Secrets at Silver Spires

by Ann Bryant

  I felt terrible and didn’t answer straight away because I was trying to work out if there was any way I could pack everything I had to do into Sunday, but I knew in my heart that there wasn’t, because the reading would take me for ever.

  “You’ve got all day tomorrow, remember, Jess,” said Mia, tuning in. She’d only spoken in a very gentle voice and yet it still annoyed me because she had no idea what my life was like.

  “Hang on! Aren’t we forgetting the small matter of the Globe?” squeaked Georgie.

  “I wasn’t…planning on doing the Globe trip actually…” I said hesitantly.

  Georgie came back immediately in a typical Georgie wrapping-up-the-conversation way. “You must be totally mad, but at least it means you can go with Grace this afternoon.” Then she broke into a gabble about how great the Globe outing was sure to be. “I can’t wait! The actors are the best ever, you know. I mean, when you read a Shakespeare play, you don’t know what it’s on about, all written in that strange old-fashioned English. But when you hear the actors speaking the words, it’s like they’ve translated it all into modern English, because you can understand every single thing they say! And that’s their skilful acting, you know!”

  All the time Georgie had been making that speech I’d been wondering how on earth I was going to be able to break it to Grace that I wasn’t coming with her. I knew she’d be upset, but I also knew that, being Grace, she’d try not to let it show. The others would think I was completely mad, but I’d just have to put up with that. I could simply say I’d got schoolwork to catch up on. After all, everyone knows I’m not particularly great at any subject except art. That’s completely different from not being able to read properly.

  I decided to speak very quietly, so no one but Grace could hear. “Would you be really, really upset if I didn’t come with you to the tennis match? It’s just that I so want to do my project, but also I’ve got quite a bit of work to catch up on.” I knew I was kind of pleading with my eyes, and I hoped she understood that I hated doing this to her.

  “No, that’s okay. I’d probably be really nervous with you watching anyway.”

  There was something sort of crisp about the way Grace said that, and I noticed she didn’t look at me. It wasn’t like we’d had an argument, or even a disagreement, and neither of us had said anything remotely horrible. And yet the atmosphere had changed. I was confused and didn’t know what to say now because I couldn’t tell if Grace was cross or hurt, or just trying to make me feel better about not coming. But if that was what she was doing, then why were her eyes darting about all over the place? Or was that just because of her nervousness?

  “I’d better go. I’ll see you later then.” She jumped up abruptly.

  “Loads of luck, Grace!” I quickly said, giving her a huge smile, but she still wasn’t looking, and a second later she rushed off, the others all looking a bit surprised and calling their “good lucks” after her.

  “Wow, she is in a state!” said Georgie. “Aren’t you going with her, Jess?”

  “No, she says I’ll make her even more nervous…”

  I’d made it sound as though I’d been fully intending to go but Grace had said she’d rather I didn’t, which wasn’t the truth at all. And now I felt as though Naomi’s all-seeing eyes were on me, and I was back to concentrating on not going red.

  It was a relief when I knew the others were all safely on the coach heading for the bowlplex. I went straight to the computer room and was about to go onto the Google page when my mobile rang. I looked at the screen and saw it was Mum.

  “Hello, Jessie,” she said.

  It was lovely to hear her voice but I couldn’t help feeling a moment of panic. Had Miss Cardwell phoned Mum and explained about my learning support? That was the last thing I wanted to talk about, so before Mum had time to say another word I started gabbling away about my plans for the art exhibition. As I talked she chuckled from time to time and said she could tell I was really excited about it and it sounded wonderful. She didn’t ask if she’d get to see my work and I wouldn’t have known the answer to that question even if she had asked, but I got that old feeling that I’ve always had where my love of art is concerned – that Mum and Dad are pleased that it means so much to me, but apart from that they’re not really all that interested. It’s not like my brother’s chess, for example. They really love the way he keeps winning matches, but, more than that, they actually want to go along and watch the matches because they find chess really interesting.

  When I’d finished talking about art, Mum told me about Ben’s latest triumph at chess. Apparently he’s got something called a ranking now. Mum proudly told me that he’s number twenty-nine in the country for the under-eighteens. She explained how brilliant that was because Ben’s only sixteen so he’s got nearly two years to raise his position. I couldn’t help feeling jealous of my talented big brother. I’d love to be able to raise my position and make my parents proud of me. I sighed. Maybe I would one day.

  “And how is your work going, Jessie?”

  “Oh…” She’d given me a shock, coming out with that when I thought we were still talking about Ben. “Well, it’s okay…”

  “It’s just that we’ve had Miss Cardwell on the phone…”

  I tensed up instantly and waited to hear what Mum and Dad thought about having a daughter with dyslexia.

  “We’ve heard all about the reading test and everything, and Dad and I are just relieved that at last it looks as though you’re going to get some help, Jessie. We never realized what a struggle you’ve had… Well, we knew you were a slow reader and found spellings hard, but we’d no idea it was such a big problem for you, love. As Miss Cardwell said, the primary school really should have picked up on it. I must say she sounds very nice, Miss Cardwell. Do you get on well with her, Jessie?”

