by V M Jones
Zach didn’t put his hand up — he was way too cool for that. ‘Were you in the army, Shaw? Is that where you learned all this stuff?’
‘You bet I was! Officers’ trainin’ courses, leadership skills, fatigues … you name it. Now, on count of three. One — two — three — and yer off!’
There was a rush for the first obstacle. For our team, it was the pole with the car tyre. Jamie, pink-faced, pushed to the front, determined to shoulder the role of self-appointed leader. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘what do we have to do?’
‘There is a notice fastened to the pole,’ Kenta pointed out shyly.
Jamie read it out. It said we had to thread the tyre over the pole, and lower it down to the ground. Then we had to get it off again. Simple. Only problem was, the pole was a good three metres high.
Zach took charge. ‘I’m real strong, and great at shot-put,’ he announced. ‘How about I throw it over?’
There was a video camera up in a tree behind the pole, I noticed. A red light on it was glowing and I wondered if we were being filmed. Everyone was clustered round the pole, arguing about what to do. Eventually Zach took the tyre and threw it upwards with all his strength. It knocked against the top of the pole, bounced off, and hit Jamie a glancing blow on the arm on its way down. Jamie crumpled to the ground and started to cry.
Kenta crouched down next to him. ‘I plan to become a doctor, Jamie. Let me see where you are hurt,’ she said kindly, in her formal little voice.
Zach was standing with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, glowering at Jamie, but I could tell he felt bad about what had happened. Maria had noticed the video camera, and was smiling up at it.
I mooched over to Zach. ‘Hey, Zach,’ I suggested hesitantly, ‘how about if we make, like, a human tower? Say you, then me, then one of the girls, seeing they’re lighter. Then maybe Jamie could pass the girl the tyre, and she could put it over.’
His face brightened. ‘It’s worth a try.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Hey guys, let’s try this.’ Quickly, he outlined the plan. I kicked my trainers off and stood on his shoulders and Kenta hopped lightly up onto mine. ‘I pursue gymnastics as a hobby,’ she said, and you could tell it was true by the light, balanced way she moved.
Jamie picked himself up off the ground, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and passed her the tyre. Over it went, and Jamie and Maria lowered it carefully down. Job done. Same thing in reverse, and it was high fives all round, and on to the next one.
As we worked through the obstacles, a pattern began to emerge. Zach went at everything like a bull at a gate, determined to do everything as much on his own, and by sheer strength, as possible. Maria drifted around on the edges, clapping and exclaiming when things went right, and grimacing prettily up at the video camera when they went wrong, which seemed to happen fairly often. Kenta was shy and quiet, but quick to come forward when there was something practical she could contribute. And Jamie, of course: determined to be the leader, but short on practical ideas that would actually work.
Take the net. The objective was for the whole team to cross from one side to the other by crawling through one of the holes without coming into contact with the strings. It was wired up to this buzzer, which went off when you touched it. Catch was, the same hole couldn’t be used twice. Obviously it made sense for one of the big guys to go through a low, easy hole first, and then help the lighter girls through holes higher up. That would leave the low holes free for the heavy guys to crawl through once the rest of the team was on the other side. But it took ten minutes of arguing and people getting stranded on the wrong side of the net with all the holes used up, before this seemed to occur to anyone.
Next, we had to get the whole team across a wide, shallow stream using two car tyres and a wooden plank. There was the usual hubbub of suggestions, everyone shouting each other down. Then suddenly Kenta turned to me and asked, ‘What do you think, Adam?’ To my amazement, everyone quietened down and looked at me. I flushed, heard myself explaining how I reckoned it would work best … and in no time flat, we were over.
With the wall, the big thing was to get someone stationed up top who was strong enough to haul all the others up — especially Jamie — with everyone else heaving from underneath. Little Kenta was left till last — with a run and a bounce, she was up and over all on her own. She flashed me a shy smile.
