Heartache High

by Jon Jacks

  Do I need to say that I still haven’t seen anyone yet?

  Still, in the laboratory, the desktop opposite each seat is cluttered with what looks like equipment for an experiment.

  There are a number of paper and even carved Mobius strips (you know, where you twist a strip of paper then tape the ends, so you end up with an object that’s only got one side).

  On a few of the desktops, some people have even tried to work out how a three dimensional version would work.

  It all adds to the unnerving Mary Celeste atmosphere, only here it’s the experiments everyone’s suddenly left half-finished rather than their meals.

  One wall is dominated by huge chalkboards on which a number of supposedly helpful diagrams have been drawn. Beyond how the basic strip works, however, the figures and angled lines and curves remain a mystery to me.

  Now that’s really really really odd!

  One of the desktop experiments seems to have changed while I had my back to it.

  I could have sworn the three, different-sized carved strips had been separate. But now they’ve been joined to almost form a hemisphere.

  I whirl around, glancing nervously at the other experiments.

  There’s no movement, but each one seems to have progressed slightly from how I can remember first seeing it.

  And one of the diagrams on the chalkboard has been carelessly wiped, leaving a smudge of coloured chalk.

  Uh oh – what is this?

  A school for ghosts?

   

   

  *

   

   

  Chapter 6

   

  Have I died?

  Did Iain come over to me, smiling (inanely?), because he’d noticed me after all, regarding me much the same way as a pop star sees a crazed fan as a stalker?

  Had he had enough, strangling me in front of a quite frankly shocked Cherry and Mary?

  Suddenly, the rooms full of excited whispering.

  No, not whispering; just the sound of a classroom, but so heavily muted I can barely hear it.

  But it’s getting louder.

  Around me, there are blurs of movement in the air,

  Blurs that, as the sound of chatter increases, become wraith-like figures, moving from desk to desk.

  Ghosts.

  The ghosts of the kids who used to attend this school.

  One of the figures stares back at me curiously.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ he says, offering me his hand to shake. ‘You’re new here aren’t you?’

   

   

  *

   

   

  ‘Am I dead?’ I ask blankly.

  In a daze, I accept his hand.

  It’s much firmer than I expected; like a real hand.

  Thing is, he no longer looks ghost-like either.

  He looks just like a normal kid.

  He’s even got the mussed up hair, the geeky glasses.

  ‘Dead?’

  He grins, like this is the most amusing thing he’s ever heard, some girl asking him if she’s dead.

  He nudges the girl sitting next to him with a gentle jab of his elbow.

  ‘She thinks she’s dead.’

  The girl looks up at me, her face broadening into a friendly smile like she’s only just noticed me.

  ‘Oh, hello! I’m Jassy!

  Like the other ghost, she offers me her hand. I shake it.

  ‘Steph,’ I say dazedly, keeping it sounding like I run through polite introductions with ghosts every day. ‘Stephanie Johnson.’

  ‘I’m Dave,’ the boy says.

  ‘Quite a lot of people who turn up here think they’re dead.’

  Jassy’s still got her broad smile as she says this, but now it’s more a pitying grin.

  ‘So…am I dead or not?’

  They shake their heads.

  ‘We don’t think so.’

  ‘Don’t think so? You mean you don’t know?’

  ‘Well, it’s not easy to figure out is it?’ Jassy says, indicating the three dimensional Mobius strip (sphere?) she’s been trying to fix together on her desk. ‘That’s the sort of thing we spend our lessons trying to work out, really.’

  Dave must see the worry flashing across my face. He hurriedly blurts out, ‘But, having said that, most of us have come to the conclusion that we’re not dead, right?’

  Jassy happily nods in agreement.

  ‘So we are still in the real world?’ I ask hopefully.

  ‘Real enough,’ Jassy chuckles, playfully tapping Dave on the head with her pencil.

  ‘Ouch!’ Dave laughs, then adds, ‘But exactly where in the real world it is, we’re not sure.’

