by Amanda Lees
‘Can’t I come with you?’ Kumari yelled after them.
‘No way’ shouted LeeLee.
‘We’ll be rooting for you,’ called CeeCee.
Oh, great, thought Kumari.
There was nothing for it but to follow the crowd, now down to a trickle. Up the steps and through the doorway, head up and eyes forward. Past two men sitting at a desk, idly chewing as they chatted. Kumari caught a glimpse of some kind of badge. Oh no, not more policemen. On and on she walked, down corridors and up stairways. Picking a likely-looking group, Kumari stuck with them, only finally coming to a halt when they entered what she took to be a classroom.
Everyone was slouched behind a desk. Most were laughing and talking. Someone flicked a rubber band across the room. It landed inches from Kumari. She bent down and picked it up, wondering if she should return it. She looked about for a seat. Not a single one was vacant.
OK, thought Kumari, now think of something.
She shuffled her feet, feeling conspicuous. And then she spotted the blackboard. Excellent! No one else had yet written the quote for the day. Here was something she could do to look busy. It was what the RHM expected. Each morning before class back home, Kumari would chalk up an appropriate quotation. That way, they could discuss its meaning and the wider implications. Surely her teacher here would appreciate her effort? School was school after all and teachers were pretty much the same, right?
Nervously, Kumari picked up the chalk. She could feel eyes upon her. The odd snigger erupted as she wrote. Looking up, she eyeballed them. Face upon face, staring back. Some confused, some amused, some downright admiring. Then, as one, their eyes flicked to the door, their expressions swiftly changing. Kumari followed suit. A man carrying a pile of books stood there. A man with his lips all screwed up as if he were sucking spaghetti.
Kumari rather liked spaghetti. It was one of the few things Ma cooked that she considered edible. But sucking spaghetti was not a good look. Especially when accompanied by a scowl. The man marched over to the desk and dumped the books on it.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
His eyes scanned her careful efforts on the blackboard. A man should first direct himself in the way he should go. Only then should he instruct others.
‘Today’s quote,’ said Kumari.
The man glared at her as if he could not work out what she was. Kumari noticed how his nostrils flared. That must be what was making his moustache twitch. That and the little muscle that jumped at the corner of his eye. Really, this man was so uptight. It couldn’t be good for his heart.
‘You need to calm down,’ she said kindly.
‘Calm down? Why you . . . ’ the man took a deep breath. Several, in fact. And then, very quietly, he said, ‘Get away from my blackboard, kiddo.’
Kumari could hear the silence that fell. It was as if they were all waiting. Although for what she could not imagine. She must have made some kind of mistake.
‘I’m sorry’ she said. ‘But you really do need to calm down. It’s not good for you, you know. I mean, your face has gone all red.’
Someone tittered in the background. A strange noise emitted from the man’s lips. A sort of wheeeeeeeeee sound, like a kettle building up steam. His fingers clenched and unclenched. He appeared to be finding it hard to breathe.
‘Twenty years,’ he muttered. ‘Twenty years dealing with kids like you. Twenty years listening to this kind of stuff. Well, you know what, I’ve had enough!’
Just as his fist slammed down on the desk, a woman’s voice cut over the resultant thud.
‘Is there a problem, Mr Johnson?’
‘Ah, no, Ms LaMotta.’
It was as if all the air had been vacuumed from the room in one collective gasp. As one, the students straightened up. Even Kumari felt her spine stiffen. And then Ms LaMotta turned her laser gaze on her.
‘You must be Kumari. Welcome to Rita Moreno. I am the principal, Ms LaMotta, and you are in the wrong classroom.’
Her eyes flicked to the blackboard. The ghost of a smile flitted across her thin face and then it was gone, replaced by a careful blankness.
‘Um, yes,’ mumbled Kumari, surreptitiously squirming. It was not because of the woman’s gaze, more a Badmash situation. Startled by the thud of fist on desk, Badmash had shot down from his hiding place. Right now he was somewhere round her waist, his beak poking out from her puffa jacket. This was not looking good. Ma had begged her not to take him, had even offered to Badmash-sit. But Kumari had been adamant. She was not letting him out of her sight.
