Read Online Love Lessons by Nick Sharratt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nick Sharratt
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cleaning bit from The Wind in the Willows â goodie, we can answer questions on that .â
I stared at my own booklet, looking for acrostics and anagrams and Moley in his burrow. I couldnât find them. My booklet was full of meaningless mathematical diagrams and sinister scientific formulae. My heart started thumping.
We had different booklets. Grace had one for eleven-year-olds just entering the school. Mine was for fourteen-year-olds starting Year Ten. I didnât know any of the answers. I was as hesitant as the girl reader, as baffled as the two boys. I stared at the paper long after Grace started scribbling away, her exuberant handwriting sloping wildly up and down the page.
I was so unnerved by the maths and the science that I was unsettled by the general intelligence questions too. I could see most of the missing sequences, fill in all the bracketed words, work out every code â but perhaps they were all trick questions? I dithered and crossed out and agonized, then decided to leave them and go back to them afterwards.
There was a passage of Shakespeare, unacknowledged, but it was the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet so it was pretty obvious. I couldnât believe the question. Do you think this scene was written recently? Give reasons for your answer . Maybe this was a trick too? I decided to write a proper essay for Miss Wilmott to show her I wasnât a total moron.
I wrote three pages about Shakespeare and his times and the feud between the Montagues and the Capulets. I commented on the difference between courtship in Elizabethan times and nowadays, though I knew little about girl/boy relationships in my own time. It had been love at first sight for Romeo and Juliet. She was only fourteen, my age. I tried to imagine falling so headily, instantly in love that I would risk everything and kill myself if I couldnât be with my beloved.
I conjured up Tobias and wondered what it would be like if he stayed with me until sunrise. I wondered what heâd say, what heâd do . . .
I started violently when a very loud alarm bell rang and rang. I jumped up and grabbed Grace, looking round wildly for flames and smoke. But it wasnât a fire alarm, it was simply the school bell.
âItâs break time now,â said Gina, bustling back. âTimeâs up, girls. Pass your booklets to me.â
âBut I havenât finished! I havenât done any of the stuff on the last two pages,â Grace wailed.
âNever mind. Itâs not like a real exam. Itâs just so we can assess you properly,â said Gina, snatching the booklet away from Grace.
I hugged mine tightly to my chest, feeling sick. Iâd done far worse than Grace. Iâd answered only a quarter of the questions. I just had to hope my essay would be taken into account.
I felt Iâd let Dad down. I saw his face screw up with rage and frustration as he tried to berate me.
âThereâs no need to look so tragic,â Gina said to me. âIâm sure youâve done very well, dear. Youâve written heaps.â
Iâd written heaps of rubbish. I was put in a remedial class.
They didnât call it that. It was simply Form 10 EL. I pondered the significance of EL. Extreme Losers? Educationally Lacking? Evidently Loopy? I discovered they were merely the initials of our form teacher, Eve Lambert. But it was obvious that we were the sad guys in the school, the hopeless cases. Some could barely speak English and were traumatized, looking round fearfully as if they expected a bomb to go off any minute. Others were loud and disruptive, standing up and swearing. One boy couldnât sit still at all and fidgeted constantly, biting his fingernails and flipping his ruler and folding the pages in his notebook. He hummed all the time like a demonic bee. Most of my fellow pupils seemed scarily surly. The only girl who gave me a big smile had obvious learning difficulties.
I was the
I stared at my own booklet, looking for acrostics and anagrams and Moley in his burrow. I couldnât find them. My booklet was full of meaningless mathematical diagrams and sinister scientific formulae. My heart started thumping.
We had different booklets. Grace had one for eleven-year-olds just entering the school. Mine was for fourteen-year-olds starting Year Ten. I didnât know any of the answers. I was as hesitant as the girl reader, as baffled as the two boys. I stared at the paper long after Grace started scribbling away, her exuberant handwriting sloping wildly up and down the page.
I was so unnerved by the maths and the science that I was unsettled by the general intelligence questions too. I could see most of the missing sequences, fill in all the bracketed words, work out every code â but perhaps they were all trick questions? I dithered and crossed out and agonized, then decided to leave them and go back to them afterwards.
There was a passage of Shakespeare, unacknowledged, but it was the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet so it was pretty obvious. I couldnât believe the question. Do you think this scene was written recently? Give reasons for your answer . Maybe this was a trick too? I decided to write a proper essay for Miss Wilmott to show her I wasnât a total moron.
I wrote three pages about Shakespeare and his times and the feud between the Montagues and the Capulets. I commented on the difference between courtship in Elizabethan times and nowadays, though I knew little about girl/boy relationships in my own time. It had been love at first sight for Romeo and Juliet. She was only fourteen, my age. I tried to imagine falling so headily, instantly in love that I would risk everything and kill myself if I couldnât be with my beloved.
I conjured up Tobias and wondered what it would be like if he stayed with me until sunrise. I wondered what heâd say, what heâd do . . .
I started violently when a very loud alarm bell rang and rang. I jumped up and grabbed Grace, looking round wildly for flames and smoke. But it wasnât a fire alarm, it was simply the school bell.
âItâs break time now,â said Gina, bustling back. âTimeâs up, girls. Pass your booklets to me.â
âBut I havenât finished! I havenât done any of the stuff on the last two pages,â Grace wailed.
âNever mind. Itâs not like a real exam. Itâs just so we can assess you properly,â said Gina, snatching the booklet away from Grace.
I hugged mine tightly to my chest, feeling sick. Iâd done far worse than Grace. Iâd answered only a quarter of the questions. I just had to hope my essay would be taken into account.
I felt Iâd let Dad down. I saw his face screw up with rage and frustration as he tried to berate me.
âThereâs no need to look so tragic,â Gina said to me. âIâm sure youâve done very well, dear. Youâve written heaps.â
Iâd written heaps of rubbish. I was put in a remedial class.
They didnât call it that. It was simply Form 10 EL. I pondered the significance of EL. Extreme Losers? Educationally Lacking? Evidently Loopy? I discovered they were merely the initials of our form teacher, Eve Lambert. But it was obvious that we were the sad guys in the school, the hopeless cases. Some could barely speak English and were traumatized, looking round fearfully as if they expected a bomb to go off any minute. Others were loud and disruptive, standing up and swearing. One boy couldnât sit still at all and fidgeted constantly, biting his fingernails and flipping his ruler and folding the pages in his notebook. He hummed all the time like a demonic bee. Most of my fellow pupils seemed scarily surly. The only girl who gave me a big smile had obvious learning difficulties.
I was the
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