll need to write to,” said Mrs. Finnicky, narrowing her eyes at the computer screen again as she copied it down. “But even if you mail it today and it gets to her office tomorrow or on Saturday, remember that the courts are closed over the weekend, and it won’t be the judge who gets your envelope—she’ll have a secretary who opens her mail for her.” She handed the slip of paper with the address to Josie. “Anything else?” She looked at our downcast faces. “I’m sure she’ll read your letter eventually,” she added gently. “It might just take a while.”
We left and gathered in the hallway outside. “What are we going to do now?” asked Josie. Her face was all pink, which is what happens when she’s really upset. “Even if we send the judge that appeal right away, the gates will be shut before she even gets it. It’s already Thursday and after this weekend is over we’ll only have five more days.”
We all looked at Michael, who shrugged and looked at the floor.
“We’ve got to think of another idea,” said Tom urgently.
We all nodded. But I felt sick inside. I was scared that Ahmet’s family wouldn’t be found in time.
We were all silent on the bus ride home that afternoon. Everyone was thinking, hard, but I could tell from all our faces that none of us had come up with anything new.
I felt the worst, because at least everyone else had thought of something. I hadn’t come up with a single plan. Now I know it was because my brain just wasn’t ready to think of anything then. It wouldn’t be ready until the weekend, but when it was, it came up with a plan so fantastic that nobody could say no to it. Not even a judge sitting in the Highest Chair in the Land.
That Thursday night, while Mum was at work, instead of doing my homework, I took my Tintin pencil case and my notebook and went and sat down by the window in the kitchen.
I wanted to come up with a plan just like Tom and Josie and Michael had done, and thought that if I sat there, maybe my brain would come up with something exciting all on its own. I have a desk in my room, but I like sitting in the kitchen more because then I can see the sky and the whole city too. Tom says it doesn’t matter how big or small an apartment is, if it’s on the top floor it becomes a Penthouse. That’s a kind of house that movie stars live in. I guess they must like sitting in kitchens and looking at skies and cities too.
I waited a long time for my brain to think of something, but when Mum came home, she found me still sitting at the kitchen table, pressing the Snowy and Captain Haddock button on my pencil case. I couldn’t think of anything, not even after she came and sat with me to watch the sunset. I love watching the sunset with Mum. She calls it the “Magic Hour” because you can see colors you won’t ever see again and birds that might fly away forever, swimming across the skies together. But I can only ever do it properly with Mum. I’ve tried to watch the sunset on my own and feel just as happy, but I can’t seem to do it at all. It doesn’t work.
By dinnertime, I still hadn’t thought of anything, so I went straight to bed to see if my brain could think of things better when it was lying down. But I fell asleep instead and had a nightmare that was so scary it made me wake up. I dreamt of being on a piece of wood in the middle of a dark sea. At first it had been quiet, but then to my right, a girl had begun to cry—she was about to be swallowed by a giant whale, and suddenly on my left, my dad was shouting for help from a sinking boat. And no matter how hard I tried or how much I wanted to, I couldn’t help the girl or stop my dad from disappearing into the water.
If you’ve ever woken up after a nightmare when it’s pitch black and so late that nothing in the world is awake, you’ll know it isn’t nice at all. When I woke up, I couldn’t hear anything or see anything, so for a moment I wasn’t sure if I was awake or still in my nightmare. But then I heard one of the mice squeaking in the kitchen and I knew I was awake.
That’s a good thing about animals. They always
let you know they’re around. Especially when they’re hungry. And if they’re around, then you know you’re real and the world around you is real too.
I was feeling hot and damp, so I got up and pulled back the covers to make sure I hadn’t wet the bed. Luckily, I hadn’t. I hate wetting the bed. I used to do it all the time after Dad died, but then when I turned seven, something happened and I stopped doing it. Maybe when you turn seven, your body knows you’ve become too old to wet the bed anymore.