‘Well, come with me, girl.’ Ms LaMotta sounded impatient. Kumari considered her options. It was clear there were not too many.
Hunching over to conceal the telltale beak, Kumari edged towards Ms LaMotta. As she hobbled to the door, she heard the man say, ‘Thank you!’
Out in the hallway, Ms LaMotta cast her a curious glance.
‘Is anything the matter?’
‘Uh, no,’ said Kumari. What was that shadow on Ms LaMotta’s upper lip? Was it, could it be, a moustache? Did all grown-ups have one in the World Beyond? No, surely not.
‘Aren’t you hot in that jacket, dear?’
‘No, no.’ Why couldn’t the woman just back off?
Kumari followed her back down the corridors, which stank of stale sweat and pine cleaning fluid, all the while shoving Badmash back up her top, trying not to breathe in. All at once, she longed for the hillsides of home, the clean smell of the mountains. Fresh air perfumed by real trees, their scent drifting on the wind. Ms LaMotta’s voice broke through her thoughts.
‘This is your classroom.’
And then she was being shown to yet another desk.
‘Ms Martin here is your teacher.’
A face appeared over Ms LaMotta’s shoulder, earnest but smiling. Skeleton-shaped earrings dangled incongruously from lobes behind which reddish hair was tucked. Finally, someone who appeared friendly. And moustache-free, thank goodness.
‘Hi there, Kumari, I’m Ms Martin. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, take your jacket off?’
‘I’m OK,’ muttered Kumari. ‘My country, it’s . . . ah . . . very hot.’ She pulled the jacket closer around her as if to emphasise her point, although really it was to keep Badmash still.
‘Oh. Sure,’ said Ms Martin. ‘Well, maybe when you’ve warmed up.’
‘Thank you, Ms Martin,’ said Ms LaMotta and with that she swept from the room. Kumari sighed inwardly with relief. Ms Martin seemed much more approachable.
It all began to go wrong again within the space of a few minutes. Ms Martin was conducting a quiz. Oh, goodie, thought Kumari. A chance to please her new teacher. The RHM expected her to speak out in her lessons back home. Why should school be any different?
‘Name a mammal that can live for over two hundred years,’ said Ms Martin.
‘My father!’ shouted Kumari. A good start. This was easy.
‘I don’t think so, honey’ said Ms Martin. ‘Can someone explain to me the theory of natural selection?’
‘Some of us are better than others?’
There was a muffled giggle from the back.
A dangerous glint flashed in Ms Martin’s eyes but a tiny twitch of her mouth betrayed amusement.
‘Thank you, Kumari.’
Jaw set at an angle that meant business, Ms Martin addressed the rest of the class.
‘Which appears highest in the periodic table: calcium, magnesium, sodium or copper?’
‘Can I go fifty-fifty?’
Ms Martin’s voice cracked in exasperation.
‘This is not a game show, Kumari.’
Oops. Looked like she’d stressed another teacher out. In Ms Martin’s cheeks, the colour was rising. Still, she smiled, in a kind of steely way, her white teeth flashing a warning. Too late, Kumari remembered CeeCee and LeeLee’s words of advice.
‘I think someone else should have a turn,’ said Ms Martin in a tone that brooked no argument.
Ex
cept no one wanted to; they were all far too busy gawping.
‘You are the weakest link!’ someone shouted out to guffaws.
An eraser hit Kumari square on the forehead. Mercifully at that moment the bell went and everyone immediately leapt up from their desks. Caught up in the surge towards the door, Kumari suffered a couple of sneaky kicks.
‘Why don’t you shut up, smart-ass?’ sneered one large boy.
‘Yeah, cut it out,’ snarled another.
I’ve screwed up already, Kumari thought miserably, following the crowd to the next classroom and the next. By now she had learned her lesson. She sat silent, staring at nothing. At lunchtime she tagged along to the cafeteria, walking a careful distance from her classmates. A couple of girls looked back in sympathy but Kumari was too busy pretending that she knew what she was doing to notice.
