Autumn Leaves

Chapter 1

Dedicated to Valerie Hume and Isla Rose.

Copyright (c) 2013 - All rights reserved by the author.

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       "If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts everyday, every week every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until it gets so ugly you can hardly bear to look at it."

                                                                         - The Twits, Roald Dahl

 "Wasting no time, she began climbing the cliff face as onlookers cheered her on. Then a noise started and became louder and louder. She couldn't recognise it. It sounded like-"

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE-

       I rolled over and shut off my alarm. Sitting up slowly, I rubbed my eyes and groaned, thinking of what a great dream I had been having before I had to wake up for yet another year of dreary school days. I sighed at the thought, gave up, and collapsed back into bed.

       "Emma! Get out of bed you're going to be late for school!" my mum shouted up at me.

       My eyes flew open and I glanced at the clock, jumping out of bed as I did so.

       How on earth did twenty minutes pass without me realising it?

       I threw open my wardrobe doors, grabbed my school uniform and flung it on me as quickly as possible.

       Then I realised that I still had my pyjamas on underneath, and I almost screamed with frustration. I took off my uniform and my pyjamas and put my uniform back on as quickly as I possibly could.

       I lept down the stairs and stepped on a Lego my little brother left on the bottom step.

       "Aah!" I yelled, holding my foot as I hobbled to the kitchen table. I grabbed a piece of toast, forced on my shoes, and with a 'Bye Mum!' I was out of the door like a shot.

       I ran out and careered straight into another person.

       "Hey!" the voice said, "Watch where you're going - oh, hey Emma."

       I turned my head to the side to meet a pair of startlingly blue eyes.

       "Hey Michael!" I replied, grinning widely, ignoring the light fluttering in my stomach.

       Michael was my best friend from the birth and also my neighbour, which was good. We knew practically everything about each other.

       It was the little things about him that I liked, like how he got really worked up when he was talking about something he believed in, or how his eyes would crinkle up every time he smiled.

        I heard a rumbling noise that interrupted my thoughts and realised the bus had arrived at the stop.

       "Better run. We don't want to be late unlike last time..."

       Michael raised his eyebrows and looked mock-sternly at me.

       I flushed and replied, "That wasn't my fault! You... also..." I faltered under his gaze and relented.

       "Alright, fine! It was all my fault." I grumbled.

       Last term, I had been demonstrating a hand shadow my brother had taught me the previous night to Michael, and caused us to miss the bus. We caught the next bus thirty minutes later, which made us late enough anyway. We ran into school at full speed and forgot to sign the late book in the reception. We ran back, puffing for breath and signed our names under the glare of the receptionist.

       If that wasn't bad enough, we walked into the wrong classroom - one where a GCSE mock examination was taking place.

       Needless to say, we both got detentions for a month.

       "You're just lucky we're both star students," Michael said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

        I looked flatly at him.

       "Michael, I do believe there's this thing called modesty," I said, putting on my snobbiest voice, "It is a rather useful tool to stop one's head blowing up from one's inflated ego, like yourself as a prime example." I ended, with my nose in the air and my lip curled over dramatically.

       "Get on," he laughed, shaking his head.

       The bus journey took around twenty minutes, just enough time to do some last minute revision for the inevitable biology test in first period.

       We got off the bus as the bell rung.

       Michael and I glanced at each other and knew what to do - run, as fast as our legs could carry us. Our form tutor, Mrs Brace, was an annoying old hag who gave out detentions like a Cadbury factory gave out chocolates. In other words, whenever possible. She always seemed to find some sort of reason to give you one.

       We reached the classroom five seconds before she walked in, while we were busy pretending to organise our seemingly endless amount of books.

       She shuffled in, looking at us down her nose. The class fell quiet instantly and became sombre - a stark contrast to the voracious behaviour they had only moments ago.

       "Well, I would say welcome back, but you're not, so I see no point in saying so," she drawled in her horribly nasal voice.

       I rolled my eyes and waited as she took her seat, which made a squealing noise as if saying 'Help me!'

       She took the register and said everyone's name in a snide tone with a look of contempt on her face.

       She reminded me of Mrs Twit, only fatter and meaner.

       Thankfully, the bell rang and we all walked out of the door to biology.

       The lessons went by with a breeze. As we walked out of the classroom in fifth period, a poster caught my eye.

       "Emma, look!" I heard Michael say.

       I followed his finger and realised that he had been looking at the same thing that I had seen.

       The poster for the talent show.

       "You should really take part! I know you'd win," he smiled at me.

       I frowned and shook my head slightly.

       "What would I do?" I asked him, "And besides, I would come last, not first. "

       "You could sing and play your guitar!" he replied, ignoring my last comment.

       "Yeah, okay, but which song?"

       Michael scrunched up his nose, looking thoughtful. Then, his face cleared and a soft smile fell over his features.

       "What about Autumn Leaves, by Ed Sheeran?" he offered quietly. "I know it was her favourite song."

       I stood still in silence, recognising the ache in my heart again.

       I would do it for her. She deserved that much at least.

       So I signed up, and on the way home, it was all I could think about.

       I would win this for her. I would not give up. I would not fail her again.

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RIP Mrs Valerie Hume, the best history teacher who ever lived. You will never be forgotten.