mantelpiece in the living room. A number of pictures showed the woman when she was young; a few others were more recent. Others, in black and white, seemed to be vintage photographs. There wasnât a single photo of a six-year-old girl.
âI have to go,â he finally said. He couldnât breathe: he felt as if he had been trapped in a nightmare, and there was no way to wake up. He picked his backpack up off the floor and headed straight for the front door.
15
While Alex was leaving Mary Thompsonâs house, Jenny was being sent back to her seat after taking her French test.
A complete disaster. She went back to her desk after being made to look like an idiot in front of the whole class. Her eyes were glistening, her nerves on edge. She felt like running away, bursting into tears. It wasnât like her to fail so utterly in front of everyone. Her marks lay in ruins. As the teacher summoned another classmate, she asked permission to go to the bathroom.
Once she was in the hallway, she went over to the window overlooking the school courtyard and pounded her fist on the windowsill. A group of kids was playing soccer in the open area. Technically that was against the rules, but most of the students at St Catherineâs ignored that one.
Jenny headed for the toilets. Itâs a good thing thereâs no one else here , she thought to herself as she splashed water on her face, looking into the mirror that reflected a horrible sight. For years she had fooled herself into believing that there really was someone on the other end of that telepathic bridge. But there was no one, no one at all, and now she was paying the price.
She took a few steps back and leaned against the wall, then slid to the floor and covered her face with both hands. She sobbed. No one could hear her.
All at once her head grew heavy, and Jenny felt an overwhelming exhaustion. She shut her teary eyes, but instead of darkness, she saw a tunnel of blurry shapes and colours. Cries and moans rose up around her before she could understand or remember any of it.
Then, suddenly, complete silence.
Jenny opened her eyes again and shook her head, as if to chase away all those distorted images. She felt a sensation that wasnât entirely new to her.
She picked herself up from the floor, left the toilet, and went back to her classroom. She opened the door, her eyes downcast, and walked back to her seat.
But there was someone sitting in it.
âYoung lady, would you be so kind as to tell us who you are?â asked the teacher, a skinny old woman who had to be at least seventy. She was standing with some difficulty, leaning on a cane.
âWhat happened to the French teacher?â asked Jenny, certain that sheâd get an answer from one of her classmates. Then she looked around. This wasnât her class.
âOh, sorry, Iâm in the wrong room!â Jenny exclaimed. The teacher looked at her, shaking her head as Jenny hurried out. Once she was back in the corridor, she turned to look at the sign on the door.
âBut this is my classroom,â she whispered to herself as she looked wildly around her. She felt a wave of fear surging inside her.
Her school. The corridors where sheâd spent the last few years of her life. Her classroom. But inside it, there were different students and a teacher sheâd never seen before.
Where am I? she thought as she turned to the window overlooking the courtyard. There was no one playing soccer. Not that it wouldâve been possible: there was a fountain in the middle of the courtyard.
Outside Mary Thompsonâs house, Alex selected Marcoâs phone number from the address book in his phone. Dark, threatening clouds were gathering in the sky. In the distance, he heard the rumble of thunder. The wind had begun to pick up and was blowing more strongly now, tossing the branches of the trees in the roundabout at the end of the street and shaking the mailboxes outside the rows of
âI have to go,â he finally said. He couldnât breathe: he felt as if he had been trapped in a nightmare, and there was no way to wake up. He picked his backpack up off the floor and headed straight for the front door.
15
While Alex was leaving Mary Thompsonâs house, Jenny was being sent back to her seat after taking her French test.
A complete disaster. She went back to her desk after being made to look like an idiot in front of the whole class. Her eyes were glistening, her nerves on edge. She felt like running away, bursting into tears. It wasnât like her to fail so utterly in front of everyone. Her marks lay in ruins. As the teacher summoned another classmate, she asked permission to go to the bathroom.
Once she was in the hallway, she went over to the window overlooking the school courtyard and pounded her fist on the windowsill. A group of kids was playing soccer in the open area. Technically that was against the rules, but most of the students at St Catherineâs ignored that one.
Jenny headed for the toilets. Itâs a good thing thereâs no one else here , she thought to herself as she splashed water on her face, looking into the mirror that reflected a horrible sight. For years she had fooled herself into believing that there really was someone on the other end of that telepathic bridge. But there was no one, no one at all, and now she was paying the price.
She took a few steps back and leaned against the wall, then slid to the floor and covered her face with both hands. She sobbed. No one could hear her.
All at once her head grew heavy, and Jenny felt an overwhelming exhaustion. She shut her teary eyes, but instead of darkness, she saw a tunnel of blurry shapes and colours. Cries and moans rose up around her before she could understand or remember any of it.
Then, suddenly, complete silence.
Jenny opened her eyes again and shook her head, as if to chase away all those distorted images. She felt a sensation that wasnât entirely new to her.
She picked herself up from the floor, left the toilet, and went back to her classroom. She opened the door, her eyes downcast, and walked back to her seat.
But there was someone sitting in it.
âYoung lady, would you be so kind as to tell us who you are?â asked the teacher, a skinny old woman who had to be at least seventy. She was standing with some difficulty, leaning on a cane.
âWhat happened to the French teacher?â asked Jenny, certain that sheâd get an answer from one of her classmates. Then she looked around. This wasnât her class.
âOh, sorry, Iâm in the wrong room!â Jenny exclaimed. The teacher looked at her, shaking her head as Jenny hurried out. Once she was back in the corridor, she turned to look at the sign on the door.
âBut this is my classroom,â she whispered to herself as she looked wildly around her. She felt a wave of fear surging inside her.
Her school. The corridors where sheâd spent the last few years of her life. Her classroom. But inside it, there were different students and a teacher sheâd never seen before.
Where am I? she thought as she turned to the window overlooking the courtyard. There was no one playing soccer. Not that it wouldâve been possible: there was a fountain in the middle of the courtyard.
Outside Mary Thompsonâs house, Alex selected Marcoâs phone number from the address book in his phone. Dark, threatening clouds were gathering in the sky. In the distance, he heard the rumble of thunder. The wind had begun to pick up and was blowing more strongly now, tossing the branches of the trees in the roundabout at the end of the street and shaking the mailboxes outside the rows of
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