Chapter 2 - Inga at School

Copyright (c) 2010 Victoria Burrell-Hrencecin.

Scroll down my blog to see my two previous posts: - Chapter 1 and the Prologue below that.
I will soon be posting Chapter 3... Watch this space! :)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inga had to go back to school the next day.  It was the start of the new school year - her second year at Grayam Drone Middle (for 8-12 year olds). She reluctantly put the harmonica away in the top drawer of her bedroom dresser.

"I'll come back to you soon!" she promised the harmonica.

She couldn't wait to return home later that afternoon and play with it some more.  Now, however, it was time to get dressed and ready for school.

Inga's school uniform was hanging on her bedroom door.  As she took it down, she frowned at it in disgust.  It mocked her.  She unhooked the white, stiff collared shirt and took a deep breath, plunging each arm into the stiff long sleeves. She impatiently buttoned up the fiddly cuffs, struggling, as she always did, to do up the right sleeve with her left hand.  Hating the way the shirt scratched her skin as she moved, she next unhooked the gray, thick wool sweater. She took another deep breath and dived into it, pulling it over her head as quickly as she could, screwing up her face against the harshness of it.  The heavy sweater clamped down over the scratchy shirt, making all the itches even worse.  Next she stepped into the gray, thick wool skirt and fiddled with the zipper at the side to do it up.  Once she had the skirt on, she could no longer move as freely as she normally could, for it was tight and heavy and even scratchier than the shirt and sweater!

Inga sat down stiffly on her bed and gazed up at her bedroom window.  She imagined bursting out of her uniform, like a butterfly out of a chrysalis, flying out of the window, and throwing the horrible garments down to the ground below.

"Inga!" called her mother.  "Are you dressed yet?"

"Coming Mum!" called Inga, sighing deeply.

Bending down stiffly in the frumpy skirt, she pulled on the thick, gray wool knee high socks, wincing as they clamped down around her calves, and sighing as she felt them ever so slightly begin to slip down her legs.  Next she shoved her feet into the black, stiff leather shoes, bending down once again to tie up the thick black laces. Now she straightened up to address the worst part of all.  Unhooking the navy-blue and white striped tie, she flipped up the stiff collar of her shirt, and tied it around her neck until it was as tight as she could bear it.  Even with it away from her throat, she felt it restricting her like a noose.

"Hurry up, Inga! called her mother. "You've got to leave in 2 minutes!!"

"All right, Mum!" called Inga "I'm just coming!"

Straightening her collar, Inga stood back and looked in the mirror.  Dull, she thought.  Stiff, gray and dull was the effect of the school uniform.  She had protested wearing it vehemently last year, but, after many tearful battles, her mother had explained to her the importance of wearing it, and in the end, Inga knew she had no choice.

Inga flumped down the stairs, noisily, her heart sinking as it always did with the dread of having to go back to school.
"Come on!" said her mother, who was standing in the hall-way, tapping her watch with her index finger.

By the front door, on the coat rack, was the thick heavy, navy-blue coat, and her large, heavy, navy-blue back-pack.  These were the final burdens she had to add on top of the uniform; the energy-draining weights that would grind her down on her long walk to school.

While her mother fussed around, putting her lunch box in her back-pack and reminding her about her school schedule, Inga closed her eyes for a moment to summon her will power.  As she pulled on the heavy coat and strapped on the heavy back-pack, she imagined she was an Amazon warrior donning her armor ready for battle.  It was the only way she could muster up enough energy to open the front door and step out.

"OK, bye Mum!" she called dutifully.

"Bye Inga! Have a good day!" her mother called.

                * * * * * * * * *

Inga rounded the final bend at the bottom of the hill, and walked up the driveway towards her school.  Grayam Drone Middle.  There it stood, three stories tall and square, glaring down at her, with its few tiny windows squinting like hostile eyes, set into the dark gray brick walls.  Its flat roof and sharp edges emphasized its frowning appearance.  The main entrance stood in the center, jutting out like a giant mouth, with tall black sliding doors grimacing, waiting to swallow her up.  She walked through the gate in the high black railings and joined the throng of children lining up, waiting to enter.

