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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.

Despite the countless injuries I had gained over the years, blood and I had never been best friends. I would always look away when I cut my leg or if Michael had a nosebleed. It always made my stomach turn and knot together to the point that I wanted to vomit. Dad said it was strange, the fact that I always ended up in some form of trouble or a cut and would never be able to look at it.

Miss Jones took my hand, tilted it to the side and then let go. She stood up, walked to the sink and filled up the bowl of water before walking back with a cloth in hand. I watched her dip the cloth into the water and squeeze out any excess, but I looked away before she started wiping the cloth on my hand.

The cold water was cold against my skin and caused the cut on my hand to sting whenever it was touched. I flinched and tried to pull my hand out of Miss Jones' grip, but she only held on tighter to stop me moving.

"It's not too deep, but I'll put some antiseptic on it and a plaster. You'll need to keep it clean, so it doesn't get infected and watch yourself in sewing."

"It was an accident," I mumbled, even though I had a feeling that was far from the truth.

"No matter, you don't want to risk opening it back up again. Sit tight and I'll get the cream and a plaster."

I watched her drop the cloth into a bowl, the water having turned a light pink colour, and approach the cupboard near the door. She dug around inside and pulled out a small jar and a white bandage. Mum had applied an antiseptic to my cuts countless times in the past and I never got used to it. When I was younger, I used to scream the house down at the mention of having it smeared onto an injury.

"This is going to sting a little," Miss Jones said. She unscrewed the lid and put a small amount of cream on her fingers.

"You might want to lean back a little, I almost slapped my mum once when she put it on. "

"I'll be careful."

She smiled at me and I took a breath, bracing myself for the moment she put the cream on. I didn't even have to watch her do it. The moment the cream touched the cut on my hand, a stinging sensation travelled up my hand and I had to grip the end of my stool with my other hand to keep from punching Miss Jones. After several seconds, the stinging stopped, and I released the stool.

I turned back around and watched Miss Jones stick a plaster over the cut, pressing it down gently. She released my hand and I dropped it to my lap, glad I could finally look at it without wanting to puke. How I would manage to keep it clean if it started bleeding again was a mystery, but it was something I would have to figure out if it came up.

"If you have any troubles come back to me. I mean any redness, itchiness, swelling." She looked up at the clock. "The bell is going to ring in about five minutes so you're better off heading to your next lesson."

"I will. Thank you."

"Go on, off you go."

After swinging my bag onto my shoulder, I stood up from the stool and left Miss Jones to do whatever she did during the day. I left the infirmary, leaving the door partially open behind me. The soft hum of voices came from the sewing room as I walked past, peering through the gap in the door and spotting Miss Feldman peering over Victoria's shoulder and pointing to something on the tapestry.

Victoria had moved seats.

The seat I had vacated after my injury, she was sitting in and I was shocked to see that I had been sitting next to Dorothy the entire lesson. I had been so wrapped up in putting my anger into stabbing the embroidery hoop that I didn't notice she had taken the seat beside me. It must have been her that bumped into my leg and caused me to cut my hand and I had the sneaking suspicion that Victoria may have been behind it.

I just wanted her to leave me alone. She said she was doing it all to get rid of me because she didn't think I belonged at Maddox, but it seemed so extreme for something so minor. I wondered if there was something under the surface, something she hadn't mentioned before.

I moved my bag further up my shoulder and walked down the end of the hall, slipping through the door and around the main staircase. The clock in the entrance ticked loudly as I climbed the stairs and started down the hall to the history classroom.

"What are you doing out of class, Miss Grieves?" Mrs Maddox said as I turned to walk down the hall. I turned to face her.

"I cut my hand, so I went to the infirmary. Miss Jones said I should go to my next lesson since the bell was about to go," I said.

"You have a knack for getting yourself into trouble it seems." I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. My intention had never been to get into any form of trouble, but Mrs Maddox seemed to be making an assumption about me. She wouldn't be the last.

"It's been said before, Ma'am."

"I don't doubt that it has." She paused. "I have had a couple of reports from your teachers. Specifically, Mrs Clarington and Miss Collins who have both reported strange behaviour from you. They have both noted a sense of agitation and overall unsettledness in you. Both have mentioned you tapping and just looking a little unsettled and oftentimes distracted. Care to explain?"

"My attention span is quite small, Ma'am. I get distracted easily and have picked up some rather annoying habits over the years to keep myself entertained. That and with the examinations coming up, I have a lot going through my mind and that tends to make me a little more restless than usual. I'll try to get it under control."

I didn't want to tell her the truth. That my agitation came from the meeting in her office just a few days prior. She already saw me as a troublemaker, I didn't know what telling her the truth would mean.

"Perhaps spending a few lessons a week with the fifth years may help. It'll be challenging work and should help to keep your attention. You may need to find another outlet for your energy, it may start to disturb the other girls if it hasn't already."

"I will, Mrs Maddox." I felt a weight almost be lifted off my shoulder when she suggested I spend time in the fifth-year classes. I wouldn't have to see Victoria for a couple of classes.

"Good. I shall have a word with your teachers about moving you to some fifth-year classes. The bell is about to ring. Go on, to your next lesson."

She motioned me down the hall to history before stepping into her office and disappearing behind the closed door just before the bell rang to signal the end of the lesson. I made my way down the hall to the class and stood outside, listening to the fifth years gathering up their things and leaving the room. Katie and Jo were talking so intently – again – that neither of them noticed me leaning against the wall. I was almost glad they didn't see me.

I liked the idea of being in the fifth-year classes a few times a week, especially if the work would be a little harder and it could keep my focus a little more. However, I couldn't think of a way to control the rest of the energy and thoughts that zipped through my head. I had always thought that running would be that outlet, but even that had started to falter. I needed something new.

Dad had once suggested using notebooks. A way of writing everything down first thing in the morning or whenever it was necessary. He had been the one to suggest I use a rough sheet during my examinations, a place to dump all the useless information and narrow down what I really needed. Perhaps that would be a way of dealing with it all, except I would use far too many notebooks and couldn't afford to replace them.

If Victoria had never succeeded in her plan to get me into trouble, in managing to convince the rest of my classmates to turn me in then this never would have happened. Her manipulation of every situation possible had led to me getting in trouble with Mrs Maddox and it had been getting into trouble that created the unstoppable thoughts. She had been the cause of it all.

"Girls! You may come on," Miss Collins said from inside the classroom. I stepped into the room. "What happened to your, Felicity?"

"Oh, I cut it in sewing. It'll be fine in a few days."

"Sewing is dangerous." She smiled.

"I keep saying that."

"Take your seats girls and we shall get on with the lesson. Today, we're looking back over the past month and I'll be telling you what may be coming up in your March examinations."

I stepped towards a seat on the second row, dropping my bag onto the floor and sliding into the seat. Victoria took the seat beside mine, slamming her book onto her desk, causing me to jump slightly.

"You should watch yourself, Felicity. You're quite clumsy sometimes," she said.

She smiled at me and raised an eyebrow. Her smile was sinister, and I didn't want to know what she had planned.

~~~

First Published - July 9th, 2020

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