Crescent Cove

Chapter Two: Jane

I glare at the piece of paper on the dark brown dining room table. Maths, I think to myself, what's the point in maths? My teacher, Mary-Ella, walks down the carpeted stairs and raises her eyebrows at the lack of work I've done.

"Jane," she sighs.

"If you don't concentrate you may have to go to a public school," she threatens, and I shudder, preferring the safety and tranquility of being home-schooled.

I put my head down and start working on the algebra part of the sheet, and Mary-Ella smiles smugly.I zip passed it and hand my paper to my teacher. She looks over it, using her human calculator mind to mark my work. She nods approvingly, and my mind wanders off to another place, thinking how pretty Mary-Ella could be. Her lovely silky brown hair's pulled back into a bun, making her look 30 years older than 22, which she actually is. Her bun is so tight that wrinkles are appearing on her otherwise flawless face.

"Jane!" Mary-Ella snaps my name, "did you even hear a word I said?"

"Yes," I say, in a hopefully ernest way. She raises her thin eyebrows.

"No," I bow my head. She sighs.

"I think your mother over-works you," she says softly, surprising me. "Let's go see a movie!" she suggests. I nod excitedly. I haven't been to the movies in years!

"I'll just go change into something less serious,you should too," she says, before darting into the room we keep aside for her. I walk upstairs to my own room to change. I flick through my sadly dull wardrobe, thinking that these sort of garments belong on the body of a 50 year old woman at a funeral, not a 13 year old girl just staying at home.

I finally find some dark jeans and a pale blue, elbow length t-shirt. I wear my black boots and decide to make my long, long, long dark hair look pretty. I plait it and it ends up all the way down my back! I swing my plait forward, and come down the stairs. Only to find the prettiest lady I've ever seen.

"Mary-Ella?" I ask uncertainly to the woman in front of me. She's taken off her pinstriped trousers and has switched them for dark skinny-jeans. Her white shirt has been replaced by a silky lilac spaghetti-strap top. Her hair has been put up into a messy ponytail and I had no idea that Mary-Ella owned high-heels; much less stilettos!

"Let's go!" she says, and we head out the front door.

When we get to the movies Mary-Ella buys me an ice-cream and some popcorn. We sit down on plush chairs in a big room with a massive screen and the lights turn off slowly. Boring adds about where to buy old-lady sofas and baby toys appear before the movie. I dip my popcorn into my ice-cream, ignoring Mary-Ella's amused looks, and stare rapt at the screen. When the movie finishes, Mary-Ella takes me to McDonalds for the first time ever.

We get home before six; but we forgot today was the one day mum comes home early! She's standing by the front door, arms folded, eyebrows raised, one foot tapping onto the tiles impatiently.

"Where have you been!" she screeches, reminding me very vividly of Mrs Weasly in the second Harry Potter movie. I'm expecting her to say "no note, beds empty!" so that when she says instead, "Mary-Ella, you're fired!" it's a shocker in more than one way.

"But, but mum!" I complain. Mary-Ella has been the nicest home-schooler I've ever had; she hasn't smacked me, told me to stand in the corner for an hour, or yelled at me saying that I'm stupider than a 2 month old.

"It's my fault!" I lie, and Mary-Ella stares at me lie I'm mad. Maybe I am.

"Please don't fire Mary-Ella! I've learnt much more with her, than with any other tutor!" I cry. This seems to have done the trick. I wish I'd said it first, because now mum thinks that it's my fault that we weren't in the house.