A line stretched across the cafeteria from a counter on which food was piled high. Here and there it broke as kids bunched up or shoved one another around. Forcing her chin up, Kumari strode to the front, doing her best to appear confident. She could see people in white hats working behind the scenes. Those must be the chefs. Great, this was just like in the palace. OK, so the service was a little slacker. Still, nothing she could not handle. Kumari smiled at the woman behind the counter.
‘And what has cook produced today?’ she enquired of the bored server.
The server chewed resolutely on her gum, shrugged and said nothing.
‘Hey!’
‘Hey, you there, you’re pushing in!’
‘That’s her, isn’t it, the new kid?’
A crescendo began to build behind Kumari, a chorus of angry cries and hissing.
Somehow she’d got it wrong again. Best to grab a burger and back off.
The server sprang to life. ‘Hey, you gotta pay for that!’
Money. She had money. Ma had made her put it somewhere safe. Except that it was no longer there, carefully tucked in her pocket. Which meant she must have dropped it. Or, worse, someone had stolen it. This was not going to plan. OK, dump the burger and make a run for it. But which way to go? The other kids were beginning to crowd in. And then she saw it. Gleaming, beckoning from across the room. A glorious, great big machine thing, its buttons shining with promise, emblazoned across it the word, Cola. There was nothing Kumari loved more. Forget about running. This was far too important. She’d just grab a can and go. Nothing too difficult about that.
She could hear them still muttering in her wake, but Kumari did not care. Somewhere in this machine there must be cans of the precious nectar. All she had to do was get one out. Experimentally, she pressed a few buttons. Nothing. She pressed some more. Two, three, then all of them. They continued to flash alluringly. She poked a finger into every opening, peered up the slots, searching. Her throat rasped with thirst. It had been hours since she had drunk anything. She needed one. Now.
The shiny machine must be broken. She would just help it out a little. Give it a shake. No. OK, time for the direct approach. Raising a leg, Kumari kicked hard. Karali, now that was something she knew about. The ancient martial art had never let her down. This time was no exception. A stream of cans rattled forth, bouncing and rolling across the hard cafeteria floor. Jubilant, Kumari picked one up, popped the tab and drank, smacking her lips.
A few more cans rolled out, dislodged by her efforts.
‘Look, guys, free Coke!’ yelled a kid and suddenly they were shoving the tables aside, surging across the cafeteria.
‘Do that again,’ ordered a boy but, shaking her head, Kumari backed off. Thwarted, the boy began to kick the machine, urged on by the others.
Pandemonium grew as the supervisors waded in, shouting at the kids to stop.
‘You there,’ yelled one at Kumari. ‘You stand right where you are.’
Bad idea. The man’s face was puce with rage. Kumari kept backing away.
Then she was falling, a stray can bringing her down. As her tail bone hit the floor, Kumari heard a familiar squawk. Jolted out from his hiding place, Badmash shot into the air.
‘Ohmygawd look at that!’
‘It’s a bird! In the cafeteria!’
‘Catch it! Bring it down!’
Frantically, Kumari tried to grab Badmash. But freedom was too much fun after hours cooped up under her coat. He fluttered around the cafeteria before spying the food and swooping down. Three passes later, Badmash returned to perch on her shoulder, satisfied. A hot dog sausage dangled from his beak like some oversized worm.
‘What’s the matter? You never seen a bird before?’ demanded Kumari of the gawping crowd. ‘You’ll hurt his feelings. Stop staring.’
A half-full can shot past her ear, its contents spattering them both.
‘Kill it,’ came a howl. It was definitely time to leave.
Slamming through the swing doors, Kumari started to run, ignoring the shouts from behind her. Racing blind down the corridors, looking for somewhere to hide. At last she saw an open door and dived inside. A man looked up, startled.
‘Hey, this is the men’s room!’
‘S-sorry,’ stuttered Kumari, swiftly backing out.
The shouts faded behind her as she sprinted along. Finally, she slowed to a walk. She’d keep moving all the same. On and on she tramped, along endless passageways. By chance, she stumbled across the entrance lobby, spotted the men in uniform and turned tail. These corridors went on for miles. She could walk around and around all day. That seemed like a good plan, just keep out the way until they opened the gates. Badmash had settled down for a snooze against her chest, once more sated and happy. If she went back to her classroom now, they would definitely take him away. She had so been looking forward to school, but it was nothing like she had expected. The same with the World Beyond. How she longed for home.
