Maddox Academy: Grievous Beginnings - Wattys 2022 Shortlister

Chapter Thirteen - Sewing Can be Dangerous

The next week passed in a blur.

Mrs Maddox's warning stayed at the forefront of my mind and I just went through the usual motions without registering what was happening around me. I found myself tapping on my desk or my bag whenever the opportunity presented itself and I couldn't remember what I full night's sleep felt like. My mind was running faster than ever before and not even a morning run could soothe it. It felt as though my brain was working against me.

It hadn't gone unnoticed. Both Mrs Clarington and Miss Collins had pulled me after the lessons to mention the constant tapping on my desk or the scribbling on a spare sheet of paper I had found in my back. I had pushed it off, put it down to homesickness and promised them I would telephone home when I got the chance. Although it had been a little while since I had phoned home, I knew it wouldn't solve the problem; it would only make it worse.

Katie had tried to get me to talk about it, to sit down with her and Jo and just talk about what Mrs Maddox had said in her office. I refused to even mention it. I had never been all that good about talking through my emotions or feelings with anyone. Instead, I put all my attention into my schoolwork and project. That was my outlet for my emotions, a place to put them without having to use my words.

Strangely enough, my favourite lesson had become sewing. It turned out that stabbing a needle and thread through some cloth was rather therapeutic.

Miss Feldman paced around the room, peering over everyone's shoulder and watching what they were doing. She had yet to trust me to go anywhere near the tapestry – not that I blamed her – so whilst the other girls stitched images onto the main cloth, I worked on a small embroidery hoop. I traced the lines on the cloth, stabbing the needle through the cloth.

"Good work, Victoria," Miss Feldman said across from me. I looked up only briefly and ended up catching Victoria's eye. She grinned at me.

I looked down at my work as Miss Feldman walked the table. After threading the needle through the cloth one last time, I tied off the end to stop the thread from coming unravelled. That had been a mistake I made before. I took a pair of scissors off the table as Miss Feldman passed by to examine my work from behind me. Before I could cut the thread, something knocked against my side causing the scissors to slip and slice across my left hand instead.

A trail of blood dribbled down my hand and a string of profanities came from my mouth.

"Felicity! We do not use language like that here," Miss Feldman said.

"Sorry. I cut my hand and 'whoopsie' doesn't really cover it." I pulled a handkerchief from my bag and pressed it against the cut before I got blood all over my uniform.

"Take yourself down to the infirmary." She paused. "And try not to bleed all over the tapestry."

Miss Feldman could not have been any less bothered as I swung my bag onto my shoulder, pushed my chair out and stepped into the hall. I could have cut my thumb off and she would have told me to not bleed on the tapestry. She cared about its competition then she did us – or just me.

The infirmary door was propped open as I walked a little further down the hallway, pushing the door open with my foot. Miss Jones' head shot up from her desk, most likely having heard the sound of the door hinges squeal when I opened the door. She looked at me and raised an eyebrow. I doubt she expected to see me back in the infirmary after my little swim.

"What happened to you?"

"I cut my hand in sewing. Miss Feldman doesn't want me to bleed all over the tapestry, so here I am." I shrugged.

"Let's have a look. Come here."

She waved me over to a stool and I took a seat, swinging my bag onto the floor and holding out my hand. Miss Jones pulled a chair up beside me and removed the handkerchief from my hand. The underside had been stained red and small beads of blood still came from the cut across the back of my hand. I wasn't sure if it was the blood that made it look bad or the pain, but one look at it and I felt like I was going to puke.