{ELEMENTISTS OF WILLOW FOREST BOOK V} The Journey Across Water

I Hate the Sea

18: I Hate the Sea

I probably would have gotten away with nicking all the stuff, if I'd been careful. In a place where there's heaps and heaps of stuff, a bit more stuff doesn't make much difference.

However, the next day, when the stupid tutor was fiddling around with coffee beans or something, I flumphed (it's not a word? Well, it should be) down on the sofa, took out one of my (three!!!!!!!!!!!!!) brand new iPads, and started playing Cut the Rope.

When the tutor finally walked over to me, steaming cup of coffee in hand, she frowned. "Where'd you get that?"

I quickly pressed the power button and shoved it in my jacket. "Where did I get what?"

"That iPad." She gestured to the rectangular bulge. "I'm not blind."

Good. "The phone shop in town." I said. "Well, I didn't get it, technically, because I'm not allowed to leave this stupid building because of all the stupid, um, I mean lovely, people like you, but that's where it's from."

She tried a different approach. "How did you get it?"

Crud. "Everyone chipped in." I forced a smile. "Isn't it nice? All my friends felt sorry for me that I couldn't get Instagram, so they all put in a bit of change and bought me an iPad for a surprise."

The tutor wasn't convinced. "You don't have any friends here."

I flushed angrily. "How do you think you know that?"

"I've been talking to Kevin."

Oh... right. I'd forgotten about how much she'd been chatting/joking/spending quality time upstairs with one of the care workers.

Just then, all the kids from the floor above, who had only really just woken up, ran downstairs screaming and wailing about fireballs and burnt electronics and zombie apocalypses and bad Wi-Fi.

Funnily, my name came up.

The tutor glared at me.

I jumped to my feet. "Wasn't me."

Which probably wasn't the cleverest thing to say.

*

So,

My mother was dead, and as far as I was concerned, my father and brother had never existed (I suppose the authorities had banned me from having contact with them, so they were as good non-existent). My grandmother was dead, my grandfather was long since dead, and I had been officially rejected by six children's homes.

Everyone was sort of running out of places in the country to put me.

I was expensive, too. The tutor, the psychology tests... none of them came cheap.

And then, a certain name 'Romane' came up. Apparently I still had a close living relative they could dump me on. And even better, she was in France, so they wouldn't even have to have me in the country!

"Yippee!" Went all the authorities. "We can ship her out (literally) to her aunt in France, and never have to worry about her again! It's like Christmas!"

So, before long, I was sitting with a suitcase in the rubbish back-middle seat of a car, with Sam the Social Worker sitting at the front, idly tapping the steering wheel, waiting for something.

"So," he said, "Are you excited about moving to France and meeting your Auntie Romane?"

"Not really." I said. "I've met her before."