by Susie Bower
Down came the ruler on the desk again.
‘Quiet! I will let you know when you are permitted to speak. Now, where was I?’ She adjusted her toppling bun and gazed at the ceiling. ‘Ah yes. The school. My great-great-grandfather established it, and I took it over from my dear father. Mr Felix Gold joined me five years ago. Its purpose is to take in children whose parents or guardians can no longer manage them, to give these children a new start. From scratch.’
She picked up an enormous tatty book—so big that she almost disappeared behind it—from her desk, and drew out a pen from the folds of her waistcoat.
‘We will begin with Unregistration.’
The boy with the glasses was waving his hand again. ‘Please, Miss Cruet, what’s Un—?’
‘Silence!’ Miss Cruet looked fierce, and he shut up.
She glanced at her book and waved her pen at me.
‘You!’ she barked. ‘Stand up, if you please.’
I stood up.
‘And you are?’
‘My name,’ I said, proud to be able to say it at last, ‘is Fl—’
‘Wrong!’ interrupted Miss Cruet. ‘You have no name.’
My mouth fell open in shock. What did she mean?
Miss Cruet looked slowly round the room. ‘And that applies to all of you. At this school, you begin as Nobodies. We shall find out who you are in time. But until then, you have no names. You are tabula rasa. Of course, none of you will know what those words mean.’
The boy with the glasses sucked in his breath sharply and waved his hand again. Miss Cruet ignored him and looked at the rest of us. Custard was fiddling with her yellow blanket and sucking her thumb. The gangly boy had pulled the neck of his sweatshirt up over his mouth. I stared at Miss Cruet, feeling dizzy and scared, trying to take in her words. I’d only just found my name. They couldn’t take it away. Miss Cruet sighed and nodded at the boy with the glasses.
‘Well?’
‘Tabula rasa is Latin, miss. It means a blank slate.’
‘A Nobody with a brain,’ said Miss Cruet. ‘Interesting.’
I couldn’t concentrate on her words. My insides were beginning to do That Feeling again, boiling up and fizzing and juddering. How dare they try to take away my name? I wouldn’t let go of it. I wouldn’t. My hand crept up to the tattoo on the back of my neck, and I muttered to myself: ‘My name is Flynn. My name is Flynn. My name is FLYNN.’
‘Quiet, girl!’ snapped Miss Cruet, gathering up a comb and a butterfly clip and stuffing them back into her bun. Then she turned to the others. ‘Now, you may each ask me one question, and one question only, so think carefully before you ask it.’
The boy with the glasses was, of course, up first.
‘Please, miss,’ he said, ‘what are the rules?’
Miss Cruet smiled. ‘How unfortunate, boy. I happen to be on the very point of telling you the rules. You have wasted your question.’
‘Can’t I have another question then?’ he whined.
‘No,’ said Miss Cruet. ‘You only get one. Rules are rules.’
She swivelled to Custard, who was gazing up at her with wide-open eyes, her thumb half out of her mouth.
‘You—what is your question?’
There was a pause. Custard seemed to be summoning up the courage to ask it.
‘Can I g-go home?’ she stuttered.
‘No,’ said Miss Cruet. She pointed at the tall, sad-looking boy. ‘Next!’
‘Where are the others?’ the boy muttered, his face beetroot red.
‘The others?’ said Miss Cruet. ‘There are no others.’
‘Funny kind of school,’ piped up the boy with glasses, ‘with only four kids in it.’
Miss Cruet turned to him. ‘Exactly how many Nobodies have you met?’
The boy wrinkled his forehead as he thought. ‘None.’
‘Precisely. So a School for Nobodies will inevitably be a very small school indeed.’ She turned to me. ‘You,’ she said, ‘what is your question?’
I took a deep breath. ‘I want my name back.’
‘That,’ snapped Miss Cruet, ‘is not a question. It is a statement. And since you have no question, we shall move on to the school rules.’
My fingers and toes began to twitch. I sat on my hands, but my body just wouldn’t stop wriggling.
The boy with the glasses nudged me sharply in the ribs. ‘What’s up with you? You got ants in your pants or what?’
‘Silence!’ Miss Cruet banged her plump fist on the desk. ‘Where was I?’
