7, Life Hacks for a Little Alien

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A WEEK LATER, YOU are in a reading class for children who cannot read. This is unfortunate, primarily because you are now able to read. In a short space of time, your comprehension of the written word has come on in leaps and bounds. For example, you can now read the sign on the door that says ‘Remedial Reading Room’, the badge on your teacher’s breast that says ‘Learning Difficulties’, and even the sign on the door that says ‘Remember Your Pleases and Thank Yous’. You can do this even though this particular sign is relatively far away from where you are sitting. Your eyesight and reading comprehension are that good.

All of this makes the lesson – with its cats that sit on mats and foxes that climb into boxes – mind-numbingly, soul-achingly dull.

Today, you have got away with selecting a vaguely interesting-looking book. Titled Mike and Mark’s Trip to the Moon , it’s about two characters called Mike and Mark who are very excited about a trip they are taking to the Moon. They don’t look especially excited in the illustrations, however. Their faces are blank as sheets of paper – but you know they’re excited because they say things like ‘Wow!’ and ‘This is so exciting!’ and ‘I am so excited’ – something that helps your emotional comprehension no end.

You are grateful for how explicitly Mike and Mark express their feelings. You would like it if everyone were like this. If you always knew when your dad was tetchy, you’d know to avoid him so he doesn’t snap at you. If you always knew when your mum was worried, you’d know when you needed to soothe her. And if you knew someone was lonely – maybe one of these human children that you are surrounded by every weekday – then you’d approach them and begin the long and tiresome process of befriending them. You could hang out with them every day if need be. You’d be their best friend, their constant companion, their sidekick, their pal.

Or whatever.

You read your book. It’s good. You wonder if Mike and Mark will find aliens when they get to the Moon. You wonder if the aliens will look like you, if they will be thick-fringed girls dressed in navy-blue school uniforms, or else if they will be sexless entities with green antennae and several ginormous eyes. You turn the pages. Mike and Mark strap themselves in. The rocket blasts off. Mike and Mark are really excited about this but they are also scared.

‘I’m so excited,’ says Mike.

‘Me too,’ says Mark.

‘I’m scared as well, though,’ says Mike.

‘Yeah, me too,’ says Mark.

There is a picture page of rocket fuel and flying stars, then Mike and Mark are hovering in space, their cartoon mouths wearing surprise in the shape of O’s. You turn the page. Thoroughly engaged, you await the book’s denouement with impatience.

Alas, when Mike and Mark land their rocket, the teacher finally clocks what you are reading. She puts her hand on her hip and wags her finger. Your heart sinks. Even before she says it, you know what she is going to say.

‘Well, well, well,’ she says. ‘What have we here?’ i

You don’t dignify this question with an answer. As far as you’re concerned, it’s obvious what we have here. We have one teacher (her), three schoolchildren (you, another one, and another one), some books (not many), and some chairs (not comfy).

‘Maybe we should try something a bit more nicer,’ she says. ii

Bereft, you watch as the teacher takes away Mike and Mark’s Trip to the Moon and hands you a book for very small children. This book is printed on some sort of cardboard – a robust material for babies who are prone to randomly chewing, defecating, or vomiting – and is called Why Do Rainbows Happen? In another context, you might possibly be interested in finding out why rainbows happen. In this context, however, you find you don’t want to know anything about the light spectrum at all.

‘I’m not a baby,’ you say, casting an eye on a stain on page two.

‘Bless!’ the teacher says, clasping a hand to her chest before doing a sort of squat to get down to your level. She is close now. You can smell her Herbal Essences shampoo.

‘Don’t worry, kid,’ she says. ‘Everyone learns at different speeds. That doesn’t make anyone less special. It actually makes them more special, if you think about it.’ She smiles a yellow smile. ‘Why don’t you think about it? Hm?’

You think about it for a second. After this second has passed, you decide that you are indeed very special but that her comment has nothing to do with the situation at hand.

‘But I can read this book already,’ you say.

‘Why don’t you read it out, then?’

You look at your two classmates. One of them is a girl whose pigtails are so high up they practically meet atop her head. Another is a boy whose hair is greasy and parted in the centre. The books lying on their respective laps look OK. The girl with the pigtails has a book about a mediaeval knight. The boy with the middle parting has a book about penguins. Unlike your book, these books have fewer pictures than words. Of this, you are envious.

The teacher raises her eyebrows at you. You hide your face in your book before shaking your head.

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Reading Settings