Cartwheeling in Thunderstorms by Katherine Rundell

Author:Katherine Rundell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

IT WAS TERRIBLE TOO AT night.

Miss Blake, the headmistress, escorted Will to her bedroom personally that first day—an honor, though Will didn’t know it. Mrs. Robinson walked on her other side, like a prison guard, Will told herself.

“This will be your room, Will; and that’s your bed.” Miss Blake had dark hair and lips the color of a flame lily. She was the only colorful thing in the room, Will thought. “You should be pretty comfortable, I hope, once you get used to the detergent smell. I don’t suppose you had Persil in Africa. Beds are like shoes, Will. They need wearing in.”

Will wasn’t listening; she was looking. The room was tiny and dark. There were burglar bars on the window. Somewhere above her head, Mrs. Robinson was saying something about lights-out at nine and not wasting water. The room smelled foul—of eggs and feet and the eternal indoors. It was the smell of English. She edged to the window and looked out. There was a parking lot, a potato chip bag, and a very flat pigeon. Two of the three beds were surrounded by photographs of men and women and blond girls torn from magazines. Will touched a photo. They all had careful smiles and odd, fake-looking skin.

“Wilhelmina! Please don’t touch other people’s belongings.” Mrs. Robinson’s voice was sharp. “We need to have rules, Wilhelmina, and respect for others is one of the most important. Come here and unpack. I see you’re nice and snug in the corner.”

The third bed had her suitcase on it, and a bedspread that was probably meant to be a calming shade of nothing. It was the color of a rat’s tail.

Miss Blake smiled from the doorway. “You’ll share this with Samantha and Louisa; Mrs. Robinson thought, as you met them first, that would be easiest. Take your time unpacking. There’s no hurry.”

“Ja.”

“And you must tell us if there’s anything you need. We’re delighted to have you, Will.”

Will tried to reply, but by the time she had untangled her brain enough to talk, Miss Blake was gone. Desperate, Will caught Mrs. Robinson by the sleeve as she went out. “Please, ma’am . . .”

“Yes, Wilhelmina? You know, you don’t need to say ‘ma’am.’ Call me Mrs. Robinson.”

“It’s just . . . they promised, at the farm, ja? That I’d be able to sleep where I liked. Outside, Cynthia Vincy said. She promised. I’ll . . . I can’t . . .” To her fury Will found she hadn’t words. The room was so small; and with those windows, it was a cage. It would be like sleeping in a nightmare. “Can I have a bed by myself? Outside? I could make a tent? Please? Or even I could sleep in a tree, with my blankets? Please? I won’t sleep in this room.”

“Wilhelmina! Please, my dear, have a little sense!” Will watched, desperate, as Mrs. Robinson’s glasses misted with amusement.

“Please.”

“Can you hear that, Wilhelmina? It’s hailing.”

“I wouldn’t care, ja. I could buy an umbrella.”

Mrs. Robinson laughed.

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