UNDERCOVER on the TITANIC (book 1)

Part 13 - Silverwood School

'Wake up! Are you deaf?' Grandma was yelling in my ear again. I staggered to the bathroom, splashed water onto my face and looked out the window. Everything had changed into a surreal white wilderness. 

This happens every year but the first time is always a shock. I looked around for dog sleds or polar bear tracks. I ran to the kitchen. 'Grandma, it's a snow day. All the schools will be closed . . . I don't have to go to school today.' 

'That little bit of snow?' Grandma snorted scornfully. 'This is Ottawa! We're not wimpy Torontonians. It will all melt by midday. The high for today should be plus 10 Celsius.' 

'Well, at least you can drive me to school,' I suggested hopefully.

'Are you crazy? If I drive you everywhere, you'll forget how to use your legs. Now, move your butt. You're not going dressed in your jammies.'

I dressed in a hurry and slumped down at the kitchen table. Grandma dumped a steaming dish onto the table in front of me. It looked like boiled, greasy grey cardboard. 'Don't expect me to do this every morning,' she growled. My stomach turned over. 'Grandma, what is this slimy goop?'

'Breakfast,' she snapped. 'My famous egg plant pie.'

'Why are they called eggplants? They're black.' 

I just managed to stop myself from protesting; I was not a garbage disposal unit.  'Grandma, please, I'm your only grandchild!' 

'You don't like it?' she asked in surprise. 'Pacman always enjoys my cooking.'

'Mongolian gopher hounds,' I remarked tartly, 'will eat anything.'

'Well, if you don't want to eat it now,' she grunted, 'you can take it for lunch.' 

I figured that was the best option. I could always dump it in the garbage.

It was foggy and plus one degree Celsius on Sumac Street and my stomach was grumbling as Grandma and I mushed through the melting snow to Silverwood School. 

It took less than ten minutes but, as the high brick walls loomed out of the mist, I had the feeling I had crossed over into another age. The school looked like a medieval fortress, with castellated ramparts and narrow embrasure-like windows. I could almost see the archers peering through the slits. I shivered as we climbed stone steps, worn into hollows by thousands of doomed students. 

The entrance, set into a gloomy, crenellated tower, had three heavy oak doors. Judging by their height, the teachers had to be at least four metres tall. 

Abandon Hope, all Ye who Enter Here, I thought.

I hesitated but Grandma pushed me inside and propelled me up a cracked and grimy marble staircase. I was staring up at the arched vault ceiling, so I missed the top step and almost fell onto the terrazzo floor of the corridor leading to the school office. Pictures of menacing former principals glared down at me from the polished marble walls. The place smelled of ancient socks and long-dead things. I shivered as she pushed me into the principal's office.

❘❘ ❘❘❘ ❘❘❘❘❘❙ ❙❙ ❙❙ ❙❘❘❘❘ ❘❘❘❘ ❘❘