Last of all was a two-strand electric fence — it gave a loud buzz if you touched it, though, instead of an actual shock — which we had to navigate our way over using just a plank of wood. We made a kind of human stile and got across, no worries — and again Kenta was last, running nimbly up the plank while I held the high end, and jumping down to land lightly on the other side.
After all the time we’d wasted, I was amazed when Shaw came up and gave us all high fives and told us we’d finished first. We ambled over to watch the other team struggling with the tyre and the pole, Richard standing solid as a rock as the base of the human tower while Genevieve teetered at the top. At last they did it, and we all gave a great cheer, before heading back for afternoon tea.
The best thing about the initiatives course was that it made us feel as if we’d known each other forever. I’d started the day with a bunch of strangers, but as I took a couple of chocolate-chip cookies from the loaded plate and passed it on, I realised that I felt closer to these kids than I did to anyone at Highgate, or at school. Not counting Cameron, of course. Jamie was reaching for the last biscuit when the dining room door opened and Q walked in.
‘Hello everyone,’ he said. ‘I trust you’ve all had an enjoyable afternoon. Shaw tells me we have some excellent problem solvers, and you have all performed most satisfactorily. Well done.
‘Now, there is one final exercise. Will you all please wash your hands thoroughly, and then follow me.’
Mystified, we queued for the cloakroom, and gathered in the corridor. The atmosphere was relaxed compared to the morning — you could see some friendships had been formed, and I couldn’t help wondering what would happen that evening, when the selection was announced. The thought made me feel slightly sick.
I glanced at Richard, and he grinned at me. ‘Do you need clean hands for arm wrestling?’
Q led us back to the computer room where we’d done the first test. I hoped we weren’t in for another dose. But he walked over to the dark, shrouded object in the corner, and told us all to gather round. Then he turned off the light.
The room was immediately plunged into absolute darkness. I heard an indrawn breath, almost like a sob, from someone … then there was a slither as the cloth slid away, and a collective gasp from us all.
There, suspended in the darkness, was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. It was a transparent glass sphere, perfectly round, about the size of a basketball. I knew it was resting on some kind of stand or table, but in the pitch dark it seemed to be hanging in midair, as if by magic.
Lightning was held captive inside the sphere. Brilliant purple-blue electric streamers danced up from the base in a magical display of light. Ever-changing, utterly silent, totally mystical; so beautiful it took my breath away.
I realised Q was talking softly — had been talking for some time. ‘The plasma globe is one of the most beautiful manifestations of plasma. Put simply, plasma is the fourth state of matter — a hot, ionised gas. The pressure in a plasma globe is high — so high that when plasma is generated, it heats up. Since hot air rises, the streamers of light tend to move up the sides of the globe. They keep moving because the charged gas areas keep moving. You can become a return path for a plasma trail by touching the glass surface.’
Q reached out one hand, and laid his palm flat on the side of the globe. Instantly, the blue streamers were drawn to his hand as if to a magnet, glowing and dancing under his palm. He placed his other hand on the other side of the globe, and the streamers divided and flickered between them. I sighed. I could have watched forever.
Even Jamie sounded strangely subdued. ‘Do we get to touch i
t too?’ he whispered.
In the bluish light reflecting upwards into his face, I saw Q smile. ‘Yes, you do,’ he said. ‘That’s why you’re here. Would you like to go first, Jamie? It’s quite safe.’
One by one, the kids shuffled forward in the dark and put their hands on the globe. Richard laid his palms flat, just as Q had done, and stood motionless, gazing soberly at the streamers twisting between them. Genevieve rested the ends of her fingers on the glass, tracing patterns with the lightning as it followed her fingertips. I hung back, imagining the cold blue light playing on my skin through the glass. I wanted to be last.
With some of the kids, the light seemed to be brighter and more intense. I wondered if it had anything to do with the temperature of your skin, or maybe how sweaty your hands were.
