Mindscape Page 4

  “I suggest you keep your mouth shut this term. I don’t want any of your nonsense.”

  Chris kept his head down and said nothing, but his jaw hardened and he gripped the sides of his chair in anger. Although she was despicable to everybody in the class, she had singled Chris out in particular from the very first lesson, and she had not eased up on him for one moment since. Clearly, this term was not going to be any different.

  “You, in pink,” barked Ms. Lamb, pointing a short, stubby finger toward Daisy. Chris couldn’t work out if she had still not managed to learn any of their names or if she was just refusing to use them.

  “Yes, Ms. Lamb?” asked Daisy, sounding as terrified as she always did when called on in class.

  “Stop your pathetic whimpering and stand up.”

  Daisy, her bottom lip beginning to wobble, stood up slowly.

  “Tell me all the buildings you will pass from the Reception of a mind to the end of Calendar Street, taking the route through Emotions Street.”

  Daisy who, like all of them, normally had no problem memorizing anything after a few seconds, struggled to find the answer as panic clouded her mind. She turned to the mind map painted on the white wall of the classroom.

  “Don’t you dare cheat!” said Ms. Lamb. “Look at me!”

  Daisy’s face turned red as she desperately searched her mind for the answer.

  “Um . . . uh . . . Reception. Then, um . . . I don’t know, I can’t think.”

  “You’d better start thinking now, or you can have detention every day for the rest of the week. Get on with it.”

  Chris could see that Daisy was shaking with fear as she tried desperately to focus, and he willed her to pull herself together.

  “You are a pathetic little girl,” continued Ms. Lamb. “Spoilt rotten—I can tell from a mile off. Well, let me tell you something, princess, the world is not made of rainbows and fluffy marshmallows—it’s tough. So you’d better start talking, or you’re going to see me lose my temper. Start!”

  Daisy looked up at Ms. Lamb, and then, just as Chris thought she might start reciting the street names, she burst into tears.

  It didn’t take Chris more than a few seconds to figure out that this was his opportunity to make up for what had happened earlier, even if it got him into trouble. Keeping his head down, he closed his eyes and let his mind go blank.

  Within a couple of seconds, Chris found himself looking around at the swirling thick fog consuming the Reception of Daisy’s mind. Chris focused on pushing the fog away with his Ability, and within seconds, as if he had turned on a fan, the gray cloud began to disappear. Almost immediately, Daisy began to think clearly, and Chris watched as the colored blocks of the mind began to appear, then the streets and, finally, the streets names, which landed on top of the city now floating in the middle of Daisy’s mind. And then he blinked and, just like that, he was back in the room—only to find that Ms. Lamb was staring directly at him.

  “Oh! I know it now,” said Daisy, trying to distract Ms. Lamb. “Sorry. Family building, Brief Encounters, Famous People, Strangers, turn right onto . . .”

  Daisy trailed off as she saw that Ms. Lamb was paying no attention to her, she was too busy glaring at Chris.

  “Stand up,” hissed Ms. Lamb.

  Chris pushed his chair back and stood up slowly.

  Ms. Lamb walked over to him and leaned in so that her face was within inches of his. “I may not have the Ability myself, but I know exactly when somebody is using it. How dare you help somebody to cheat in my class?”

  “I was just . . .”

  “You were just what, exactly?” asked Ms. Lamb, her hands on her hips.

  “I was just helping her to think clearly. You were making her upset.”

  Chris looked around, but nobody spoke up in his defense, not that he would have expected them to considering everything that had happened that morning.

  “You are nothing but a troublemaker,” said Ms. Lamb, walking over to her desk. “I tell you, if it were my decision, you would have been expelled months ago.” She reached down to a drawer and took out a blank piece of paper and a thick black pen. She scribbled something on it and walked over to the corner of the classroom.

  “This, boy, is where you will be sitting from now on. On the floor, facing the wall. Go on, sit.”

  Chris hesitated and then began to walk.

  “Not so pleased with yourself now, are you?” she said.

