The
Art & Design workshop was empty when Tara arrived. Most were still on break,
but she preferred getting to art class early in order to find a good seat. So she
dropped her bag on a table before the large windows spilling sunshine and made
for the storeroom where she’d stashed a few art supplies.
Tara
was in Year Ten. She’d chosen art as one of her subjects because she enjoyed it,
not to mention it was one of the few classes where she actually achieved good
grades. Sure, she enjoyed French and Geography fine, but barely scraping a C on
each test wasn’t exactly the thrill she was after. Frankly, she couldn’t
replace the feeling of making a neat doodle, so if she could get a grade at the
end of it then she’d be truly happy. Still, she doubted life as an artist was
as glamorous as a life as a student.
That’s
when she entered the storeroom and realised life as a student had its
downsides, too.
“Oh
come off it!” she cried after stepping in a puddle of drying paint. The rest of
the storeroom was in a similar state with last semester’s art-projects piled
against the walls, ruined paint brushes and paint-hardened pots were stacked
across the sink, and the shelves were a mess of paper, crumbling clay, and pots
of spent glue and broken pencils.
She
trudged through it to a part of the shelf boasting pots of glue sticks so badly
clumped together that it looked like an iceberg. Behind them sat a box of oil
pastels provided by the school, this meant she wasn’t allowed to take them home
but no one said anything about storing them away safely.
But
the mess wasn’t the reason she was depressed as this merely acted as a reminder
of what she’d lost at the beginning of the school year back in September. Ten months
ago, Tara had been thrilled to receive her planner and find that she’d been
accepted to be an Art & Design student. Even her parents (who’d been less pleased
to see her go into art rather than English Literature) had forked out over a
hundred pounds to pay for supplies. But she’d turned up to class to find her
teacher, Miss Chechiana, had been replaced by an unknown face sporting a blasé attitude
as he’d told her that Miss Chechiana had left.
Tara
had been so crushed that she’d even tried finding her beloved teacher outside
of school. They’d been close in the years before, with constant encouragement
for Tara to take on the class and really excel herself as an artist. She’d felt
let down, but most of all, she felt the amazing legacy that Miss Chechiana had
left had been abused. The store cupboard was evidence of that.
She
sulked as she returned to her seat. Before her was her work, a portrait of
Mother Teresa rendered in different shades of green. It had been a lacklustre
project set forth by their permanent supply teacher who knew as much about art
as she did about mechanics. He’d been so oblivious that when she’d asked if she
could do her work in a Van Gogh style, he’d turned around and said a what? She’d made it her mission to not
interact with him after that.
Quarter
of an hour later and the noise outside the classroom increased. The first few
students to bundle in shattered the atmosphere, but she’d snuck a headphone in
to help drowned it out. None of the racket improved when their teacher finally
showed up half-an-hour late.
His
name was Mr Neil. Kids cheered when he arrived and he waved them down, half
smiling, half not caring as he slumped at the computer. That’s where he’d
likely remain for the rest of the class and it annoyed her to no end. Sometimes
she’d stare daggers at him as the noise of the class would grow to
unprecedented levels, and yet none of the other teachers ever complained. She
knew why, it was down to him being incredibly charismatic and handsome.
She
was sure that he was in his mid-thirties, though she sometimes she thought him
older. His hair was jet black as if he topped it up with bottled dye, but his
skin was pink and flawless. His brown eyes always looked bored and he only
smiled when people were flattering him, so he knew he wasn’t half bad looking. He
detested art, he hated giving lectures, she’d even had a fight with him because
he was against having the blinds up, and even the computer seemed to get on his
nerves. Something was bringing him to work every day and if it was the money
then they were paying him far too much.
With
forty minutes left of the class, Tara was beginning to wonder if finishing her
work in the library would be a better idea. All it needed was the background
colouring and it’d be done; one more useless project to add to a wasted year. That’s
when the door flew open and in walked a group of kids hollering like howler
monkeys, and the two taking the lead were the worst of the lot.
“Yo
yo, Mr N!” Ellie cheered as she bowled her way inside. Her cherry-blonde hair
sat in a bob around her jawline and her shoulders were the envy of any rugby
player. Following was Billie with her long black hair swaying like silk and her
healthy physique attracting every hormone-driven boy in sight. Together, they
were the bane of Tara’s school life. They’d had maths together that morning and
she’d been picking spit balls out of her hair during her walk to English.
