Secrets at Silver Spires

by Ann Bryant

  “I had to scrape up loads of soil,” she said, breaking off the hug. “Look at my disgusting black nails!”

  I thanked her about a million times as I put this last missing teardrop with the others and we jogged back to Hazeldean together on our way to see Miss Carol. When we were almost there Grace broke into a giggle. “Sorry I tricked you,” she said. “I couldn’t resist it!”

  I laughed. “That’s okay.” Surprisingly I didn’t feel at all nervous any more now I’d got all eight pieces of glass, though I couldn’t help tensing up when we stood outside Miss Carol’s flat. “You will come in with me, won’t you?” I whispered.

  “Course I will,” said Grace. And without hesitation I knocked on the door.

  “Come in and sit down, girls,” said Miss Carol, a welcoming smile on her face as always. “What can I do for you?”

  I took a deep breath and held out my hand with the eight crystals. I was watching her carefully and her eyes were out on stalks. “Oh!” She seemed stuck for words. “Wh…where did you find them?”

  And that was the first moment that it ever occurred to me that I needn’t have worried about being expelled or anything because if I wanted I could simply tell a lie.

  In the long grass at the side of the athletics field.

  Amongst the rhododendrons that line the drive.

  In the laundry room.

  There were so many possible lies I could tell, but I knew it would be stupid to tell any of them, so I told the truth. And I finished off by saying, “I’m really sorry. I know I should have spent more time trying to read the notice on the door in the basement, but I was so excited about my art project…”

  Miss Carol leaned forwards and patted my hand. “It was brave of you to hand them in, Jess.”

  “Will you…will you tell Ms. Carmichael it was me?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I will, but Ms. Carmichael won’t need to share that information with anyone else, so don’t worry.”

  I thanked her, and Grace and I got up to go a few minutes later. But when we were almost out of the door, Miss Carol suddenly said, “So what exactly were you going to use the glass for?”

  “Oh, just something for my art project, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not even entering the art exhibition now.”

  “Oh dear, that’s a shame. Why is that?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t like the piece I’ve done any more.”

  Miss Carol frowned and repeated that it was a shame, then we all said goodbye and that was that. The dreaded deed was done and I felt so much better.

  “Are you double-certain about not entering the art exhibition, Jess?” Grace asked me as we walked over to supper.

  “Yes,” I said, my crossness flaring up again. “The figures aren’t right without eyes. They’re not how I imagined them.”

  “You’re not just kind of…punishing yourself?” Grace said then.

  I hesitated because I didn’t know what she meant, then shook my head firmly and said, “No. I don’t want people looking at my art when I can’t bear to look at it myself.” Then inside my head, with a heavy sadness, I added, Especially not Brian Hodgson.

  “Sure?” Grace tried again, quietly.

  “Double-positive.”

  And she gave up after that.

  Chapter Ten

  None of my friends could persuade me to change my mind about the art exhibition. They all looked at me as though I was totally mad when I just kept shrugging and said I simply wasn’t bothered about it any more.

  “But I don’t get why you’ve changed your mind,” said Georgie. “I mean, what’s different now from when you first started the project?”

  “I just don’t think the figures look as good as I’d imagined they’d look, and I don’t like entering something that’s less than perfect.”

  “Would you let us see them?” asked Naomi.

  I hesitated and Grace jumped in.

  “I think it would be good if the others saw them,” she said quietly. Then she turned her palms up, as a look of complete bewilderment came over her face. “You’ll all think she’s crazy not to enter when you see the brilliant work she’s done.”

  A picture of my friends staring at the figures on the rubbish dump came into my head, and I tensed up at the thought of them all racking their brains to try and think of something nice to say to make sure I wouldn’t be upset.

  “No, they’re not worth seeing, honestly. And anyway, I’ve chucked them away, so that’s the end of that.”

  Then later I had the terrible task of going to tell Mr. Cary what I’d decided.

  “Ah, Jess!” he said, with a smile as I approached him. “Come to give in your card?”