  Chris stared down at the corner and then over at Ms. Lamb to see if she was serious, but her face said it all: This was no joke. He sat down cross-legged, and looked up to see Ms. Lamb pinning the sign she had made to the wall: DUNCE CORNER.

  Daisy gasped, and Chris turned to see his classmates looking at the sign in horror as Ms. Lamb walked away. Even Rex, who normally saw the funny side of everything, looked aghast.

  Chris heard the clip of Ms. Lamb’s heels coming back toward him.

  “This should keep you out of trouble,” she said, tipping out onto the floor the contents of the large drawer in her hands.

  Chris looked down at the hundreds of colored pencils and knew exactly what was coming. A sharpener landed at his feet.

  “Well, best get to work, and not one word out of you. I have a class to teach.”

  Chris stared at Ms. Lamb’s smug face and he closed his eyes. If only, he thought, he could use his Ability right now, he would throw Ms. Lamb six feet into the air and . . .

  Chris stopped and pushed the thought away. If there was one thing he had learned since finding out about his Ability, it was that often the things he imagined had a way of actually happening. Chris had come close enough to being expelled the term before, and he had a feeling that throwing Ms. Lamb across the room with the power of his mind might just be a step too far. He looked back down at his feet and picked up the sharpener.

  • • •

  “I can’t believe how awful she’s being,” said Daisy, trying to comfort Chris as they all walked out of the classroom.

  Chris rubbed his raw hands and scowled. “She’s like a cross between a witch and Godzilla.”

  “Only uglier,” said Rex, slapping his hand on Chris’s back. “Sorry about not saying anything. Didn’t think there was any point in all of us sitting in the corner sharpening pencils.”

  “It’s all right,” said Chris. “I don’t blame you.”

  “There’s got to be a law against that,” said Philip as they entered the dining room. “In fact, when we finish lunch, I’m going to go and look it up. I’ll bet there’s something.”

  “She’s not going to care,” said Lexi.

  “She will if I go and tell Sir Bentley,” said Philip.

  Chris stopped and turned to Philip. “No! Don’t say anything to him or any of the other teachers. I’m just going to get on with it. If Sir Bentley finds out I’ve been getting into trouble again, he’ll expel me—I’ve had too many chances. Just don’t do it, okay. Okay?”

  Philip’s eyes widened, and he stepped back. “All right, all right. Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”

  “Good—thanks. Let’s have lunch,” said Chris, changing the subject.

  “Hands-free?” asked Sebastian as he gave Chris a friendly slap on the shoulder.

  They all grinned. Even Chris managed a smile. There was no question in his mind that choosing his friends over not getting into trouble had been the right decision.

  • • •

  Chris sat down at the table and placed his hands behind the chair as the others did the same. A few minutes later, the room was filled with food flying up and into their wide-open mouths when Maura walked in.

  “Honestly, children, you are terrors.”

  They all laughed.

  “Just don’t spill any on the floor. I’ve got enough to get on with.” Maura placed a jug on the table and walked out, shaking her head as the food continued to rise from the table behind her.

  Chris lined up grapes along the ceiling and let them drop into
his mouth one by one. As the lunch went on and everybody carried on around him as normal, he felt himself relax until, eventually, the dark and depressing thoughts that had been following him around all day left his mind.

  • CHAPTER FIVE •

  Miss Sonata was waiting for them in the classroom after lunch. As always, she was immaculately dressed in a fitted suit jacket and skirt, her blond hair cut into a perfectly symmetrical bob.

  “Welcome back. It’s so lovely to see you all!” said Miss Sonata as they walked into the room.

  Chris smiled. Miss Sonata was about as opposite to Ms. Lamb as it was possible to be.

  He took his seat as Miss Sonata picked up a booklet on her desk. “I hope you’re all rested and ready to get some serious examinations under your belt.”

  There was a time, not so long ago, when that sentence would have sent shivers down his spine. Now, with his Ability, Chris was not only able to memorize entire books within minutes, he also had no problem understanding exactly what the books were saying. It was the same for all of them. Only Philip, who had always been a straight-A student, had enjoyed constant success at school. The others, Chris and Rex in particular, had struggled their way through. Now, with the Ability, they had all discovered exactly how much fun could be had from learning. Who would have imagined, thought Chris, that he might one day be at the top of his class. Maybe even at the top of the school. It was the first time since he had arrived at Myers Holt that the thought of starting a new school in September didn’t make him feel physically sick.

