Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope Read Online Free Page A

hard that she almost dislocated the joints.
    The alphabet was completely mixed up in her head, she was hearing names all over the place. She even thought that the letter P had already been read out.
    “Prollock, Oksa,” said the Headmaster finally, looking around for her in the courtyard.
    Dr McGraw leant over to murmur something in his ear.
    The Headmaster began again:
    “Sorry… Pollock! Pollock, Oksa, please,” he announced, placing a great deal of emphasis on the
Po
.
    This time Oksa’s heart exploded into a thousand sparks. She managed to splutter “Here”, then, feeling weak with relief, she rushed over to join Gus, darting a joyful look at her parents.
    “St Proximus, here we come.”

    Following Dr McGraw into one of the school’s lofty corridors, the students in Hydrogen walked along with upturned faces and eyes wide with amazement. “Wow,” murmured Oksa, “this place is unreal!”
    Housed in a former seventeenth-century monastery, the school had a highly distinctive atmosphere. The stately entrance hall was adorned with faded coats of arms engraved with Latin inscriptions which Oksa had difficulty deciphering. There were classrooms all along the cloister and on the two arcaded floors giving on to the courtyard. The slender granite colonnades had been preserved, as had the stained-glass arched windows, which gave the daylight a colourful, opaque quality.
    “You said it,” agreed Gus in a low voice. “And look! They’re keeping a close eye on us.” He glanced up to point out the many statues lining the high passageways. The students had the strange, unsettling sensation of being unable to escape from their fierce, unwavering vigilance.
    “No talking, please!” ordered Dr McGraw sternly. “Do we have some volunteers for an hour’s detention on the very first day?”
    Their enthusiasm dampened, the class walked upstairs and entered a bright room with anatomical charts on the walls. The double desks were made of dark wood and smelt of polish.
    “Sit down!” shouted Dr McGraw imperiously.
    “Wherever we like, sir?” asked a student.
    “Wherever you like. As long as it’s within these four walls, obviously,” replied their teacher sarcastically. “You can leave your things at the foot of your desks for now. Later, I’ll show you the lockers where you can keep anything you might find useful: snacks, sports gear, books, lucky charms, comforters, etc.,” he added with a little sardonic laugh. “We’ll be spending the morning together, and I’ll explain school procedures and tell you about your timetable and your teachers. I’m Dr McGraw; I’ll be taking you for maths and physical sciences, and I’ll also be your form teacher. But let me make it quite clear that I haven’t got any time for childish nonsense. You’re no longer in Year 7; you have to take responsibility for who you are and what you do. I’m only prepared to listen to you if you have something valid and important to say, do you understand? I expect you to be highly disciplined and to work as hard as you can. Neither I nor this school will tolerate laziness or mediocrity. You’re only allowed to be mediocre if that’s the very best you can do. Your pinnacle of achievement, your finest effort. We expect you to do your best and nothing less. Understand?”
    A polite murmur ran through the class. Sitting beside Gus, Oksa made herself as small as possible. She desperately hoped that she never had to ask Dr McGraw for anything. If she had a problem, she’d find someone else to give her some advice. At that precise moment she wasn’t feeling too good, partly because of Dr McGraw’s speech, which made her feel uncomfortably pressurized. But it wasn’t just that she was overawed. That man was really making her feel ill.
    “Now I’ve introduced myself, it’s your turn,” he continued in an icy tone, more likely to encourage them to run for the hills than have a cosy little chat. “Tell us briefly who you are, what