  “Er…no…actually…”

  His smile dissolved into a look of big concern. “What’s up, Jess?”

  I took a deep breath and sucked my lips in tight, quickly practising the words I’d prepared, then I spoke them in a rush. “I’ve decided not to enter because I don’t like what I’ve done. It’s not…right.”

  Mr. Cary shook his head slowly. “No, no, no,” he said quietly. “That’s just an artist’s thing, Jess. You work and work on something and after a while you can’t see it objectively any more and it doesn’t feel fresh and original and you start to have doubts. Really…”

  “No, it’s not that. I just know it’s rubbish…”

  “Well why don’t you let me be the judge of that. I won’t push you into entering if you really don’t want to, but I’m sure I’ll be able to see something in your work that you can’t see yourself because you’re just too close to it.”

  “It won’t make any difference. I just don’t want to enter it.”

  He shook his head again and I could tell he was really sad. “Have you filled in the card?”

  “I didn’t see the point.”

  “Okay, Jess, just do that one thing for me. Just fill in the card. Write whatever you would have written.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t really get why Mr. Cary wanted me to do that. He was still looking at me so I shrugged again and said, “All right.”

  He looked carefully at me then. “I need you to promise to do the card for me, Jess.”

  I didn’t understand why he was so insistent. What was he going to do with it?

  “I promise…as long as you chuck it away when you’ve looked at it.”

  He sighed and gave me a sad smile. “You drive a hard bargain, Jess.” Then he glanced behind me because Katy was rushing in, flapping her card.

  “I’ve done it.”

  “Excellent, Katy. Go and display it next to your jewellery.”

  But Katy turned to me instead, with pleading eyes and praying hands. “Please, please change your mind, Jess.”

  “What are we going to do with her?” Mr. Cary asked Katy, folding his arms and tipping his head on one side.

  “I don’t know. We all think she’s totally mad,” said Katy, grabbing my shoulders and looking urgently into my eyes. “Just think about how exciting tomorrow afternoon is going to be, Jess, when Brian Hodgson judges the exhibition, and we get the afternoon off to look round all the art…”

  That weight of sadness came over me again. I’d so wanted Brian Hodgson to look at my work. But then I imagined him and everyone else looking at my sightless figures and felt more sure than ever that I was doing the right thing.

  “There’s the big barbecue, remember?” went on Katy, ignoring my silence.

  “And the parents will get to see the art in the second half of term when it’s open day.” Mr. Cary took up the trying-to-get-Jess-to-change-her-mind talk.

  I tried to imagine Mum and Dad and Ben looking round the school. If I’d won a prize I knew they’d be really proud of me. But then there was no way I was going to win a prize with four unfinished figures, was there? So I didn’t know why I was even thinking about that.

  “Sorry,” I said, firmly to Mr. Cary. I didn’t want to look at his face again, so I just turned to leave. “Sorry.”

  For the re
st of the day I kept on going over the conversation I’d had with Mr. Cary. I could tell he was genuinely sad that I wasn’t entering and that made me sad too. I kept on thinking what to write on the card, but whatever I wrote would be pointless because I didn’t believe in my work any more. I should never have agreed to do it. It was so much harder than I’d thought it would be.

  By the time we all went to bed I still hadn’t done it, but then I couldn’t get to sleep for thinking about it. It was as though the stupid art exhibition was haunting me, not letting me forget it.

  In the end I sat up in bed and snapped on my little bedside light, not even caring whether I was disturbing the others. I glanced round quickly and saw that they were all asleep anyway, so I hung over the edge of the bed and reached down to grab the card and a pencil from my desk below. Then I stared at the card for a while, getting myself worked up into a temper because absolutely no words would come. I folded my arms crossly and squeezed my eyes tight to make a picture of those stupid figures on the rubbish dump come up in my mind. Then I started scribbling furiously…

  This is a bunch of peaple on the rubish heap who cant see proply.

