The Magic Factory

He grinned to indicate that he’d made a joke. The side of the receptionist’s lip twitched up, just barely, into an expression that might have resembled amusement. Realizing there was nothing more to be said between them, and sensing that the receptionist would very much like him to leave, Oliver backed out of the room, clutching his folder.

Once in the corridor, he opened it up and began to study the map, searching for the English room and his first class. It was on the third floor, so Oliver headed in the direction of the staircase.

Here, the jostling kids seemed to be even more jostly. Oliver found himself swept up into a sea of bodies, being pushed up the staircase with the crowd rather than of his own volition. He had to fight his way through the swarm to get out at the third floor.

He popped out onto the third-floor corridor, panting. That was not an experience he was looking forward to repeating several times a day!

Using his map to guide him, Oliver soon found the English classroom. He peered through the little square window in the door. It was already half full of students. He felt his stomach swirl with anguish at the thought of meeting new people, of being seen and judged and evaluated. He pushed down the door handle and walked inside.

He was right to be scared, of course. He’d done this enough times to know that everyone would look over, curious about the new kid. Oliver had felt this sensation now more times than he cared to remember. He tried not to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Who are you?” a gruff voice said.

Oliver swirled to see the teacher, an old man with shockingly white hair, looking up at him from his desk.

“I’m Oliver. Oliver Blue. I’m new here.”

The teacher frowned. His beady eyes were black and suspicious. He regarded Oliver for an uncomfortably long time. Of course, this just added to Oliver’s stress, because now even more of his classmates were paying attention to him, and still more were streaming in through the door. A greater and greater audience watched him with curiosity, like he was some kind of spectacle at the circus.

“Didn’t know I was getting another one,” the teacher said, finally, with an air of disdain. “Would’ve been nice to have been informed.” He sighed wearily, reminding Oliver of his father. “Take a seat then. I suppose.”

Oliver hurried to a spare seat, feeling everyone’s eyes following him. He tried to make himself as small as possible, as unobservable as possible. But of course he stood out like a sore thumb no matter how much he tried to hide. He was the new kid, after all.

With all the seats now filled, the teacher began his class.

“We’re carrying on with where we left off last class,” he said. “About grammar rules. Can someone please explain to Oscar what we were talking about?”

Everyone started to laugh at his mistake.

Oliver felt his throat get tighter. “Um, sorry to interrupt, but my name is Oliver, not Oscar”

The teacher’s expression turned instantly cross. Oliver knew immediately that he wasn’t the kind of man who appreciated being corrected.

“When you’ve lived sixty-six years with a name like Mr. Portendorfer,” the teacher said, glowering, “you get over people pronouncing your name wrong. Profendoffer. Portenworten. I’ve heard it all. So I suggest you, Oscar, ought to be less concerned about the correct pronunciation of your name!”

Oliver raised his eyebrows, stunned into silence. Even the rest of his classmates seemed shocked by the outburst, because they weren’t even tittering with laughter. Mr. Portendorfer’s reaction was over the top by anyone’s standards, and for it to be directed at a new kid made it even worse. From the grumpy receptionist to the volatile English teacher, Oliver wondered if there was even a single nice person in this whole school!

Mr. Portendorfer began droning on about pronouns. Oliver hunkered down even further in his seat, feeling tense and unhappy. Luckily Mr. Portendorfer didn’t pick on him anymore, but when the bell rang an hour later, his chastisement was still ringing in Oliver’s ears.

Oliver trudged through the halls in search of his math classroom. When he found it, he made sure to beeline straight for the back row. If Mr. Portendorfer didn’t know he had a new student, maybe the math teacher wouldn’t either. Perhaps he could be invisible for the next hour.

To Oliver’s relief it worked. He sat, silent and anonymous, throughout the whole class, like an algebra-obsessed ghost. But even that didn’t feel like the best solution to his problems, Oliver thought. Being unnoticed was just as bad as being publicly humiliated. It made him feel insignificant.

The bell rang again. It was lunch, so Oliver followed his map down to the hall. If the playground had been intimidating it was nothing compared to the lunchroom. Here, the kids were like wild animals. Their raucous voices echoed off the walls, making the noise even more unbearable. Oliver bowed his head and hurried toward the queue.

