pulsed behind my eyes, relentless.
“Oh, leave her alone, Miss – she’s tired. Up all night.” Kyle, of course, sleazy as ever, giving the whole class a smug grin, enjoying the chorus of catcalls. I’d fix him later.
To her credit, the supply ignored Kyle completely, clearly made of tougher stuff than most. “I said, get up.”
I wanted to tell her I was feeling sick, that my head was pounding, but all I could think about was the black-haired boy who’d been standing in her place just seconds before, his cloak of pure white feathers. It didn’t make sense. How could I see someone who wasn’t really there? And with such bizarre clothes – that cloak, those feathers – it was just like something from a fairy tale. I hauled myself to my feet, holding on to the desk. Swaying like a drunk.
The supply teacher gave me a very weird look. “Listen, young lady. If you’re tired enough to fall asleep in my class, I suggest you explain the reason why to your head of year. I believe Mrs Anderson is in her office now.”
More catcalls from Kyle and some of the other more retarded members of the class. The supply teacher ignored them and so did I. My head throbbed, pounding and pounding till I wanted to scream or curl up into a ball in the dark or both. Didn’t she realize that if I moved another inch I was going to throw up?
“Con, are you OK?” Blue sounded like he was a thousand miles away instead of sitting just two rows ahead. “Miss, she looks really, really—”
And I never heard the end of Blue’s sentence, because waves of darkness just rose and rose until I couldn’t see the classroom any more, and all the voices faded, even
his
, and I didn’t even feel the pain as my head hit the floor, which Blue told me later it did, with a horrible crack like a dropped egg.
The sickbay reeked of antiseptic and B.O., which really wasn’t helping my intense need to vomit. I leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes. The upholstery stank of stale cigarettes, obviously dating from the days when it wasn’t completely illegal for teachers to smoke in the staffroom. Even at my school, I doubted that anyone had ever had the cheek to light up in the sickbay. I’d given Mrs Anderson Joe’s mobile number, and now all I could do was wait. I’d pretty much managed to fend off most of her questions. Unlike the nurse, who blatantly suspected me of being hungover, and just handed me a photocopied sheet of paper about the possible signs of concussion, Mrs Anderson had seemed genuinely worried. It made a change considering usually all she ever did was tell me what a terrible disappointment I was.
I don’t want to see your abilities wasted, Connie. That’s the biggest tragedy here
. I was tired of listening to it.
“Connie. What the bloody crap is going on?”
Definitely not Mrs Anderson. I opened my eyes, squinting into the light: Joe, wearing his ragged old jeans and a cashmere jumper Mum had given him three years ago that was now full of holes. He sounded just the same as always, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him let alone answer. “Come on,” he said, impatient. “Let’s get out of here before they ask either of us any more questions.”
He just stood there waiting as I got to my feet, trying to ignore the urge to puke up my guts all over the sickbay floor.
“Take care, Connie,” said Mrs Anderson, appearing behind Joe in the doorway. She’d pushed her specs back into her frizzy grey hair, her face taut with worry. “Please do keep a good eye on her, Joe. It’s really not like Connie to faint and if she shows any signs of concussion, straight to A&E, OK? She’s never usually ill, are you?” She raised one eyebrow, a trick I’d always wished I could master. “Never off school unless we have one of those unfortunate incidents like last term.”
At any other time I would have said,
When you suspended me, you mean?
But I felt too ill to risk it. Mrs Anderson was always giving me crap, but I knew
“Oh, leave her alone, Miss – she’s tired. Up all night.” Kyle, of course, sleazy as ever, giving the whole class a smug grin, enjoying the chorus of catcalls. I’d fix him later.
To her credit, the supply ignored Kyle completely, clearly made of tougher stuff than most. “I said, get up.”
I wanted to tell her I was feeling sick, that my head was pounding, but all I could think about was the black-haired boy who’d been standing in her place just seconds before, his cloak of pure white feathers. It didn’t make sense. How could I see someone who wasn’t really there? And with such bizarre clothes – that cloak, those feathers – it was just like something from a fairy tale. I hauled myself to my feet, holding on to the desk. Swaying like a drunk.
The supply teacher gave me a very weird look. “Listen, young lady. If you’re tired enough to fall asleep in my class, I suggest you explain the reason why to your head of year. I believe Mrs Anderson is in her office now.”
More catcalls from Kyle and some of the other more retarded members of the class. The supply teacher ignored them and so did I. My head throbbed, pounding and pounding till I wanted to scream or curl up into a ball in the dark or both. Didn’t she realize that if I moved another inch I was going to throw up?
“Con, are you OK?” Blue sounded like he was a thousand miles away instead of sitting just two rows ahead. “Miss, she looks really, really—”
And I never heard the end of Blue’s sentence, because waves of darkness just rose and rose until I couldn’t see the classroom any more, and all the voices faded, even
his
, and I didn’t even feel the pain as my head hit the floor, which Blue told me later it did, with a horrible crack like a dropped egg.
The sickbay reeked of antiseptic and B.O., which really wasn’t helping my intense need to vomit. I leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes. The upholstery stank of stale cigarettes, obviously dating from the days when it wasn’t completely illegal for teachers to smoke in the staffroom. Even at my school, I doubted that anyone had ever had the cheek to light up in the sickbay. I’d given Mrs Anderson Joe’s mobile number, and now all I could do was wait. I’d pretty much managed to fend off most of her questions. Unlike the nurse, who blatantly suspected me of being hungover, and just handed me a photocopied sheet of paper about the possible signs of concussion, Mrs Anderson had seemed genuinely worried. It made a change considering usually all she ever did was tell me what a terrible disappointment I was.
I don’t want to see your abilities wasted, Connie. That’s the biggest tragedy here
. I was tired of listening to it.
“Connie. What the bloody crap is going on?”
Definitely not Mrs Anderson. I opened my eyes, squinting into the light: Joe, wearing his ragged old jeans and a cashmere jumper Mum had given him three years ago that was now full of holes. He sounded just the same as always, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him let alone answer. “Come on,” he said, impatient. “Let’s get out of here before they ask either of us any more questions.”
He just stood there waiting as I got to my feet, trying to ignore the urge to puke up my guts all over the sickbay floor.
“Take care, Connie,” said Mrs Anderson, appearing behind Joe in the doorway. She’d pushed her specs back into her frizzy grey hair, her face taut with worry. “Please do keep a good eye on her, Joe. It’s really not like Connie to faint and if she shows any signs of concussion, straight to A&E, OK? She’s never usually ill, are you?” She raised one eyebrow, a trick I’d always wished I could master. “Never off school unless we have one of those unfortunate incidents like last term.”
At any other time I would have said,
When you suspended me, you mean?
But I felt too ill to risk it. Mrs Anderson was always giving me crap, but I knew
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