  “Chris? Open your folder, please. Page two.”

  “Oh,” said Chris. “Sorry.” He opened up the green file and turned the page to a timetable.

  “The following is a list of examinations you will be sitting over the next few months. When your Ability ends, on your thirteenth birthdays, you will, as you know, keep all the knowledge that you’ve acquired here. Your understanding of it will also remain exactly the same, but anything new you learn will take as much time to learn as it did before. Well, less actually, because you’ll have so much extra knowledge to help you understand new ideas. Does that make sense?”

  They all nodded.

  “Good. Right, we’ll start with Latin today. Chris, I spoke with Mr. Valedictoriat. He’s ready to see you now.”

  “Thank you,” said Chris, a bit embarrassed that the others now knew he had to meet with the psychologist, until he remembered that they were all going to be meeting with him too.

  “The reading list is in your folder,” continued Miss Sonata, “and under the folder are the first three books on the Latin syllabus. The rest of the term’s books are in the library. Make sure you get through them at some point this evening.”

  “Yes, Miss Sonata. Where do I go?”

  “Ah, yes. One of the new rooms down this corridor. Mr. Valedictoriat’s name is on the door. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Chris stood up, picked up his folder and books, and left the classroom.

  • • •

  “Come i-in,” sang a voice from inside Mr. Valedictoriat’s room.

  Chris opened the door and found Mr. Valedictoriat, a large, friendly looking man with dark brown skin and white hair wearing a bright red jacket and matching red-frame glasses, sitting in an armchair.

  “I think I have an appointment with you, Mr., er, Vale . . . dictor . . .” said Chris, standing in the doorway.

  “Call me Hugh. That’s spelled ‘hug’ with an h!” he said, holding two thumbs up and grinning. “Mr. Valedictoriat’s a bit of a mouthful. Now come, take a seat, and make yourself comfy cozy.”

  Chris walked over to the armchair opposite Hugh and looked around at the small room filled with shelves of what looked like trinkets and toys—toy soldiers, marbles, cars, dolls, little figurines, amongst other items. Next to the armchair, Chris saw a sand table.

  “Do you like playing with sand?” asked Hugh.

  “I haven’t really played with sand since nursery school,” replied Chris.

  “That’s a shame indeed. I think the world would be a better place if we all played a little bit more, even when we’re as old as I am. Don’t you think so, Christopher?”

  “I guess so,” said Chris slowly.

  There was a pause. Chris wondered whether Hugh was expecting him to play with the sand now, but Hugh didn’t say anything, so Chris, who just wanted to get on with whatever it was that they were supposed to be doing, sat down.

  Hugh gave a wide smile and sat back in his chair.

  “Let’s start. Why don’t I tell you a little bit about myself first to break the ice. I’m a psychologist. That’s a big word. I prefer ‘friend.’ Do you know why I’m here?”

  “To talk to us?”

  “Exactly. To talk, to share. Think of me as an imaginary friend that you can tell all your worries to. My job is to listen to you—really listen. You can tell me anything, and I promise you it won’t surprise or shock me and it won’t go beyond these four walls. Now, let’s sing.”

  “Excuse me?” asked Chris, hoping he had misheard.

  “Let’s sing together. It’ll break the ice.”

  “Oh, um, I don’t know. I’m not a very good singer.”

  “Now, now, I don’t believe that for one minute. If you can speak, you can sing. Just copy me. La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, LAHHHHHH. Your turn.”

  Chris shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked at the door. He wondered if it would be rude to run out.

  No sooner had he thought that than the door swung open.

  Hugh looked round, surprised. He stood up and walked over to it, then peered out into the corridor.

  “Nobody here,” he said, confused.

  “Sorry . . . that was me. It was my Ability.”

  Hugh’s eyes widened in exaggerated amazement, and then he started laughing.