Smack. Suddenly, he slammed into a large, foreboding body. Slowly, Oliver raised his gaze.

To his surprise, it was Chris’s face he was staring into. On either side of him, in a sort of arrow formation, were three boys and one girl all scowling the same scowl. Cronies was the word that sprang to Oliver’s mind.

“You’ve made friends already?” Oliver said, trying not to sound surprised.

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Not all of us are antisocial loser freaks,” he said.

Oliver realized then that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant interaction with his brother. But then, it never was.

Chris looked over at his new cronies. “This is my pipsqueak brother, Oliver,” he announced. Then he let out a belly laugh. “He sleeps in the alcove.”

His new bully friends started to laugh too.

“He’s available for swirlies, wedgies, headlocks, and my personal favorite,” Chris continued. He grabbed Oliver, and pressed his knuckles into his head. “Noogies.”

Oliver wriggled and thrashed in Chris’s grasp. Locked in the horrible, painful headlock, Oliver remembered his powers from yesterday, the moment he’d broken the table leg and sent potatoes into Chris’s lap. If he only knew how he’d summoned those powers he could do it now and break free. But he had no idea how he’d done it. All he’d done was visualize in his mind’s eye the table breaking, the plastic soldier flying through the air. Was that all it took? His imagination?

He attempted it now, picturing himself wrestling free from Chris. But it was no good. With Chris’s new friends all watching on, laughing with glee, he was just too tuned into the reality of his humiliation to shift his mind to his imagination.

Finally, Chris let him go. Oliver staggered back, rubbing his sore head. He patted down his hair, which had become frizzy with static. But more than the humiliation of Chris’s bullying, Oliver felt the sting of disappointment from failing to summon his powers. Maybe the whole kitchen table thing was just a coincidence. Maybe he didn’t have any special powers at all.

The girl who was hovering next to Chris’s shoulder spoke up. “Can’t wait to get to know you better, Oliver.” She said it in a menacing voice that Oliver could tell meant quite the opposite.

He’d been worried about bullies. Of course he should have anticipated the worst bully of all would be his brother.

Oliver shoved his way past Chris and his new friends and headed for the lunch queue. With a sad sigh, he grabbed a cheese sandwich from the fridge and headed, heavy-hearted, to the restroom. The toilet cubicle was the only place he felt safe.

*

Oliver’s next lesson after lunch was science. He wandered the corridors looking for the correct room, his stomach churning with the certainty that it would be just as bad as his first two classes.

When he found the classroom he knocked against the window. The teacher was younger than he’d been anticipating. Science teachers, in his experience, tended to be old and somewhat strange, but Ms. Belfry looked completely sane. She had long, straight, mousy brown hair, which was almost the same color as her cotton dress and cardigan. She turned at the sound of his knock and smiled, showing dimples on both cheeks, and beckoned him in. He opened the door timidly.

“Hello,” Ms. Belfry said, smiling. “Are you Oliver?”

Oliver nodded. Even though he was the first one there, he felt suddenly very shy. At least this teacher seemed to be expecting him. That was a relief.

“I’m so pleased to meet you,” Ms. Belfry said, holding out a hand for him to shake.

It was all very formal and not at all what Oliver was expecting considering what he’d experienced of Campbell Junior High so far. But he took her hand and shook. She had very warm skin and her friendly, respectful demeanor helped put him at ease.

“Did you get a chance to do any of the reading?” Ms. Belfry asked.

Oliver’s eyes widened and he felt a little hitch of panic in his chest. “I didn’t realize there was any reading.”

“It’s fine,” Ms. Belfry said reassuringly, smiling her kind smile. “Not to worry. We’re learning about scientists this term, and some important historical figures.” She pointed at a black-and-white portrait on the wall. “This is Charles Babbage, he invented the…”

“…calculator,” Oliver finished.

Ms. Belfry beamed and clapped her hands. “You already know?”

Oliver nodded. “Yes. And he’s also often credited as the father of the computer, since it was his designs that led to their invention.” He looked at the next picture on the wall. “And that’s James Watt,” he said. “The inventor of the steam engine.”