She paused a moment, trying to settle the thoughts flying around in her head without much success, then moved into the crowd to find her results, her body now wound tight with tension and more than a little apprehension.
The announcements were pinned neatly in alphabetical order across a large cork noticeboard.
Regimented rows of student names, and against each of them, a single letter showing their result. A simple system. Look up your name; find your result.
She sighed. If only life were that simple.
Why had it ended up like this? What had she done to deserve the dumb-brain in maths and science? After all, she was a pretty dab hand with a pencil and a brush, in fact, the only student in the school to have exhibits in national galleries. Actually the only one to have anything in a gallery. And the only one to have any chance of winning the Young Artists competition.
But if she couldn’t figure out this stuff, she wouldn’t be able to magically paint her way out, and with that thought she was transported into thinking about her dreams. Dreams in which she had found it easy to use her artistic powers—not just talents, but real powers—and she had been cheered for them.
Jostled in the crowd around the board, she sighed again. It was no use, she had to face the facts.
“That was a big sigh, Sarina.”
She felt an elbow prodding her and looked around to see Georgia, a big grin on her face. “Judging by the look on your face, you obviously did OK?”
Georgia nodded. “How did you go?”
“Oh …” Sarina looked at the noticeboard, “I … er … let’s see, J … K … L … M … Metcalfe, Metcalfe, ah here it is …” her voice trailed away as she stared at her name and the letter next to it. “No … no … it can’t be,” she said, “I’m positive I … I … I …”
“Sarina, what’s the matter?” Georgia grabbed Sarina by the shoulders.
Sarina saw her friend through blurry eyes. The world was spinning away from her as she looked at her friend and back up to the letter next to her name. Her mouth opened as if to say something, and a movement in the corner of her eye caused her to look around. She saw Nathan looking over at her from the other side of the room and looked back at Georgia.
“Georgy.” She could manage no more words and, shaking herself loose from her friend, she ran out of the room, tears filling her eyes.
She got to the door of the classroom and was about to turn right and head down to the bathrooms to try to get her head straight, when she saw the Principal striding up the corridor towards her. He opened his mouth and raised his hand for her to stop, but Sarina let out a wild shriek and tried to avoid him, causing everyone in the corridor to stop and stare.
Back in the classroom, Georgia traced her finger across the results columns. “Sarina Metcalfe. Ah there you are.”
“Oh my. You poor girl.” Georgia’s shoulders slumped, feeling the weight of Sarina’s problem.
On the results paper was listed: METCALFE, Sarina |F|.
Outside the classroom, the Principal had prevented Sarina from slipping past him, and without saying a word, turned on his heel and beckoned her to follow him.
With every step feeling like a lead weight was tied around each foot, she followed the tall man down the corridor and into his office, oblivious to her friend Georgia, who had burst out of the classroom and was staring after her with a worried look on her face.
She walked into the office feeling like a zombie. ‘F’? Why? Why couldn’t she be normal like other kids. She sat down too hard in the chair and the jarring jolted her into realising the Principal was talking.
But not to her.
“Yes, yes. Her mother. That’s right. Thank you. Just put the call straight through.” He put the phone down onto its multi-button station, excited yellow lights blinking away as if to say ‘pick me, pick me’, unaware of Sarina’s predicament.
Sarina looked at the Principal and started to speak, but he held his hand up to stop her.
“Miss Metcalfe, unfortunately the time has come for you to recognise that we can no longer help you here. A string of ‘F’s means I cannot ignore your requirements. I’ve placed a call to your mother and we will ask her to join us and fill out the paperwork for Frenchstone.”
Sarina’s heart plummeted. Not Frenchstone and its grey fug and grey fuddy-duddy ‘fellows’ as that sour man had called them. Please not Frenchstone. Her mother would sort it out. She’d understand, wouldn’t she? She could feel a tear welling in one eye and drew in a breath to try to stem it. She’d be dratted if Forrester would make her cry.
