Free The Ability (Ability, The) by M.M. Vaughan

starting to lose patience.
    “Why don’t you just expel me?” he asked, finally.
    Mr. Tuckdown stopped in his tracks and turned to face Chris.
    “Why don’t we? Well, I can tell you now that it’s not through any lack of wanting to. Unfortunately, it’s not that easy to do these days,” he said, almost sadly. Then he sighed and started pacing again, and with it Chris knew that another lecture was about to begin.
    “You are a stupid, stupid boy, Christopher. A useless, scruffy, good-for-nothing boy who steals and lies and fights. A sneaky little thief who keeps interrupting my tea breaks. A man can’t work without his tea breaks, do you understand? ”
    “He said stuff about my dad!” shouted Chris, his usual self-restraint finally broken after the events of the day.
    Mr. Tuckdown took a deep breath and held it until he started to turn red, and finally he exploded.
    “How dare you shout at me! It’s not my problem if your dad died in a war we can hardly remember now, it’s not my problem if your mother can’t pull herself together, it’s not my problem that you can’t take a joke with your classmates, and yet, and yet , you insist on making it my problem. Well, to hell with the rules,” he said to Mrs. Tanner. “We’ll just say that he attacked a teacher.” He turned to face Chris.
    “Christopher Lane . . . you are expelled!” he shouted, and slammed his hand on the table. The sheer weight behind it caused the desk to shake, and his now-cold cup of tea toppled over onto his desk and over the plate of biscuits.
    “Bravo!” said Mrs. Tanner rapturously, clapping her bony, wrinkly hands in delight.
    Mr. Tuckdown smiled and took a soggy biscuit from his desk.
    There was a knock on the door, and Mr. Tuckdown stopped mid-bite.
    “Yes?”
    “I beg your pardon, Mr. Tuckdown, but we have Sir Bentley and Miss Sonata from Myers Holt here to see you. They’ve been waiting a while, and”—Margaret lowered her voice theatrically—“I think they can hear everything you’re saying.”
    “Oh, right, um, well . . . yes, well. Hmmmm. Best let them in.” He turned to face Chris. “Get out, Christopher, and don’t bother ever coming back.”
    Chris didn’t need to be asked twice. He stood up, and—shoulders hunched, head down—he walked over toward the door.
    “Christopher!”
    Chris looked up and saw Miss Sonata standing before him, and an older, suited gentleman by her side.
    “Hi, Miss Sonata,” said Chris, turning red. He wondered exactly how much of the conversation she had already heard.
    “Mr. Tuckdown, there’s no need for the boy to leave—we won’t take up much of your time,” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder and turning him back into the room.
    Chris was about to protest, but Miss Sonata and the man had already walked past him. Chris wondered whether he should just leave anyway and then decided he didn’t want to make a scene in front of Miss Sonata. He looked over at Mr. Tuckdown, who shot him a glowering look before turningto his guests and replacing the frown with a large smile.
    “Sir Bentley, Miss Sonata, how wonderful to see you!” sang Mr. Tuckdown, hand outstretched.
    Sir Bentley shook his hand coldly, followed by Miss Sonata.
    “Please, please, take a seat,” said Mr. Tuckdown, pointing to the two empty chairs beside Mrs. Tanner. “Biscuit?” he asked, offering them a plate of biscuits swimming in cold tea.
    Sir Bentley and Miss Sonata both shook their heads.
    “Mr. Tuckdown, we’d like to just get straight to business,” said Sir Bentley.
    “Of course, of course,” said Mr. Tuckdown, shuffling into his seat. “I assume this must be good news?”
    “Well, yes, we rather think so,” said Sir Bentley without expression. “You’ll be pleased to know that someone here has been selected for entry into the Myers Holt Academy this year.”
    “Wonderful!” said Mr. Tuckdown, rubbing his hands greedily. “We dared not hope, but I must admit I did start