Her vision blurred by unshed tears, Kumari trudged on. It was hopeless. No one challenged her as she wandered past. If this was school, they could keep it. A part of her even missed the RHM, annoying though he could be. At least he cared that she learned something. Here, learning was way down the agenda. She had seen the looks on the teachers’ faces. They all looked worn down, tired out. Except for Ms Martin. She at least had appeared alive. Actually, this corridor looked familiar. Her classroom was just down there. Lining the walls that lead to it, rows of what appeared to be cupboards. Slouching against these, a group of kids she dimly recognised.
‘It’s her!’ one of them shouted.
Their heads turned as one. Run! shrieked the voice in her brain but her tired feet were rooted to the spot.
Rough hands pulled her forward.
‘Here, we got something to show you. See, we had a tip off you were coming. So we thought we would welcome you by decorating your locker.’
They were holding open the door of one of the cupboards, sneering as they pointed. The door was festooned with clippings, taken from a newspaper. Kumari’s eyes fell on a familiar headline: Manhattan Mystery Girl, it screamed.
‘That’s you, isn’t it?’ jeered a voice. ‘What are you, some kind of weirdo?’
‘Yeah, where you come from?’ crowed another. ‘Says here you don’t know.’
‘Give us your bird,’ said a third, grabbing her by the shoulders. As Kumari began to kick and scream, Badmash was hauled from her embrace. Amid mocking laughter, they shoved her into the cupboard, cramming her in before slamming the door.
‘No! Don’t hurt him,’ cried Kumari as she heard the lock turn. And then she was alone. Her knees were shoved into her chest, the door and walls pressing in. Her arms were jammed by her sides, her amulet digging uselessly into her wrist. She was trapped in this metal box, unable to move a muscle. The dark felt as though it were caving in on her, the air smelt stale and sweaty. Dust choked up her lungs. How long before she suffocated?
‘Let me out,’ she pleaded but all she heard in response were their jeers. And then silence. Where had they taken Badmash? How would she get out of here? Would anyone even miss her? Suddenly, a rec
tangle of light as the door was flung open. Before her stood a boy. In his arms was Badmash.
‘This your bird?’ he asked, as he held him out, smiling. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Don’t be scared. Let me help you.’
He held out a hand and Kumari took it. The boy had kind eyes. And there was something about his smile.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, stroking Badmash’s feathers.
‘Any time,’ he grinned. ‘I’m Chico, by the way.’
Chico.
Nice name.
Suddenly, things looked a whole lot better.
In this hell hole of a place, Kumari had found a friend.
KUMARI’S JOURNAL
(TOP SECRET. FOR MY EYES ONLY.
EVERYONE ELSE KEEP OUT!
THIS MEANS YOU!)
The World Beyond
Day 15 (they call this the month of December in the WB) – 351 days to go
OK, I know I don’t know where I am or how to get back home but I really do have to get out of here. All the while I’m here I’m not finding out what happened to Mamma. That clock keeps ticking which means Time is passing and soon I won’t have any left. It seems to go so fast. Everything happens fast here. Even the people talk fast like they might run out of breath. Which, I reckon, is exactly what happens and how people in the World Beyond die.
Not that the air is any good here – it stinks and it makes me cough. Even Badmash has a cough which makes it really difficult to hide him at school. I have to cough when he coughs and then the teachers look at me like I’m trying to mess around, when really I’m doing my best to listen even when what they say is really dull.
I’ve realised I need to listen because it’s my best chance of getting out of here – the more I know about the World Beyond, the easier it will be to find my way home. I’ve already looked really hard at every map I can find (waste of time) and CeeCee and LeeLee showed me how to search on the computer so I entered words like magic+kingdom+smoke+happiness+goddess but all I came up with was a lot of VERY strange stuff. As Ma said, at least I tried. And I’m going to keep trying. I will find a way back home. Imagine how Papa would feel if he knew I finally got motivated. The RHM would probably just say ‘about time.’ Well, maybe it is.