The phone burst into life with a loud ring and a red light flashed angrily. The Principal picked up the handset and pressed the button.
“Yes, hello, Mrs Metcalfe,” he said after a brief pause, “I have your daughter here with me now.” He nodded, as if her mother could see him. “Yes, they are. A fail unfortunately … You will? Oh good, we’ll see you in a few minutes then … What’s that? You’re with who? … Oh yes, Timms. Good idea. We’ll see you both in a few minutes then.” He put the phone down and looked at Sarina. “Your mother will be here shortly with Dr Timms.”
Sarina was no longer able to contain the tears and she slumped over and sobbed in the chair. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything wrong. And now sour-puss Timms would be sure to come and convince her mother that “Frenchstone would be the best choice for your daughter, Mrs Metcalfe.”
Not fair. She wouldn’t do it. She had a future as an artist and she would prove it to them all. She stamped her foot, causing the Principal to start at the sudden sound and she stood up.
“I won’t do it and that’s that!” Then the waterfall of tears came and she spun around and ran out of the room wailing.
The Principal picked up the phone again and spoke. “Can you call Stratfords and ask them to send their ambulance? Tell them Timms will be here to supervise. Oh—and call the school security guard, the girl has just run out of my office. She’s in an extremely distressed state I’m afraid. We can’t have the other students affected by this. Yes. Thank you.”
He placed the handset back, sighed and got up to follow Sarina.
~~~
Sarina barged her way down the corridor, which was packed with students coming out of classes, opening lockers and laughing, chatting, smiling. She hated them for their normality and ran faster through a blur of tears. She passed Georgia, not seeing her; her friend opened her mouth to speak, but Sarina flew by, ignoring the growing looks of alarm from the other kids.
Georgia waited for the Principal to stride past and followed him from a discreet distance.
Sarina burst out of the doors at the end of the corridor and into the bright sunlight, her eyes stinging from her tears. “F!” she cried. “F!”
What gave them the right to punish her just because she couldn’t multiply properly? What about creativity and expression—and art? Didn’t those eggheads get that a world without art would be a world without life; without colour; without beauty?
F for fail. Their failure to understand what’s important.
So unfair.
She felt dizzy and stopped, wondering where she was. Her heart was racing and her throat was tight. Run. That’s all. Run.
Through blurry vision she saw people approaching her, but her head was in too much of a state to make out who they were.
“F” she muttered. “I’ll show them. I’ll run away. I will NOT go to that horrible place.” She drew in a deep breath and started running as fast as possible away from the school—
And straight into the burly arms of the school’s security guard.
“Got her!” She heard him say to someone else, her face buried in his chest as he held her tight.
Sarina flailed her arms around and screamed. “No! No, no, no. You can’t do this to me!” She sobbed and cried. Through her tears she saw her mother and Dr Timms appear, her mother’s face ashen.
“Sarina …” Her mother hesitated, “You know—” her voice was dro
wned by Sarina’s scream of denial.
“NOOOOOOOO,” she shouted, “I WON’T GO THERE!”
Her mother nodded to someone behind the guard and Sarina craned her head around to see the Principal with a grim expression. Next to him was a stern-faced woman in a white coat, fiddling with something in her hands, leaning towards Sarina.
“What?” Sarina looked back at her mother, puzzled, then was startled by a prick in her arm.
She looked back at the Principal and the woman in slow motion. They were looking all fuzzy and fluffy, she decided as she lost consciousness.
The jolting of the vehicle roused her, though she was only barely conscious. She became aware of being on a bed and tried to sit up, but something was stopping her. Had she been asleep? She was confused. Where was she? Why was she on a bed in a car … then the world faded in and out again and she lay down, too exhausted to think.
She came to again and was still in the bed. Why was it taking so long? Where were they going? She could see the houses flashing past outside the window and tried to look around her again.
The inside of the vehicle was white and had many nooks, locked cupboards, pipes, straps, and medical equipment. She frowned. In her drowsy state, she couldn’t quite understand where she was, but it resembled something she had seen before. What was it?
