“Look,” I whisper. “We have to get out of here. Do you know there’s a rumour that if you fail you go to hell?”
“Eliza Carbonell said that you can’t fail. If you don’t graduate you just have to keep trying.”
“Yes, but who knows if that’s true or not?”
“She’s the headmistress, Riley. Of course it’s going to be true.”
“If there’s even a chance that there might be a way out of here, we have to take it. And I think there is because the thread I saw on the Internet has been closed down a few times. We both know that there’s no smoke without fire, so I have to believe there’s a way out, otherwise no one would care what a few kids are discussing on the Internet.”
He looks at me sceptically but doesn’t say anything.
“And we have a huge advantage over everybody else here because we’ve already been at this school for years. I know of quite a few nooks and crannies, you know, the kind of place they’d hide big swirling vortexes, and—”
“Yeah, you only know of them because of all the times you used to hide instead of going to class,” he says.
“Look, the point is that we have an advantage that no one else has. We already know this school.”
Anthony sighs and rolls his eyes. “So what do you propose we do?”
“Well, we have to look around, don’t we?” I say quietly.
“You don’t think anyone will notice us poking around the place? Whatever it is you expect to find isn’t just going to be in the middle of the gym, you know? It’s going to be hidden if it exists at all.”
“So it’ll be a challenge. Don’t you even want to try?”
He shrugs and chews up another mouthful of toast.
“Not even for me?” I flutter my eyelashes and try to look helpless.
“That might work on the football captain, but it won’t work on me,” he says, but it’s obvious that his resolve is weakening.
I grin at him.
He sighs. “Fine. When do you want to do this?”
“Tonight,” I say immediately. “The sooner the better.”
“Don’t you think the buildings will be locked at night?”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“We could climb out the windows,” I say. “Meet me at lunchtime and we’ll sort out a plan.”
“I don’t have to meet you. We have class together this morning.”
I groan. “I can’t believe we’re dead and we still have to go to school. That sucks even more than being dead.”
Anthony laughs. “You should be glad it’s not maths.”
I pull my schedule out of my bag and stare at it.
“Redemption,” I read out loud. “Redemption class. What do you think that is?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know, but it sounds more interesting than Ghost Laws.”
“That’s not difficult,” I say and he laughs again.
I like seeing him laugh. I especially like making him laugh and smile. It’s so weird because Anthony has been in my form for the whole five years we’ve been at the same school back at home, and I think I can honestly say I have never once seen him smile, let alone laugh. That thought causes a pang in my chest because I know I am partly responsible for making Anthony such an outcast back there and making him so unhappy.
“Stop thinking so loud,” he says and I look up from where I’d been staring at the pattern on the table.
He’s still smiling that cute, lopsided smile as he takes a sip of his coffee, and the sight of it makes my heart thud in my chest.
“What?” Anthony asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just thinking how weird it is to be here at our school but for everything else to be so different.”
He nods.
“Like you,” I say carefully. “You’re different here. Happier.”
“No one treats me like shit here,” he says and that makes my heart thud again but not in a good way.
“Sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t getting at you. You’re not the only person who didn’t like me. No one liked me, but I didn’t exactly make it easy for them to. I never made friends or talked to anyone. I never made an effort to fit in. My life at home was so weird that I figured it was easier to just fade into the background and not draw attention to myself. Who cared if people wanted to make fun of me…”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I should have gotten to know you rather than just picking on you. I do realise that now. If we went back, I would change things. I’d make sure that no one treated you the way they used to, if that’s what you’re worried about or anything.”
He shrugs. “I’m not.”
I nod like I understand, but I don’t.
I want to say something else to him. I want to say that I do understand because I know both his parents died a few years ago and after something like that happens, you probably don’t care whether a few kids at school make fun of you, but the buzzer rings for first class and I end up not saying anything.
CHAPTER 19
Redemption class is in what used to be our History classroom. Let’s hope redemption is slightly less snore inducing. The teacher is already in there when we arrive. Anthony and I take a seat together. We sit at the desk I used to share with Sophie. It freaks me out to be sitting here with Anthony instead of Soph. Anthony usually sits at the desk behind us and we spend most of the class plotting what horrible thing to do to him next.
“Want to move?” Anthony whispers in my ear.
“No.” I shake my head at him, but secretly I’m thinking how sweet it is that he noticed something was bothering me.
“Ahem,” the teacher coughs when we’ve all sat down. “Hello again, everyone. For the benefit of our new arrivals…” She turns directly to Anthony and me. “Hello, I’m Mrs Brown.”
This strikes me as odd because our History teacher’s name was Mr Brown, but they’re probably not related, what with this one being dead and all.
“Excuse me,” I say, putting my hand up politely. “You’re not related to Mr Brown, by any chance?”
