Secrets at Silver Spires

by Ann Bryant

  “Jessica or Jess?” she asked me brightly, pulling a chair up near her own and patting the seat.

  “Jess,” I said in a sad little croak as I sat down.

  “Jess, okay.” She smiled again and looked at me carefully. “Right, nothing to worry about at all. Now that I’ve screened your reading test I can tell that your brain works slightly differently from other people’s, but you’ve got lots of strengths and I must say you’ve coped brilliantly with your difficulties. Really brilliantly. And I want to stress right here that I am definitely not saying that you are any less intelligent than the next person. That simply isn’t true.

  “Now, I’ve just got a few questions for you, which will help me get a better idea of what your difficulties are. Tell me, do you have problems with the difference between bs and ds?”

  I nodded, wondering how she knew that, but realizing immediately that it was obvious she was trained to know these things.

  “And this might seem like an odd thing to be asking, but could you recite the two times table?” She broke into another of her lovely smiles and I thought what a nice, kind person she is. “It’s not a trick question, Jess. Just take your time.” She stopped me after six twos and I asked her if I’d done all right. “There’s no right or wrong in my game, Jess,” she said, looking straight at me. And I felt as though we made a little connection there, because that’s how I feel about art. That’s what I was trying to explain to my parents.

  “Like art,” I said quietly.

  I didn’t think she’d get what I meant, but she did, straight away.

  “Exactly.”

  After that I had to do various other tests, like repeating sequences of numbers after she’d said them, and seeing whether I could keep my eyes following the same line of words or whether they dropped down (which they did, lots of times). And finally she said I’d done fine and I could relax.

  “Well, there’s obviously something going on that you need help with. What I’m going to do is talk to your parents on the phone and explain my findings, and see if they’re agreeable to your having a more detailed screening by an educational psychologist. Now, you’re unlikely to get an appointment before half-term, or even the summer holidays, but meanwhile we’ll arrange for you to come to me, and I can help you with your reading in all sorts of ways, Jess, to make the process much, much easier for you. All right? You really should have had this kind of help at primary school, but, sadly, bright pupils like you slip through the net sometimes.”

  I couldn’t speak. My whole mind was taken up with what people would say, and especially what my friends would say. It was embarrassing having to have extra help with reading at secondary school. I’d never live it down.

  “Have you got any questions at all, Jess?”

  Yes. How can you say I’m bright when I’m obviously stupid? Why doesn’t my brain work properly? Why ME?

  I shook my head sorrowfully, but then a more sensible question did pop into my head and I blurted it out. “Is it dyslexia? Is that what’s wrong with me?”

  The silence seemed to go on for ages, though it was probably only a couple of seconds really. “Yes. I think that will turn out to be the case,” said Miss Cardwell carefully. “It has to be confirmed, of course… Then you’ll get the help you need – extra time in exams, someone to do the writing while you dictate what you want to say. And, Jess, you deserve these things. Dyslexia is tough, but you’ll manage fine because all sorts of very clever people at the top of their professions have managed, like the artists Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo. So you see, you’ll be in great company.”

  I felt like a little girl who’d gone into a sulk, because I still couldn’t quite smile, even though I really wanted to when Miss Cardwell was being so kind and saying things to make me feel better. A few little pinpricks of warmth were starting to appear inside me, though, at the thought of two such famous painters sharing the same brain problems as me.

  “The thing is, Jess, nature has a curious habit of balancing things out. When she creates difficulties for the brain she often compensates by handing out rare gifts…” She paused and I saw her eyes twinkle. “I have it on good authority from various members of staff here that you are a very talented artist, and I saw that you won the competition for the cover of the swimming gala programme. So there you are. That is your gift.”

  “It’s true that I…see the world in pictures not words,” I finally managed to say.

  She nodded slowly, with another kindly smile. “Well, there you are. I envy you that.”