  Why cant they see? Becase stupid Jessica Roud did’nt manidge to sort out any eyes for them. Why did’nt she manidge such a simple thing? Becase she cant even read. The end.

  I tucked the card under my pillow, snapped off my light and curled up tight under the duvet. I might have promised Mr. Cary that I’d give him the card, but I didn’t say when, did I? The next day he was sure to be flat out making sure everything was in place for the exhibition, and looking after Brian Hodgson, so there was no way he’d think about my card. And he wouldn’t be interested in what I’d written once the exhibition was over, would he? Good. I’d done what he wanted me to do. I’d kept my part of the bargain.

  And now I could go to sleep.

  After lunch the following day, the whole school seemed to start buzzing. Everyone was rushing in all directions, including us. But I felt peculiar. Half of me loved seeing all the art, but the other half felt like a ghost at a party. I used to be a part of all this happiness and excitement but now I wasn’t, and it hurt a bit.

  It was as though a sorcerer had been weaving magic at Silver Spires during lunchtime, because we kept on coming across pieces of art everywhere we looked. There were wind chimes made of pottery that hung in trees, and a little garden in the patch of land in front of the science lab, filled with ceramic mushrooms and toadstools. There were even gargoyles attached to outbuildings, that looked as though they’d been cut out of breeze blocks and painted in bright acrylic colours. One of them was amazing. I studied the little plaque beside it and saw that it was a Year Nine girl who’d made it.

  In the shrubbery near the tennis courts was a shelter made of twigs and stones and wood, with an incredible curtain of leaves. I’d watched the shelter develop over the last few days, but the girl who did it must have made her curtain of leaves somewhere else and just hung it up today. She was in Year Nine too.

  “Look, she’s called it ‘Hidden’,” said Naomi. “I like that idea.”

  Her big eyes stared into the distance and I had the sudden jolting feeling that she might appreciate my family of figures. But I quickly pushed the thought away, because it was too late now, and anyway I’d promised myself I wouldn’t think about it any more, I’d just concentrate on enjoying the sight of all the other art.

  “Please can we see your jewellery now?” I begged Katy for the twentieth time.

  Naomi was as desperate as me. “Come on, Kates,” she said. “We’ve seen just about everything else.”

  “All right,” said Katy, grinning. “Follow me!”

  She led us to the art block, then stopped dramatically and folded her arms, looking at us with shining, challenging eyes. “Bet you can’t find it!”

  “What?” said Georgie. “Course we’ll find it. It’ll be with the rest of the jewellery, won’t it?”

  “You’ll just have to see,” said Katy mysteriously. “But don’t rush round. Look at everything carefully. That’s the only clue I’m giving you.”

  I felt glad that Katy had told us to take our time, because there was so much to see. The art block was totally transformed. It always looked great, but today it looked breathtaking. There were murals and ceiling paintings, stained-glass windows and corridors turned into underwater tunnels with sea life surrounding you as you walked along. There were ceramic pots and jugs and animals and birds, and hats made of feathers and felt; there was every style of picture and photograph, small and large and gigantic, using every type of material and technique under the sun.

  “Oh wow!” Georgie made us all come and look at what was on a table all on its own. “I want this!”

  It was a silver necklace on a plaster-of-Paris bust, only it didn’t just go round the neck, it hung in strands right round the shoulders like the tassles of a scarf. It was truly beautiful.

  “Yes, I know,” said Katy, pouting, pretending to be fed up. “This is so going to win a prize, and don’t worry, guys, I know my bracelet won’t get anywhere, but I loved making it and I can’t wait till you see it.”

  We still hadn’t found it and I was getting more and more intrigued.

  “Look at this wall, Jess,” said Naomi. “There are some lovely pictures here.”

  “Yes, this one’s…” I stopped and gasped. I was staring at a black sheet of A3 paper with silver bracelets of all sorts of different designs painted all over it, only one of them wasn’t painted. It was real. And on the bottom right-hand corner were Katy’s initials, K.P.