  ‘But that’s impossible!’ I protest.

  Other people have recognised my presence by now.

  They observe me with either a concerned or an amused grin on their faces, like they’re having to put up with the sort of person you hope isn’t going to sit next to you on the bus.

  ‘All we’ve got to do is walk out of here. And that’ll at least give you an idea of where we are!’

  Jassy and Dave swap amused glances.

  ‘Steph,’ Jassy says kindly, placing a consoling hand on mine, ‘once you’ve enrolled at Heartache High, you can never leave.’

   

   

  *

   

   

  Chapter 7

   

  ‘No one ever leaves? That’s ridiculous; let’s all just walk out of here! How could anybody stop us?’

  ‘Oh sure Steph,’ Dave says, ‘no one’s ever thought of that before!’

  ‘If a school this size is somewhere, surely a plane or something has flown over it? Surely we get deliveries of food or…or whatever else we get delivered. Are the guys driving the trucks just going to think, Oh, that’s really unusual; all these kids being kept trapped here as prisoners in a Victorian school!’

  ‘Ah, that’s interesting, the way you said prisoner.’

  Dave says it like it’s a profound insight I’ve made rather than a desperate cry for help.

  ‘Did you ever see that old TV series, The Prisoner?’

  ‘Nuh uh.’ I shake my head

  ‘There was this guy, an ex spy, who was kept trapped on this weird, dream-like island.’

  ‘Portmeirion.’

  ‘What?’ Dave turns back towards Jassy.

  ‘It was Portmeirion, in Wales. I once went on holiday there with my mum and dad,’

  ‘It wasn’t Portmeirion, Jassy; it was an island! If it was in Wales, how difficult would it be to leave there, eh? You’d just get on a bus wouldn’t you, “Ticket to Cardiff please”?’

  ‘Buses aren’t allowed in Portmeirion.’

  ‘Look, Jassy; it was filmed there, right? But it was supposed to be an island, yeah?’

  ‘Are you saying we’re on an island?’ I ask.

  I reckon it’s a simple enough question, but both Dave and Jassy pull thoughtful frowns,

  ‘Weellll,’ says Dave eventually, ‘I suppose that depends on what you mean by an island.’

  ‘What I mean by an island? Just how many types of island are there?’

  ‘“No man is an island, entire of itself”; didn’t John Donne say something like that?’ Jassy says sagely. ‘But, of course, he is an island if he turns away from everybody else.’

  ‘But I’m not turning away from everybody else, am I?’ I insist irately.

  Why can’t they just give me a straight answer, rather than trying to impress upon me just how much better education is at Heartache High?

  ‘Look, it’s difficult to explain just how it works here,’ says Dave with an apologetic grimace. ‘It’s probably one of those things it’s best to discover for yourself if you’re ever going to accept it; I thought it was quite a profound experience, if I’m being honest.’

  ‘Yeah, ‘Jassy says, ‘though I’d change the word profound to terrifying.’

  ‘Ah,
that’s because you’re not regarding it as the physical phenomenon I took it-;

  Jassy tosses a balled up scrap of paper at his head.

  ‘There’s another physical phenomenon for you, Mr bloody Spock!’

  How can these guys just take all this so light-heartedly?

  We’re trapped here?

  I don’t believe it – I’m going to escape right now!

   

   

  *

   

   

  I rush out of the laboratory, leaving Jassy, Dave and the rest of the class to stare after me with open mouths.

  How could we be trapped here?

  That’s ridiculous!

  It’s just a school – and, as they more or less admitted, for all they know we could just be stuck somewhere in Wales for all they know.

  Everywhere I look now, there are boys and girls, all teenagers from what I can tell.

  They’re hanging around in the corridors, chatting and giggling in groups like it’s just a normal school after all.

  Outside, the lawns I thought were neat but empty of life are meeting places for other groups, most of whom have laid out blankets so they can lie down on the grass.

