‘Uh, my name is Stella Brigg. I called yesterday . . .’
‘Come in,’ says the voice.
There’s another buzz, and the door opens out into a bright reception area with a ridged navy carpet and a long, pale wooden counter. A tiny woman with short curly hair and a sharp chin sits behind it on a stool, peering at me.
‘So you’re our trial student,’ she says with a thin smile. ‘Welcome to Broadmere. I am Mrs Edge.’
‘Hi.’ I manage a smile, sidling up to the counter. On the ledge behind it is a computer, a phone, a tray of papers and a huge silver spike.
‘What papers do you have?’ Mrs Edge asks.
‘Uh, none. Sorry . . .’
‘Ah, one of those,’ she says, tilting her head with a small frown. ‘And you’re all alone in the world? No parents?’
‘They, um . . . They died when I was small. But I do have my nan.’ I don’t mention that she’s a ghost. ‘She’s . . . housebound.’
‘I see. Well, I’m sure you’ll find yourself in good company here. Sign here.’ Mrs Edge thrusts a clipboard at me, tapping at the bottom of a heavily typed page, where there’s a dotted line. ‘I take it you’re from the forest. You can write?’
‘Yes.’
The reference to the forest unsettles me, and I don’t quite know what she means by one of those, but it doesn’t matter, because I can hardly concentrate on anything she’s saying. I try to read the page before me, but my heart is thumping so hard, it’s difficult to see straight. I catch the words behaviour and discipline but not much else.
This isn’t how I thought a school would be. It doesn’t seem like the ones in books, where there are corridors full of kids, and fish fingers for lunch, and kindly librarians. Maybe there will be once I’m through this bit, I reassure myself. There’s a pen caught in the clip at the top of the page. My hand shakes, and the snap as I pull it out makes me jump.
I wanted to come to school, I remind myself. This is the school, and I’m here now. I take a deep breath and finish the signature, handing the clipboard back to Mrs Edge. Her eyes flick from me to the page, and then she whips the paper off the board and thrusts it on to the gleaming silver spike. I flinch.
‘Wait over there,’ she says, indicating a row of plastic chairs along the wall next to a wide door with little green wire hexagons in the glass. ‘I’ll get somebody to show you to your first class.’
‘I didn’t see anybody outside,’ I venture. ‘Are the other students already here?’
‘The school day begins at 8.40 a.m. sharp,’ she says. ‘So they are already in their classes. There will be plenty of bustle to come, don’t worry about that!’
‘OK.’
I settle back into the chair, clutching my bag on my lap. My calf muscles twitch with the urge to run out of here, so I shift in the seat, screwing myself more firmly into it. Mrs Edge gets a brass call bell out of the top drawer, sets it on to the counter, and then slams her hand down on to it twice, two clear notes sounding out. She returns the bell to the drawer and folds her hands upon the counter, staring at the door.
Who would have heard that, through the door and the whitewashed walls?
Just a moment later, though, a slender boy with longish chestnut hair opens the door.
‘Yanny,’ she says, looking him up and down.
He is a bit scruffy. And a bit . . . something. He catches me staring and gives me a glittering smile.
‘This is Stella. She is here with us for a trial period, while we sort out paperwork. Could you take her up to your form room and introduce her to Miss Olive, please?’
‘Yes, Mrs Edge.’
Yanny stares at me while I unpeel myself from the plastic seat, picking up my bag with numb fingers. He indicates for me to go before him, and the door slams behind us, the sound echoing through a wide hallway with a polished wood floor. There’s a staircase leading down on the left, and another leading up past a row of windows on the right. The sun blazes in over a green sports field, where a group of kids are playing what looks like hockey.
I stare at them. I didn’t bring any sports clothes with me – I’m not sure I even own any. There’s so much I have never thought of. So much I’d never imagined, even with all the books on schools I’ve read. My stomach is churning with nerves, and my head thuds with the beat of my heart, but there’s also a little glow wickering deep within me, because I really did it – I got this far.
Let the adventures begin, says a little voice inside my head, and I hold on to it, even as Yanny leads me through a maze of white-walled corridors.
This is school. This is normal. This is what I wanted.
5
I don’t know about normal schools, but I don’t think this is one.
Here, there is a great staircase that shimmers like a trick and leads up to an old, ornate wooden door. Silver charms hang from the sweeping curved banister that remind me very much of the ones I set at home.
How can that be? Am I imagining it? Is it the berry Peg warned me about yesterday, making me see things? I train my eyes on Yanny and ignore the staircase, focusing on everything else that’s going on around us. So much buzz and noise and heat and tripping down steps and through corridor after corridor, it’s a relief when finally we stop in the doorway to a classroom where the sun streams through wide glass windows, and bags and coats are flung about like autumn leaves.
What was that staircase? Did I really see it?
‘What do those stairs lead to?’ I ask in a whisper as I follow Yanny into the room, trying to sort of hide behind him. The room is warm, and my coat itches, and there are at least two dozen other kids in here, most of whom are chatting in low tones while a woman with grey-streaked hair glowers at a computer screen.
‘What?’
‘That weird staircase, with all the charms.’
‘Charms?’ He frowns. ‘I’m not sure which staircase you mean. Probably just more classrooms.’
But now he’s staring at me, and his eyes are just a little too wild. That staircase is definitely hiding something. Can there be magic here, at the school? This nice, ordinary school, which I came to because I wanted to know what it was like to be truly human, in a truly human world? Nan’s told me that some humans have an affinity for magic, but surely not to the extent that they’d hang charms? Why would they even need them? Unless there are fae here?
Why would there be fae in school? The very idea is laughable.
Yanny lifts his brows. ‘You OK?’
‘Yep. Sorry. Fine!’
‘Miss Olive, this is the new girl, Stella.’
His voice seems to boom, and all of the easy conversation stops as everyone looks at us. At me.
‘Good morning, Stella.’ The teacher looks up from her screen and smiles, standing. ‘8E! This is Stella . . . ?’ She looks over at me.
‘Brigg,’ I whisper, my skin prickling as I look around at all the curious faces.
‘Stella Brigg,’ she announces. ‘I’m sure you all remember your first day, so I expect you to be welcoming!’ She turns back to me. ‘Take a seat with Yanny; he’ll see you through. I’ll print out your timetable now, once I can get the thing working . . .’
‘Thank you,’ I whisper, darting with Yanny to a table at the back of the room, my face burning under all the intense stares.