  Then the bell went and my horrible sinking feeling came back. How could I cope with everyone finding out I’ve got to have extra help with reading, like a little kid? Because, it doesn’t matter what Miss Cardwell says, if you need help with reading at my age, you must be thick. The feeling seemed to drag me down so far I couldn’t bear it. I didn’t want people to find out, and what’s more, I wasn’t going to let that happen. I’d make something up. I’d pretend it was just a one-off session with Miss Cardwell because I hadn’t been feeling well the day of the test so I’d done really badly. I’d say Miss Cardwell just wanted to check it was only an off-day and that there wasn’t really any problem. And now she’d checked and, sure enough, everything was fine. She’d said I was perfectly good at reading and definitely didn’t need any help.

  Yes, that’s what I’d say.

  “So…when shall I come back…?” I asked hesitantly as I got up to go.

  Please don’t let it be during a lesson.

  “Er…let me see…” She was looking in a big diary. “Yes, why don’t you come tomorrow lunchtime and Monday after school?”

  “Just those two times,” I said, feeling a big relief sweep through me.

  “Yes, just Friday lunchtimes and Mondays after school.”

  “You mean I’ve got to come twice a week every single week?” It was obvious really. I didn’t know why I’d ever imagined I could be turned into a normal-brained person in just two sessions.

  “Yes, that’s right.” She was smiling away and now, once again, there was no way I could smile back. I was feeling too horrified. However was I going to be able to convince people I didn’t have a problem when I had to go to the Learning Support department for reading help twice a week? And now I was going to have less time for my precious art project too. I could have cried. What a hopeless mess.

  At morning break I didn’t say anything to the others and I tried to act completely normally. I obviously wasn’t making a very good job of it though, because Grace asked me three times if I was sure I was okay, and Mia asked me once too. In the end I said I was going to do a bit more wire plaiting and I escaped to Hazeldean and rushed up to the dorm, but I had to turn round and come back almost immediately because morning break is so short.

  At lunchtime, when Grace started heading towards the table where Naomi and Katy and the other two were sitting, I panicked a bit because Isis and Sophie were also at that table. I really wanted to grab Grace and say, “Don’t let’s sit there today,” but Katy was frantically beckoning us over, so there was no way I could say that. I followed Grace extra slowly to give myself time to think what I might say if Isis or Sophie asked how I’d got on with Miss Cardwell. And something told me they would ask.

  “Hey, Jess,” said Katy in an urgent whisper the moment I sat down. “I was wondering, how are you actually going to get your figures to stand up?”

  She was leaning forwards so I leaned forward too, feeling happy that Katy was so into my art project. “I’ve been wondering about that too. I might have to dig them into the ground… And also, I was thinking, I must get hold of more bubble wrap—”

  “Wicked! More delicious popping for me!” said Georgie loudly.

  Katy and I grinned at each other, and then I started tucking into my cottage pie, but I’d hardly swallowed a mouthful when Isis’s voice came over loud and clear. “Hey, Jessica, what did you have to do at Learning Support?”

  I glanced up quickly and saw that
both Isis and Sophie were staring at me, waiting for my answer. Then I glanced at Grace and saw a questioning look in her eyes.

  Georgie was the first of my friends to speak, though. “Learning Support? Why did you have to go to Learning Support, Jess?”

  “Oh that! It turned out to be a mistake.” I gabbled the words at top speed because then my cheeks wouldn’t have chance to turn pink. “I was feeling ill when we had that reading test, you see, so I couldn’t concentrate properly. I had to go to Miss Cardwell just to check I didn’t really have any reading problems. And I don’t.” I grabbed the jug of water and started pouring some into my glass a bit shakily, hoping like mad that I’d been convincing. I didn’t dare look at Grace or the others, but I had the feeling that there were lots of pairs of eyes on me at that moment, and I knew it was really important to stay calm. “Anyone got any ideas where I can get hold of more bubble wrap?”

  “I…I guess if we ask round other boarding houses?” There was suddenly something awkward hovering between Grace and me. Her eyes seemed too dark, or was it her face that seemed too pale? Or maybe I was imagining those things.