  “Oooh! My first time seeing it. Very i-m-p-r-e-s-s-i-v-e,” said Hugh, closing the door and going back to his seat.

  “That spells ‘impressive,’ ” he said, sitting back.

  “Er, yes,” said Chris, feeling increasingly irritated.

  “Okay, I guess the door thing was your way of telling me you’re not comfortable. Let’s try something different.”

  Chris sighed in relief as Hugh leaned over the side of his chair and pulled out . . . a teddy bear.

  Chris winced.

  “Say hello to Boo Boo.”

  Chris tensed as he looked at Hugh. “Really?”

  “It seems strange, I know,” said Hugh, smiling broadly, “but just try it. Come on, free your mind.” Then he held the teddy bear up and started talking in a high-pitched voice. “I’m your friend, Christopher. Talk to me!”

  Chris looked at the teddy bear and, as he watched it dance from side to side in front of him, a furious heat began to take over his body. His fists clenched and he tried to calm himself, but it was no use—all the frustration and anger that had been building up inside him over the last two weeks exploded. Before he could think about what he was doing, his mind went blank and his Ability took over. Hugh’s mouth dropped open as the teddy bear was ripped out of his hands and started spinning across the room, then slammed into the wall.

  “I AM NOT TALKING TO A TEDDY BEAR!” shouted Chris.

  Hugh stayed completely still and said nothing as Chris turned his attention to the shelves and, immediately, the room filled with an explosion of toy soldiers and trinkets.

  “I AM NOT IN THE MOOD FOR PLAYING GAMES,” he continued. “I KILLED A BOY—DID YOU KNOW THAT?”

  Hugh shook his head. “I didn’t know that . . .”

  “WELL I DID!” Chris looked down at a toy truck lying on the floor, and it flew up in the air and across the room. “I killed him and he didn’t have to die. I watched his brother—his twin brother—realize that he was dead. CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW THAT FELT FOR HIM? HE LOOKED ME IN THE EYE AND HE WANTED TO KILL ME. AND YOU KNOW WHAT? I DON’T BLAME HIM! I DON’T BLAME HIM ONE LITTLE BIT!”

  Chris could see Hugh
wanted to say something, but he wasn’t finished. “And now you want me to talk to a bear? A TEDDY BEAR! I am not five years old, and I don’t need to talk to it or you or anyone else about what happened, because nothing will change what I did. Do you understand that?”

  Hugh motioned for Chris to sit down. “I understand, Chris. Why don’t you come . . .”

  “NO! I am not doing this anymore. I don’t need a psychiatrist. . . .”

  “Psychologist—”

  “Whatever. I don’t care if I get into trouble about this. I don’t care about anything. I’ve looked after myself all my life, and I can keep doing it.”

  Before Hugh could say anything, Chris ran over to the armchair, grabbed his bag, and made his way to the door.

  “Christopher, stop. Let’s talk.”

  But Chris didn’t stop. Instead, he rushed out and slammed the door behind him, tears running down his cheeks as he ran back to his bedroom.

  • CHAPTER SIX •

  Chris woke in a cold sweat. He sat straight up in his bed and looked around, disorientated. It had seemed so real—the pale boy (The twin who was still alive or the one he had killed? He wasn’t sure) chasing him through cobbled alleyways, Chris falling over, the boy walking up to him calmly. Then, as happened every night, the boy lifted a knife—the same one that Dulcia had tried to kill Sir Bentley and John with—while Chris pleaded for forgiveness and for his life. Then, just as he was about to bring it down, Chris had woken up. But the image of the boy’s face remained, etched into his mind. It never left him. It seemed as if his own mind was intent on tormenting him, tricking him into seeing the boy everywhere he turned—in the streets, on the television, even in his own reflection. And, of course, in his nightmares.

  Chris looked around at his computer-generated bedroom walls, alive with the gentle swaying of green trees, and tried to calm himself. It was just a dream, he told himself over and over again as he tried to push away the image of the boy’s face looking down over him, only to find it replaced by the very real memory of his session with Hugh. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. As the possible cost of his outburst dawned on him, he wondered what on earth he had been thinking.