Poppy Pym and the Pharaoh's Curse Page 7

  “I know what you’re doing, Ingrid Blammel,” I said, smiling, “trying to distract me! And it’s worked! Go on, then, what does it mean?”

  “It means the CUUUUUUUURSE, OF COURSE!!” yelled Kip dramatically. “Woooooooooo!”

  But later that night, as Ingrid and I were walking back to Goldfinches in the dark and quiet, I couldn’t help wondering with a shiver what would happen when the ruby arrived.

  Chapter Eleven

  Luckily for me, Thursday was a lot better than Wednesday had been. For one thing, I had my first-ever art class. When we shuffled into the classroom, we found that the big, wide windows had been covered with a dark, gauzy material and the room was filled with an almost blue light. Different-coloured paint was smeared everywhere, and colourful lanterns hung from the ceiling, sending strange shadows dancing across the walls. There were easels holding blank canvases arranged in a circle around the room, and in the middle stood a man with a white beard. He was staring thoughtfully at something that I couldn’t quite see and he didn’t seem to notice us all standing there. Somebody cleared their throat awkwardly and the man spun around, his eyes shining.

  “Isn’t it moving? Transcendent?” he whispered, moving to one side to allow us a better look at the object. We shuffled closer, and I stared in astonishment at what seemed to be a tower of toilet rolls with wire coat hangers sticking out of it.

  “Um, what is it?” ventured Kip at last.

  The man spun around and fixed Kip with his twinkling stare. “Ahhh, what indeed?” he said happily. “The wondrous curiosity of youth. What do you see, child?”

  Kip didn’t look very pleased at being called child like that and he wrinkled his nose in the direction of the object in question. “Well, I don’t really think it looks like anything,” he said finally in an apologetic voice.

  “EXACTLY!” cried the man, almost jumping with excitement. “The empty vacuum of human experience and our consumer-driven lives. You” – he pointed at Kip – “obviously have an eye for these things.” Kip looked torn between confusion and pride at this comment. The man clapped his hands. “Now, I am Mr Jacobsen, your art teacher. Welcome! Please, everyone, take an easel.”

  We all moved around and I stood behind my canvas with a feeling of excitement, taking in the fresh pots of paint in every colour, and the long bench that ran down the side of the room, laden with jars of glitter, boxes of charcoal and pastels, and endless packets of pens and crayons.

  “What we’re going to do today is to create a painting based on your emotional response to this sculpture.” Mr Jacobsen gestured towards the toilet rolls. “Please, begin!”

  I stood awkwardly in front of my blank canvas. How did the weird sculpture make me feel? Well, confused mostly. All around the room, other students were picking up their paintbrushes. With a shrug I started painting a picture of my confused face. After a while I became totally sucked into the project and I found myself adding other faces to the picture. There was Luigi, with his neat, curling moustache, and Boris, tall and strong like one of those statues of mythical heroes, and Pym, with her bad eye crinkling affectionately.

  I was surprised when Mr Jacobsen appeared at my side and pressed a tissue into my hand. I hadn’t realized that quiet tears were sliding down my cheeks. I scrubbed my eyes quickly, looking around to check no one else had seen, but everyone seemed focused on their own work.

  “It’s a powerful thing, art.” Mr Jacobsen nodded gently towards my painting. “This is a lovely piece. Full of feelings.” I sniffled my thanks and he moved around to where Ingrid was painting.

  “What have we here?” said Mr Jacobsen, picking up her canvas and turning it over in his hands. “This is interesting.”

  “You’re holding it upside down,” said Ingrid.

  “Oh, my apologies,” said Mr Jacobsen, turning the canvas around and revealing a painting that was practically a photograph of the sculpture in front of us. “Hmmm,” he said softly. “Don’t worry, you’ll get there.”

  He drifted over to a very red-faced Kip, who was staring at his own canvas with an angry grimace. “Sorry, sir, I spilled the—” Kip began.

  “TREMENDOUS!” cried Mr Jacobsen. “The raw emotion. The passion!” He held out Kip’s canvas, on which a large splat of red paint had covered over any of the work Kip had managed to get done.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Kip quickly. “That’s exactly what I was going for. You know, er, passion.” Mr Jacobsen nodded seriously and moved along to the next student.