At last, I was the only one left. ‘Adam,’ said Q, ‘it’s your turn.’ I felt drawn to the globe by an almost gravitational pull. Of their own accord, my hands lifted, spread, and lowered themselves as softly as feathers onto the smooth surface of the globe.
Instantly, the lightning arced upwards in a blinding flash like a thunderbolt. A searing shock jolted through my palms and knifed up into my shoulders, setting them on fire with pain. I was hurled backwards, smashing into whoever was behind me. Fluorescent blue stars spun before my eyes and a weird electric humming buzzed in my ears.
Gradually the room came back into focus. Q was kneeling over me, looking distraught. His mouth was moving. I couldn’t hear what he was saying — couldn’t hear anything. I dimly realised someone must have turned the light on again. I blinked, and shook my head, trying to clear it. I felt numb. Q seemed very small and far away.
I felt a pair of strong arms lift me, and carry me through the silent group of children like a baby. Shaw carried me all the way up to my room. By the time we reached it, my mouth was still dry and I was trembling, but I felt a lot more normal. ‘Well, yer sure are no lightweight,’ Shaw grunted, depositing me gently on the bedspread. ‘It’s good ter see the colour back in yer face, Adam.’ He took a blanket from the wardrobe and tucked it round me. ‘Old Q and ’is gadgets. Usherwood ’ad a shock off that contraption once. Won’t go near it meself, that’s fer certain. But we’ve never seen nothin’ like that before.’
‘That’s quite true, we haven’t,’ said Q, who had followed us in and was hovering anxiously beside the bed. He still looked upset. ‘How are you feeling, Adam? I am so sorry — I had no idea the reaction could be so strong. It is extraordinary … simply extraordinary.’
I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile, but my lips felt numb and stiff. My voice came out kind of croaky. ‘I’m fine now … but it was weird … it felt like an electric shock, and the glass was hot. Burning hot, like fire. How come the other kids didn’t get burnt?’ I was feeling better by the second. I sat up. ‘Was it a power surge or something?’
Shaw paused at the door, listening. ‘No, Adam,’ Q said, and there was a strange look on his face. ‘At least, not in the way you mean.’ He put his hand on my shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘I’d recommend you lie down for half an hour or so. I’ll draw the curtains.’
After they’d left, I lay in the semi-darkness and thought about what had happened. I hoped I hadn’t broken the globe. It was so beautiful. Even now, etched on my retina, was a faint after-image of the dancing patterns of light, and of blue stars drifting in the wake of that savage explosion of power.
The final five
I must have slept, though not for long. When I woke the light in the room was dimmer. My shawl was snuggled into the crook of my neck, and something warm and heavy was resting against my leg. I put my hand down and touched it. A sandpapery tongue gave my hand a couple of businesslike licks. I smiled. Tiger Lily.
But how had she got in? And how had my shawl …
I turned my head. Hannah sat cross-legged on Richard’s bed, her eyes very round. ‘Hi, Adam,’ she whispered.
‘Hi,’ I whispered back.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah. At least, I think so.’
‘I heard Q and Shaw talking about what happened. I brought you Tiger Lily to make you feel better.’
‘Thanks. It worked, see?’ I swung my legs onto the floor, and stood up. Apart from a kind of stiff feeling in my shoulders, I felt fine.
Hannah gave me a sparkly, secretive look. ‘And I brought you something else, too. Look.’
She hopped off the bed. There behind her was a white, shiny plastic bag. Pinned onto it was a note, in slanty, grown-up writing. I turned on the bedside light so I could read it.
For Adam — a nice surprise to make up for a nasty shock! Please accept these with my apologies. Q.
I opened the packet. Inside were a pair of brand new jeans — the pre-faded kind — and a bright red hoodie. There were two T-shirts with designer logos on the front, one dark green, and the other black. And right at the bottom were two pairs of satin boxers, one a wine-red colour, and the other shiny sky blue.
