School for Nobodies

by Susie Bower

  ‘N-nothing,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you come to my study for your interview?’

  ‘I couldn’t!’ I said. ‘Miss Cruet sent me to the Room of Reflection and locked me in. And then I met the Bird—’

  ‘The bird?’ said Mr Gold.

  ‘The Bird who lives in the cabinet.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘What are you talking about, child?’ he said. ‘There is no cabinet in that room, and there is certainly no bird, to my knowledge. The Room of Reflection is a place to think about things on your own, with no distractions. There’s nothing in there. Nothing at all.’

  ‘There is,’ I said. ‘There’s a black cabinet, and a bird inside it—and there’s a mirror too.’

  Mr Gold frowned. ‘Child, there is no mirror. As I said, the Room of Reflection is empty.’

  I began to feel afraid. What was happening? Had I imagined it? Had it all been a dream?

  ‘I’m not making it up—I’m not!’ The words burst out of me. I stood up. ‘If you don’t believe me, come up to the room and I’ll show you!’

  Mr Gold was looking at me in that odd way he had, almost as if I wasn’t there.

  ‘Very well.’

  He limped ahead of me, up the stairs to the next floor, past his and Miss Cruet’s bedrooms, and up the spiral staircase to the Room of Reflection. Mr Gold pushed open the door and walked in ahead of me. I clicked on the light.

  ‘See!’ I panted.

  I looked triumphantly at Mr Gold. Now he’d believe I wasn’t telling lies.

  Mr Gold peered around the room.

  ‘Show me,’ he said.

  I pushed past him into the room and stopped.

  There was nothing there. No cabinet, no Bird, no mirror. The room was completely empty.

  I ran to the far end of the room. Maybe the light was too dim to see the mirror. Maybe the cabinet was standing against another wall. Maybe I’d remembered it wrong. I ran right round the room, feeling the walls, peering into corners. Tears filled my eyes.

  ‘There was a mirror. It was here, on this wall. And the cabinet was over there. They were here, I swear! I didn’t make them up.’

  Mr Gold leant on his stick and looked at me for a long time. I rubbed my eyes so he wouldn’t see the tears.

  ‘Tell me exactly what happened,’ he said.

  So I told him about seeing my reflection in the mirror, about opening the cabinet and meeting the Bird.

  ‘And what did this bird do?’

  ‘It spoke to me.’

  ‘A talking bird?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘What did it say?’

  I hesitated. I wasn’t going to tell him that it had told me I must escape from Nobodies.

  ‘It… it said that I had a special gift,’ I said.

  ‘A gift?’

  ‘It didn’t tell me what it was,’ I said.

  Mr Gold was silent for a moment. Then he said: ‘We all have gifts. Things we’re especially good at or passionate about.’

  ‘I’m not good at anything,’ I said. ‘Except cartwheels and handstands. And climbing trees.’

  Mr Gold smiled. ‘Those are excellent gifts,’ he said. His smile went up at one end and down at the other, as if it wasn’t sure whether to be happy or sad. ‘But back to your story—what happened then?’

  ‘Miss Cruet unbolted the door and the Bird went back into the cabinet,’ I said. ‘And then she made me go and have a shower…’

  I twisted my fingers together and stared at Mr Gold. Under his shaggy eyebrows, his eyes were kind.

  ‘Do you believe me? Do you believe I’m telling the truth?’

  I held my breath. I couldn’t bear it if he thought I was a liar. Mr Gold stared down at the floorboards and seemed to be thinking very deeply. Then he looked up at me.

  ‘I believe you,’ he said quietly.

  My heart felt sort of light and happy.

  Mr Gold limped to the door.

  ‘We will go to my study and talk,’ he said. And he set off down the stairs.

  IN MR GOLD’S STUDY

  The study was warm and cosy. Two armchairs were drawn up beside a crackling fire. The only other furniture was a wooden chest of drawers in the corner and a large, completely empty bookcase. The walls were bare apart from the circus poster hanging above the fireplace. My eyes kept going to it, like it was a sort of magnet. Two clowns stood in a powerful spotlight, one balancing on the other’s hands. They wore identical golden coats and baggy striped trousers held up by red braces, just like the ones Mr Gold was wearing now. The balancing clown wore a pointy hat and a curly red wig. His mouth had a huge red smile painted on it, and little diamonds round his eyes. Was it Mr Gold? I wanted to go over and look more closely, but Mr Gold pointed with his stick at the empty armchair, so I sat down and stared at him instead.