She felt a strange mixture of relief and dread: - relief to have finally arrived, after the long wearying walk, carrying her heavy back-pack, and dread, as she anticipated the tortures of the day to come.

Inga looked around for a friendly, familiar face.  Many of the faces were familiar; not so many were friendly. In the ocean of gray and navy-blue, back packs swung and jostled, pony-tails swished, crew-cut heads bobbed.  Snatches of shouts, screams and laughter jarred on Inga's sensitive ears.  Noone came up to her or smiled at her.
She searched around and finally spotted Kemma, a small, quiet girl, with short brown hair who also wore glasses. Kemma's name was soft and mild and made Inga think of pastel cotton sheets. She had a soft, mild manner to match.  Inga had not known her well last year; she had been very shy, and had mixed with a different group of kids, but she had at least seemed nice enough, and not too intimidating.
"Kemma!"  Inga called.  Kemma turned around and gave a brief watery smile.
"Hi." she said, not moving her lips.
"Are you going to be in my new class?" asked Inga.
"I don't know"
"What teacher do you have?"
"Mr Flatten." said Kemma.
"Me too." Inga was pleased she had found a class-mate; an ally.
There was an awkward pause. "What d'you think he's like?" asked Inga.
Kemma looked puzzled and frowned.  Everyone knew what Mr. Flatten was like. He had a reputation for being the most sarcastic, angriest teacher in the school.
"You know, as a teacher, I mean...?"
"Dunno. He's old, and mean. I wish I didn't have him as a teacher."
Inga nodded in agreement.
"Miss Wordsmith last year was OK really, wasn't she?"  Inga said, conversationally.
Kemma nodded and shrugged at the same time, noncommittally.
Inga waited, trying to think of something else to say.  She looked at Kemma expectantly, hoping she'd bring up something else that they had in common. But Kemma looked down at her feet and shuffled them.
"What do you - " began Inga...

"Mr. Flatten?" interrupted another, taller girl, coming up behind Inga and Kemma.  "Yeah, I've got him too.  Can't believe it!  We've got the scariest teacher in the school!  Has an evil smile.  I'm making sure I sit right at the back!"  she laughed.
She looked at Kemma and smiled.  "What's your name?"
"Kemma."
"I'm Genevieve."
At the sound of this name, Inga immediately pictured swirling patterns of dark purples and dark greens, and the sound of wind in the trees at dusk.
Kemma smiled uncertainly up at the tall girl.
Inga turned to look at Genevieve.  She had long, thick, frizzy blonde hair, held back with a colorful beaded head-band. Inga wondered why Genevieve hadn't said "hi" to her.
She piped up, "Hi, I'm Inga".
"Oh hi, Inga."  Genevieve tossed her hair carelessly over her shoulders,
"So you're in my class too, then?" asked Inga.
"Yeah, I guess so," shrugged Genevieve.

Inga smiled and Genevieve smiled back at her politely. Then Genevieve turned her head to look around for someone else to talk to.  Finally she spotted someone and called out "Jamilla!" and walked off.  Inga pictured a frothy, chocolate milk-shake as she heard the name, "Jamilla".  It almost made her mouth water. She stared after Genevieve and watched her go up to Jamilla, who was another tall girl with shiny light brown hair, swept up by a bright pink ribbon into a high pony-tail .  They began giggling and whispering and bowing their heads together.

Inga turned back to Kemma, and saw her gazing after Genevieve and Jamilla too.
"D'you know them?" asked Inga.
Kemma shook her head. She glanced side-long at Inga then looked down at her feet.
"They're popular," she said, and gave the faintest of sighs.
Inga found herself smiling apologetically to Kemma, hoping that she wouldn't walk away too.
"Can I... can I sit next to you in class?" Inga stuttered, hoping she didn't sound too desperate.  Since the classroom desks were designed for pairs of children, securing a decent desk partner was one of the first most important moves of the new school year. Even if it wasn't someone you cared much for, it was better than sitting next to an empty space, and waiting for the teacher to fill it with the least popular, smelliest, or ugliest kid in the class.
Kemma shrugged her shoulders.  Looking away from Inga, at the crowds of other kids, knowing she didn't have a better choice, she said "S'pose so."
"OK." Inga smiled gratefully.

