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

to think about how the generous school prize would be used. I have been suffering terribly having to eat these awful school lunches and the money will be used to create a staff dining room with a private chef. It’s not easy for us, having to deal with all this stress ,” he said, looking over at Chris. “The remainder of the prize will go a long way toward refurbishing my office. It is, after all, the most important room in the school.”
    “Yes, well, wouldn’t you like to hear which student was accepted?”
    “Of course, of course,” said Mr. Tuckdown, distracted, wondering where his new leather chaise longue would look best. He nodded over by the far bookshelves and then turned back to Sir Bentley and Miss Sonata. “Yes, so who is it? Emma Becksdale? Anthea Sylvester? Lucas Longley? It’s Lucas, isn’t it?” he said eagerly.
    “Actually, no,” replied Miss Sonata. “The pupil accepted into Myers Holt Academy is Christopher Lane.”
    The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to Christopher, standing at the wall and clearly as much in shock as Mrs. Tanner and Mr. Tuckdown.
    “Congratulations, Christopher,” said Sir Bentley, smiling.
    Chris’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.
    “But . . . ,” said Mr. Tuckdown, beads of perspiration beginning to form, “but there must be a mistake. This boy is—”
    “Stupid?” interrupted Sir Bentley. “Useless? Good-for-nothing? It may surprise you to know that Christopher’s results were outstanding.”
    “Outstanding?” interrupted Mr. Tuckdown. “If the boy is outstanding at anything, it’s cheating. You might want to check those—”
    “Uh, hmmm,” coughed Mrs. Tanner. “Mr. Tuckdown, perhaps we should remember the benefits of Chris being accepted?”
    “Benefits? Oh . . . benefits ,” said Mr. Tuckdown, suddenly remembering the chaise longue and the chef. He thought for a moment and came to a decision.
    “Well, then, so be it. Take the stupid boy. He’s notwanted here anyway,” said Mr. Tuckdown, and picked up another soggy biscuit.
    “Yes . . . about that,” said Sir Bentley, standing up. Mr. Tuckdown looked up suspiciously and raised the biscuit to his mouth.
    “We couldn’t help but overhear your earlier conversation with Christopher, which ended with you quite clearly expelling him. Regretfully, as he is no longer of this school, Black Marsh will no longer be eligible to receive the prize.”
    Mr. Tuckdown froze, biscuit poised at his open mouth. His eyes widened in shock, and then he leaped out of his chair, knocking it to the ground behind him.
    “B-b-b-b-but—but—,” he spluttered, but Sir Bentley paid him no heed.
    “Christopher, would you care to follow us out? Good day, Mr. Tuckdown,” said Sir Bentley without looking at the headmaster, who was at this point leaning on the desk, taking frantic deep breaths.
    Chris looked over at Miss Sonata, who grinned and waved him over. He looked over at Mr. Tuckdown and Mrs. Tanner and smiled.
    “Yes, good day to you both!” he said, and walked out of the room for the last time.

• CHAPTER EIGHT •

    “Well, that was a rather unexpected turn of events,” said Sir Bentley to nobody in particular as they walked down the headmaster’s corridor. Chris, who was still reeling from the news, said nothing. Never in his whole life, he thought, had he been chosen for anything. Well, not anything good. It was a strange feeling, a mixture of pride and worry: worry that at any moment now Sir Bentley and Miss Sonata were going to realize they’d made a terrible mistake. He looked over at Miss Sonata.
    “Are you . . . sure?” he asked.
    “Sure about what, Christopher?” she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.
    “Well . . . about me. Are you sure you meant to say my name?”
    Miss Sonata laughed. “One hundred percent. Now, Christopher, will you please not worry about anything and enjoy the moment?”
    Relieved, Chris smiled. “Okay.”
    “Good! Let’s get