Oh that’s right! An ambulance. Oh dear. She realised what must have happened and looked down at her body on the bed. She was secured with straps, which was why she couldn’t move. She must have passed out. But why was she strapped down? She struggled to get up, but only exhausted her meagre supply of energy and she lay down again, falling into the darkness.
She woke up again when the ambulance jerked to a halt. She heard the driver lower his window and speak to someone outside. He must have received an answer, as he wound the window back up and they drove on, slowly this time and she caught a glimpse of a security guard inside a small guardhouse. Then the vehicle stopped again and waited. She raised her head and peered out of the window. It was dark now, but she could make out a sign through her foggy vision. It said “Stratford Mental Health Institute. We Help You Get A Head”.
A shockwave rushed through her and she fell back on the bed. No wonder it had taken so long. They weren’t going to Frenchstone at all. This was the mental asylum, the one the other kids at school called “the loony bin”. Wasn’t someone’s mother supposed to be locked up in here?
So she’d been wrong about her worst nightmare. She thought that Frenchstone was as bad as it could get. But this was worse, much worse.
Now there was no hope of ever being normal, let alone an artist. She felt herself succumbing to the tiredness and yawned once, then fell asleep.
When she woke again, it was quiet and dark. What little light there was came from underneath a door not far from the bed she was on.
She tried to get up but felt resistance. Straps again. Nice hospitality.
Sarina shook her head and immediately regretted the dizziness that followed. Her head felt three times as heavy as it normally did. Her whole body felt sluggish and heavy. What had they done to her? She rested back against the pillow.
The darkness and sleep was still coming in waves. When it came, it felt like a heavy, dark blanket had been placed over her entire body. Sarina tried to keep her mind active during her waking moments, but it was too hard. She pictured people, her friends, Georgia, her mother, but each time she struggled to see them any way except a long way away from her; she couldn’t reach them … she couldn’t FEEL.
She just felt numb and that was the truth.
She even tried thinking about Nathan. She never did get the chance to confront him about the drawing of Paolo, but the thought of him, which would usually have her scowling, didn’t raise any energy, only apathy.
“There’s only one thing left,” she said out loud, wondering if it would help, but it didn’t, “I’ll sleep … and dream.”
Maybe, just maybe she could go back to being a monster-fighting superhero again and everything would be OK. She’d meet up with Paolo. He’d understand. He knew what it was like; being trapped, not able to make yourself understood. Strapped down on the hard bed, it should have been awkward to find sleep, but she soon felt drowsy and deep sleep arrived fast.
Trapped in the murky depths of a restless sleep, Sarina dreamed, only this time it was different.
She could see dim shapes in the dark, possibly in the forest. They were far away, too far to see who they were or what they were doing.
She tried to move towards them, but it was like trying to wade her entire body through chest deep molasses, and each time she tried to push harder, she came to a halt.
Her arms were unresponsive and pinned to her sides. She couldn’t understand why she couldn’t seem to move them.
In the distance she could hear faint screams, disturbing noises. She turned with difficulty in the heavy air and peered into the darkness, but the screams came from nowhere in particular.
She needed help. Maybe someone would come and free her from whatever was preventing her from moving. She tried shouting. “Help, help! Is anyone there?”
But it was as if her mouth was filled with heavy black bubbles of molasses and she couldn’t get the words out.
Frustrated, she tried one more time to speak, but now, as soon as she opened her mouth, she felt like someone was trying to stuff her full of huge dry peas, so she quickly closed it and instead, made a last determined effort to reach the dark shapes. She had to push herself forward with each leg, and with each shove it became more difficult, until she was being sucked down into the ground, which had become a greedy bubbling mass of black goo. She felt the darkness descend.
Who was it that wanted to dream again?
~ 12 ~
Skateboards
“Hey, Nathan!”
Nathan jumped and turned around. Oh drat. Why, when you are late for school, do you have to encounter the Sawyer gang? Four of the most obnoxious kids in the entire school, led by their bully-boy leader, David—or Davo as his gang called him. And he just had to find them here.