The doors to the main entrance opened and a group of teachers stepped out, forming a line across the top steps.  A shrill whistle blew, making Inga jump slightly. She shivered as the crowd of kids became silent in the school yard, and everyone turned to face the teachers.

"YEAR ONE LINE UP!!" barked Mr. Admin, the tall, skinny head-master, stepping forward, pointing with his bony finger at the middle of the steps.
"FIRST, MS. LEXICON's CLASS!" he cried.  His bulbous eyes glared icily down at the crowd and his mouth hung open slightly, showing his crooked teeth.
Ms. Lexicon stepped forward and stood for a moment with her hands crossed in front of her.  Then she turned and went in through the sliding double doors.
As the children shuffled along up the steps, following Ms. Lexicon into the school, Inga watched Mr. Admin turning over the pages of his clip-board stiffly, like a robot, in his pale gray suit and tie.
"NEXT, MRS TOME's CLASS!" he shouted, in a strained, nasally drone.
After the three Year One classes had dutifully trooped in, Mr. Admin began calling the Year Two classes.  Inga's breath quickened and her heart fluttered.
"MR. FLATTEN's CLASS!" came the call she had been waiting for.

Mr Flatten emerged slowly and stood arrogantly on the top steps.  His head held high, he glared straight ahead, not looking down at any of the children.  He felt himself to be the real head-teacher of the school, in all practicality. Mr. Admin was just a puppet; an administrator.  The real authority in the place; the teacher that all naughty children were sent to for discipline, was Mr. Flatten.  He wore a dark gray suit and tie, which fitted tightly over his broad shoulders and round front, and thick, black, square-rimmed glasses.  His dark bushy eyebrows furrowed over small, snake-like eyes, and his unsmiling mouth formed a grim line above his thick jowls and double chin.  He was indeed an intimidating figure.

As Mr. Flatten turned and disappeared inside, Inga quickly checked to make sure Kemma was still near her, and began the march past the other children, up the steps and into the school.

Stepping into the entrance was like being sucked into a large, dark cave.  The floor was tiled with black, shiny linoleum, the walls were painted dark blue. The only light came from small, square windows, set high above the doors. To the right was a clinical looking waiting area with black industrial carpeting and hard gray plastic chairs along the wall.  To the left was the school office, where the secretary, Mrs Clark, sat behind her large, square desk, surrounded by dark gray filing cabinets.
Inga's nose was immediately assaulted by a waft of pungent chemical smells; disinfectant, floor polish, fresh paint and new carpet. It made her head reel and her stomach churn.

Her feet dutifully plodded along behind the line of children, following Mr. Flatten.  Her eyes wandered, taking in the stark decor of the place. Beyond the entrance, there were two sets of shiny metallic sliding doors, opening up to reveal dark tunnels, leading off to the classrooms. They passed by the familiar doors from last year, and turned towards the new ones, leading to mysterious classrooms she had never seen.  The hallway was long, dark and bare. Windowless, it was dimly lit by a few small, low-wattage fluorescent lamps, spaced far apart, hanging from the ceiling, sending out a chilly, watery light. The only other light came from narrow window slits in the classroom doors, which were also spaced far apart. The children's feet echoed loudly off the hard, black linoleum floor.  She could barely see the few dull pictures which were mounted on the walls: - maps, science projects, mathematical charts, family trees of historical kings and queens, all in muted colors and somber backgrounds.

Inga had been aware of a buzz of chatter around her from the other children, (though she had not been listening to any conversations), but she had not noticed the volume of the chatter getting louder.