  There are sports fields too, a football match being energetically played on one of the pitches.

  There are even bursts of music being played on what I soon realise are old-style CD players.

  Carole King. The Walker Brothers. Bread.

  Old songs, most of which no one plays anymore back in the real world.

  Not unless you’ve suffered the pangs of heartache anyway. The kind of music that you can cry yourself to sleep listening to.

  Yeah, I’ve been there too Carole.

  I stride past all these groups of people, ignoring them, heading in a direction where the array of buildings seem to begin to peter out.

  Beyond the last of the buildings, it looks like open parkland, then a thick patch of trees.

  I can’t see any walls or fences. It looks like you just have to be prepared to walk for a good while before you come to the nearest village or town.

  I glance back, checking that no one is following me.

  Thing is, even if someone sees me trying to leave and comes chasing after me, how long can they hold me for?

  My mum and dad must have realised I’ve gone missing by now.

  The police will be out searching for me.

  Mum and dad will be out looking for me.

  How hard can it be to leave this place?

  Okay, so I could be miles away from where they’re looking; but my pictures going to end up in the papers isn’t it, perhaps even on the TV news?

  Hey, who knows, when I get back, when I’m rescued, perhaps even Iain will notice me at last.

  Like he did in my dream.

  He’d stared at me like he’d noticed me for the first time.

  His eyes wide. His expression one of surprise, perhaps even shock.

  Normally, if he’d looked at me like this, I’d be wondering if I’d got some sort of embarrassing ink stain across my cheek. Or some horrendously large insect stuck in my hair.

  Not this time though.

  Okay, so it was in my dream, where you can always exude more confidence than you could ever hope to possess. Or perform amazing feats that would make Wonder Woman steam with envy.

  But,see, when it came to Iain, a dose of reality would usually slip in, even in my dreams.

  Sure, we’d be together, but it was still me, not some impossibly wonderful super woman.

  Otherwise, it wouldn’t really be me with him, would it? It would be some other girl, a girl nothing like me.

  Last night though – all that went out of the window.

  I’d never ever felt more beautiful.

  More seductive.

  I was geisha, Venetian courtesan and Mata Hari all rolled into one.

  How could Iain resist me?

  How could any boy resist me?

  Dreams, huh?

  Don’t you just love them?

  And here, on the outskirts of Heartache High, a smaller wished-for dream of mine has just come true.

  Buildings. Large ones too. The edges of a town.

  I can see their tops appearing through the trees lying just ahead of me.

  I break into a run, dashing through the last of the trees without any consideration for the odd branch that whips out at me as I hurtle past.

  I can even hear people shouting now, the sounds of something like a fair or a sporting event taking place.

  Freedom!

  And it was all so easy.

  What is it with Jassy and Dave and all the others?

  Do they like it so much at Heartache High they can’t be bothered to really make an effort to leave?

  The trees give way to open parkland then, beyond that, neat lawns.

  A football match is underway.

  Groups of young people are lazing around in groups on the grass.

  Music’s playing.

  Carole King. The Walker Brothers.

  Welcome back to Heartache High.

   

   

  *

   

   

  Chapter 8

   

  As I walk across the lawn, past the groups sprawled across the grass on their blankets, I get the impression that seeing someone walk out of the woods isn’t an unusual event here.

  Some of the other students glance up at me.

  Some are amused; Hey look, there goes another new kid, another dork who flattered herself she could do what we couldn’t do and break out of here.

  Some look at me sympathetically; Poor kid – how many of us made that mistake when we first arrived here?

  How do I know they’re thinking this?

  I don’t. But if I were one of the kids looking up at some new girl who had just walked out of the woods, I figure that’s what I’d be thinking.

  I realise I’m hungry.

  I haven’t had any breakfast.

  From what I can remember, I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon.

  Is that a good sign, that I’m hungry?

  I mean, if I were dead, if I were a ghost, I wouldn’t get hungry, would I?

