Flyaway Read Online Free Page B

where Saskia and I buy gummi bears. I glance back to the sky. Saskia's migrating too, sort of. Though I don't know when she'll be coming back.
    Mum stops near the bus stop and Jack's out of the car really quickly. He runs to catch up with Crowy and Rav who are already at the school gates. I crane my neck to catch a glimpse of Crowy but he's got his back to me and I can only see his school jumper and longish hair. Mum turns around in her seat, waits for my kiss on her cheek.
    â€˜You'll be all right without Sas,’ she says. ‘You'll make new friends, you'll see.’
    But I'm not so sure.
    Art is first and there's an empty seat next to me where Saskia would have sat. Usually I love Art because it's the only lesson I'm actually pretty good at, but without Saskia here it's different somehow. The boys at the back stare at me when I come in, and Mrs Diver gives me a small, sympathetic smile. I stretch out my stuff and sketchpad over the table so no one else will sit next to me.
    â€˜We're going to keep focusing on our all-important observation skills,’ Mrs Diver says.
    She places bits of fruit on everyone's desk, and we all groan. We already did Still Life last year.
    â€˜These skills will help us when it comes to your major projects for the term,’ she continues, ‘which will be to do with movement and flying.’
    I glance up at her then, and she places a wrinkly-looking apple on my desk.
    â€˜What's an apple got to do with flying?’ I murmur.
    â€˜Remember, a solid base in observation always helps you in design.’ She winks at me, then goes back to the pencil-sketched picture of Leonardo da Vinci that's always hanging up behind her desk. ‘Remember Leo?’ she says. ‘The greatest artist that ever lived? He did thousands of 2D designs before he ever attempted to make models. We'll find out about some of these sketches in our next lesson.’ She looks fondly at his old, wrinkly face, as if she were looking at a poster of her dad rather than someone she'd never met.
    I go back to my apple. It has a soft, brown bruise and a hole where a worm's eaten into it. It smells sweet and rotten, and it's the last thing I want to look at for the rest of the lesson. I sketch it out really quickly.
    â€˜Try and make your picture come alive, as 3D as you can . . .’ Mrs Diver is waffling on and on, waving her arms about like she does when she gets excited.
    I turn towards the window. The rain is still so heavy, and the sky is grey as concrete. I wonder where the swans go in weather like this. I think of them huddling together, heads tucked back into their feathers. I wonder if the rain's been too heavy for Dad to drive to the surgery.
    I hear the boys at the back laughing as they talk to the new girl, Sophie. I think they're teasing her about her accent, saying something about didgeridoos and Neighbours . I suppose I should invite her to sit next to me and give her a breakfrom them. But I don't. I don't want anyone to sit there, not yet. No one apart from Saskia. It seems wrong to have a new girl in our class already, someone to replace her. I fold my arms on the table and rest my head down onto them, and listen to the pattering of the rain against the windows. It sounds a bit like swans taking off from a lake, their webbed feet smacking against the water.

CHAPTER 7
    D ad's in and out of the doctor's surgery for most of the week, getting tests done and finding out what's wrong. He pulls me aside on Saturday morning, right after I've stuck bread in the toaster.
    But instead of telling me if he's sick, he says, ‘Let's go to the reserve today. Find the swans, and take some photographs.’
    â€˜Why photographs?’
    He flashes a piece of paper at me which I have to grab from him to read. It's some official-looking letter he's typed out.
    â€˜I've written to the council,’ he explains. ‘Told them what happened with the swans and the power lines. Now we just