Scarlett - Cathy Cassidy [29]
Dad grins. ‘In the school of life, there are no holidays,’ he says.
Next morning, I load my fluffy rucksack with apples, fairy cakes, pencils and sketchbook, along with a striped picnic blanket.
‘I’m going down to the lough to start my project,’ I tell Dad and Clare. ‘OK? I’ll walk Holly to the bus.’
Dad looks like he is about to argue, but Clare chips in. ‘Give her some space,’ she says. ‘It’s what she needs.’
Dad takes a deep breath in. ‘Fine,’ he says. ‘Don’t go too far, now, Scarlett. And don’t be late.’
I open the door on to freedom.
‘Wish I could be home-schooled too,’ Holly sighs as we walk along the lane. ‘Fairy cakes and drawing all day long. You’re so lucky!’
‘Nah, it’s still school, isn’t it?’ I argue. ‘Boring!’
Unless Kian puts in an appearance, of course. Then things could get a whole lot more interesting.
‘I’m bad news,’ I tell Holly. ‘Wild, weird, unteachable! That’s what Miss Madden thinks.’
‘No,’ Holly corrects me. ‘You’re cool. I want to be just like you.’
‘Yeah, well, you’re nuts,’ I laugh.
The red-and-white school bus looms up amongst the fuchsia hedges. ‘Don’t say bad stuff about yourself,’ Holly tells me seriously. ‘I think you’re great.’
‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ I say as she climbs up on to the bus. ‘Just don’t tell anyone I said so.’
The bus trundles off with Holly waving and pulling tongues from the back seat, and I walk on down the lane, duck into the quiet, green world of the woods and find the path to the lough. I want to stay a while, wrapped in silence, the way the trees and rocks and the ground beneath my feet are wrapped in moss and ivy and soft, green lichen.
I leave the woods and settle down beneath the hazel tree, spreading the striped picnic blanket across the grass. I open my sketchbook and draw a tall foxglove with furry leaves and purple, bell-shaped flowers up and down the stem. When you look inside, the petals are pale and speckled. I need paints or crayons to show it properly, but I make my pencil sketch as accurate as I can.
The sun is warm, and I close my eyes for a moment to soak up the heat. When I open them again, the lough seems dusted with silver. There’s a crunch of twigs just behind me, and rough, warm hands slide over my eyes, blotting out the light.
‘Guess who?’
My heart does some kind of double backflip. Kian.
‘Been watching you for a while,’ he says, lifting his hands away and flopping down beside me. I can’t help stealing a sneaky glance at him, and end up getting snagged by the blue-black eyes, the raggedy hair.
I let a few strands of ketchup-coloured hair fall across my face, hiding my smile. Midnight is drifting across the grass to my left, flicking his tail about in the sunshine.
‘So, you’re drawing plants?’ Kian asks. ‘What for?’
‘It’s a project I’m doing,’ I explain. ‘About Lough Choill – the woods and the lough and the hillside and the hazel tree. Not just drawings, but research, history, maps, everything.’
‘Nightmare,’ Kian says. ‘How can you put a place like Lough Choill on paper?’
‘I’m going to try’ I tell him. ‘Dad and Clare are trying this home-schooling thing. It’s got to be better than hanging out with a bunch of little kids, anyhow!’
‘Sure, but school is school,’ Kian argues, grabbing my hand and dragging me to my feet. ‘C’mon, let’s cut class! Live dangerously!’
I stuff my sketchbook into my backpack and abandon the striped blanket to scramble up beside Kian on Midnight’s back. The big black horse snorts and shakes his head, and then we’re off, galloping down the loughside, our hair streaming out behind us, hands woven tightly into Midnight’s mane.
It feels like I’ve never moved so fast, felt so happy. My face is stretched into a grin a mile wide as the air whooshes past, Kian’s arms are round me and all the time Midnight pounds along, his mane flying, his hooves thumping the grass, his black coat shining like silk.
By the time we come to a halt a while later, back beside the wishing tree, I feel so strong, so alive, I might as well have just flown to the moon and back.
‘That was amazing!