Bloom. Nicola Skinner

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СКАЧАТЬ you hear what Mr Grittysnit just said?’ she grumbled.

      ‘Every. Single. Word.’

      ‘So you heard we’re going to lose the playing field? If that goes, we’ll have a tiny square of concrete the size of a paddling pool to play on. Does that strike you as fair? How are we all going to fit on that, for a start?’

      ‘Oh, yeah,’ I said reluctantly.

      This was typical Neena, asking overly complicated questions. It was only a bit of brown earth. Perhaps an exam hall was a good idea. Besides, I enjoyed exams. I enjoyed drawing up revision timetables and buying new highlighters, and proving how much I knew then promptly forgetting it all once the exam was over. And was there anything wrong with that? And Mr Grittysnit had a point. Grass did lead to grass stains, and getting them out of our uniform was a real nightmare, as I knew only too well.

      Neena was still looking grumpy though. ‘Neena, you don’t use the playing field much. You’re always hunched over your science journals at lunchtime.’

      ‘That’s not the issue here,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t care about what we actually need – he just cares about our stupid exam results …’

      While she rambled on, I cast an anxious look at the clock. 9.37 a.m.

      ‘Come on,’ I said, pulling her to her feet. ‘There’s nothing you can do, so you might as well not stress. Besides, I’ve got a holiday to win.’

      *

      Although the others in our class were also upset about losing the playing field, things soon quietened down when Miss Mossheart put an Obedience Points chart up on our wall.

      ‘This is so you can all track your progress,’ she murmured, standing on tiptoes to stick it up next to the whiteboard. ‘Uncle – I mean, Mr Grittysnit – wants it here for the rest of the term.’

      ‘Don’t forget to put my point up,’ said Chrissie, touching her hair. ‘The first of many, probably.’

      And after that, the morning flew past, with everyone in the Laminators (bar one) trying to behave as perfectly, obediently and tidily as possible.

      Just before lunchtime, with the whole morning gone and no Obedience Points under my name, my mood was pretty low. So when Mr Grittysnit dropped by and asked for volunteers to tidy up the library, my hand shot up first. I was filled with joy when he picked me. Here was my chance.

      ‘Do you want to choose another classmate to help?’ asked Miss Mossheart.

      I ignored Bertie’s chapped hand waggling about in the air. ‘Can I have Neena?’ I asked.

      But Neena just scowled at me from her chair, huffing and puffing like an old train.

      ‘Come on, this could be a perfect opportunity to earn an Obedience Point,’ I said brightly.

      She rolled her eyes, but got to her feet.

      ‘Race you there,’ I muttered to her as we followed Mr Grittysnit.

      Neena knew I never ran anywhere in the school grounds, so this was quite a good joke. And did she appreciate it?

      She did not.

      *

      Mr Grittysnit took us to the school library, a ramshackle collection of old bookcases in the corridor outside the kitchen.

      ‘I want all these books covered in these grey book covers,’ he said, gesturing towards a box nearby. ‘They’re far too non-reg as they are. And clean the grubby fingerprints off them too, while you’re at it.’

      ‘Shall we take opposite bookcases and then work towards each other?’ I suggested to Neena, once Mr Grittysnit had gone. A bit of peace and quiet might sort out her funny mood, and after all the excitement of Assembly, I wanted a bit of tranquillity myself.

      ‘Fine by me,’ she said, stomping to the furthest bookcase.

      Within a few moments, I’d got into the rhythm of pulling out a book, wiping it down and covering it up. It was oddly calming. I’d reached the bottom shelf of the first bookcase, Local History, when I spotted a book wedged at the back. I teased it out of its nook. It was dirty and dusty, but felt well made. With a damp cloth, I wiped the cover and a picture emerged through the grime.

      It was a painting of a small white cottage in a field of colourful flowers, and the title said:

      The Terrible Sad History of Little Cherrybliss.

      As I stared at the cover, I had the strongest feeling I’d seen the painting of the little cottage before, but I couldn’t work out where. Did Mum have it at home, mixed up with all those cookery books of hers? And where on earth was Little Cherrybliss? It didn’t sound like any of the towns near us. And why was its history terrible and sad? Perhaps it was one of those forgotten villages. Perhaps it had disappeared into a sinkhole and vanished for ever.

      After a moment’s hesitation, I slipped the book into a grey jacket, feeling a strange pang of loss as the white cottage disappeared from view. I wrote the title on the cover, then slipped the book back on to the bookshelf.

      I moved on to Hobbies. The first book I grabbed had a photograph of a boy on the cover, under the title The Children’s Gardening Book. He seemed to be dropping something into a little pot. I peered closer. The thing flying out of his hand was small.

      And black.

      And small.

      And …

      Gulp.

      I stared at the picture and shivered. I hadn’t just forgotten to do my ironing the night before. I’d also totally not thrown the Surprising Seeds safely in the bin.

      Which meant …

      … they were still in my rucksack, back in the classroom, getting up to who-knew-what while my back was turned.

      What if they were glowing?

      What if they were causing the desks to topple and the ground to break?

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Neena had poked her head round the bookshelf and was staring at me. ‘You’ve got that funny shell-shocked face you get when you’re panicking about something.’

      I was lost in a whirl of fear. For a second, I wasn’t in the library at all, but standing on a broken patio slab, watching as the world broke apart under my feet, hearing that strange voice all over again.

       I’ve been waiting for you.

      Gulping, I put my hand on the bookshelf to steady myself.

      ‘Sorrel,’ said Neena in her don’t-mess-with-me voice, ‘what’s going on?’

      She sat me down on a beanbag and looked at me sternly.

      I leaned back and sighed. ‘Something weird happened yesterday.’

      Her face instantly brightened. ‘Go on.’

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