Breaking Hope (Finding Sky edit)

Chapter 11

Friday slowly rolled around, and the Adventure day was the only thing the year group was discussing in the week. Comments were flying about who is going to do what activities and friends were compromising their activities to be in the same group as everyone else. The whole school came alight with the excitement. However, I didn't feel as excited as everyone else did when they handed in their forms and safety waivers to the office. Everyone bombarded the schools office, excitedly chatting as they stood in line about the park and their previous experiences. I, instead of babbling about how excited I was for the day, stood with my hands shaking clutching the letter that had appeared floating in my room that night. What had happened then?

When I was younger, and still living in a foster home I had to go to a Children Trauma therapist twice a week for over two years. Apparently being left alone with no memories may actually leave you traumatised! I would never have guessed such an abstract, shocking idea! As if someone who was abandoned by their own parents may have some negative feelings toward the idea! I know – it may come as a shock to some. But, when I was forced to attend these therapist sessions, I was forced to tell the therapist everything. At the age of seven, I use to believe I could move stuff with my mind. I use to sit on my bed, like an older version of Matilda, and pretend of move the pencils on my desk of the other side of the room. Nine times out of ten, the pencils would move accordingly. I thought I was magical, I thought I had some worth. Hell – I could do a painting with several different colours at the same time without using my hands. I could play perfect chords just by looking at the keys I wanted to press. I told my therapist; glad I was making some improvement in my mental state, only to be put under constant surveillance and told that all I was seeing was my minds mental image. I got told I was hallucinating, or just imagining such events. It is seen as a way of trying to gain control when a young individual goes through a trauma. But I didn't believe it, so I hid it. I hid it so well I had forgotten I could do it. Until whatever happened that night. I thought I had made progress, but since moving to America whatever progress I had made vanished. I was making progress – but in the opposite direction, into the negatives. I nervously handed over the piece of paper, everything that was written by the flying pencil I had gone over in pen, but you could still see the outline of the graphite. The receptionist who was dealing with students handing in their forms smiled politely, handing me over the information I was required to read before we head off Friday morning, and the standard information, but I didn't walk away excited. I couldn't shake that feeling of unnerve.

Early Friday morning, I stood in my bedroom and sure enough a fine drizzle had started to fall, proceeding the heavy rain overnight. I searched through my wardrobe, trying to find something to wear. The information given to me after I handed in the form had suggested wearing something that was warm, but when moving, I had planned to find a clothes shop in the town and buy winter clothes. However, there have been little opportunities since, so I only had spring and summer clothing left in my wardrobe. I dug through the top section of my wardrobe and found my favourite hoody – a grey baggy hooded pull-over jumper with a small white pattern on the front, and decided to wear a loose pair of leggings as well.

The entire year stood outside the reception at half eight, awkwardly gathering in the parking lot hiding awkwardly under trees or the bike shelters from the slight rain that was persistent at the moment. Felix walked outside eagerly (and pretty camp, too) holding a clipboard.

'Okay Juniors, come here for a second!'

The entire year awkwardly shuffled forward, those who had the initiative to bring umbrellas today suddenly becoming overly popular as individuals wanted to share the shelter.

'Okay, the minibus will be taking individuals over to the Water school based on your groups you have been assigned to. The first group to go is –' he looked down at the clipboard, holding up a piece of paper, using his finger to trace along a line, 'those who picked the Vertical Bungee Jump as their first choice, so that's Adam, Abi, Daniel, Philip, Hope...' The list continued for another twenty odd people, who all slightly celebrated as their name was called. I followed Lauren, like I was a lost sheep to their parent.