  I turn to one of the girls looking up at me with one of the more pitying looks.

  ‘Excuse me; is there anywhere to eat round here?’

  ‘Sure,’ she says brightly, pointing off to yet another Victorian-gothic block, ‘over there, in the refectory hall.’

  ‘Yeah, figures,’ I say. ‘Although I wasn’t quite expecting something so normal around here.’

  ‘Yeah, it takes us all by surprise, the normality of it all.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I continue on my way.

  ‘It’s not as bad here as you think it’s going to be,’ the girl shouts after me kindly. ‘You get used to it.’

  I spin around on my heels.

  ‘Here?’ I say. ‘But where is here? What are we all doing here? Why are we trapped here?’

  One of the boys lying on the blanket by the girl’s side looks my way.

  ‘You’ll find you’ve got plenty of time to try and figure that one out,’ he says. ‘If you ever come up with the answer, please make sure I’m the first to know.’

   

   

  *

   

   

  The refectory hall’s busy.

  Kids impatiently queuing up at the long food counters like they also haven’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime.

  I join the queue, picking up my tray, a large plate and cutlery.

  No one’s dishing the meals out; you just help yourself to the food piled up in large, heated compartments spread out across the counter top.

  There’s every type of meat you can think of too. You just have to carve off whatever you want from the large joints lined up beneath a row of heat lamps.

  There’s also fish, cheese, fruit, desserts.

  Hot drinks pour ou
t of small machines on the counter.

  Cold drinks from large machines set against the wall, or glass-fronted refrigerators if you prefer bottled or canned.

  I don’t see anyone urgently refilling the machines, like I used to see back in my old school.

  (Old school? That’s the school from yesterday, yeah Steph?)

  There aren’t any white-clad serving staff, rushing back and forth behind the counter to ensure the food keeps on coming to feed the ravenous hoard that is a teenage student body.

  There aren’t any adults, come to think of it.

  I haven’t seen a single adult.

  Anywhere.

  No teachers.

  Yet they have classes here

  No cleaners, no janitors.

  Yet everywhere looks spick and span.

  No cooks.

  Yet there’s food. What looks like endless amounts of it.

  Does it ever run out?

  It doesn’t seem to, going by the way everyone’s scooping up massive portions onto their plates.

  So, that’s one thing you can figure out pretty quickly here; Heartache High isn’t in the real world.

   

   

  *

   

   

  Chapter 9

   

  Some people nod at me as they pass, or even offer a friendly greeting as they carefully make their way to one of the long tables with their food.

  ‘Hi there; saw you wandering around looking a bit lost earlier.’

  ‘Hey, that’s pretty quick you know; some kids wander around for days in a daze before noticing anything and realising we’re all here.’

  I spot Jassy and Dave seated at one of the tables, but turn to move farther away.

  I don’t really know them well enough to–

  ‘Steph; over here!’ Dave cries out, raising a hand to attract my attention.

  Ah well; I sure as hell need someone round here I can talk to.

  They make room for me to sit down next to them.

  ‘How you settling in?’ Jassy trills, like we’re all on holiday at Portmeirion. ‘It’s different, huh?’

  ‘How’d your walk go?’ asks Dave with a knowing wink.

  ‘I get it,’ I say. ‘The Mobius strips you were all playing around with; we’re all caught in one huge Mobius strip, right?’

  Dave chuckles elatedly.

  ‘You picked that up pretty fast Steph; although it’s just one of many theories circulating about how it all works.’

  ‘It could be like time, bending back on itself; you’ve read Stephen Hawking, right?’

  Jassy looks at me like she’s asking about Heat magazine and it’s a given that I’ll have read it.

  ‘I don’t get,’ I say between shovelling in mouthfuls of pasta (I’m starving!), ‘we’re all trapped here, but you’re all taking it all so coolly.’

  Dave shrugs his shoulders. Jassy pouts.

  ‘Well, what else are we supposed to do? Organise escape committees?’