School for Nobodies

by Susie Bower

  I tossed and turned. My eyes wouldn’t close. My legs kept wriggling. I had to find out the truth. But how?

  Then I sat up in bed with a start. Of course—the box of photos and newspaper cuttings in the chest of drawers in Mr Gold’s study! Maybe—just maybe—there was something in the box that would prove Mr Gold was innocent. But did I dare sneak down there and look? Miss Cruet had threatened to expel me if she caught me breaking the rules again.

  I had to.

  It was too dark to see the time, but it must have been well after midnight. I pulled on my clothes and tiptoed past Custard’s bed, through the door and into the corridor. I stood absolutely still for a moment, listening. No sound came from the boys’ dormitory. I crept down the stairs to Mr Gold’s study. Would it be open?

  My heart beating fast, I turned the handle and the door creaked open into darkness. I tried to remember where the lamp had been—yes, on top of the chest of drawers. I inched my way across the room, my hands out in front of me.

  Crunch.

  My knees hit something low, and an object rolled and then crashed to the floor. I stood stock-still. If Mr Gold or Miss Cruet woke, they’d be bound to come down here, and then I’d be done for. I waited, counting to twenty and rubbing my knee. Then, in slow motion, I shuffled over to the corner of the room, until my fingers found the outline of the chest of drawers and the shape of the lamp on top. I clicked on the lamp.

  The room looked strange and empty without the fire and Mr Gold. But the circus poster was still there above the fireplace. Then I saw that what I’d tripped over was a low table. A pot plant had fallen on to the rug, scattering it with soil. I scooped up as much as I could, stuffed it back into the pot and put the pot back on the table. As I did so, I couldn’t help looking up at the circus poster one more time. There was Mr Gold, balancing on Fred’s shoulders. And there in the distance, a tattooed girl in a golden leotard, riding on the back of a lion, two little grey birds on her shoulder. I crept closer, and that warm, chocolatey feeling hugged me again. My eyes longed to stare and stare, but I mustn’t waste time.

  I hurried back to the chest of drawers. Which drawer had the box of photos been in? I pulled open the top drawer and looked inside. It was full of things—magnifying glasses and pens and light bulbs. I tried the second drawer. There was a box, but it wasn’t the box of photos—it was the orange box of face paints we’d used to paint our clown faces. The greasepaints’ circus-y smell stole into my nostrils.

  The third drawer stuck, and I remembered how it had jerked open last time I’d tried it. I began to jiggle it. It was very stiff, but at last it came open with a loud squeal.

  I froze. If Miss Cruet or Mr Gold woke up, they’d find me and expel me. My ears wanted to run up the stairs and listen outside their doors. I counted to twenty again. All was silent. I peered inside the drawer. There was the box, full of photos. Carefully, I lifted it out and went over to the armchair.

  I began to sort through the photos. There were pictures of Mr Gold and Fred performing, and others of Leonora and Kula. I longed to look at each one, but I had to hurry. My fingers found pictures of the ringmaster and the trapeze artists, the big photograph of the Grand Parade, photos of dogs and horses. A nasty voice in my head kept saying: What are you doing? There’s nothing here. Give up and go back to bed. I tried not to listen to it. Then my fingers found something right at the bottom of the pile. It was a newspaper cutting. I pulled it out and began to read it by the dim light of the lamp.

  TRAGEDY AS CIRCUS TENT BURNS TO GROUND

  Three circus performers and a child, together with a lion, are believed to have been killed after a circus tent caught fire in mysterious circumstances near the village of Middlethwaite.

  Fire engines were called at seven o’clock on the evening of 31st October, following reports of smoke and flames billowing from the tent.

  Merrick Murgatroyd, a fire-eater, acrobat Fred Gold and his wife Leonora, a lion trainer, together with one of their two children and a lioness, are all thought to have perished in the fire.

  My hands shook. So the Bird had been telling the truth. Mr Gold had left his family to die. I brushed away a tear which was rolling down my cheek.