  “I think I’m going to like art!” said Kip, beaming at me and Ingrid. Looking at the picture in front of me of my smiling family, I felt exactly the same.

  After our lesson I was feeling pretty homesick, but luckily that evening Letty dropped my first letter from the circus on my bed. “I noticed this in your pigeon hole when I picked up my post,” she said with a friendly smile. The envelope crackled in my hand as I ripped it open.

  I read the letter over and over again, tucking the article away to save it for later. Waves of homesickness washed over me, and eventually I fell asleep, Pym’s letter still clutched in my hand.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning was Friday and it dawned as bright and sunny as a ukulele song. I knew the artefacts were due to be delivered later on in the day, but I tried to push the thought of them down to the bottom of my regulation white socks and concentrate on the day’s lessons.

  Ingrid was drifting around our room like a soul headed off to the torture chamber.

  “I don’t know why they make us take PE,” she was grumbling. “What does it have to do with preparing you for the future? I mean, can you imagine going to a job interview? ‘Oh, hello, Ingrid, I see you speak seven languages and you have a degree in maths and science and a Nobel Peace Prize, but I’m afraid you can’t hit a little ball with a big stick so we’re going to have to give the job to someone else.’ I mean, REALLY.” She huffed and puffed, her face getting redder and her owl eyes getting bigger and bigger.

  “Wow, Ingrid,” I laughed, “seven languages and a Nobel Peace Prize, eh? Good to see you’re keeping your ambitions realistic.”

  “ARGH. I just HATE it SO MUCH,” she howled, ruthlessly tugging her bed sheets into neat corners around her mattress. “I’m so rubbish, and my coordination is terrible.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be so bad,” I said, patting her arm. “At least we’ve got each other. I’ve never had a PE lesson before.” I frowned. “Is it really so terrible?”

  “Oh, probably not for you,” Ingrid said reluctantly. “It’s just bad for people like me with two left feet.” I looked down at Ingrid’s admittedly quite large feet strapped into her shiny white trainers, but they looked all right to me.

  “Well, we’d better get going,” said Ingrid with a sigh, her head thrown back as if she was about to walk the plank.

  We headed over to the sports hall, where eight other girls were already waiting outside in their PE kits. Unfortunately one of the girls was Annabelle, her silky blonde hair tied up in a navy-blue ribbon. She smirked when she saw us approaching.

  “Oh good,” she said loudly to the small, dark girl standing next to her, “Ingrid’s in our class. At least we know she’ll make the rest of us look good.” Ingrid’s eyes were staring down at her shoes and she was biting her bottom lip very hard.

  “HEY—” I started, ready to give this mimsy busybody a good telling off, but I felt Ingrid put her hand on my arm. Miss Reed came jogging around the corner, her ponytail bouncing like a sprightly kangaroo, a shining silver whistle bobbing around her neck and a clipboard in her hand.

  “Let’s get cracking, shall we?” She pushed open the door to the sports hall and inside I saw that there were thick blue mats on the floor. A gymnastics horse, climbing ropes and a balancing beam were also set up and dotted around. I felt a flutter of excitement, but I was very aware of Ingrid drooping next to
me, blinking worriedly at the equipment.

  Miss Reed gave two sharp blasts on her whistle and we all shuffled into a tidy line in front of her.

  “Hello, ladies.” She smiled at us. “And welcome to your first PE lesson. Don’t look so nervous; we’re going to have a lot of fun together. Now, today is mostly about just taking stock and getting an idea of your different abilities, strengths, what needs work, that sort of thing.

  “So,” continued Miss Reed, “can I have a volunteer to start on one of the pieces of equipment?”

  Annabelle’s hand shot up.

  “Yes…?” Miss Reed looked at her questioningly.

  “Annabelle,” she chirped.

  “Annabelle, thank you.” Miss Reed nodded.

