If I Wake

School - Part 2

Mum works several jobs to keep the money coming in. It always seems unfair to me that she works such long hours for so little, when La-a's father works half the year and is practically rolling in money.

To him that hath, shall be given and from him that hath not, shall be taken even that which he hath. I read that in a book once. I think it's from the bible. Whoever wrote it understood what it was like to have nothing.

I've learned to fend for myself, once spending all my paper delivery money buying a rusty old rabbit trap at a market. I took it into the bush near our house and caught a feral rabbit. I brought it home and skinned it. It was nearly cooked by the time Mum arrived home. The smell was mouth-watering, but Mum was so upset I never did it again. I think she had visions of me turning into a serial killer. She didn't even let me keep the pelt.

I tried to talk to Mum once, about my dream being real. She said I had an over-active imagination and I should bring friends over more often instead of being on my own all the time. She made it sound like it was my choice to be alone, like she didn't remember my eleventh birthday.

Our battered old car sits in the driveway when I arrive home from school. It's a rare surprise to find Mum at the house midweek and even stranger to see her in the kitchen preparing dinner.

"There you are, darling." She dries her hands on a tea towel as she leans over to kiss my cheek. "How was your day?"

"Fine," I say lifting the lid of the saucepan on the stove and eyeing the contents suspiciously.

"I brought you home a present." She beams at me as I abandon my investigation of dinner.

I look at her in surprise as she squeezes past to rummage in her handbag left on the kitchen table. She pulls out a long thin item wrapped in a sheet of newspaper and taped together.

"Open," she says, holding it out.

I pick carefully at the tape, peeling away the paper to find three new pencils lying inside.

"2B or not 2B, that is the pencil, is it not?" She smiles at me.

"Thanks Mum." I throw my arms around her in a brief hug.

"The boss went home early, so I had free range with the stationary cupboard," she whispers conspiratorially to me. "By the way, Maree from work is having a birthday on Friday. Now you have new pencils, do you think you can spare a sheet of sketch paper and draw me a card for her?"

I miss Will the most when I wake, but sometimes life is okay when it's just Mum and me.

We receive our history assignment at the beginning of the week. There's an automatic groan from the class, but Ms Miller has recovered from her cold and we don't have the substitute. I'm quietly intrigued by the project.

We have to choose a time in history and imagine we live there. The assignment requires us to describe our surroundings, what we are doing and eating. We are to write a story to tell people about this time, starting with the words "I open my eyes and see..."

I'm unusually excited for school the day the assignment is due. Standing outside the classroom being ignored as we wait for our teacher to appear, I feel I've captured my chosen time period perfectly. Two of the boys discuss the credibility of their fictional excuses for not being able to submit their work on time. I keep my head down, so no one sees me smile, and hug my books to my chest.

La-a shoves me into the wall, recalling me back to my surroundings and removing the expression from my face. Ms Miller arrives and I quickly slip through the door and take my seat.

"Place your assignment on the table in front of you," Ms Miller instructs. I lay my stapled, hand-written pages carefully upside down in front of me. I glance around, I've written far more than anyone else.