Free Cartwheeling in Thunderstorms by Katherine Rundell Page A

governors!
    And she saw that the whole thing was like that. Across the paper, exclamation marks abounded, like a rash. The girls tidying their comfortable, cozy rooms! Tidy rooms, tidy minds! And We work hard, and we play hard: Leewood girls busy with a board game!
    Other than that, there was very little writing; the presence of the girls seemed to have crowded all the text into the bottom of the final page. Will read it quickly, scowling in concentration, gulping it in. It left an unpleasant taste in her mouth.
    â€œSi, listen to this. ‘The small size of Leewood School ensures that the best students are selected and the best care is given. Our girls become accomplished and successful citizens, prepared to reach fulfillment in all areas of later life.’ What does that mean ? And here. ‘The school system aims to deal with both inter- and intrapersonal relations. It promotes good manners, academic excellence, and, above all, personal authenticity.’ ”
    Will stared at the paper, her forehead folding in on itself.
    â€œIs that English ? Si, I—I have no idea what they’re talking about. I don’t think . . . It doesn’t sound very . . . happy.”
    Simon put a finger on a picture of a girl with long plaits.
    â€œWatch out for this one, hey. She turned too quickly, she could have your eye out with those things.”
    In silence, they looked down at Will’s wet hair. It was thick and very tangled, especially at the back, where Cynthia said it was getting really shocking, Wilhelmina . It had never been cut. They looked dubiously at the plaits. There seemed very little to say.
    Simon flicked his forefinger at the photograph, at the dark-haired girl, again, with her hand high in the air. He grinned. “Oh, sha .” “ Sha ” meant something like, “Oh, dear. Oh, bother,” but larger. It meant, “There aren’t words.”
    â€œI don’t think there’s words for this one. Ja .” He sucked in his breath. “Words’d be defeated before they began.”
    Will nodded. “Defeated,” that was the word. She brushed the rain from her face. I will not be like that, she thought. Will caught at the thought and gripped it hard, compressed it into three words, and wrote them behind her eyes with an imaginary pencil. I will not .
    She said, “I’ll come back, ja .” And Simon said, “Of course,” but too quickly. She could tell when he was being polite. Neither saw a way.
    â€œWhen I know how bad it is—”
    â€œ If , Will. It might be okay, hey. Sha , Will—don’t decide to hate it already.”
    Will shook her head. “ When I know how bad it is—because you’re not going to be there, are you?”
    He punched her arm—not softly. “No, hey, it might still be okay. You’re not psychic. You can’t know till you get there.”
    Will frowned, and then smiled a little, and kicked him. He stepped on her toe. She elbowed his ribs, but gently. He pushed her softly into a puddle. But Will couldn’t find the will to fight properly. They were just going through the motions. She said again, “When I know, I’ll work out a way to get out. I’ll come back. They can’t stop me, ja . They can’t tie me to the bed with horse rope.”
    â€œYou hope.”
    â€œ Ja! And even if they did, I’ll take a knife.”
    That was an extra thing to add to the list of things to do before she left—thin out Shumba’s tail, weed the giant thistles out of the flame lily bed, force the captain to smile, find a knife, make a plan.
    Simon turned the prospectus over. “So, this is what real girls are like?”
    Will tried to smile up at him. “What does that make me, hey? Some kind of root vegetable?”
    â€œNo.” said Simon. “You’re Will.”
    Will flushed. The paper of the prospectus was turning pulpy in the