  He leant his stick against the side of the other armchair and lowered himself into it. The firelight shone on his rusty curls and his strange, sad face. I tried to imagine him without his stick, tumbling around the circus ring.

  ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ he said, with his lopsided smile.

  ‘Did you really used to be a clown?’

  He nodded. ‘I was. And an acrobat too.’

  ‘Were those your gifts?’

  Mr Gold smiled again. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But then I lost them, and I had to find something else.’

  ‘Did you have an accident at the circus?’ I asked. ‘Is that why you walk with a stick?’

  Mr Gold didn’t reply. Instead he bent down and picked up a poker and began to poke it around in the fire. The coals shifted and crackled and glowed red. It was comforting, somehow, to be sitting here. I felt calmer and my hands and feet were happy, for once, to be still. Mr Gold put the poker back on the hearth.

  ‘Gifts,’ he said, ‘are like presents. We don’t choose them—they are given to us. And sometimes they are taken away. So it’s good to use them as much as you can while you have them.’

  I thought about Rule Boy and his violin playing.

  ‘Some people have really good gifts,’ I said. ‘And some people just have problems.’

  ‘Do you have a problem?’ said Mr Gold.

  I thought for a moment. Could I trust Mr Gold? He seemed wise and kind, but he was still a teacher. I made up my mind.

  ‘Sonia and Claude said I did,’ I said. ‘They said there was something wrong with me, because I can’t keep still.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Mr Gold, ‘you just like to move.’

  No one had ever said that to me before. I thought about it for a bit. ‘Maybe,’ I said. Then I remembered my burn. ‘But that’s not the only problem.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘This,’ I said, pointing at my cheek.

  Mr Gold carried on peering at me in his strange way. ‘What is this?’

  I felt uncomfortable and cross. ‘Don’t pretend it’s not there,’ I said. ‘That’s worse than staring at it.’

  Mr Gold shifted in his chair.

  ‘I too have a problem,’ he said. He picked up his stick and began twisting it between his hands.

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I stayed quiet and waited to see if he’d explain. We sat for a while in silence. Then he began to speak.

  ‘You asked me if I had an accident,’ he said. ‘I did. And the result was that I hurt my leg, very badly, which meant I couldn’t perform as an acrobat any more, or as a clown. But that wasn’t all.’ He sighed and looked towards the fire. ‘I also lost my sight. Not all of it—I can see outlines of things and people. I can see them move. I can see enough to walk around. I can see bright lights, like this fire. But I can’t see small details. I can’t see whatever it is you are talking about. I’m sorry.’

  Then I understood why he never seemed as if he was really looking at me.

  ‘So you can see me move, but you can’t see my… face?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  I tried to imagine
what it would be like not to be able to see people’s faces, not to know if they were happy, or sad, or afraid. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be a circus acrobat, and then to have to stop.

  ‘Child, don’t pity me,’ Mr Gold said, as if he knew what I was thinking. ‘I see all I need to. Remember what I just told you? That, when I lost my gifts as an acrobat and a clown, I found another?’

  ‘What was it?’ I asked.

  ‘I discovered that I could see what isn’t seen with the eyes: I could see what’s inside people. And that’s much more interesting and exciting.’

  ‘What, like an X-ray? Like having X-ray specs?’ I wondered if right now Mr Gold could see my bones.

  He laughed. ‘No, child. I mean, I can see how people are feeling, which helps me know what they are like. Sometimes people look very different on the inside to the way they look on the outside.’

  I wanted to ask what I looked like on the inside, but I wasn’t sure I’d like the answer. What if my inside was just as ugly as my face?

  Mr Gold was smiling again. And I thought, I can’t be all that horrible if he’s smiling at me. I looked up at the poster.