Tara
was taking no risks. She shoved her items into her bag and scooped up her
pastels before making for the store cupboard. She made sure no one was in there
whilst hiding her things and even tried to make it look messier than before so
no one would spot her treasure. She stepped back to admire her work when her
backside bumped the sink. It was wet with water, paint, and god knows what. She
cried at the sticky substance left on her butt and ran freezing water from the
taps to clean it away. It just made it worse and now her hands were cold.
She
groaned, “Come on, this isn’t funny.”
A
sudden movement by the door had her turning. A kid had poked his head in but
scarpered when she’d seen him, so she followed to see what it was about. That’s
when she saw a group of kids around her table and the boy was whispering, “She’s
coming!”
“What
are you-” She stopped when she reached the table because Billie and Ellie were
leaning over her work. Ellie had a black marker in her hand. “What have you
done? Let me see,” she cried, reaching over to grab it.
Ellie
tore it away and held it high. “No, slug.”
“Have
you drawn on it?” she gasped in horror as she caught glimpses of black pen. “That’s
prep work, it goes towards my final mark!”
“Does
it really?” Ellie asked, looking at it with mock criticism. “What, this crap
thing is prep work?”
“Mr
Neil!” Tara shouted, but she found he’d moved outside to use his mobile. She
shouted louder still, “Sir!”
He
looked annoyed as he poked his head through the door.
Ellie
was fast to hold up Tara’s picture and asked, “Umm Sir, we need a professional
opinion. What do you think of this?”
Tara
gawped at the vandalism, but Mr Neil just shook his head and went back outside.
Kids
about the horrible pair were laughing. Billie even had tears running down her
face as she pointed at the pair of glasses and the villainous moustache Ellie
had adorned Mother Teresa with. The rage was building but the more Tara tried
to get her picture back, the further away Ellie held it.
“Give
me it!” Tara snapped.
“No
way, someone take a picture, I need to tweet this!” She cried. “Call it Tara’s Finest-”
She
couldn’t finish as Tara had thrown herself across the table and grabbed for the
picture, or at least that had been her intention. Rather she’d balled up her
fist and punched Ellie between the eyes, throwing her back against the other
kids who jumped aside in astonishment.
Tara
held her pulsing hand and looked as wide eyed as her victim. The entire class
went silent as Ellie held her face, but when she pulled her hand away and saw
blood from her broken nose, she started screaming.
Tara,
however, dared to grin.
“What
the hell?” Mr Neil barked as he stormed inside.
“Tara
just punched Ellie!” a kid cried in exhilaration and the excitement caught the
others who began cheering.
He
didn’t share in the merriment as he stormed over. “What did you do?”
“She
ruined my work,” Tara cried in defence.
“She…
she… she…” Ellie stuttered, her lip and chin now smeared in red.
Mr
Neil grabbed Tara’s wrist and barked, “You’re in for it now. I’m going to make
sure you get expelled for this!”
“Expelled?
No!”
He
wasn’t listening and her wrist hurt as he continued to drag her into the
corridor. The students followed as she tugged against him whilst her trainers
squeaked over the laminate flooring. The noise had brought others to their
doors and, at first, no one protested. It was as if they were in as much shock
as her.
“Please!”
she cried as the fear peaked. “Just let go!”
“I’m
taking you to the Head Teacher. No one assaults a child in my class.”
“Phone
the police!” Ellie screamed from the door, making teachers gasp as the sight of
her nose.
“Make
sure she gets expelled,” Billie said venomously, and the words echoed in Tara’s
head.
“No!”
she cried. When her pulling failed to free her, she pushed him instead. The
reaction was instant as he fell to the floor like a sack of bricks, and a
pained cry made everyone jump. Mr Neil sat holding his wrist, his cheeks and
forehead reddening from evident pain.
“Oh
my god,” cried a female teacher.
“Tara
just assaulted a teacher!” one of Billie’s friends cheered.
“No,
I didn’t,” she whimpered, backing away as a teacher assisted Mr Neil, but
another was advancing on her. He must’ve seen her intentions because he held up
a warning finger before saying, “Don’t you dare move from that spot.”
She
didn’t listen and rushed down the corridor.
“Someone
needs to stop her,” a teacher cried and this made her run faster, skirting down
the stairs two at a time before dashing through the foyer and ignoring the
receptionist’s demands for her to stop. Even after escaping into the
brilliantly sunny day, Tara just kept going.