"SILENCE!" roared Mr. Flatten, turning round and suddenly forcing them to a stop.

A stifled laugh, a cut off shriek and a rustle of murmurs quickly faded, with an echo.  Inga clamped her mouth shut (even though she had not been talking) and lifted her chin to look up at Mr. Flatten. She had to turn her head to avoid bumping her chin on the back-pack of the person in front.  As she held herself as still as possible, she felt her heart beating fast.

"No talking in the corridors!" Mr. Flatten pronounced slowly, with exaggeratedly careful diction, as if the children were all stupid.  He lowered his double chin, and peered over his thick black glasses, pushing them slightly further down his nose. His eyes roved around to each child, giving them a fixed, lazer-like stare, as if to turn each one into stone.  There was no need to remind them of the consequences of disobeying him.  Everyone knew the rules. Last year, one of the more severe consequences had been a trip to Mr. Flatten's classroom for punishment. Now, they were in Mr. Flatten's classroom.  What could be worse?

Mr. Flatten turned around slowly and continued walking. (All his movements were slow and deliberate, until he really lost his temper - then he could move like lightning!)  Everyone shuffled along behind him, as quietly as they could.  Without the chatter, Inga became aware of her breathing and that of the other kids around her.  Little suppressed coughs and sniffs echoed around the hallway, and Inga could hear every scrape, rustle and swish of every shoe, back-pack and over-coat.

Finally, the torturous walk ended, as they came to their classroom, which was at the very end of the hallway. Mr. Flatten stopped and turned to face them.

"Coats and back-packs - over there!" Mr. Flatten ordered, pointing to the hooks along the wall outside the classroom.  Everyone scrambled to free themselves of their heavy back-packs and coats and threw them up on hooks, jostling each other for the best positions.  Mr. Flatten then opened their classroom door, firmly turning the handle and pushing it open with a bang.

The children entered and everyone raced to choose their desks, as they had done the year before.  Inga followed Kemma, trying to catch her eye to indicate a desk near the back, by the window.  Kemma did not turn around.  She did however, choose a desk by the window, about half way back (since the furthest ones had already been grabbed).  Inga swiftly slid behind the desk, in the chair next to Kemma and sat down.  Kemma did not look up but did not protest.  Inga took a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief. She had made it safely to the classroom and had secured a decent enough desk partner!

Just as she was silently congratulating herself on this small victory, Mr. Flatten cleared his throat loudly.  He planted himself firmly at the top of the classroom, feet apart, arms crossed and looked around, waiting.  After the shuffling and chair-scraping had subsided and everyone had sat down, Mr. Flatten leaned to one side and switched on the slide-projector.  There, up on the white screen, everyone could see a chart, showing a seating plan, with everyone's names written clearly in assigned places.

"Last year," announced Mr. Flatten, with a sarcastic tone, "when we didn't know you, you had the luxury of choice.  This year, we know best where to seat you.  You will now look carefully at this seating plan, and move, in an orderly fashion, to your assigned seats," he concluded with a mocking smile.

Inga's heart sank and she took another deep, fortifying breath. The torture was far from over yet.  She looked forlornly at Kemma, who looked back at her, with the tiniest hint of a sympathetic smile.  They scraped their chairs back and shuffled across the room, stopping to stare at the seating plan.  Inga saw that she was assigned to a seat much nearer the front, away from the windows, next to a boy she had never met before, called Dominic Traynor.  The name was full of vivid colors and shapes to Inga - a bold, dramatic name. She mouthed it with trepidation. She hoped this boy would be friendly.

Inga sat down nervously at her new desk, looking up at Mr. Flatten who was standing by the blackboard, watching them with a hint of amusement in his narrow eyes.  She glanced round furtively, searching for her new unknown desk partner.  She waited, trembling slightly.  Nobody came.  She looked around again.  Nearly everyone had sat down by now.  She saw to her satisfaction that Genevieve and Jamilla were not sitting together, but were paired with two scrawny boys who looked as if they hated sitting next to girls.