  ‘I always wanted to go to the circus,’ I said. ‘But Sonia and Claude wouldn’t let me. They don’t believe in circuses. They say they’re cruel to animals, and that the people who work in circuses are…’ I was about to say common, but then I thought that might upset Mr Gold.

  ‘There are good circuses and bad circuses—just as there are good and bad people,’ said Mr Gold. ‘In the bad circuses, people treat the animals cruelly—they whip them and force them to live in cages that are too small for them and they don’t keep them clean or feed them properly. But good circus folk know that animals are like humans. They perform best when they are happy and well cared for. A good circus is like a big family. We all look out for one another. All for one, and one for all.’

  ‘Like the Three Musketeers,’ I said.

  ‘That’s right.’

  I thought about how it must feel to belong to a circus, to be part of a big family where everyone looked out for each other. To live in a caravan, always moving from town to town. To look after lions and tigers and horses and dogs. To perform every day in the Big Top. I’d wanted to do this for so long. And now, meeting a real, live acrobat made me want it even more.

  Mr Gold was peering at me again in that strange way he had. Maybe he could see what I was thinking. He suddenly pointed his stick at the chest of drawers in the corner.

  ‘There’s a box of photos in there. Third drawer down. Go and get them for me.’

  I stood up and walked over to the chest of drawers. I pulled at the drawer. It was very stiff and stuck. I tugged even harder, and it flew open with a jerk, scattering photos all over the floor.

  ‘Sorry,’ I muttered, getting down on my knees to pick them up.

  ‘Not your fault,’ said Mr Gold. ‘It hasn’t been opened for a very long time.’

  The firelight glimmered on the photos—stacks of them, and newspaper cuttings too, about the circus. I longed to look at them more closely, but Mr Gold was waiting. I bundled them all back into the box and carried it over to him.

  ‘See if you can find the big photo of the Grand Parade,’ he said.

  I sifted through the photos until I found a large, glossy one. I drew in a deep breath. The photograph was so full of colour and movement: horses pranced around a circus ring, and girls in shiny costumes balanced on their backs. A fat ringmaster, wearing a red-and-gold suit and a black top hat, was blowing a whistle. The Big Top was full to bursting with a waving, cheering crowd. Far above their heads, a man in green sequins swung on a trapeze. A young woman with tattoos all over her arms and legs, wearing a golden leotard—just like mine—was walking round the ring, her hand buried in the fur of a great, yellow lion. And there were the clowns again—walking on their hands side by side, their faces painted into huge grins. My eyes felt like they were stuck to the photograph. I couldn’t tear them away. And that warm, chocolatey feeling spread through my body like a hug.

  At that moment, a bell rang in the distance.

  ‘Supper time.’ Mr Gold stood up.

  Reluctantly, I handed him the photograph.

  Then I had an idea. It was a bold idea, and I wasn’t sure if I was brave enough to say it.

  ‘What is it, child?’ said Mr Gold. It seemed like he really did know what I was thinking.

  ‘Will… will you teach me?’ I said, my heart beating very quickly in case he said no. ‘To be an acrobat, I mean?’

  Mr Gold picked up his stick. ‘Child, I can’t see, and I can’t move very well any more. How could I teach you?’

  ‘You can see me move. And you can tell me what to do. I won’t do anything dangerous or stupid, I promise!’ A feeling of excitement was buzzing around inside me where That Feeling used to be.

  ‘Learning acrobatics isn’t easy,’ said Mr Gold. ‘You have to practise every day. You have to be strong.’

  ‘I am strong!’ I said. ‘I can do a handstand for twenty seconds, and I can cartwheel for ages and ages. Please, Mr Gold? Please?’

  It felt like the most important question I’d ever asked.

  Mr Gold stood very still, deep in thought. Then he gave a big sigh, and said, ‘Very well. I’ll give you a trial lesson.’

  I clapped my hands.

  ‘When? This evening?’

  ‘Certainly not.’ Mr Gold gave his lopsided smile. ‘The first rule of acrobatics is: never exercise on a full stomach. We’ll do it in two days’ time. Meet me at seven thirty, before breakfast. And talking of eating, you’d better get a move on. Miss Cruet is a stickler for punctuality.’