I didn’t want to lie back down in case I had the nightmare again, so I tiptoed into the kitchen to get a glass of water and see the mice. Mum says that years ago, an old woman who bred all sorts of exotic animals used to live in our apartment. That could be why we found a small nest of bright yellow snakes in our kitchen wall last summer. Or why we have two mice living with us. But I don’t mind. For just a tiny piece of food, they can become your friends for life. They disappear if they don’t like you, so you always know if they’re going to be your friends right from the start. And it’s always good to know from the start because it saves you from wasting your best cheese.
After I got a drink of water, I went back to my room. But I was still too scared to go back to sleep, so I sat on the floor and got one of my favorite Tintin comics out from underneath my bed. It was the one about a rich old opera singer who comes to stay with Captain Haddock—even though he really doesn’t want her to—and whose green diamond gets stolen. I couldn’t really concentrate because all I could think about was Ahmet and how his sister Syrah was in the sea. But then, just as I was thinking how the rich old opera singer looked like the Queen—except with a much bigger nose—it suddenly happened.
I had it!
An idea!
And it was without a doubt, quite possibly, the Greatest Idea in the World! It leaped right into my head, just like a giant frog, and jumped around until I knew it had to work. It just had to!
You can always tell when you’ve had a Greatest Idea in the World because it appears from nowhere. Ordinary ideas take an awfully long time to become an idea because they’re just normal, so your brain can’t get excited about them and has to make them slowly—like thousands of boring bread rolls being baked in an extra-slow oven. But when an idea is truly great, it doesn’t take any time at all—it just suddenly appears and makes your eyes go wide and your brain feel as if it’s just been pushed out of bed.
Jumping to my feet, I got out my exercise book and drew out my plan. This is what the Greatest Idea in the World looked like:
When I had finished, I stared at it and went over it again and again in my head. I knew right away that it would work—but only if Tom and Josie and Michael helped and kept it all a secret. I got back into bed and lay there, wishing for the morning to come. Because as soon as it did, I was going to put the Greatest Idea in the World into action and help Ahmet find his family.
I knew it was going to be the most exciting thing any of us had ever done and that there was a chance it might get us into trouble too.
What I didn’t know was just how dangerous an adventure it was going to be—and quite how much trouble it was going to get us in….
“It’s brilliant!”
“Genius!”
“If that doesn’t work, then nothing will!”
Michael, Tom, and Josie all looked pretty impressed when I explained the Greatest Idea in the World to them on the bus to school the next day.
Tom looked down at my diagram and eagerly pointed to the letter and pencil. “This part’s easy,” he said. “But do you think she’ll really get it?”
I nodded. “She has to. It’s the Royal Mail—so she has to get all her letters. It’s the law.”
“But she’s the Queen. What if she’s not home because she’s somewhere else doing her duties and things and doesn’t get it in time?” asked Michael. “It’s already Friday, remember?”
Michael was right—the Greatest Idea in the World would only work if the Queen was at home. She was always on the news going to lots of places to collect flowers from people. And I hadn’t thought about what we would do if she didn’t get the letter at all….
“It’s okay,” said Josie reassuringly. “If we mail the letter today, then it’ll get to her house by tomorrow morning. Tomorrow’s only Saturday—and the gates don’t close until next Friday. That gives us six whole days. So if she’s not home, her butler will just open the letter instead, and he’ll let her know that she needs to come home right away to talk to the Special Police and the prime minister!”
“Yesssss!” said Michael. “Exactly!”
“Yeah. It’s going to be brilliant,” said Tom as we jumped off the bus and walked to the school gates. “There’s no way she won’t help us. Not after she reads about Ahmet.”
“But he mustn’t find out,” said Michael, tripping over his shoelaces but too excited to stop and tie them up.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “He can’t know—not until we’re really sure that the Queen has found his parents.”
“Don’t worry—we can keep it a secret. And maybe if it does work, then we’ll all get to meet the Queen!” Tom grinned. “I’ll have to get more hair gel if we do,” he added, stiffening his hair with his fingers so that it was spikier than ever.
“Maybe we’ll all get a medal for helping to keep the gates open!” said Josie, kicking her soccer ball along. “And Ahmet too—for being so brave.”