  Annabelle shot Ingrid a sickly smile, her little eyes snapping nastily. She walked up to the balancing beam and climbed carefully up on top of it. Annabelle stood still for a moment, her eyes screwed up in concentration, and then she turned a neat cartwheel on the beam before jumping off the other end, sticking her bum right out and throwing her arms up high in the air. The other girls gasped, and even I had to admit she had done a pretty good job.

  “Excellent, thank you, Annabelle,” said Miss Reed, making a mark on her piece of paper. “I see we have some talent here already. Very good work. Now, who would like to go next?”

  “Oh, miss,” simpered Annabelle lispily, “I’m sure that Ingrid wants to go next; she’s soooo talented.” She sidled around and pushed Ingrid forward. I didn’t have to look at Ingrid to know how horrified she would be, but Miss Reed didn’t seem to have noticed.

  “OK, wonderful, thank you Ingrid.” She smiled.

  “NO!” I blurted out, feeling Ingrid quiver next to me. Miss Reed looked at me in surprise. “I mean, I want to go next,” I carried on, realizing how rude I sounded. “Umm, please, if it’s OK,” I finished.

  “What an eager bunch!” exclaimed Miss Reed. “Well, if it’s all right with Ingrid?” Ingrid nodded gratefully. “OK then, yes, thank you, err…” She looked at her list.

  “Poppy,” I said quietly, “Poppy Pym.”

  In a daze I walked over to the blue mats. Just act normally, the voice inside my head whispered. Don’t draw attention to yourself. With a sigh I ducked down and did a slightly clumsy forward roll. I heard Annabelle snigger.

  “Well,” said Miss Reed brightly, “that was a good, solid effort Poppy, thank you.”

  “Looks like Ingrid’s new friend is even worse than she is,” I heard Annabelle whisper, and then, making sure Ingrid could hear her, she continued, “and I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be a bigger loser than Ingrid Blammel.”

  In a flash I saw how hurt Ingrid looked. Annabelle’s nasty little smirk swam in front of my face, and I shut my eyes for a second. Then, before anyone could say anything else, I was off. I leapt, I tumbled, I twisted, I sprang into a dizzying combination of backflips, front flips and somersaults. In my mind I could hear Tina and Tawna telling me off:

  “No, no, keep your—”

  “—back straighter, and don’t—”

  “—bend your arm like it’s a—”

  “—chicken wing.”

  I don’t know how long I went on for, it felt like hours, but it must only have been a few seconds. Throwing myself into a full-twisting double layout – where you tumble over and over in the air like a pair of socks in a washing machine – I came to a neat stop, and then, forgetting where I was, I collapsed on to the ground, panting and exhausted. When I sat up, I saw ten faces looking back at me in astonished silence, each one of their mouths set in a surprised pink O. Then, all of a sudden, the silence was broken by Ingrid.

  “Yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!” she screeched, pumping her fist up in the air – a most un-Ingrid kind of action. Then all the other girls started cheering, apart from Annabelle, who had her arms crossed and a look of intense dislike burning in her eyes. Miss Reed, looking slightly dazed, was clapping her hands as well and shaking her head. I beamed at them and clambered to my feet.

  “Well, Poppy Pym, that was really quite something!” exclaimed Miss Reed.

  I shrugged. “Some of it was a bit messy, but it’s been so long since I did anything like that without standing on the back of a pony, and the ground just felt so … still, you know?” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “A-A pony?” murmured a befuddled-looking Miss Reed, but I didn’t have a chance to explain because I was surrounded by the other girls all smacking me on the back and asking me excited questions. I was enjoying myself a lot, until I felt someone pinch my arm fiercely.

  “I’ll get you for that, Poppy Pym,” hissed a voice in my ear, and as I turned and looked into Annabelle Forthington-Smythe’s angry blue eyes, I realized that for the first time in my life, I had made an enemy.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It seemed that word had got out pretty quickly about my gymnastics escapades. When Ingrid and I walked into our chemistry lesson later that afternoon, the rest of the class huddled around me, talking over one another, and all wanting to know about the circus and what other tricks I could do.