‘The school rules,’ said the boy with glasses helpfully. I decided to call him Rule Boy from then on, since he was so keen on them.
Miss Cruet looked sternly at each of us.
‘There are three school rules.’
Rule Boy’s face fell. ‘Only three?’
Miss Cruet scrabbled in one of her pockets and drew out a stick of white chalk.
Then, with much squeaking, she wrote on the board:
no names.
no contact with the school next door.
one possession only.
She turned to face us.
‘We have already covered rule one.’ She tapped the blackboard with her pen.
‘Rule two: you will have no contact whatsoever with the school next door.’
‘But why, miss?’ It was Rule Boy again.
Miss Cruet shot him a withering look. ‘Because it is a very different school to this one and would be a bad influence on you.’
She looked very intently at me. ‘You—repeat rule two to me.’
I crossed my fingers under the desk, and said: ‘No contact with the school next door.’
A bell rang, making us all jump.
‘Lunch,’ said Miss Cruet.
The tall boy shot to his feet, but Rule Boy had his hand up again.
‘But, miss—you haven’t told us about rule three!’
‘We shall come to rule three later. Meet me at two thirty sharp in the girls’ dormitory. Anyone arriving late will be severely punished.’
And she swept out of the room, with the tall boy in hot pursuit and Rule Boy and Custard not far behind him.
The window of the classroom looked out on to a brick wall: the wall surrounding the Academy. My twin would be having her lunch right now. Would she choose burgers and chips, or pizza? What was her favourite dessert—ice cream or cream cakes? I knew nothing about her, except that her hair was just like mine. What would she do if she knew I was so close to her? Did she even know I existed?
I sighed. Why, why, why was I stuck here at Nobodies?
RULE THREE
Lunch was the oddest meal I’d ever eaten. It was served in the kitchen by Miss Cruet, who had a strand of spaghetti hanging over one ear. A big pot of soup—‘like a witch’s cauldron,’ Rule Boy muttered out of the side of his mouth—was bubbling on the stove, making loud snorting and farting noises, while Miss Cruet wielded a sharp knife, cutting sandwiches. She banged the plate down on the scrubbed kitchen table in front of us. We stared at the sandwiches, as Miss Cruet slopped ladles of steaming green soup into bowls.
‘What… on earth… is that?’ said Rule Boy.
‘Eat, and you’ll find out!’ snapped Miss Cruet, her bun threatening to topple into the cauldron.
The gangly boy gingerly picked up one of the sandwiches between his finger and thumb.
‘Yuck!’ he said. ‘It’s got something fishy in it.’
He was right. A fish’s tail stuck out from between the two slices of bread.
‘Mine’s got jelly in,’ muttered Rule Boy, making a face.
Custard shuddered. ‘And mine’s g-got…’ She screamed and dropped her sandwich, ‘A f-frog! It’s a slimy f-frog!’
‘Don’t be daft,’ I said, picking it up. ‘It’s lettuce. And, er… broccoli.’
But worse was to come. Miss Cruet slapped down bowls of soup in front of each of us. We peered down at them.
‘Is that…?’ whispered Rule Boy.
; It was. Floating on top of the soup were marshmallows dusted with pink icing.
The gangly boy dipped his spoon and slurped at a marshmallow.
‘It’s horrible,’ he moaned, but carried on all the same.
Rule Boy and I picked the fish tails, broccoli and lettuce out of our sandwiches and chewed on the bread and butter.
Custard stuck her thumb in her mouth and pushed her plate away.
‘Lost your appetite?’ barked Miss Cruet. ‘Or are you saving it for supper? I’ll be making one of my Specials—baked beans with strawberry sauce.’
We groaned.
The boy with the turned-down mouth ate his way through everything, complaining all the while.
‘This soup’s too hot—it’s burning my tongue… it tastes funny too… bet it didn’t come out of a tin…’
Rule Boy rolled his eyes, but the boy kept moaning.
‘This isn’t proper bread—it’s brown… broccoli’s boring… Why can’t we have crisps and chocolate?’
Rule Boy shook his head. ‘Saddo,’ he muttered, and I couldn’t help thinking he was right. The boy never smiled.
