Mind Games Read Free Page B

know what she is even saying most of the time, I can’t help myself. I hope . That she’ll come back to me, be the woman who made up mad adventures with me as the hero; who taught me about the beauty of numbers, and made every day add up to magic. Who told me I must keep my secret, hold it close and dear like life itself.
    Who held me, night after night, after my mother died.
    She starts to tremble, and I sit up and pull her next to me, slip an arm over her shoulders. She is so small, so slight now. It is hard to know where the strength came from to grip my arms so tight that the imprint of her hands is still felt on my skin. Interesting hand-shaped bruises are probably on the way: that’ll give school idiots something else to laugh about.
    ‘Did you take your meds last night?’ I ask her, but she is gone again. To wherever she usually goes. She starts to hum, smiling, rocking back and forth to music only she can hear.
    ‘Come on, Nanna,’ I say, and stand, pull her to her feet, and lead her back to her room. I help her into bed, pull the covers up. Soon her eyes close; her breathing evens. I walk back across the room, then hesitate by the door controls.
    The doctor says we should keep it locked at night. That we should tell him if she has any more ‘episodes’. That he can increase her meds.
    The ones that make her hum and drift in her own world more and more, until she almost never comes out.
    Stuff the doctor.

4
    Today I feel conspicuous in jeans and a long-sleeved top that covers the bruises on my arms. The other girls are all in black skirts with outrageous animal-print tights and tops, and the boys are hunters, complete with fake bows and arrows. Some not-very-subtle Friday theme dreamed up this morning in Realtime? Though something is up. There is none of yesterday’s applause, and hostile glances are cast my way. I start to walk past them, and head for the stairs.
    ‘Heh, Lunatic. Wait,’ one of them says. I keep walking.
    ‘Luna?’ Another voice, one I know. Melrose. We were friends when we were younger, but not any more. Now she generally treats me like I’m contagious, like the rest of them do. As if crazy could be catchy. ‘Luna, please,’ she says.
    For some reason, some soft note in her voice, I stop. Mel is smiling. The others aren’t.
    ‘What do you want?’
    ‘Haven’t you checked the school feed?’
    I shrug. Not stating the obvious: Refusers don’t plug in before breakfast like the rest of them. ‘Why?’
    ‘The Test appointments are up today.’
    ‘So?’ I glare back at her, sure what is coming but even though I shouldn’t be, hurt that Mel would stoop to that, to mocking my failure in front of them all. Did Jezzie, the one smirking at her shoulder, put her up to it?
    ‘You’ve got one.’
    ‘What?’ Now my face is as shocked as the rest of them. ‘There must be some mistake.’
    ‘That’s for sure.’ Jezzie this time. ‘There’s no way a nutcase like you could possibly—’
    ‘That’s enough, Jezzamine,’ says a voice beyond the crowd. It parts to admit Mr Sampson, School Test Coordinator. ‘You have expressed an unsubstantiated opinion. You’d do well to remember to leave bias behind in the rationality quotient phase of the Test. If you make it that far. Now, everyone, get to class. Except you, Luna. Come with me.’
    He walks towards Goodwin’s office, and I follow. What is going on? My head is reeling. Has Goodwin found something even worse than the interesting classes she threatened me with? Has she somehow got me a Test appointment so I can fail in a public and spectacular way, be branded irrational and locked in a loony bin forever? No way . I can’t believe even Goodwin has that kind of power. This must be some kind of sick joke.
    I follow him to her office. He opens the door. Goodwin is there; a few other teachers. He points at a chair opposite the row of them, and as I sit in it the bell goes.
    Goodwin is less clown-like than expected. Her hair is