I don’t know if she thinks I’m being sarcastic or too nosy or something because she fixes me with a death glare. “No, I am not,” she replies rather snappily. “If you would kindly mind your own business and allow me to continue teaching this class.”
Yikes. I try to sink further into my seat.
“Nice one, Ri,” Anthony hisses almost inaudibly in my ear.
“As I was saying…” Mrs Brown casts another unsavoury look in my direction. “Those of you who are new, welcome to Redemption class. You know what redemption is, I assume?”
Anthony, teacher’s pet as usual, sticks his hand up in the air. “It’s making up for what you’ve done wrong.”
Suck-up. It’s one of the reasons no one ever liked Anthony back at home. He’s always the person waving his hand around in class every time the teacher asks a question. He makes the rest of us look bad.
“Yes, Anthony,” Mrs Brown is saying. “Now if we could all pay attention please, Miss Richardson.”
Ugh. How do they even know when your mind is wandering? This all-knowing, half-psychic teachers thing is totally freaking me out. They know who you are before you do. They know when you’re not paying attention. They know when you try to send email to a different dimension. They know everything.
Back home, teachers rarely noticed if you fell asleep in class and definitely didn’t notice if you skipped completely.
I hate this place.
Mrs Brown is talking again. “A large part of being dead is the ability to reflect on your life. As a dead person, it is important to use hindsight to understand what was wrong in the life you led before. You are all here for a reason, no matter how much some of you may be fighting against that.” She is staring right at me as she says that.
“Part of our job is to make you better people, and what better way is there to become a better person than by learning from your past mistakes? This class offers you the opportunity to relive some of your less-
than-perfect moments and to make the most of your death by making amends for some of the less-than-desirable things you did in life.”
“Can we change things?” I ask. “Can we change the way our lives were? Can we change the way they ended?”
“No,” she says simply. “This is not about changing the way you lived, it’s about realising your mistakes. Call it good karma, if you will. Your progress in this class can go a long way towards your graduation. I suggest you all pay attention. Especially you, Miss Richardson.”
Jeez, what have I done to her to make her hate me so much? I only asked if she was related to our history teacher.
She picks up a stack of exercise books off her desk, then and starts handing them out. Two blank ones land on the desk in front of Anthony and me. “Put your names on them,” she snaps at us.
Urgh. I hate her already.
I look around as the teacher is still handing out the books and realise that there is a different group of students in this class. Caydi and Clare aren’t here, for a start. Maybe they have it at a different time. Or maybe they already passed this class. But there are other differences between this and the other lessons we’ve had so far. There’s quite a distinct age range. Most of the classes I’ve had have been with people who are in my year. But here there are kids much younger than us. A few kids who can only be in Year Seven. A couple of Year Eights and Nines. I can’t help but wonder why. I notice Jody from our group-therapy class is sitting at the back and I smile at her but she frowns at me.
“Something bothering you, Miss Richardson?” Mrs Brown asks, looking none too happy.
Great. I’ve done it again.
“I was just wondering why there’s such an age spectrum in here compared to other classes? If you don’t mind my asking,” I add politely.
“This is a very easy class to pass and many students here come and go with ease. After all, the only thing you have to do is admit your past mistakes. Easy, right?”
“Er, sure.”
“Actually, Miss Richardson,” Mrs Brown says, “we’re going to start with you. Stand up, please.”
I cast a worried look at Anthony but stand up anyway.
“Now then,” Mrs Brown says. “What’s your biggest regret? Tell the whole class, please.”
I stare at her. “Right now?”
“Right now.”
I think for a minute. “Well, right now it would be getting into the car with Wade the other night.”
A few people laugh at that and for a moment I feel almost normal again. I used to do this kind of thing. Give silly answers that make people laugh and infuriate the teachers without giving them enough to actually throw you out of the class or give you detention or something.
“Very funny. Sit down, please.”
She scans the class before pointing to a boy at the back. “Marshall. You’re one of my top students. Please tell Miss Richardson what the word regret means.”
Marshall stands up. He is a huge boy who towers above everyone else. “It means something that you shouldn’t have done, that you feel bad about,” he says.
“I feel pretty bad about getting in the car with my boyfriend,” I say. “I shouldn’t have done that. Clearly.”
A few more people snicker at me.
“I can see you’re going to be here for quite some time, Miss Richardson,” Mrs Brown says to me before telling Marshall to sit down. “Selfishness is something that we leave at the door of this class. Making amends is not about you, but about the people you have wronged. If the only person you are concerned about is yourself, I would imagine graduation will be a very long time away for you.”
“But wait…” I protest. “I’m not like that. I’m not selfish.”
Anthony snorts beside me but I ignore him.
“Would anyone like to share with Miss Richardson what a regret is?”
Marshall’s hand is up in the air again and Mrs Brown lets him have his say.
“I was asking for an ASBO,” he says, addressing me. “I would hang around with a bad crowd, graffiti walls, nick things from the shopping centre near where I lived. One time I even robbed an old lady’s purse. But I got my dues in the end, right?”