Not that there was anything to smile about. This really was the Worst School in the World.
*
After lunch, we all stood in the girls’ dormitory. Miss Cruet seemed to have tidied her bun, though the hairpins and combs were still sticking out of it.
‘Rule three,’ said Miss Cruet. She glared at Saddo. ‘What was it?’
‘One possession only,’ he muttered.
‘Correct. At this school, we go back to basics: no names, no contact with the outside world, one possession only. Choosing your possession will make you decide what’s most important to you. It will show us what kind of person you are, so think carefully about what you will keep. The rest of your things will be confiscated.’
‘What does c-confiscated mean?’ whispered Custard.
‘Taken away,’ I whispered back.
Her face went pale and her eyes darted to her bed and all her things.
‘We may as well begin with you,’ said Miss Cruet, looking at Custard. ‘Gather round.’
She burrowed in one of her pockets and produced a stopwatch. ‘You have one minute precisely to make your decision.’
Custard hovered over her things, picking up one, then another. ‘B-but these are my comforts,’ she whispered. ‘I n-need my teddy to cuddle when I’m scared in the night. I n-need my books to read to help me go to sleep—’
‘Forty-five seconds left,’ said Miss Cruet, looking at the stopwatch.
‘I n-need my alarm clock to make sure I wake up in time—’
‘Thirty seconds left.’
‘But I m-must have my animals.’ Custard picked up one of the pink rabbits and put it down, then picked up the stripy cat, then the penguin. ‘My m-mum gave me them! She said they’d keep the bogies and ghosts away!’
‘Get a move on,’ said Rule Boy. ‘You’ve got to choose one. It’s the rules.’
‘Ten seconds,’ said Miss Cruet.
I whispered to Custard, ‘What’s the one thing you absolutely can’t do without?’
‘Five seconds.’
Custard’s hands flew to her blanket. ‘My c-cuddly,’ she whispered.
And the time was up.
‘You,’ said Miss Cruet, pointing to me and setting the stopwatch going.
I went to my bag, and slowly pulled out my golden leotard. The sequins and crystals and pearls glittered and sparkled.
‘Oooh!’ gasped Custard, and Rule Boy whistled.
I turned to Miss Cruet. ‘You can stop the clock. This is what I choose.’
‘Very well,’ said Miss Cruet. ‘We will now go into the boys’ dormitory.’
We followed her into the room next door. It was just like Custard’s and mine, with two beds. One bed had Rule Boy’s four overflowing bags on it; the other had a huge suitcase.
‘You,’ said Miss Cruet to Saddo. She led the way over to the bed with the suitcase on it. ‘Open it up.’
Saddo’s face was a deep crimson. Slowly, he unzipped his case. It was stuffed with food. Miss Cruet started her stopwatch.
‘Choose one item,’ she said. ‘You have a minute.’
Saddo picked up three giant, family-sized chocolate bars and put them down. He picked up a box of cakes and a packet of biscuits and licked his lips.
‘Thirty seconds,’ said Miss Cruet.
He pulled out five crisp packets and a huge box of sweetened cereal. His face got redder and redder.
‘Fifteen seconds,’ said Miss Cruet.
Saddo rummaged in his case. A pair of jeans and two scuffed trainers landed on the bed.
‘Ten seconds.’
From the very bottom of his case, Saddo drew out a faded sweatshirt with a huge hood.
‘I’ll have this,’ he muttered, and quickly put it on, pulling the hood right down over his red face.
Miss Cruet led the way to Rule Boy’s bed. ‘Your turn,’ she said, starting the stopwatch.
Rule Boy grinned smugly. ‘I don’t need any time, miss,’ he said. ‘I knew straight away what I’d keep. I choose this.’ And he drew out the violin case from one of the bags and held it up proudly.
‘Very well,’ said Miss Cruet, turning to the rest of us. ‘You now have exactly ten minutes to pack up all your other things. Girls, please bring your bags into the boys’ dormitory. Mr Gold and I will collect them all shortly.’ And she swept out, leaving a trail of hairpins behind her.
Custard and I went into our room. I picked up my leotard and folded it carefully and placed it under my pillow. Quickly, my back turned to Custard, I reached down inside my bag and found the parchment message with its gold ribbon, and slipped that under my pillow too.
