Chapter 2
Hendricks
“Mummy. Mummy. Mummy.”
From the back seat, I see her eyes appear in the mirror. “Yes, Miles?”
“Are you sure Hendricks and I aren’t in the same class this year?”
His shaky voice means he’s trying hard not to cry. Reaching out, I grab his hand and hold it tight. I’m secretly nervous about us being split up too, but I don’t want to show him because he gets upset.
“No, sweetheart, you’re not. But you’re right across the hall from each other. You’re the distance that my bedroom is from your bedroom. It’s so close. You’re still in the same year, and you’ll still be together, but this will give you the chance to make more friends.”
“But we’re not sitting next to each other?”
“No, but you know who you can sit next to? Lucas. Or Emily. Or Jack.”
Miles relaxes next to me, like when we stroke the dogs’ bellies, and they roll over.
Jack is our friend from kindergarten. The three of us always play together during school break, and this summer holiday, he was allowed to have a sleepover, and we made a tent in our bedroom.
Alex brought us hot chocolates, and we stayed up too late.
I’m happy for a second because Miles is happy, but then I realize if Jack’s in Miles’s class, he’s not in mine.
“Mummy, I thought Jack was in my class.”
“No, darling, he’s in Miles’s class.”
The little bubbles in my tummy start fizzing again. Miles squeezes my hand because he knows that I’m getting more nervous now. When one of us is sad, we can tell, even if we don’t say it.
I’m not as upset as Miles about us not being together, but this is our first year in the big school, and not all our friends will be there.
Mummy parks her car, and we undo the buckle on our car seats so we can jump out when she opens the back door. After we take our school bags from her, we each take one of her hands and walk toward our classroom.
“Look, there’s Jack,” shouts Miles, dragging us forward quicker.
“Go and say hello to him,” Mummy says, letting go of his hand so he can run off.
I’m glad he’s happy again, but when Mummy kneels and puts her arms around me, I feel like I’m going to cry. I want to hug her and breathe in the flowers she always smells like, but I don’t. We’re in the big school now, and Lando said you’re not supposed to cry in big school.
“You know who I think is in your class? Samuel.”
I smile even though I don’t really like Samuel. I saw him chase a cat once. “Okay.”
“And when I come to collect you after school, you can tell me all about your first day. You’ll see Miles at break and lunch, and you’ll do all your sports together. And when you come home, you’ll be able to tell each other about your days.”
The bubbles in my tummy go away a little bit, and I smile at her.
“Come on, let’s go meet your new teacher.”
“Hen, Hen. Mummy,” shouts Miles, this time pulling Jack over toward us. I see his mum standing by the main entrance. Her hand is raised in the air, and Mummy waves back at her. “Mummy, Jack invited Hendricks and me over for supper.”
I forget about being nervous. I love going to Jack’s house. He’s got a cool tree house in his garden that we made into a den this summer. I look up at Mummy. “Please, can we go?”
“Yes, maybe, let’s all get inside first. We don’t want to be late on our first day.”
I take her hand again, though Miles and Jack run back over to his mum.
There are so many children here this morning, more than when we were in kindergarten last year, and we all look the same in gray blazers with red stripes.
Alex helped us tie our ties. He and Lando don’t go back to boarding school for a couple of days, and when they do, it’ll just be me, Miles, and Clementine, our baby sister.
Burlington will be quiet again, except for the dogs. Mummy says Miles and I make enough noise for everyone.
We walk into the main hall and down a long corridor decorated with colored posters. They make me feel happy and nervous at the same time. Miles and Jack are already standing outside a door, and I can see the teachers pointing everyone toward the school pegs and lockers.
“Hen, Hen, this is your class. That’s where you put your coat. It’s next to mine.” Miles points, then spins around to face one of the doors. “And I’m in there. We’re so close.”
“Cool.” I take off my bag and put it on the peg. There’s a picture of a cow underneath my name. Miles has a pony on his.
We are close, and when I say goodbye to Miles and then Mummy, I’m not sad anymore.
My teacher, Mrs. Benson, tells me to find the desk with my name on it.
It’s right in the middle of the classroom, and sitting next to me is a girl I haven’t seen before.
She wasn’t in my kindergarten class, so maybe she’s new.
Her dark hair is in a long braid that looks like Zeus’s, my daddy’s horse, and it’s tied at the bottom with a ribbon.
She turns her whole body toward mine when I sit down.
“Hello. I’m Sophie,” she says. “What’s your name?”
“Hendricks.”
“When’s your birthday? Mine is the fifth of February. I’ll be seven.”
That means she’s older than me. “I’ll be seven in May.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue,” I answer even though it’s a fib.
“My favorite color is green. It’s the color of dragons and grass and magic.”
I frown. “Magic?”
“Yes.”
“Magic doesn’t have a color. It’s not real.”
“It is real. And it’s green.”
“How do you know magic is green?”
“What other color would it be?” She shrugs, and I don’t reply because I don’t know. I’ll ask Lando when I get home. He always knows everything.
“I saw a dragon once. He was walking down the road.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did. He was wearing a top hat and carrying a red briefcase. He said good morning to me as he passed.”
I stare at her, just like Lando stares sometimes when he’s annoyed. There’s no way she’s seen a dragon. They’re not real. And even if they are real, they don’t wear clothes.
She’s fibbing, then I remember I fibbed. So instead of arguing with her, I say, “Actually, blue isn’t my favorite color.”
“What is then?”
I pause. “Purple. But light purple, not dark purple.”
“That’s not purple.” She giggles in that annoying way girls do. “It’s lilac.”
“Lilac,” I repeat. Huh.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why is it your favorite color?”
My face scrunches up. Maybe I should ask her why she’s asking so many questions, but it probably wouldn’t be kind, and I don’t want to upset her.
“Because,” I begin, “it’s the color of the flowers my mummy grows in the garden, and they make her happy.”
I don’t say the lilac flowers are what makes Mummy happy since my daddy died. I always see her smile when she smells them. And when she’s smiling, it means she’s not crying.
Sophie’s eyes narrow at me, and she taps her chin like my granny does when she thinks. “Hmm. Do you want to be my friend?”
Mrs. Benson’s telling everyone to settle down and face forward. But Sophie’s waiting for an answer, her face wide like one of the dogs when they’re waiting for a biscuit.
So before I do as I’m asked, I nod to Sophie and say, “Okay.”