Then she spotted Kemma further back, sitting next to Rionne, another girl she remembered from last year: a really nice girl, with kind hazel eyes and an open smile.  Inga felt a twinge of envy; she had hoped to find Rionne earlier, in the school yard and say "hi" to her to establish contact, so that she could either sit next to her in class or at least slip into her group of friends at recess.  Bumping into Kemma first, she had momentarily forgotten about Rionne and had lost the opportunity to seek her out.  How typical of her luck that Kemma had ended up next to her instead! Now, she was less sure of securing either Kemma or Rionne as companions at recess, and would more likely be thrown out on her own again. The chances of making friends with this new boy "Dominic" were slim.  She usually didn't do well with boys; - they either seemed to be afraid of her or they'd look right through her.

Inga frowned.  There was only one boy left standing awkwardly on his own, gazing up at the seating plan and looking helplessly around the room.  He seemed lost.  Inga realized with a shock that this must be her desk partner!  She looked at him intently.  The first thing that struck her was his eyes; - they were large, soulful and blue, and beautifully framed by long, dark eyelashes.  His face was open and vulnerable. He had messy dark brown hair that looked like it needed a proper cut and comb!  She looked down and noticed his uniform was uneven and messy too. It hung slightly twisted on him; his shirt was buttoned up wrong and was tucked in crookedly, his tie was tied way too short.  His pants and shoes looked old, worn and rather too tight.

Inga immediately felt a pang of sympathy for him.  He looked like he didn't belong here; didn't want to be constricted by his uniform, and didn't want to be forced to find an unfamiliar desk or desk partner.  Something in his eyes told Inga he was an intelligent being, but not properly connected to his body or physical surroundings.  She felt an affinity with him, and a warmth spread through her at the sight of him.  She tried to catch his eye and smile at him, indicating her desk with a slight head movement, but he did not notice her.

"DOMINIC TRAYNOR!" boomed Mr. Flatten, condescendingly enunciating every syllable of his name.   Everyone in the class held their breath, watching closely. The boy flinched at the sudden sound of his name and began jerking his arms stiffly by his sides and shaking his clenched fists back and forth slightly.  His eyes became even wider and bluer and he fixed his gaze up on the wall, above Mr. Flatten's head.  He looked like a frightened deer.  Inga felt an even stronger pang of sympathy, as she felt the scorn of everyone else's gaze on this poor, scared, odd-looking boy.

"Your seat. Is. Over. There. Dominic." snarled Mr. Flatten, pointing to the empty chair next to Inga.  Dominic turned and walked stiffly over to the Inga's desk, bumping into another desk on the way. There were suppressed snickers and murmurs from around the room, which Mr. Flatten didn't silence.

Dominic seemed to have trouble getting himself into the chair.  Instead of pulling it back to make room, he tried putting his leg into the narrow space between it and the desk and hopping on the other foot, as he pulled himself forward with his elbows on the desk.  Inga instinctively reached out to help him and pulled the chair back slightly to give him room.  Dominic put his feet on the chair and squatted on it, eventually shifting his feet awkwardly down under the desk.  Even after he was seated properly, he continued to fidget nervously and rock back and forth, as if he was still struggling to get comfortable.

After this spectacle was over, Mr. Flatten called for silence again and began taking roll-call and making his first announcements.  Inga found herself tuning out his loud, droning voice and turning her attention instead to her curious new desk partner.  He didn't seem to be listening to Mr. Flatten either, but was peering down closely at the desk, tracing the wood patterns with his index finger.  Inga noticed that he had found a tiny sliver of eraser dust, and was gently pushing it along, making it roll through the maze that the wood grains had made. She watched with fascination.  Dominic's focus didn't waver from this task, and he painstakingly continued to push the sliver of eraser dust on and on, from one corner of the desk to the other, slowly completing the entire pattern.