  Then I saw that the cutting was folded in two, and that there was more. I unfolded it and read on. There was another, smaller headline:

  HERO SAVES CHILD FROM BLAZING TENT

  Felix Gold, brother of Fred Gold and also an acrobat, ran into the fire and dragged out the other child, a three-year-old girl.

  ‘He was a hero,’ said clown Everard Golightly. ‘He ran right into the flames and, shielding the child with his body, he somehow managed to get her out. But a steel tent support crashed down on him and he collapsed, unconscious.’

  Mr Gold is now in hospital in a coma. Doctors say he is in a critical condition with a broken back, fractured legs and loss of vision.

  I sat, reading the words over and over. Mr Gold wasn’t a coward or a murderer—he was a hero. And if the Bird had lied about Mr Gold, then maybe he’d lied about Feral being a Shapeshifter too.

  And then I heard a sound. It was coming from Miss Cruet’s study next door. Holding my breath, I slipped the newspaper cutting back into the box, tiptoed over to the chest of drawers and put the box inside. I pushed the drawer shut as quietly as I could and reached up to switch off the lamp.

  Then the door opened behind me and someone grabbed me and pulled me to the ground, and a voice hissed: ‘GOT YOU!’

  NIGHT MUSIC

  I fought and wriggled, but the other person was just as strong as me and had their hands over my mouth. I bit as hard as I could.

  ‘OW!!!’ the person yelled, and let go.

  I scrambled to my feet and switched on the light. There, lying on the ground and clutching his hand, was Rule Boy. His glasses had been knocked off in the struggle. His violin case lay near the door.

  I picked up his glasses and held them out to him. He snatched them and put them on.

  ‘I might’ve known it would be you,’ he said. ‘What are you doing, sneaking around in Krusty’s study? Looking for your imaginary twin?’ He got to his feet. ‘Know what I’m going to do? I’m going to report you to Krusty—just like you told on me to Miss Cruet. Then you’ll get expelled, and good riddance.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ I said. ‘And just what were you up to in Miss Cruet’s study?’

  Rule Boy flushed. ‘Who says I was in Miss Cruet’s study?’

  ‘I heard you! And you’ve broken the rules just as much as I have, so there!’

  I suddenly remembered that it was the middle of the night, and we were in Mr Gold’s room, and talking loudly.

  ‘Shhh! Someone’ll hear us. And then we’ll both be expelled.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Rule Boy. But he lowered his voice.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I whispered. ‘And then we’ll sort this out once and for all. We could go to the library—no one will hear us there.’

  Rule Boy gave a reluctant nod and picked up his violin case.

  We crept through the corridors, our ears straining for any sound. When we got to the library, I pushed open the door, shut it firmly behind us, and switched on a lamp. We sat opposite one another, Rule Boy still holding his violin case.

  ‘Let’s talk,’ I said.

  ‘What’s the point of talking,’ snapped Rule Boy, ‘if all you ever do is lie?’

  That Feeling began to churn in my tummy. This was so unfair.

  ‘I don’t lie. But all right—let’s each make a promise, like they do in a court of law.’

  Rule Boy’s head jerked up. ‘What d’you know about that?’

  ‘I’ve seen it on TV. The person raises their hand and says: “I solemnly swear that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”’

  ‘People say that and they still lie,’ said Rule Boy. ‘It’s called perjury.’

  ‘Then let’s swear. I swear on… on my mother’s life that I didn’t sneak on yo
u.’

  ‘I thought your mother was dead.’

  ‘She is. I just don’t know whose life to swear on,’ I said. Then I remembered Silver. ‘I swear on my twin’s life.’

  ‘Your imaginary twin?’ said Rule Boy, with a smirk.

  I jumped to my feet. ‘You’re never going to believe anything I say, so let’s just forget it!’ I went to the door and jerked it open.

  ‘All right, all right,’ snapped Rule Boy. ‘I’ll listen. Come back here.’

  I stayed where I was. ‘Do you swear to tell the truth too?’