And never learnt any grammar, I think silently.
“But now I’ve had a chance to think about that, and I realise how disconnected from reality I had become in those last few months. My parents begged me to sort my life out, but I was just in too deep. One day I found myself stabbed and bleeding to death, and my so-called friends did nothing. Now I would give anything to be able to see my parents again but because of my stupidity, I can’t.” He sits down again.
“Yeah, well I’m not a member of any gangs,” I say. “I don’t go around mugging people. I just got into a car with a boy who didn’t have a license. That’s not even a crime.”
“But you hurt somebody in the process,” Mrs Brown prompts.
I stop at that and stare at her.
“Yeah, him,” I mutter eventually, pointing to Anthony with my thumb. “But he knows I’m sorry, so can I go now?”
A few people laugh at that.
“No, you may not,” Mrs Brown says. “You leave this class when you are ready to leave it, not when you think you are ready to leave it.”
“Or when the buzzer goes,” Jody says loudly but Mrs Brown ignores her.
“Okay, seeing as Miss Richardson has decided to play the clown today, we’ll start with someone else. How about you, Mr Marsden?” she says to Anthony.
What on earth is he going to say? He’s like the biggest goody two-shoes that ever lived. If he’s ever done a thing wrong in his life, I’ll die of shock.
Anthony stands up. “My parents died when I was twelve and when I first moved in with my grandma, I used to deliberately make life difficult for her. I would swear and call her names and slam doors and basically do everything I could to make her regret the decision to take me in. I know it was stupid and I grew out of it pretty quickly, but I couldn’t accept that she had just lost a daughter and son-in-law too. I thought she had it easy and I was the only one in pain.”
“What would you say if you could see your grandmother again now, Anthony?” Mrs Brown asks.
“I’d just tell her that I was sorry,” he says. “I think she knew I was, but I never actually said the words to her, and now I wish I had the chance to say them and I know I never will.”
Yes, you will, I think silently. We’re getting out of here.
There is a lump in my throat at Anthony’s speech.
I cough and look away as he sits down again.
He nudges my leg with his knee.
I ignore him and continue to stare out the window.
God, we’ve got to get out of here. I’m turning into the biggest sap that ever lived.
Mrs Brown ignores me for a while as a couple of people behind us stand up and tell everyone about their regrets. Jody admits she used to trap little kids in lockers and steal exercise books or PE kits out of their bags and leave them somewhere else so the kid would get in trouble. Another boy admits he was a hellraiser who used to steal everything possible from cars to food, and one girl says she used to pinch her little sister when no one was looking and that she’d take her Barbie dolls and cut their hair short.
God, these people are barbarians.
I know that I wasn’t exactly perfect, but at least I never scalped a Barbie doll. I know that I owe a few kids an apology. I know there were people I used just so I would be liked.
Most of all, Anthony.
I know I owe him an apology, even though I’ve already said sorry.
And I know Mrs Brown is expecting me to say something about it before we get out of this class.
I really, really don’t want to.
Do you know how much Wade and Sophie would be laughing at me right now?
“You have something to share, Miss Richardson?” Mrs Brown asks before I’ve even fully processed the thought myself.
I stand up and find my legs ar
e shaking.
“I wasn’t perfect,” I begin. “I was popular, and a lot of people wanted to hang out with me, but I’m not sure I deserved it. I made fun of other people to get people to like me. I made fun of kids just so the popular girls in my class would think I was funny. And I didn’t feel bad about it at all until I came here.”
“That’s a good start, Miss Richardson,” Mrs Brown says. “What would you say to those kids you picked on if you had a chance to talk to them again now?”
My face is flaring red. “I guess I’d say sorry.”
“And would you say sorry if your popular friends were watching?”
“How do you…”
How the hell does she know this sort of thing?
“It’s a question that everyone has to answer, Miss Richardson. The people you wanted to impress by picking on less fortunate children than yourself. If they were with you, would you still apologise to the children you were cruel to, even if it meant the popular people would laugh at you?”
I hate this class. There are no words to describe how much I hate this class and this woman.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “If I was still with the popular kids, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have died. I wouldn’t understand how it feels to be picked on.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
I sigh. To be honest, I don’t know the answer. I mean, Anthony, yes. I’ve said I’m sorry to him, and when we get back home I’m going to make damn sure that Wade apologises to him, and Soph owes him a sorry too. But it’s different. I know Anthony now.
I mean, I wouldn’t go around picking on Year Sevens anymore. But I don’t know if I would actively seek out the ones I have made fun of and say sorry to them.
That would be social suicide.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“At least it’s a start, Miss Richardson,” the teacher says to me. “This class is about making up for your past mistakes. You would do well to think about the people you’ve wronged and what you would say to them, given the chance. It will be a later project for this class.”
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