  “That is quite enough of THAT.” A girlish voice broke through, and everyone whisked themselves back to their seats. There stood Miss Susan. She radiated cleanliness and order, and even the way she moved was neat and precise. She smiled at me, a smile that didn’t reach her chilly green eyes. “I see we have something of a celebrity in our midst …”

  “Sorry, miss, I…” I interrupted, about to apologize and explain, when a curt wave of Miss Susan’s very clean hand shut me right up.

  “No, thank you, Miss Pym.” Miss Susan’s emphasis on the P in my name made it sound like an insult. “I don’t need to hear your excuses. I would rather not have you waste any more of our time.”

  My mouth dropped open as she sailed past me to take her place it the front of the class. I shut it pretty sharpish when her gaze snapped on to me again, with a look that made it clear she thought I was some sort of village idiot.

  “Right,” she trilled with a silvery little laugh that sent a shiver weaselling down my spine, “now that we’re all ready to begin. I am Miss Susan, and welcome to your first chemistry lesson of the year.” She stood in front of the blackboard with her hands folded together. “Today we are going to be learning about pH values by testing various substances with litmus paper. Now, who can tell me something about pH values?” Her eyes darted around the room before settling on me. “Miss Pym? You seem very fond of the limelight.”

  “I-I … er … don’t know,” I stuttered, feeling my face burning with the fire of a thousand suns.

  “Oh, rrrreally,” sang Miss Susan, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow. “How disappointing. Anyone else?”

  Surprise, surprise, Annabelle’s hand shot up like a jack-in the-box bursting out.

  “Ah, Miss Forthington-Smythe,” said Miss Susan, her cold smile warming up by several degrees, “would you like to share the answer with the class?”

  “Yes, miss,” simpered Annabelle, her eyes turned modestly down towards the table as she practically fluttered her eyelashes. “On the pH scale, water is seven, which is neutral. Anything below seven is acidic, and anything above seven is alkaline.” She peeped up, smiling sweetly.

  “Excellent, well done, precisely right.” Miss Susan turned to make a note on the board and Annabelle’s smile quickly transformed into a triumphant smirk, which she threw over her shoulder in my direction. Then she whispered something to the girl next to her and they both looked at me and started giggling.

  “Now if we could all get in groups and collect our equipment, we’ll begin the experiment.”

  The rest of the lesson seemed endless as my embarrassment made me clumsy, and I bumped into things, almost tripped over Kip, and knocked a measuring jug on to the floor, exploding it into a thousand tiny pieces.<
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  “Oh dear, looks like someone’s a bit of a butterfingerrrrrs,” trilled Miss Susan, and Annabelle and her friends laughed loudly.

  Finally the bell rang, signalling the end of the school day, and I tugged my backpack on, escaping outside as fast as my legs would take me. Kip and Ingrid jogged up behind me.

  “WELL …” said Ingrid, “what a-a-a … nasty lady.”

  “Ooooh. Harsh words, Ing,” joked Kip as he punched me on the shoulder. “Don’t let her upset you, Poppy, she was just being a bully. I didn’t know any of the pH stuff either.”

  I gave a watery tortoise smile, and sniffled a bit.

  “Anyway,” Kip continued, “what’s this I hear about you being some secret Olympic gymnast?”

  “Ooooooh, Kip.” Ingrid turned towards him. “You should have been there. It was amazing. And Annabelle looked like someone had stolen her last cream cake. Especially when she’d just been showing off all her moves.” Ingrid stuck her hands in the air and wiggled about until we were all laughing.

  “Thank you.” I put an arm around each of them. “You’re the best. The knees of a bee. The pyjamas of a cat.”

  “Yeah, well,” said Kip, squirming away from my arm like a worm on a fishing hook, “what I want to know is when you’re going to start teaching us some sweet, sweet circus moves!”

  “Oh, Poppy.” Ingrid turned her moony beam on me with such intensity that her glasses started to steam up. “Could you teach us anything?” Her face fell a little, and she twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “Although I’m so clumsy I’m probably a lost cause.”

  I looked at their expectant faces; Kip was so excited he was swaying back and forth on his heels like a demented rocking horse.

  “I suppose I could,” I said slowly, thinking about it very hard. “I don’t see why we couldn’t start some of the basics, anyway. If you really want, I mean.”