  “Wow, Kates!” said Naomi, swinging round and hugging Katy, who was grinning from ear to ear. “It’s amazing!”

  “Oh, Katy,” I breathed. “It’s…” I was searching for the right word and it popped into my head in next to no time. “It’s exquisite!”

  “Thank you, Jess! That’s a really big compliment because of you being such an artist.”

  I felt a tightness in my stomach. Could I still count myself as an artist when I’d just chucked away my latest piece of art?

  Grace squeezed my hand. Maybe she’d noticed my sad look. “Let’s look at everything all over again,” she whispered. “We’ve got an hour till the judging.”

  So that’s what we did, only this time we stopped and read all the little plaques – at least the others did, and Grace read them out loud for me. It was such a lovely relief not having to worry any more about not being able to read when I was with my friends.

  At three o’clock everyone assembled on the lawn on the other side of the drive that scooped past the main building. I looked up and saw the tall thin spires spraying sparkles into the bright sunny sky, and when I looked back down again Mr. Cary and the other art teachers were approaching the platform on the lawn from the art block, with a tall slim-looking man. He had short silver hair and was wearing a loose white shirt, grey trousers, a black waistcoat with yellow braiding round it, and a thin chain round his neck. My heart beat faster. This was Brian Hodgson.

  Everyone cheered like mad when Mr. Cary introduced him and he grinned round, and said, “What a welcome! Thank you! And what a lovely school with talent sprouting everywhere. I think you should be very proud of yourselves.” There was more cheering then. “I’ve had great difficulty choosing my winners and my two runners-up in each category,” he went on in a more serious tone, “but I’ve finally managed it. I’d like to start with the senior category, if I may, simply because the three winning entries are within ten metres of me.”

  We all started looking round but there was nothing to be seen within ten metres of where we were standing, so I was a bit confused.

  Brian reached down and took something out of a large canvas bag. “Here is the work of the second runner-up,” he announced, turning it round with a flourish to face us. “Would Tessa Phillips please come and receive her prize?”

  Tessa was in Year Eleven and she’d done the most brilliant illustration for a children’s book. She�
�d used a photograph for the background and painted cartoon characters on the top. It was atmospheric and amazing and I clapped like mad along with everyone else as she shook Brian’s hand and he gave her an envelope.

  When she left the platform, we all fell quiet and Brian began to speak again. “Now I said that all the winning entries in this category could be seen within ten metres of where we are standing and you all dutifully looked round, but no one thought to look up.”

  So then of course the entire school looked up at the old oak tree, since there was no other place where the artwork could be, and, sure enough, half hidden by leaves and hanging between two branches was a great brown bat, that looked as though it was made of the finest spun silk. It wasn’t just the bat that was so impressive, it was the way the artist had thought to camouflage it like that.

  A girl called Helena went to collect the first runner-up prize for the bat as the applause rang round, and then everyone was still and silent, waiting to hear who had won the senior category.

  “This might not come as a surprise to any of you,” Brian announced with a grin, as he carefully took from his canvas bag the plaster-of-Paris bust with the silver necklace draped around it. “Congratulations to Ayesha Gala!”

  Katy nodded and whispered, “Told you!” as Ayesha got an even bigger round of applause than the other two. I noticed that Brian was mouthing something to Mr. Cary, who nodded and gave him a thumbs up.

  “Good,” said Brian, when we were all quiet again. “We’re ready for the junior category. I have a confession to make. I couldn’t decide who should be runner-up number two and who should be runner-up number one in this category, so I’m having a joint runners-up prize. First, let me show you this magnificent mosaic of cut glass, every single shape melted in a kiln by Celine Farrier and placed in the most beautiful pattern.” He held up the mosaic for us all to see and I felt happy that it was a winner because I’d guessed it might be when I’d spotted it in the art block. Where did Celine get the glass from? Maybe she’d just asked for it. Why hadn’t I done that? I was so stupid.