Mr. Flatten introduced the class to the first topic of the day which was math.  Worksheets, pencils and geometry tools were handed out.  Inga tried to concentrate on what Mr. Flatten was saying and follow the lesson, but Dominic kept making strange grunting noises, tapping his pencil repeatedly on the desk, and chewing noisily on his plastic ruler. He couldn't sit still either and kept wiggling and shifting in his chair. Inga tried to ignore these things, but she found it difficult.  She tried frowning sideways at Dominic, telling him with her eyes to please be quiet, but he just didn't notice her.  Eventually, when Mr. Flatten went to the back of the classroom to pull out some books from a cupboard, she whispered to Dominic:

"Hey!  Can you please be quiet?"
Dominic turned his whole body to face her, and looked shocked.  He seemed to see her for the first time.  His eyes didn't linger on hers, but wandered up to the ceiling.
"Oh! Sorry!" he said loudly.  Everyone turned to stare at him.
"SHhhhh!"  urged Inga, worried that they'd get into trouble.

Dominic turned back to his worksheet.  Inga noticed that he had finished solving all the sums and problems, and was now drawing something very carefully in the margins and spaces on the page.  She looked closer and saw that he was designing elaborate mazes and labyrinths.  They looked very complicated and beautiful.  He had stopped making most of the noises, but was still grunting occasionally and chewing (albeit more quietly) on his ruler.  Inga wanted to ask him about the mazes he was drawing, but couldn't risk whispering to him again, for fear he'd reply too loudly.

Eventually, the bell rang for recess, and there was suddenly a great cacophony of scraping chairs, banging desk lids, thumping books and a rising murmur of chatter.  It made Inga jump but filled her with great relief to know she could now escape from this confining classroom for a while and get some fresh air.  She began packing away her books and papers as quickly as she could inside her desk drawer.  Some of the children were already heading for the door. Then she looked down at Dominic. He hadn't moved.  He was still drawing mazes.  He had turned over the worksheet and was continuing on the back, filling the whole blank page with his ornate designs.  He seemed not to have noticed the bell or the sound of everyone packing away.  Inga tapped him gently on the shoulder.  His shoulder twitched.  She tapped him again.  He defensively drew up his hands and covered his ears.  She was going to leave him be, and head towards the door, when Mr. Flatten strode over to their desk.

"DOMINIC!" Mr. Flatten shouted.  Dominic swung round and tried to jump up out of his seat.  He knocked his chair over with a loud clatter.  Everyone else hurried quietly out of the classroom to freedom.  Only Inga was left.  Dominic's pencil rolled onto the floor and his worksheet fluttered across the desk.  Then there was silence.  Mr. Flatten looked down at the worksheet and picked it up.

"What's THIS?" he bellowed.
"M...m...my..." stuttered Dominic.
"Doodling ALL over your math worksheet!  What a MESS!"
"B...b...but..." began Dominic.

Mr. Flatten didn't even glance at the intricate mazes or notice that Dominic had finished all the math questions.  He tore the worksheet in half and half again, crumpled up the pieces and threw them into the waste-paper-basket.

"You will stay inside for recess and do your math worksheet AGAIN!"  Mr. Flatten ordered.
Dominic stood still, looking totally shocked, his mouth gaping open, his eyes wide and fixed on the waste-paper-basket.  Then, to Inga's surprise, his face relaxed into a slight smile.

"Think it's FUNNY do you?"  roared Mr. Flatten.
"No." said Dominic, matter-of-factly, without any fear in his voice.
"You will stay after school and complete two more math worksheets as well, if you think this is a joke!"
"OK," said Dominic affably, his face showing no signs of fear, remorse or resentment.
Mr. Flatten glared, thunderstruck at Dominic. He was used to children being afraid of him and hating to be kept inside for recess or after school, especially when forced to do math.
"OK?" Mr. Flatten shouted. "OK? Right! Stay there!"
Suddenly, Mr. Flatten noticed Inga who was still standing near the desk, looking as if she was trying to protect Dominic.
"And you!"  he grinned maliciously at Inga.  "Where's your worksheet?"
Inga reached inside her desk, pulled out her folder and handed her worksheet to Mr. Flatten.  It was scrupulously neat, and about two thirds finished.  He inspected it quickly, then took it away and put it on his desk.  He seemed disappointed not to see "doodles" anywhere on it.
"You will stay inside and complete another worksheet too!"