Michael smiled. His smile always goes to one side when he’s thinking about something that makes him really, really happy. It must be because he’s so happy that his mouth doesn’t know which way to go. “Yeah.” He nodded. “One of those star-shaped medals. And if we did get one, we could pin it to our shirts every day. Or if it’s on a ribbon, we could wear it around our necks!” he said, touching the collar of his school sweater.
I tried to imagine what it would be like to meet the Queen and be given a star-shaped medal. But the thought made my mind go blank and I couldn’t imagine anything at all. Sometimes a thought is so big that it can’t squeeze all of itself into my head no matter how hard I try, and the more I try, the more it makes my head ache.
Uncle Lenny says that’s where Head Aches all come from—when you’ve tried to think too many thoughts, or a giant thought tries to get in but it’s too big to fit. He gets Head Aches all the time, because he says when there’s no one in the taxi with him, he doesn’t have anything else to do but drive around all night and think deep thoughts that light up his mind. Maybe that’s why the front of his head is always so shiny. I didn’t want to get a Head Ache, so I left the thought of the star-shaped medal alone.
All that day, whenever we knew Ahmet couldn’t hear us, we talked about the Greatest Idea in the World and all the ways the Queen might help him and his family too. Ahmet caught us whispering together on the playground, though, and looked at us in a confused way.
“What are you saying?” he asked, looking at all of us.
“Nothing!” said Michael nervously.
“We were just talking about homework,” said Josie.
“Big homework,” I added, quickly crossing my fingers behind my back. “Your homework is small—and easy, see? And ours is big and lots, lots more.”
“Okay…,” Ahmet said slowly, but he didn’t sound like he believed us.
After that, we all whispered an agreement not to speak about the plan until after school, which was when we planned to write the Royal Letter. But it seemed that the more excited we got about putting the Greatest Idea in the World into action, the longer it took for the day to pass. And that afternoon felt like the longest afternoon any of us had ever had.
I kept looking up at the classroom clock to see if its hands had moved and I could see Tom and Michael and Josie doing the same thing. Then finally, just as we were about to give up hope of them ever reaching quarter past three, the school bell rang for dismiss
al and Mrs. Khan said, “Right, everyone, off you go. See you all on Monday!”
We all hurriedly waved bye to Ahmet, and instead of going with him to meet his foster mum like we usually did, we ran to the bus stop as fast as we could.
There’s a wall behind the bus stop just long enough to fit five people. After we all sat down, Josie gave me a brand-new piece of yellow paper she had taken from her desk, and Tom gave me his very best pen to use, and Michael gave me his textbook to write on. He guessed we would have to miss two buses home. But it didn’t matter. Not when we were trying to write the most Royal Letter any of us had ever written before!
Everyone said I should write it because I was the best at spelling. I was pretty nervous. But Tom and Josie and Michael all helped me choose what to say, so in the end, it wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be:
Your Royal Majesty of the United Queendom of England,
Please Mrs. Majesty. There is a new boy in our class named Ahmet and he’s a Refugee Boy from Syria where there is a War and lots of bullies throwing bombs and hurting people. Ahmet had to get on a boat and walked a long way to come to our school, and had to leave his Mum and Dad behind in tents too. Ahmet needs to find them before the Goverment closes all the gates.
We thought because you own the country and the police and the Prime Minister has to listen to you, that you could please ask your Special Police and the Prime Minister to keep all the gates open and help Ahmet find his family. We know the gates will close on Friday so this is an EMERJENCY.
You can find us at Nelson Primary School and Mrs. Khan is our teacher and Ms. Hemsi is Ahmet’s Special Teacher.
Please let us know if you can help as soon as you get this letter.
Love from Me (9 ¾), Tom 9), Michael (9½), and Josie (9¼)
When we had finished, Michael held it up to the light and gave it a nod. I don’t really know why people like holding things up to the light, but I guess it’s because they want to see through them and make sure they’re okay. I was glad because even though my writing had gone wonky, everyone said it looked good. It was the longest letter I had ever written at once and my hand felt sore, so I jumped off the wall and jiggled it about. In the distance, I could see the bus coming.
The Boy at the Back of the Class Page 10