  “What about asking at reception?” said Naomi. “That’s where parcels and things get delivered, isn’t it. They might say they can save you the bubble wrap whenever they get some.”

  I nodded hard, feeling relieved that Sophie and Isis seemed to have gone into their own little conversation now, and also feeling grateful to Naomi for coming up with such a brilliant idea. “I’ll go along there straight after lunch. Thanks for thinking of that, Naomi.”

  I thought the worst had passed but I was wrong. I was just eating my apple tart when out of the corner of my eye I saw Sophie nudge Isis. Isis nudged her back and mouthed, “You,” and a second later I heard my name again, and felt my skin prickling.

  “We got our essays back, by the way, Jess,” said Sophie. I didn’t like the look on her face. It was like she was trying not to smirk. “You know, the ones we had to do in prep.”

  My heart started to hammer. “Oh right. Well, I’ll get mine next time.”

  Sophie and Isis exchanged a look, which made me even more uncomfortable.

  “What’s going on between you two?” asked Georgie, straight out.

  “Nothing!” they said, putting on over-the-top innocent looks and then grinning again.

  “So what’s the joke then?” asked Georgie, looking a bit indignant now.

  I swallowed.

  “Just something Jessica wrote in her essay,” said Isis, suddenly attacking her food as though she wasn’t going to say another word about it, but it was obvious she knew she’d got everyone’s attention. Sure enough, Georgie couldn’t resist going for the bait.

  “Tell us then… What did she write?”

  “How do you know what Jess wrote in her essay, anyway?” interrupted Naomi a bit snappily.

  Isis glanced at Sophie. Sophie looked down. It was Isis who answered.

  “Mr. Reeves put it on Jessica’s desk. He thought she’d be back before the end of the lesson, you see. And he’d written something in red ink and it just kind of…stood out.”

  “Well, it’s nothing to do with you, is it?” said Naomi, her eyes boring into Isis’s.

  Isis just shrugged. “Whatever.”

  I swallowed and looked down. Naomi had made Isis and Sophie look very small. It was a big relief that she’d stopped them telling the whole table some spelling mistake or other that I’d made in my essay, which obviously changed the meaning of what I’d written into something really funny. But I was uneasy. I couldn’t get that look on Grace’s face out of my head. I didn’t like deceiving my best friend.

  I hated waking up on Friday. This was the day when I not only had to suffer double English, I also had to go and see Miss Cardwell at lunchtime. It was tempting to pretend I was ill and spend the day with Matron, then make a miraculous recovery in the afternoon, but I knew I couldn’t do that every single Monday and Friday. I’d just have to get Grace and the others used to me going off on my own by explaining to them that I’d be using all my free time on my art project from now on.

  As soon as I’d finished lunch I told the others I was going to work on my art project. “I want to give you all a nice surprise, so do you mind if I just do it on my own until it’s finished? Then I’ll show you.”

  Katy’s eyes lit up. “That’s a good idea. I’m going to do the same with the bracelet I’m making.”

  “I’ve got athletics,” said Grace. “I’ll walk with you as far as the field, Jess.”

  My stomach knotted. I’d be late for Miss Cardwell if I had to walk all the way to the athletics field and then come back to the Learning Support department. “Oh, I’ve got to go up to the dorm actually, to get some stuff.”

  “Oh right. See you later then. Have fun!” And with that she was gone, jogging off into the distance.

  As soon as I was sure she wouldn’t turn round, I rushed towards the Learning Support department, and met Miss Cardwell in the corridor, clutching a mug.

  “Well done, Jess! Bang on time!” she beamed. “Right, let’s get this show on the road!”

  Inside her room we sat down side by side at her table, and for the next half-hour I felt completely focused because Miss Cardwell was good at helping me to understand things. I surprised myself by quite enjoying the work, and at the end I asked her if I could borrow one of the books we’d looked at. It was full of short stories and we’d started one of them but hadn’t had time to look at more than the first paragraph. I was dying to know what happened next.