  ‘I swear…’ Rule Boy raised his hand, ‘on my father’s life.’

  I shut the door and sat down.

  ‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘Ask me a question.’

  ‘Why were you in Miss Cruet’s room? And why have you got your violin with you?’

  ‘I was looking for my metronome and my music. I was going to get them back and practise. Only I couldn’t find them.’ He put the violin case carefully down at his feet. ‘Now it’s my turn to ask a question. What were you doing in Krusty’s study?’

  ‘Someone told me something bad about Mr Gold. Something really bad. And I was trying to find proof that it isn’t true, that he’s innocent.’

  Rule Boy leant forward. ‘And did you find it? The proof?’

  ‘Yes. The person was lying. Mr Gold is innocent.’

  ‘Like my dad.’ Rule Boy stared at me. Suddenly, he pulled off his glasses and started to rub them with his sleeve. ‘He’s innocent, but they sent him to prison just the same.’

  ‘Why did they send him to prison?’

  Rule Boy stared at his feet. ‘They said he’d broken the law. He didn’t! My dad would never do that.’

  I thought about how I’d been scared that Mr Gold was a murderer, and how horrible that had made me feel. No wonder Rule Boy was upset.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘My dad’s a musician. He was first violin in a famous orchestra. He taught me how to play.’ Rule Boy opened the violin case and pulled out his violin. ‘He saved up for ages so he could buy me this—it cost a thousand pounds.’

  My eyes opened wide. ‘A thousand pounds!’

  ‘Around then someone started stealing from the orchestra and nobody knew who it was. The money was kept in a big safe in the office. One night, after he’d been practising late, my dad heard a noise coming from the office. He crept in and saw a man taking money from the safe. It was the conductor of the orchestra.’

  ‘What did your dad do?’

  ‘He did just what I did when I found you in Krusty’s study. He sneaked up behind the conductor and grabbed him. The conductor started screaming and shouting and saying it was my dad who was the thief and that he’d been using some of the money he stole to buy my violin! And because the conductor was so important and famous, everyone believed him. And my dad had to go to court, and even though he swore he was innocent, they sent him to prison.’

  Rule Boy’s voice went all trembly. I put my arm round him.

  ‘So… so I’ve got to practise. I’ve got to become the best violinist in the world—then, when my dad gets out of prison, he’ll never have to worry about money and we’ll be happy again. Only I can’t practise now, because Miss Cruet’s confiscated my metronome and my music.’

  He sat with his shoulders slumped, looking like he’d given up.

  I picked up the bow and held it out to him.

  ‘Try it,’ I said. ‘If you don’t, you’ll never know whether you can or you can’t.’

  Rule Boy grabbed the bow and threw it back in the case. ‘I told you, I can’t! I need my music to show me the notes I have to play. And I need my metronome to tell me how fast to go. Those are the rules.’

  ‘What if you trust yourself to know those things?’ I said. ‘What if you don’t need rules?’

  Rule Boy was clenching and unclenching his fists as if he wanted to hit someone. Then, he blinked very hard, pushed his glasses up his nose and picked up the bow. With shaking hands, he rested the violin on his shoulder.

  I held my breath.

  He drew the bow harshly across the strings. It made a horrible sound, like a yowling cat, or fingernails scraping over glass.

  ‘See?’ he said. ‘I told you!’

  ‘Close your eyes,’ I said. ‘Pretend the violin is your very best friend.’

  ‘I don’t have any friends.’

  I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to lie, and anyhow, Rule Boy didn’t want me to be his friend. But he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at his violin. I thought about everything he’d told me.

  ‘Pretend you’re playing for your dad.’

  Rule Boy closed his eyes, took a big breath and drew the bow across the strings.

  A slow, melancholy note sounded around the room. He paused, listening to the sound as if he couldn’t quite believe it. Then he played another, and another. He stood up, bent his chin over the violin and began to play.

  I’d always thought his music was brilliant, but this was different. It was like the notes poured into my ears like a waterfall and filled up my head with their deep sounds. Then he stopped playing the sad notes and began playing swirling, joyful sounds, faster-and-faster-and-faster until I could hardly see his fingers moving on the strings.