The
tide was out, yet the sun made waves glisten like jewels. Even the murky,
smelly brown water of the Thames was cool and inviting on a hot day like this.
As she leaned on the barrier overlooking the river running alongside Woolwich
Park, Tara couldn’t help except think about how much trouble she was in.
She’d
left her bag in school, but she still had her mobile. She refused to turn it on
in case her mum called. What excuse would she have for her, anyway? Assaulting
Ellie, then the teacher; the police would surely be called. She backed away
from the barrier in frustration.
“Careful!”
snapped an elderly man walking his dog.
“Sorry!”
He
acted as if she’d run at him full pelt, and the dog stood with its ears down
and tail between its legs.
“Ain’t
you supposed to be in school?” the man asked, eyeing her rather excessively. Everything
he did seemed exaggerated and he was dressed like a young man with ripped jeans
and a hoodie.
“Yeah,
it’s dinner break,” she lied, backing off.
“Croc!
I have a right mind to go there and tell on yah,” he snapped, nodding across
the park before pulling the dog’s leash to make it follow.
“Go
where?”
He
didn’t answer as he trudged off, but she realised there was a police station at
the end of the park and the fright got her moving. I’m destined to get locked
up, she thought as she looked out for others who might’ve wanted to get her
into trouble. The park was pretty empty but that wasn’t good enough, so she
followed a path to the end of the park where a disused boat-ramp sat out of the
way and surrounded by concrete walls. It was in the shadow of a newly built
block of flats and whilst it was chilly and smelly, she liked it because it
reminded her of when she’d been younger and when her brothers would bring her
here to play. She’d never been allowed to go near the ramp because it led down
to the riverbed which was dirty and dangerous. Now she stood there looking down
as the tide was going out and rubbish sat in clumps, like old bikes and traffic
cones, and even a cracked television and a solitary sneaker.
She
slumped down to sit. She hated how sick she felt. She always ran from her
problems and that was what annoyed her more. Rather than just stop to think, or
to call her mum and be honest from the beginning, she would hide away until
things got worse and then she’d have so much more to deal with. Her older
brothers knew her best and they’d probably have an idea that she was at the
park, but that meant calling them from work or college to come sort out their
stupid little sister. She hated it and it was enough to make her cry.
She
was going to be expelled for sure and she knew that no one would be surprised.
Something
sparkled down in the sludge. At first she ignored it as she wiped tears from
her burning cheeks. But it happened again and with such flair that she thought
it must’ve been electrically powered. She stood to see it better but it came
from a pile of tat covered in sludge.
It
was likely nothing special; a piece of broken glass or metal. Yet it captivated
her. She scorned herself for being childish. She had more things to worry about
then treasure hunting. Still, it was only at the bottom of the ramp, so it
wouldn’t take long to scoot down and poke around. It might even ease her nerves…
Wanting
to get it over with, she stormed for the ramp and inched down, holding her arms
out for balance. By the time she was halfway, the moss squelched under foot and
her traction vanished. She hit the deck and slid into the stinking clay. She
cursed against the pain in her backside as well as the graze along her arm, and
her hurt pride wasn’t helping.
When
she stood, she found mud all they way down her trousers.
“Bugger!”
Still,
she’d landed near it and the gleam was no less powerful. It was caught in a
nest of bicycle spokes and unravelling it revealed a necklace. The circular
pendant was a tad smaller than her palm so it seemed too big to be a normal bit
of jewellery, and wiping the sludge revealed gold. If it was the real deal then
it would be worth thousands. She doubted this of course, but it was stunning
all the same.
To
the centre sat a crystal cut into a teardrop where its dozen facets were reflecting
the rainbow. About it sat nine swirling icons filled with black enamel. Whilst
it looked crude and simplistic, she couldn’t help but imagine it had some
significant use. This led her to twist and turn it, holding it against the sun
as if she could see through the stone; whilst there did seem to be something
inside, she couldn’t reckon it to be any sort of spying device. So she pushed
the crystal to find that it moved.
It
clicked clockwise, the point moving from midday to nearer one o’clock, landing
on an icon of swirls, flicks, and dashes. She was pondering its purpose when
her body jolted.
“Whoa!”
Tara
grabbed at the wall, but her hand went through. As if her ears had popped,
sound vanished and her cries went unheard as she fell until the riverbed came
and went, and Tara was left careering through a world of white.
