Magic at Silver Spires by Ann Bryant Page A

“Does that mean not at all?”
    I couldn’t tell a lie. “Yes.”
    Mrs. Stockton seemed to be sighing, but not in an impatient way. In a sad, hopeless way. “Would it be fair to say you’re clutching at straws because you’re so sad about having to leave?” she asked.
    My mouth felt suddenly dry as I repeated that phrase, clutching at straws , silently to myself. Yes, I could easily work out what it meant. I tried to swallow but my throat was hurting.
    I couldn’t answer so I nodded and looked down and then felt Mrs. Stockton’s hand holding mine.
    â€œI think you need to start by having a frank conversation with your parents about languages. If you truly think you might want to follow this kind of a career when you finish your education, then of course, you’re right, it is important to be bi- or tri-lingual, and certainly English is the language you’d need most.”
    I nodded, wondering when I would possibly be able to have this conversation with Papà, and just as though Mrs. Stockton had read my mind, she asked me when I was next seeing my dad.
    â€œEr, he’s coming to the Forest Ash Italian evening tomorrow. He’s doing the cooking.”
    â€œWell, I think the sooner you talk to him, the better. But I hope you understand I’m stepping out of my role as your teacher here, Antonia, and just giving you the kind of advice that I think anyone would give you.”
    â€œYes, I understand…” I said quietly, as I wondered to myself whether or not I might be able to see Papà after school today instead of waiting till he came to do the cooking. Then something else jumped into my mind. “Would you be able to come to our Italian evening, Mrs. Stockton?” I asked impulsively. “I mean, then you might be able to speak to my dad, if I’ve already talked to him a bit about languages and wanting to be an interpreter and everything?”
    Mrs. Stockton leaned back in her chair and gave me a sorrowful look. “I’m sorry, Antonia, but I’m away this weekend. I’ve got a christening…”
    My throat felt even tighter then, because my last hope had just died. “Well, thank you anyway,” I managed to mumble as I got up.
    â€œHere…let me…” Mrs. Stockton’s chair made a loud scraping noise then toppled backwards, because she’d got up so quickly to get me my crutches. “I’m sorry I haven’t been much help.”
    â€œIt’s okay, I’ll talk to Papà about languages and…everything.”
    â€œYes, do that. It’s a good point. I hope he gives it…consideration.”
    I was at the door by then. “Thank you,” I said again.
    Mrs. Stockton smiled, but still with the sorrowful look on her face so it wasn’t really a proper smile, and patted me on the back. “All the best, Antonia.”
    And I realized as I went outside to join the others that this was her way of saying goodbye.
    So then those tears that I’d been holding back filled my eyes and started to roll down my cheeks.

Chapter Nine

    â€œEeet ees a – come si dice, cara? Si , eet ees a transformation!”
    Mamma was using her English and it was so funny to hear it when I’d only ever heard her talking in Italian before. She was in the chair by my bed in Emerald dorm, admiring Emily’s hair. Nicole and I were actually sitting on my bed, all dressed up and ready for the evening to start, and the others were still rushing around doing their hair and adding the final touches to their outfits.
    All my packing, except for last-minute things, was done. Mamma had done most of it, because I couldn’t do it very well with one leg and one hand out of action. My friends had stood round watching in a trembling silence, passing things occasionally, but mainly just staring. At one point I saw Sasha put her arm round Nicole and I deliberately didn’t look, but I think