A snuffling sound came from across the room. Custard was kissing each of her animals as she put them back into her suitcase. Her nose was all snotty and she kept wiping it on her sleeve.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, taking her hand. ‘We’ll get our things back some day.’
‘H-how do you know?’ whispered Custard.
‘I’m sure we will,’ I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt. ‘C’mon. Finish up and we’ll take our cases next door.’
In the boys’ dormitory, Saddo was tearing open packets of crisps and chocolate and cramming them into his mouth as fast as he could. Rule Boy had packed his bags and was sitting on the bed looking virtuous, his violin case on his knee.
I looked at Rule Boy’s four bags. They had been overflowing when we’d met outside the school—full of sheets of music, and clothes, and that strange triangular machine. Now his bags looked half empty.
‘Where’s all your other stuff?’ I said.
Rule Boy avoided my eye. ‘What other stuff?’
‘You had lots of sheets of music. And that machine with the dial…’
Rule Boy nudged something under the bed with his foot. ‘None of your business,’ he muttered.
‘They’re under your bed!’ I said.
I got down on my knees and looked. There, piled high, were the sheets of music and the odd-looking machine.
‘Don’t tell on me!’ whined Rule Boy. ‘I’ve got to have my music and my metronome. I can’t practise without them.’
Saddo stopped cramming his mouth with food. ‘That’s cheating!’ he said.
‘You can talk,’ said Rule Boy. ‘Or rather, you can’t, with your big mouth full of food.’
‘For someone so keen on the rules, you don’t seem to mind about breaking them!’ I said. ‘What if Miss Cruet finds out? You’ll be punished—maybe even expelled!’
Rule Boy looked at the floor. ‘Don’t care,’ he muttered. ‘Who wants to be in this dump anyway?’
At this moment, Miss Cruet came in, accompanied by Mr Gold.
‘Your cases, please,’ she barked.
I stared at Rule Boy, and at the things under his bed. He was looking at me in a pleading kind of way. For once, he didn’t look smug. Did he t
hink I was going to tell on him? I wasn’t a sneak. And anyway, Saddo and I had broken the rules too.
I handed over my bag to Miss Cruet, while he handed his to Mr Gold.
‘Thanks,’ Rule Boy muttered to me.
When Mr Gold had taken the cases away, Miss Cruet adjusted her bun and glared at us all.
‘Here is this afternoon’s schedule,’ she said. ‘Mr Gold will be conducting interviews with each of you in his study.’ She pointed at Rule Boy. ‘He will see you immediately.’ Rule Boy made a face. ‘The rest of you will see him at half-hourly intervals. Punctuality is of the essence. There will be severe consequences if you are late.’
‘Please, miss—what do we do while we’re waiting?’ said Saddo. ‘Can we watch telly?’
Rule Boy was waving his arm. ‘Miss, where’s the computer room?’
Miss Cruet smiled. ‘There are no computers or televisions in the school. You may amuse yourselves in the library. Supper,’ she added with a glint in her eye, ‘will be at six sharp.’
THE TALKING STICK
The library was a gloomy room, a long way from the rest of the school. A grandfather clock stood in a corner, its ticking echoing in the silence. There was a massive fireplace with a blackened, empty grate. The wind whistled down the chimney. Bookshelves lined the walls, except for one wall, the bottom half of which was made of panels of dark wood. Above this hung several huge paintings. Luckily, there were no bare people in them. The portraits were of men and women wearing knitted ruffs, knitted ball gowns and knitted riding boots. Their white powdered wigs were high as houses. These must have been Miss Cruet’s ancestors.
‘This is boring,’ moaned Saddo, turning his mouth down and kicking at the wooden panels.
Custard curled up in her blanket in an armchair, sucking her thumb.
Next door, just a few metres away from where I was standing, my twin could be playing computer games or diving in the Olympic-sized swimming pool or watching films in the cinema room. I sighed, and looked along the shelves for books about circuses. There weren’t any.
A shower of soot dropped into the hearth, scattering over the carpet.
Custard jumped. ‘W-what’s that?’
‘It’s only the wind,’ I said.