  I couldn’t help it—I had to get up and move. I danced and cartwheeled and somersaulted round the room until I was dizzy. Then Rule Boy stopped playing and I stood panting and grinning at him. His cheeks were wet with tears, but his eyes were shining like I’d never seen them shine before.

  ‘I can do it!’ he said. ‘I can do it!’

  ‘And now you can practise—and you can be the orchestra in our show!’ I took a deep breath. ‘I want to say something else too.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I do mind about the show. And… and I do care about you. I want to be your friend. Will you let me be part of the show again?’

  There was a long silence. Then Rule Boy nodded.

  ‘All right,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’d like that. Just so long as you promise you’ll never let us down again.’

  ‘I promise,’ I said.

  We grinned at one another, and Rule Boy held up his hand. ‘All for one…’

  ‘… and one for all!’

  PREPARATIONS

  Everything got better after that night. Rule Boy must have told everyone about what happened, because next day they began to talk to me again. The best thing of all was that I said sorry to Feral for thinking he was a Shapeshifter, and he licked my nose and said ‘Friend’. And when Mr Gold smiled his sad, crooked smile, and told me how well I was doing as an acrobat, and when Feral tapped on the wall between us to wake me up, it was as if the Bird, and everything it had said, had happened in a dream—or a nightmare.

  Only I couldn’t help remembering the Bird’s words about the special night when the mirror would become a doorway to the Academy: the night I was to join Silver. Had it been lying about that too?

  As the weeks went by, and September became October, I tried again and again to creep up the stairs to the Room of Reflection. But every night, Miss Cruet seemed to be suffering from insomnia, or indigestion. Just as I got to the top of the stairs, she would come zooming out of her door to the bathroom, carrying a glass of fizzing water, or a hairbrush, or a radio or a book—and I had to duck down and scurry back to the dormitory. I told myself that as soon as the show was over, I’d find a way of getting up to the room.

  All the same, uncomfortable thoughts ran through my mind. Was Silver still waiting for me to come? Had she given up on me?

  Surely she hadn’t. Not if she felt the same way about me as I felt about her. She’d wait for me forever. She would.

  It was almost Halloween, and we were counting down the days to the show. Everyone was busy making their costumes. Feral was going to wear a yellow rug with a long, woolly fringe which Miss Cruet had produced from a cupboard. Custard cut up a bed sheet to make herself a glamorous dress. Rule Boy
made a bow tie out of crêpe paper and a black top hat out of cardboard. Saddo borrowed a pair of Mr Gold’s red braces, with yellow ducks on them, and Custard helped him make a pair of outsize trousers from the rest of her sheet, which we were all taking in turns to paint with massive red diamonds.

  ‘What are you going to wear, Antsy?’ said Rule Boy.

  It was good to be friends, even though he still insisted on calling me Antsy. I couldn’t help thinking how I’d miss them all—Feral, Rule Boy, Saddo and Custard—once I’d joined Silver in the school next door.

  ‘That’s a secret,’ I said. ‘You’ll find out on the night.’

  I still slept with my golden leotard under my pillow. I longed to try it on again, but I was determined to wait until the big night. The others had probably forgotten about it—it felt like a million years since we first arrived at Nobodies and chose our one possession to keep.

  The day of the show arrived at last. That afternoon, we had a final rehearsal, and it went brilliantly, even though it was icy cold, and a bit creepy in the Amphitheatre without the lanterns that we were going to light for the show itself. The wind rustled dead leaves about, and an owl hooted right in the middle of the day, which Rule Boy said they never usually do. Custard muttered about it being Halloween, and what her mum had told her about it being the day when evil is at its strongest. Saddo shivered and told her to shut up. I sort of wished Mr Gold was there, because he made things feel safe, but we’d given him strict instructions to stay away from rehearsals. We wanted him to see the show for the first time that night, like Miss Cruet and whoever else came.