The Smell of Rebellion

Chapter Nine

As soon as the lunch bell rang, Lavender took Matilda's hand and the two racing down the halls, avoiding crashing into the older pupils. After all, a pair of Year Ones crashing into people wouldn't set a good example. Or reputation.

They reached the canteen, panting, and Lavender tugged at Matilda's blazer to get her moving.

Dismissed late, most of the kids were already seated and eating. The two stumble-walked into line, where they waited around for a few minutes.

The lunch lady, old and wrinkled, gave them a hard, long stare with cloudy, weathered green eyes. It lingered on them for a few uncomfortable seconds before she dug her rice-scoop (or whatever it was called, Matilda didn't eat rice much at home) and dumped some slop onto their trays. Then, she added some watery peas with some random, mystery chunks, before throwing in some fake-looking vegetables before shooing them away. It looked very unappetising.

Matilda and Lavender exchanged a disgusted glance as they headed back to their tables. Amanda, although she had been thrown a few days before, was earnestly chattering with her friends, her luscious blonde hair let down and resting on her shoulders instead of in pigtails. Bruce sat next to her, digging into the "food".

Matilda followed Lavender to the table, setting her tray down and getting ready to sit when Miss Honey motioned for her and said urgently, "Matilda."

She mumbled an apology to Lavender before scurrying over to Miss Honey and standing in front of her with widened eyes. Curtiosity shone from them, her brows creasing together slightly as she looked up at her. A fair bit of anxiety pushed through her, but she kept it all inside of her head.

Miss Honey seemed a little nervous, too, her eyes darting around the canteen before saying tentatively, "I believe your mind is extraordinary," the excitement that filled her voice both puzzled and invigorated Matilda, "so I'm taking things into my own hands."

Matilda stayed quiet, trusting her teacher to say the full and honest truth to her.

"Starting tomorrow, I'm going to bring in a selection of very clever books. You can sit and read them while I teach the others, and," she paused, seemingly still nervous, "if you have any questions, well..." Miss Honey laughed, before saying, "I shall do my best to answer them." She straightened and tried to put on a sort of business face that could only melt into a warm smile.

Her anxiety, cold and heavy, had melted into a light, curious sort of feeling. It was warm, it felt soft, and it was a good sort of fizzing, like the fizzing whoever she was telling a story to Mrs. Phelps or getting lost in a good book.

Miss Honey offered a half-shrug, seemingly unaware of the effect her words had made on Matilda, as she asked, "How does that sound?"

No words could truly describe Matilda's gratitude, or her sheer joy. She looked up at her, scanning her face to make sure it was all real, and that it wasn't a dream. Without a word, she ran forward and hugged her tightly. Miss Honey laughed, chucking lightly as she tentatively touched her arms and said in a soft voice, "Matilda, that is the biggest hug in the world."

Matilda could hear her voice waver, maybe in tears, and she hugged her tighter.

"You're going to hug all the air out of me," She stated, but the teacher didn't sound angry.

Miss Honey had just begun to hug her back when the loud voice of the Trunchbull sounded on the PA-system. It startled Matilda, her face flushing red as she stepped back, her hands shaking and flinging back as if slingshotted.

"What a touching little scene." Miss Trunchbull stood on top of the balcony overseeing the canteen, holding the PA speaker in her left hand. She clipped it on her breast pocket before she began marching down the stairs. "Move," She barked to the students around her, and they began pushing the tables out of the way and scrambling out of her marching path.