  “Yes, she’s a really good teacher…I…”

  “Dad and I have been saying it’s a good thing we decided on Silver Spires, with its excellent Learning Support department…”

  “…and its excellent art department,” I quickly added.

  “Well, yes… Anyway, Miss Cardwell has put in for an appointment with the educational psychologist, so hopefully we’ll get the dyslexia diagnosis confirmed at half-term and then you’ll get all the help you need and everything should be a lot easier for you, love.”

  When I put the phone down I sighed again and wondered whether Mum was picturing me rising up the Year Seven rankings. It annoyed me that she’d been much more focused on my dyslexia than on my art. It was still lovely to talk to her all the same and I couldn’t help feeling a bit sad after we’d said goodbye, so it was good that I had something to concentrate on.

  Right. Where should I start?

  And that was when I realized it was going to take me even longer than usual to google the word Michelangelo. It was far too hard to spell and I just had to guess. I was so pleased when the page came up and at the top it said, Did you mean Michelangelo? and I saw that I’d spelled it completely wrongly but it didn’t matter. They knew what I meant. Then I spent ages trying all the different sites. I’d written down the word dyslexia in my sketchbook, so I just kept scrolling down page after page looking out for that word.

  But it never appeared. At least, I couldn’t see it.

  I was feeling really fed up by then and didn’t know what to do, and I was also feeling bad because I’d wasted so much time in the computer room and I hadn’t done any reading, or, more important by far, any work on my art piece. I decided to google famous people with dyslexia and after a couple of shots at the word famous it got recognized. But then, hallelujah, there was a list of famous people who were supposed to be dyslexic and amongst the names I found the two I’d been looking for.

  It was amazing how happy that made me feel, partly because I’d actually managed to find something on the web all on my own (even if it had taken me ages), but mainly because it looked as though Miss Cardwell wasn’t making it up after all. I looked at t
he other names and saw Albert Einstein. I was certain he was a genius who’d made a fantastic mathematical discovery, so then I felt like dancing round the computer room because I was so happy. This was the proof I needed that having dyslexia really didn’t mean you were stupid.

  But now I was wondering how I’d ever be able to convince people like Sophie and Isis about that. I sighed. It would be much easier to keep pretending there was nothing the matter. But then there was Grace…and my other friends. Should I tell them the truth? Surely they’d understand. I thought in my heart that they would definitely understand, but then when I remembered Isis and Sophie smirking, my shame came creeping back.

  I went back upstairs to the dorm and picked up one of my black bin liners full of wire, then took my precious glass pieces from the back of my drawer and dropped them in the bag. A few minutes later I was in the secret garden and I hadn’t passed a soul all the way, because everyone seemed to be out shopping or at the bowlplex.

  I started with the smallest figure, the girl, twisting and plaiting wire and shaping it so it would look a bit like a matchstick person. But what was important was the way I arranged the limbs and the head and the back, to get movement in the body. I spent ages moulding it into the position I wanted, as though the figure was looking up at the sky, thinking or maybe daydreaming like I do.

  I was so absorbed in my work that I jumped a mile when my mobile bleeped to say I’d got a text. It was from Katy.

  Hows it goin? Bowling ws gd. Had pizza etc. Bout 2 go in2 film. C u soon. K x

  I don’t mind texting because it’s taken for granted that you can spell words how you want and everyone can work out what you mean to say anyway. It seemed amazing that Katy and the others had finished bowling and they’d also had a meal. I couldn’t believe how much time had gone by. In fact, I suddenly realized I was starving hungry, so I quickly texted Katy back.

  Goin ok, hope film is gd Luv J x

  Then I hid my figure under a bin liner, along with the other bin liner of glass pieces and leftover wire, in the narrow space between the hedge and the trees, and went across to the dining hall.

  I got a shock as I went in because Grace was sitting there and it was weird that she hadn’t texted me to say she was back. Maybe she thought I’d gone to the bowlplex after all. I grabbed my meal and rushed over to find out how she’d got on.

  “Not bad,” she said, with only a tiny trace of a smile.

  My stomach knotted right up because Grace was obviously more upset than I’d thought, and even seemed cross. I felt terrible.

  “So what was the score?” I asked brightly, coming out with the first thing that came into my head and realizing immediately that it was a stupid question.

  “It’s not really to do with scores. It’s just which school won the different categories.”

  I remembered then. “Oh yes, you were in the singles and the doubles, weren’t you? So…did you…do okay?”

  “Yes, Silver Spires won the junior singles and came second in the doubles.”

  “Oh wow! So that was down to you, Grace! Well done!” I said enthusiastically.

  “Thanks,” she said. And this time she smiled properly, thank goodness.

  I wanted to hang on to this moment while the smile was still there. “Look, I’m really sorry I didn’t come along, Grace, I just had so much to do.”

  Her face softened a bit, but it was like she was making a huge effort, and I’m not used to there being any tension between Grace and me, so it was horrible. “That’s okay. How did you get on with your project?”

  “I’ve done the figure of the girl. I think she’s going to look good when she’s got some clothes on!”

  Grace giggled, and it was such an enormous relief to have her back to normal that I found myself giggling too, but then her face turned serious again.