  “I’ll tell you what, I’ll photocopy that page for you, Jess, because I’m going to need the book this afternoon.”

  As I walked back to Hazeldean to put the precious sheet away somewhere safe in the dorm, I thought about Miss Cardwell and what she’d taught me, and I couldn’t help feeling happy and hopeful. It was just as though she could see right into my brain and she’d spotted a massive knotted ball of cotton and found the end. And now she was slowly starting to unravel it for me.

  Chapter Six

  On Saturday mornings there are lessons at Silver Spires, but once they’re over, the weekend is nearly always packed with interesting and fun things to do. The houseparents are always telling us that we mustn’t feel obliged to fill the whole weekend with activities, though, if we just want to chill or do our own thing or catch up on work or anything.

  Sometimes there are outings or events that everyone has to join in with, like when we have international evenings and you dress up in the style of clothes from that country and eat food that is typical of the country, and maybe have dancing or singing or games, or all three. That’s always great fun. Then there are shopping trips organized every week, but Grace and I don’t often go on those unless we really need to buy something, because we’re not that into shopping – not like Katy, who’s so stylish and loves looking at all the latest fashions. It’s true that I dress differently from lots of other girls at Silver Spires, but it’s not so much that I’m into fashion, more that I just like putting interesting colours and styles together. And as for Grace, well she’s hardly ever out of her tracksuit!

  Grace often trains at the weekends actually, and I like to do my art, taking photos or drawing pictures, but if she has a match I usually go along and support her. Sometimes I have work to catch up on though, and Grace helps me. That was fine for the first term, but then during last term the work increased, and recently I haven’t known where to start, there’s so much. Everyone else seems to manage okay, but I feel as though I’m drowning in work because of the reading and writing taking me so long, and I can’t keep asking Grace for help when she’s got all her sports training to do.

  Once or twice I’ve had to pretend I’m not interested in going to the theatre or the ice skating rink, just because I need time on my own to try and catch up with all I have to do to get through the next week of lessons. But when I had to miss a museum trip once I was so depressed and upset that I couldn’t concentrate
on the work anyway, so it was a waste of time.

  This weekend there’s an outing to the big bowlplex in town, and then the cinema later. And on Sunday there’s a trip to Shakespeare’s Globe. Georgie was over the moon about that and the others were going along too. I’ve been before with my parents, otherwise I would have loved to go, because the building is amazing. It’s been built with all the materials that actually would have been used in Shakespeare’s day.

  The main reason I didn’t want to go, though, was because I was desperate to have some time on my own to work on my project, but also to practise reading and to try and finish the story that Miss Cardwell had photocopied for me. There was one other thing that I wanted to do too. Ever since Miss Cardwell had mentioned that those two artists, Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci, both had dyslexia, I’d been thinking about that, wondering whether she was just saying it because she knew I was interested in art and thought it would make me feel better. After all, she could make up anything, couldn’t she? And even if she genuinely thought it was true, how did anyone know for sure, when they lived so long ago?

  I was determined to look them up on the internet and see what I could find out, but I knew it would take me ages and ages because I can never spell the words I want to look for. In fact I usually ask Grace to do my internet research for me. I just pretend I’m a bit useless on the internet and not sure what questions to google, and because Grace is kind and clever, she always finds me whatever I need to know. This time I was on my own though. This was private research. Embarrassing research, in fact.

  I’d completely forgotten that Grace had a tennis tournament at another school on Saturday afternoon, until we met up at lunch and I saw that she had her tennis dress on.

  “I’m really nervous, Jess,” she told me quietly when I sat down. “This is my first proper tennis match and I’ve no idea how good I am compared to girls at other schools. You are coming, aren’t you?” There must have been big doubt showing on my face because she didn’t even give me time to answer. Her face was suddenly clouded with disappointment. “Or…are you working on your art piece?”