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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.
    â€œSign 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.
    â€œDon’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