  “Did you…do the work you had to do?” she asked me next.

  “Yes…I… Yes.”

  “So if your work’s all done, are you going to the Globe tomorrow then?” she asked, looking at me carefully.

  I wished then that I’d not said I’d done my work. I thought about the sheet of paper Miss Cardwell had given me and all the consonant blends we’d worked on together and how determined I was to practise everything she’d shown me in between sessions, so I’d get better and better until my problems disappeared, and a big argument started up from two different places in my brain.

  Yes, but Grace will be upset again if you don’t go.

  I know, but Miss Cardwell won’t be very impressed if I haven’t done any work on my own and she has to go over the same ground again.

  Look, why don’t you just explain about your dyslexia to Grace?

  No, I can’t. It’s too embarrassing, and anyway I should have done it in the first place if I was going to.

  “I’m really sorry, Grace,” I said, giving her that pleading look again, “but if I go to the Globe it’ll take up the whole day, and I might not get my…artwork done. I’m really slow at it…trying to get it absolutely perfect…you know.”

  She nodded slowly but I saw concern in her eyes. “It’s okay. I know how much it means to you.”

  And it was a relief when she tipped her head against mine, like she often did, but I was still confused. I didn’t understand what was getting to Grace.

  Later, when the others were back and everyone was phoning or e-mailing home, I slipped back to the secret garden to look at my girl figure and collect my bin liner to take back up to the dorm. There was something I wanted to do first though. I reached inside for the crystal teardrops so I could try setting two of them in the circles of wire I’d created for the eye sockets. I just wanted to see what they looked like. I dropped the teardrops on the ground, then stood the figure up against a tree and used the teensiest bit of Blu-tack to lodge the crystals in place. I stood back and took a look, and immediately shivers ran down my spine. The cut glass glinted sharply and somehow brought the figure to life. It was amazing and I was over the moon that I’d had the idea of using the teardrops in the first place. But then I got a shock, because I noticed that on the ground beside the bin liner there were only five pieces of glass in the sparkling pile, and yet I’d definitely collected eight from the room with the old chandelier. Two for each figure. Two of them were in place in my girl figure, which should leave six. Even I could work that out.

  I rummaged around inside the bag and finally tipped all the remaining wire out of it and searched the whole area around the hedge and the tree carefully, but there was nothing. Not even a glimmer. I’ll have to go back to the room and get another one, I told myself, and I’ll take more care this time and keep checking that all eight are present and correct.

  The door to the room in the basement opened easily, which was quite a relief because I’d been wondering all the way over what I’d do if it was locked. But then I gasped out loud as a new problem hit me. A much bigger one. The chandelier was gone. Not a single trace of it remained. It had been thrown out already. Now what was I going to do? My whole piece would be spoiled if one of the figures had an eye missing.

  I stared at the floor for ages, hoping that a miracle might happen and a teardrop would suddenly magically appear. But eventually I had to stop looking and make my way miserably up to the dorm, my happy, ambitious feelings about the art exhibition slipping and sliding into bleakness, until by the time I’d got to the third floor I’d decided I’d have to leave the eyes out altogether. That thought was so depressing that I began to wonder whether there was any point in carrying on with the art piece at all. How could I have been so careless as to lose something so precious?

  But I knew the answer to that perfectly well, and I started punishing myself harshly with the cruellest words, because that was what I deserved.

  It’s your stupid dyslexic brain, Jess. It even affects your art now.

  Chapter Seven

  Very gradually, I noticed my reading improving, and that really made me happy. I hadn’t had any problems escaping
from my friends to go and see Miss Cardwell for my twice weekly sessions either. I think they’d just got used to me going off to work on my project whenever there was a spare moment, because none of them batted an eyelid whenever I said I was going to the secret garden. Not even Grace.

  Miss Cardwell was my second favourite teacher now, but Mr. Cary would always be my favourite. I’d told him I was doing a piece of installation art for the exhibition and he’d wanted to hear all about it, but then when I’d explained that I wanted to keep it a secret until it was finished, he’d completely understood.

  “Sign of a true artist, Jess! I’m looking forward to seeing it. Any ideas where you’re going to install it?”

  I shook my head. It was true, I didn’t know exactly where would be the best place, except that I wanted my four figures to be surrounding a tree somehow.

  If only Mr. Reeves understood me like Mr. Cary did. But he was the complete opposite. He probably thought he was being helpful, but I was growing to dread English lessons because of the things he said to me, and the way people stared.

  “Don’t worry about spellings, Jessica. It’s the content that’s important.”

  Why did he have to say Jessica? Now, everyone who wasn’t sure before was definitely quite clear that Jessica Roud couldn’t spell to save her life.

  One day I was sitting in my usual place, roughly in the middle of the room, with Isis and Sophie just behind me. Mr. Reeves was setting us some comprehension work, and as usual he told me not to worry if I couldn’t get through it all. “But I’m expecting the rest of you to manage the whole thing,” he added, before turning his attention to his laptop. Immediately there was a buzz of noise, but Mr. Reeves was already in his own little world, slapping a CD into the CD player and frowning at the case, too engrossed to tell us to be quiet.