Hannah was hopping up and down. ‘Do you like them? Are you pleased? Usherwood went into Winterton to get them while you were asleep. I wanted to go too, to help choose, but Nanny said I had to rest, and Usherwood said it would take twice as long if I was helping.’ She made a face.
I stood gaping at the clothes scattered on Richard’s bed. The rich colours glowed like jewels in the soft light. They were the first new clothes I’d ever had, the first present I’d ever been given. For some crazy reason I could feel tears pricking the backs of my eyes. I blinked them away. More to myself than to Hannah, I muttered, ‘I shouldn’t really accept them.’
‘Adam,’ Hannah explained patiently, ‘don’t you know anything? When someone gives you a present, you have to accept it. If you don’t, it’ll hurt their feelings. And you have to say thank you, and tell them how much you like it,’ she lowered her voice, ‘even if you really don’t. And sometimes you draw them a picture as a thank-you letter — unless you’re big enough to write real words. That’s what you do when you get presents.’
Well, I know when I’m beat. ‘OK, Hannah,’ I said, ‘thanks for letting me know. And now,’ I gave her a grin, ‘you can make yourself useful by helping me decide what to wear to the banquet.’
Ms Usherwood stood up at the top of the long table, and daintily pinged her wineglass with her fork. If she’d set off a fire alarm, it couldn’t have had a more immediate effect. The entire room was instantly silent, every eye fixed on her. I don’t think anyone was breathing — I certainly wasn’t.
Following Hannah’s instructions, I’d thanked Ms Usherwood politely for choosing the clothes when she came up to my room to fetch me. She hadn’t said much in return. There was something unsettling about the way she had looked at me — a thoughtful, measuring stare that made me feel slightly uncomfortable. I wondered whether it had anything to do with the plasma globe … maybe I had broken it and everyone was too polite to tell me.
Now, more than an hour later, the table was still groaning with food — hot dogs, pizza, popcorn, nachos, hamburgers and — of course — fairy sandwiches, with crisps and sweets and marshmallows and cake to fill in the gaps, and about ten different flavours of fizzy drink to wash it all down. I’d expected to be far too nervous to eat, but I started off with a chocolate bar, just to be polite, and one thing kind of led to another.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,’ — Ms Usherwood’s eyes flicked to me, and away again — ‘may I have your attention, please. The names of the final five are about to be announced.’ The marshmallow I was eating suddenly tasted like rubber. It was an effort to swallow; I was afraid I’d choke.
‘This is the procedure that will be followed. Five names will be read out. Those five children, together with their parents, will leave the dining room and make their way through to the library. Mr Quested will then address each group separately.
‘The unsuccessful candidates will return to their rooms, pack their belongings, and leave immediately. Mr Quested will not
enter into any dialogue with the parents of the runners-up. His decision is final, and not open to discussion.
‘If you wish to exchange contact information, please do so now, as there may not be the opportunity at a later stage.
‘It remains for me to thank you all for coming, and to say what a great pleasure it has been to share your company. Good luck to you all.’
She slipped out through the dining room door, leaving a sudden babble of voices behind her. Richard was shoving a piece of cardboard into my hand; I saw it was one of his dad’s business cards. He’d scrawled his name and phone number on the back. He had a kind of bug-eyed, vacant look, a bit like a stuffed fish. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to — I knew just how he was feeling.
Genevieve and Maria were hugging, Silas and Zach shaking hands. Kenta was standing very still next to her father, neither of them speaking. Jamie was munching a chocolate doughnut in an automatic kind of way. He looked pretty green.
The door opened again, and in came Q, looking miserable. He had a piece of paper in his hand.
‘Thank you all for coming,’ he said rapidly. ‘Especially the children — you have all been wonderful, every single one of you, and if we could accommodate you all on our special course, we would. But unfortunately that’s just not possible.
‘Now. Please will the following children follow Usherwood through to the library. I will join you there very shortly.’ He cleared his throat.
‘Genevieve Vaughan-Williams.
‘Kenta Nakamura.
