Old Magic(2)

I hear a noise up front and see Jarrod falling off his stool. Unbelievable. He just reaches across to grab a glass beaker and wham, he’s on the floor, a tangle of long arms and legs. The class explodes, laughing their stupid heads off. They’re all jerks. I watch as Jarrod tries to compose himself, red-faced, climbing awkwardly back on his stool, his head angling sharply downwards so that his eyes don’t connect with anybody’s. He’s good at that. A thick wad of shiny yellow hair crosses his forehead, obscuring his face even more.

I sense his nervousness, and wonder why. OK, it’s his first day at a new school, and Pecs’s hostility is tangible; but this is different. So I decide to probe, gently at first, just skirting the edges of his senses. His head suddenly lifts and stills as if … Uh-uh, he can’t possibly feel me. Nobody ever does. Gingerly, I dig a little deeper, feel his hesitation, awkwardness, nerves. I feel his desire, burning away inside, an impassioned need to fit in, as if he’s just a small boy lost somewhere in the midst of a great forest, with no sense of direction.

Something hard hits me. It takes a second to realise what it is, as this has never happened before. A wall is between us. He’s blocking me out. I’m still staring at the back of his head and notice his shoulders jerk up and stiffen. His head shifts around, slowly at first, like he’s searching for something. He sees me and stops. Our eyes collide and lock. He’s wearing a frown, which slowly transforms into a look of puzzlement. It’s like he wants to ask something but isn’t sure what, yet senses its importance.

I know then – he’s different too. He did feel my probe, even though I gather he doesn’t understand what happened. And suddenly Jarrod Thornton becomes much more interesting.

Mr Garret attempts to regain control of the class, repeatedly tapping the whiteboard with the butt of his blue felt pen. Jarrod swings his gaze back to the front, releasing me; and at last I breathe.

I don’t dare probe again. My heart is still pounding from that three-second connection with Jarrod’s mind. I try to home in on what knowledge Mr Garret is attempting to impart; but I’m lost, my concentration shattered. And I can’t drag my thoughts away from Jarrod. I’m tempted like crazy to go back in.

At last we get to the practical side of the lesson, and luckily the experiment is really basic, mixing an alkali with an acid in the presence of litmus. So there is nothing explosive. Still, it needs my concentration, adding diluted hydrochloric acid drop by drop while continually stirring, then adding sodium hydroxide in the same way, observing the various colour changes; but Jarrod has just slipped on a pair of gold-framed glasses and Pecs is keeling over in fits of hysterical laughter. He should be back in kindergarten where his level of intelligence has company.

My experiment turns purple. I glance at Jarrod and notice his shoulders lift and hold for a stretched moment as he fights to control his emotions. Part of me wants to see him lash out as Pecs deserves; but I can tell it’s not Jarrod’s style. He either lacks the self-confidence necessary to confront a hulking brute like Pecs, or has the patience of a Tibetan monk. I’m going for the lack of confidence. His mannerisms are kind of stilted, awkward, clumsy. It makes me wonder about him, what sort of life he’s had. His back remains stiff while he tries to maintain control.

My eyes search for Mr Garret, though why I’m not sure. The man is a weakling in the face of Pecs and his mates. Especially since his divorce became final last year. Everyone knows about it. He was the talk of Ashpeak for months on end. Without any indication, Rachel Garret, wife of nine years, dropped their two kids off at pre-school and kindergarten, picked up the local pharmacist, and disappeared. No one heard from the pair, not a word, for twelve whole months. Finally she returned, but only to claim custody of the kids, which she got after a nasty court battle. But Mr G’s personal life isn’t the only loss, his enthusiasm for life disappeared, as well as any classroom control.

But Pecs, it seems, is searching for trouble. Something he thrives on. We’re supposed to be working in pairs, one mixing chemicals, the other taking notes. Mr Garret, head bent, back to the class, is helping Adam Rendal and Kyle Flint get it right. Pecs leaves his seat, leans down and whispers something in Tasha’s ear which makes her giggle like the brainless airhead she portrays; and in a bare-faced attempt to cause trouble, Pecs walks straight past Jarrod, knocking his glasses off his face in a movement that is so obvious no one could call it an accident. They drop with a clang to the floor.

‘Ah, gee, sorry mate. Did I do that?’ Pretending to pick them up Pecs then purposefully kicks the gold frames midway across the hard cold floor.