I’m really looking forward to meeting Noon McFarland because her name is a palindrome like mine but is extra cool because if you write it in capital letters, NOON, it reads EXACTLY the same upside down AND refers to time. She was taught at home with a governess, which is like a tutor who comes to your house and is very strict. She’s 16 but Mrs C Eckler said she might seem younger than 16-year-olds nowadays because she hasn’t been allowed out very much. And because she won’t be used to things like hairdryers and mobile phones we have to help her adapt.
I can’t wait to meet GMT because she goes to Home School, which means her parents teach her at home, and comes from 1968, so she may have met Bob Beamon at the 1968 Olympic Games in Mexico City. But if she’s travelling from February 1968 the Olympics wouldn’t have started yet. The 1968 Olympics were held in October because it’s so hot in Mexico people would have died of heatstroke if they’d held them in August. But it was high altitude, so runners were flopping down like limp lettuce. There wasn’t enough oxygen.
I’ll be sharing a chalet with Noon and GMT and Ama. Mrs C Eckler says they mixed the ages so some of the older ones can mentor the younger ones, except Noon, who might need mentoring herself. GMT is also 16 and Ama is 14, which is good because I find it easier to talk to people older or a lot younger than me. Big Ben’s the main person my age I speak to. Ama goes to the Music, Maths and Movement School. In 2048, children go to schools depending on what they’re good at. The E-College-E pupils are good at biology and geography and conflict resolution.
I’m excited to meet all these new people but scared because I haven’t met them before. Mrs C Eckler showed us everyone’s photos so I know what they look like. I always remember what I see. Noon has short blonde hair in a bob and big starey eyes; GMT has tanned skin and long black straggly hair that looks like she never combs it; and Ama has a huge ginger afro and a gap in the middle of her teeth. Ama’s going to be my mentor for the week. Big Ben has to share with Jake and two other boys he doesn’t know. He doesn’t like meeting new people and he finds boys harder to talk to than girls. But he liked looking at the photos of the boys and he’s excited about the trip. One of them’s called Martin Aston, which is Aston Martin the other way round. I hope he’s into cars.
I like looking at the list and imagining what the other girls will be like and then I remember I’m going to be excluded and will never meet them anyway. I’ve never been excluded before but I’ve had several red cards and been sent to the Head Teacher lots. I don’t know why they use red cards because school isn’t a football match, it’s learning. When it’s meltdown, and I go from 0 to 10, the last thing I need is a red card. They should give me a white card. A white card would calm me down but a red card makes me dizzy and scared.
The last time I went to the Head was when I hid under the table during maths because Joanne Fletcher was sitting in my seat and told me to get over it, and Mrs Grayling grabbed me by the hands to pull me back to my seat so I could finish my algebra and I wanted to hit her but couldn’t because I’d get excluded if I hit a teacher so I started to scream until they had to get Mrs C Eckler to calm me down.
I’m thinking this when the knocking on the door gets much louder, like the person is angry. Why doesn’t Mrs Leggett open it? Who could be visiting at this time of day? Maybe someone has come to see Grandma. I remember the phone rang several times this morning and I didn’t answer it. My mobile buzzed and I ignored it in case it was another Predictive.
I think about ignoring the door but Grandma shouts from the bedroom.
‘Elle, answer the door. Answer it-o! I’m expecting the Pastor.’
The Pastor sometimes comes to pray over Grandma’s leg to make the pain go away. But it may not be the Pastor. It could be the Leap Police, who’ve come to arrest me for my illegal leap.
‘Elle, rise from this your table before my ears bust. Please, I beg!’
Even if it’s the Police I have to go downstairs and answer the door. But it isn’t the Police with steel handcuffs, or the Pastor smelling of palm oil. It’s Mrs C Eckler.
‘Can I come in, Elle?’ she says. I don’t know why she’s asking, as she’s already walking up the stairs and entering our flat. I close the door and take a deep breath.
Either she’s come to exclude me for running out of class without time-out permission or for running away from her car. Time-out permission is when I’m allowed to leave class to do running round the track. I couldn’t ask for time-out permission yesterday because my voice stopped working and my legs wanted to run home rather than round the track but I ended up leaping instead. I hope she doesn’t know about THAT.
She’s looking around the room and I feel ashamed of the damp patch that grows mushrooms on the wall behind the television. The mushrooms are grey and look like ears you’ve scrunched up in your hands. I don’t know what kind of mushrooms they are, but I bet they have a long name in Latin and if you eat them you’ll die. Even though I cut them down and scrub the patch every Saturday, they never really go away. Mrs C Eckler is turning her head, looking like she’s lost something.
‘Is your grandmother here?’
I point towards the bedroom door and, at the same time, Grandma says, ‘Elle, who is here?’
I open the bedroom door and Mrs C Eckler follows me into the bedroom. I’m not happy. No one gave her permission to enter the bedroom. Does she think she owns the flat? But Grandma is sitting up in bed, now wearing her yellow-and-blue fish headtie and smiling.
‘Mrs Eckler, you are welcome. Please. Take a seat.’
Grandma missed out the C but I don’t think Mrs C Eckler is offended. No one knows what the C stands for. Some people think it’s Carol but I have a better idea. I think it stands for 100 because C is 100 in Roman numerals.
I don’t know why Grandma is pleased to see Mrs C Eckler. I’m about to be excluded from Intercalary International. Grandma extends her hand to Mrs C Eckler and says, ‘I am very pleased with the progress Elle is making in her PPF.’
I’m a Level 4, which is almost the equivalent of GCSE level, exceptional for a Seventh Year. I’m pleased Grandma is pleased, but I don’t think she knows what PPF really is. Grandma never learnt to read and write. Even though she can’t read herself