  ‘She’s scary,’ I said. Somehow, it felt OK to say this to Mr Gold.

  Mr Gold smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She’s pretty scary. But that’s just on the outside.’ And with that, he got up and limped over to open the door.

  I skipped all the way down the corridor.

  IN THE WOOD

  Next day at breakfast, Miss Cruet stirred a huge frying pan full of frothy yellow gunge with fat black objects sticking out of it, bubbling and spitting. She wore a knitted dressing gown with three shawls over the top, and bright green woollen slippers with knitted pom-poms on them. Her face was covered with white cream. She tipped out the contents of the frying pan onto our plates: burnt sausages, swimming in curdled custard.

  We all stared in dismay.

  ‘I-I’m not hungry,’ muttered Rule Boy.

  ‘Nor me,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve got a stomach ache,’ said Saddo, whose face had gone green.

  ‘Me t-too,’ quavered Custard.

  Miss Cruet fixed us with a beady eye.

  ‘What a strange coincidence,’ she snapped. ‘And what a sickly-looking bunch you are. Fortunately, I have an excellent remedy. This morning’s lessons will be cancelled.’

  We all cheered.

  ‘Instead you will go outside and explore the grounds.’

  Rule Boy glanced at the window. ‘But, miss, it’s going to rain any minute!’

  ‘A little bit of weather never hurt anyone,’ barked Miss Cruet. ‘And fresh air and exercise will help you work up an appetite for lunch.’

  We all groaned.

  Out in the garden, storm clouds hung over our heads, like big bruises in the sky. The air felt heavy and damp. All the thrilling things that had happened yesterday kept jumping about in my head. I felt fidgety with excitement about what the Bird had told me. My twin was waiting for me at the Academy, just on the other side of the wall! I had to think of a way to get to her. And then there were the acrobatics lessons with Mr Gold. What with one thing and the other, I couldn’t stand still.

  ‘Ants in her pants again,’ smirked Rule Boy.

  Saddo immediately began moaning. ‘It’s boring out here… It’s going to rain any minute and I’m starving…’

  The four of us wandered up the path, past the vegetable plot and into the orchard. The old trees bent und
er the weight of apples, pears and plums. These were Tree’s brothers and sisters. I ran my fingers over their soft bark and felt a tiny glimmer of happiness in my heart. Saddo grabbed a handful of fallen plums, crammed them in his mouth then spat them on the ground.

  ‘Yuck!’ he moaned. ‘Sour.’

  Rule Boy imitated his expression, turning his mouth down at the corners.

  ‘Misery guts,’ he said. ‘D’you know what my dad always said to me when I was miserable?’

  Saddo ignored him.

  ‘“Turn that frown upside down,”’ said Rule Boy, sounding just like Claude. He stuck his fingers in the corners of his mouth and pulled them up into a grin.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Saddo, frowning even harder. Then he looked at Rule Boy with narrowed eyes. ‘Anyhow, where is your dad? You said he went away. Where did he go?’

  ‘Mind your own business.’ Rule Boy turned his back on Saddo and set off up the path.

  ‘He won’t talk about where his d-dad is,’ said Custard.

  ‘If I had a dad, I’d talk about him all the time,’ said Saddo.

  ‘So would I,’ said Custard.

  A peal of laughter floated over the high brick wall from the Academy. I stopped and listened. Surely there must be some way of getting over it? But the red bricks climbed smoothly up, almost to the sky, without so much as a toehold. I promised myself I’d come back on my own, just as soon as I could. I’d shout to the kids on the other side and tell them about my twin. Then, with their help, I’d find a way to climb over and join her.

  ‘Get a move on, Antsy!’ said Rule Boy.

  We walked until the path split in two. I set off down the left-hand path, the others trailing behind me. After a bit, the path meandered past an old shed. We peered through the cobweb-covered windows. Rule Boy tried the door, which opened with a creak.

  ‘Nothing here,’ he said. ‘Just boring old tools and stuff.’

  Beside the shed stood a huge oak tree, and hanging from a sturdy branch was a swing. I jumped onto it and kicked my legs back and forth.

  ‘Give us a push!’ I called to Saddo, who was the tallest. ‘Hard as you can!’