Inga was genuinely annoyed, as she had wanted to escape from the oppressive, stuffy classroom. However, she suddenly realized that this meant two good things: Not having to find a group of friends to hang out with during recess, and getting to stay with Dominic and perhaps talking to him and finding out more about him.  She found this to be more appealing.  However, she knew better than to smile or look pleased.  She looked sorrowfully down at her feet and Mr. Flatten seemed satisfied.  He strode swiftly across to the teacher's desk and came back with two more math worksheets, which he placed firmly down with a flourish, in front of Inga and Dominic.

"Sit down, and get on with it - NOW!" Mr. Flatten commanded.
Inga obediently sat down as swiftly as she could.  Dominic got back into his chair awkwardly and hunched over the desk.
Mr. Flatten turned on his heel and pounded across the classroom. As he reached the door, he turned back to them.  "I want those worksheets finished by the end of recess! I will give each of you ZERO if they are not done!"
Then he disappeared out of the doorway, leaving Inga and Dominic alone in the room.

    * * * * * * *

As soon as he was gone, Inga breathed a huge sigh of relief and looked at Dominic.  He was scribbling away, filling in all the answers to the math questions again, swiftly going down the page.  Inga was amazed.  He either had a good memory for all his answers, or he was very quick at working them all out again.

"Hey!" she whispered, "Do you mind if I copy you?"  Inga could not remember all her answers and did not feel like working them all out again.
"OK," said Dominic.  He continued on, filling in the answers, his pencil flying across the page.  He did not lean back or push his paper nearer Inga, so she had to peer over his shoulder to see his answers.  His hand-writing was messy and his numbers slanted crookedly on the page, but he certainly seemed to know how to answer each math problem with little effort. Inga sighed, grateful to have a desk partner who was so clever at math.

"Wow.  You're really good at math," she told him, conversationally.
He didn't answer or even look at her.  This seemed strange.  Perhaps he was so absorbed in the worksheet, he didn't hear her.  She paused and said again, a little louder and clearer,
"You're really good at math!"
He stopped writing and turned his whole body to look at her, his pencil in mid-air.  Inga noticed he was actually looking over her shoulder, and remembered that he had done this earlier, when she had asked him to be quiet.  She turned round to see what was behind her.  Nothing of interest that she could tell.  After a second or two he said, looking around the room:
"Yeah. I know.  I'm very good at math."
He said it matter-of-factly, without any hint of boastfulness or sarcasm.  Inga laughed.
"And you're very good at drawing mazes too.  It's a real shame Mr. Flatten ripped them up. I thought they looked brilliant!"
Dominic frowned slightly, and looked straight ahead at the teacher's desk, where Mr. Flatten had been sitting.
"Yeah.  But it's OK.  My best mazes are at home. Mr. Flatten didn't rip those up.  The ones I drew today were all right, but I didn't have enough room to make them properly."

His voice sounded strange. He was talking too loudly again, as if she were the other side of the room.  And he talked stiffly and woodenly, as if he was reading his words out-loud from a difficult text.

"Well, I suppose you'd better not draw any more on there, anyway, "Inga said, pointing to Dominic's fresh worksheet, that he was nearly finished with.
"No," said Dominic.  He turned back and began writing again.  Inga did her best to keep up with him, copying his answers on her worksheet, as quickly and neatly as she could.  When she got near the end, to the answers she had not done before, she turned to Dominic again.
"Could you help me with these ones, please?   I don't understand what I'm supposed to do here."

