Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope by Anne Plichota and Cendrine Wolf Page B

although no one knew why. Then, after this frosty inspection, he turned his back on them and began writing the day’s instructions on the board. Suddenly the heavy silence was broken by the clatter of a pencil falling onto the floor. Dr McGraw froze. Without even looking round, he snapped: “Miss Beck! Do you need help controlling your unusually lively pencil this morning or do you think you can manage unaided?”
    “Sorry, sir,” mumbled poor Zelda, bending down to pick up her pencil. A few of the students exchanged surprised looks. Others nervously lowered their heads. Oksa gave Zelda a little smile to cheer her up and the girl tossed back her long chestnut hair and gave her a despairing look in return, her large brown eyes misting over.
    “Take out your notebooks,” ordered their teacher, “and copy down this exercise.”
    Still facing the board, he went on writing. Two minutes later he broke off again. He turned round to glare at Zelda, who’d been so flustered that she’d accidentally let her bag slip off the back of her chair.
    “Since you’re determined to go on disrupting my lesson, Miss Beck, allow me to disrupt your timetable by giving you two hours’ detention.”
    “But, sir, I didn’t do it on purpose!” said Zelda, tears in her eyes.
    “Oh please! Don’t think you can get round me by whining and turning on the waterworks—that kind of soft behaviour just leaves me cold.”
    “Naturally…” murmured Oksa.
    Dr McGraw turned to her.
    “Does Miss Pollock have something she’d like to share with us?”
    Startled, Oksa paused, then took a deep breath and said bravely:
    “I just think two hours’ detention for a bag falling on the floor is a bit harsh.”
    There was a long, uncomfortable silence before their teacher replied, during which all the students sat very still.
    “Miss Pollock, thank you for your heroic speech, but I can do without your opinion,” he said curtly. “Those two hours’ detention are well deserved and it isn’t your place to question them. Now shall we continue with the lesson? This interruption has gone on far too long.”
    He turned round and continued writing on the board with barely suppressed irritation.
    “
Really, he’s going too far
,” thought Oksa. She felt angry and frustrated at this glacial man’s severity. And to think she had the means to make himpay… she could make the board fall on his head or send all the pages of the book on his desk flying—she had no end of choice. The idea soon became irresistible. A few seconds later, the felt-tip that their teacher was holding literally flew out of his hand and hit the ceiling before tumbling to the ground. Was it by accident or design? Whatever the case, the sharp little noise made by the falling pen was bound to irritate Dr McGraw. Everyone held their breath. Exultantly, Oksa squirmed on her chair, making the four metal legs screech against the polished wood floor. Gus glanced at her in alarm, just as their teacher stiffened dangerously. Then a guttural, frightening roar erupted.
    “MISS POLLOCK!”
    Oksa’s heart looped the loop in her chest. Dr McGraw still had his back to the class, but no one needed to see his face to know that he was really furious.
    “Miss Pollock!” he thundered. “Get out of this classroom
now
!”
    Oksa’s smile vanished and she looked panic-stricken. Her blood ran cold and her ears felt blocked by mounting pressure. All the students looked at her in surprise. None of them knew why their teacher was picking on her. Trying not to show her growing distress, she proudly strutted out of the classroom without a glance at the terrible Dr McGraw, who impassively watched her leave.

    Once outside, though, her bravado disappeared. She was both furious and frightened at being sent out. She wandered along the corridor for a moment, looking into classrooms through the windows occupying the upper half of the walls. Dr McGraw had sent her out, but she didn’t know where to go. Just