“Hi. What do you want?”
The gang leader swaggered up to confront Nathan. “I wants you to build us a fancy board like yours.” He pointed to Nathan’s skateboard, tucked under his arm.
Nathan was in too much of a hurry to argue, so he pushed his board into the leader’s chest, “Here. Have this one. It’s one I made earlier.” He couldn’t resist the sarcasm, even though he knew it would slow him down. They really were easy targets anyway.
The boy inspected the board, turning it over to look at the wheels. “It’s like this you see.”
Nathan groaned. This was going to be painful. And slow. “Um, I really have to go. I’ve got to get to—”
“To work.” The leader looked up at him and squinted one eye. Maybe he thought it was his super-cool street-wise look or something. Either way it was pitiful.
“That’s right, Einstein. You’ve got to get to work, because when I say I wants you to build us a fancy board like yours, I really does mean us. Not just one. Four. But I’ll take this one as a down payment.”
Nathan stared at the boy. “You want four. Four boards. Three more.”
The boy sneered at Nathan and turned to his three cronies. “’E’s got it now ain’t he?” They all nodded at their leader’s brilliance.
“OK then,” Nathan said, sighing. The easiest way out would be to agree to this simpleton’s request. And to tell the truth, he had some new ideas for the deck he wanted to try, and these idiots would make a great set of test dummies. “Three more boards it is then—” He moved to leave but the leader dragged him back by the arm.
“By Fursday.” He squinted at Nathan again.
“Thursday?” Nathan stared at the boy. “Are you barking mad? If you think I can make another three boards by Thursday then you really are mad.” He looked down at where the boy had hold of his arm and looked up again. “Maybe you should join your mum in the loon
y bin.” He knew it wasn’t smart to rile the boy but his tongue got the better of him, and, to tell the truth, the thought of spending all his spare time making new boards for these idiots annoyed him, and he couldn’t stop himself.
The boy yanked Nathan closer and hissed at him. “She ain’t IN the loony bin, Einstein, she only works there. Got it? You’ll have ’em done by Fursday or else.”
“Okay,” Nathan said, resigned to his fate. “Thursday it is. Now can I go?”
The leader released his arm. “Fursday. Alwight?”
Nathan stared after them as they left. Mental giants, all four of them. He shrugged, and shaking the experience out of his system, walked on to school.
~~~
The class dragged. Nathan found this happened in almost all his maths classes; he’d get the work done in the first ten minutes and spend the rest of the time looking ahead in the books. Today it was impossible to do that, since the teacher had told the class they had to follow her on the whiteboard. No books allowed.
He straightened his back in an effort to stay awake, and watched what the teacher was writing and describing on the board, suppressing yet another yawn by pretending to rub his nose.
“Pssst. What’s up Nathan? Got an itchy nose have you?”
He turned around to identify the author of the voice. It was Georgia, one of Sarina’s friends. “Yeah, what of it?”
Georgia’s expression changed and she pointed towards the front of the classroom. Nathan turned back just in time to see the teacher looking at him. “Nathan Goldberg, will you stop distracting the girls. I know you think you know all this stuff, but really, unless you want to stay behind and see the Principal …”. The teacher raised her eyes and waited for Nathan to respond.
He mumbled. “Yes, Miss Andrews, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” As soon as Miss Andrews turned around he whipped his head around and glared at Georgia, who had her hand over her mouth, sniggering.
The truth was that he was tired. The last few days he had been having wild dreams; monster bird-like creatures who were also men; an odd-looking boy with curly hair. None of it made sense. He was well aware dreams were not supposed to make sense, but when they came over and over with the same setting, same characters, he was pretty sure his mind was trying to send him a message. But about what?
The Dreamer Chronicles Trilogy Boxed Set Vol I - III: A Sci-Fi Parallel Universe Adventure (The Dreamer Chronicles - Science Fiction For Kids And Adults) Page 10