Dominic stopped abruptly again, and turned to her.  He explained the method of the math questions as articulately as if he were a math teacher himself.  It sounded as if he were quoting from a math text book.  Inga was so impressed at his confidence and knowledge, that she forgot to take in the meaning of what he'd said.  She chuckled.
"I'm sorry, I didn't get all that.  Could you repeat it please?"
Dominic patiently repeated exactly what he had just been saying to her, word for word, without any hint of frustration.  Inga listened intently and weighed the words carefully until she was closer to understanding the problems.
"Thanks!"  she said admiringly.  She watched him complete the last few problems, and hurriedly finished them off herself, checking her answers with his.  Watching him work gave her the confidence to tackle the problems herself.  It was indeed going to be wonderful to have him beside her as a guide in mathematics.

   * * * * * *

They both finished before the end of recess.  Dominic put down his pencil and announced:
"Done!"
He then got up and started to climb out of his chair.
"Wait!" called Inga.  "I don't think we're allowed to leave!"
"But I've finished the work-sheet." said Dominic, looking puzzled.
"I know but...." Inga looked anxiously at the classroom door, half expecting Mr. Flatten to walk through again suddenly.

Technically, she thought Dominic was right.  He had finished the worksheet, so what was the harm in leaving the classroom, and catching the last few minutes of recess?  Had Mr. Flatten specifically said that they must stay inside the whole time, even if they finished, or not? But somehow, Inga felt that Mr. Flatten would not like them to leave. He had probably not expected them to finish at all.  She had a feeling he would punish them again for leaving, despite having finished their work.

She didn't want Dominic to leave her alone, nor did she feel brave enough to risk leaving herself.
"Don't go!" she begged. Then she had an idea. She pulled out a blank piece of paper from her home folder, and put it on the desk infront of Dominic.
"Draw me another maze!" she said. "Please?"  She smiled up at Dominic.
His face changed from bewilderment to renewed interest at the sight of the blank paper.
"OK" he said pleasantly. It wasn't that he was deciding to stay to please her, but clearly was tempted by the idea of drawing more mazes, and having an eager audience to watch.
He sat down again.

Inga watched in fascination as Dominic began drawing long, convoluted lines, going back and forth across the page, becoming more and more dense, winding around and around.  He was clearly in his element now, and his body seemed more relaxed. He had stopped the nervous fidgeting and grunting, although now he began nodding his head continuously, and clenching and unclenching his left fist.  These looked more like excited, happy movements. Inga mused over this odd boy, who seemed so intelligent and capable, especially at math, yet who seemed so awkward, stiff and strange. She realized she liked him, and felt drawn to him.  She also realized that he would be a real misfit with the other children, as she herself was, (only he would probably be worse), and she felt a desire to protect him.

When he had finished the maze, he pushed it towards her. Without a word, he picked up his pencil and thrust it in her hand. Rather surprised, Inga took the pencil and stared down at the maze.
"Where do I start?" she asked, genuinely baffled.
Dominic pointed to the tiny gap at the bottom, which Inga then noticed was only one of two openings in the maze.  The other was near the top.
"What do I have to do? Get to the middle, or find my way out at the top?"
"Find my way out at the top." said Dominic, parroting her words exactly.  Inga noticed he hadn't changed "my" to "your".
She hesitantly began drawing a faint line with the pencil along the path of the maze.  After many dead ends and wrong turns, she eventually found her way out.
"That was hard!" she exclaimed and smiled at Dominic.
He shook his head. "No. Not hard enough.  You found the exit, " he said in a flat tone, as if puzzled.
"Well!" Inga laughed.  "I guess I was just smart enough to figure it out - but it took me a while!"
"Yeah. You must be good at mazes too." Dominic said, as if relieved to discover that his maze hadn't really failed after all.
"I guess.  I never really thought about it before."
"I do mazes a lot." Dominic told her, as if she wouldn't have known.
"Yeah.  Obviously!" Inga laughed again.  "Can I keep this one?  Please?"
"OK," said Dominic. "I'll have to make another one for you.  Harder next time."
"All right!  You're on!" Inga smiled broadly.

           * * * * * *