Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1 by Sue Nicholls (primary phonics .txt) 📕

Anwen ventured into the dining hall and soon found herself stumped by the contactless payment system. A supervisor gave her credit on the understanding that her guardian, Cerys, paid for the lunch that evening online and added a surplus for Anwen to spend during the week ahead. Anwen donated a thumb print for access to the system.

She had overcome her first obstacle, and with an orange juice and a chicken mayonnaise sandwich on her tray, she sat at the first available table among a crowd of year eight boys. They were too busy larking about to pay her any attention, and she swallowed her food into a knotted stomach.

A familiar voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘All on yer own?’ The boy from earlier grinned down at her, and her heart lifted at his friendly face.

She wanted to hug this kindly boy but instead aimed an enormous beam at him and said, ‘Hi. I didn’t see you in my class this morning.’

‘Different house then.’

The crowd of younger boys took their noisy leave, and the goth parked himself beside Anwen. He offered the open top of his crisp packet to her, and she inserted cautious fingers, examining a golden disk before taking a bite. Her face screwed up. ‘It’s sour.’

‘Never ‘ad salt and vinegar before?’ The boy’s brows pulled together.

‘No. Never. I’ve seen them, but my Mam and Dad wouldn’t have let me.’

‘Yer always do what they say then?’

‘I don’t live there anymore. I live with my sister.’ Anwen fiddled with her cuff.

The boy shrugged, palmed half a dozen crisps into his mouth and crunched on them. ‘What’s yer name then?’ he said, displaying yellow teeth, coated in a sticky mess of food.

She told him.

He swallowed the crisps and took a gulp of water. ‘Charlie.’ He nodded his introduction. ‘Yer talk funny. Where yer from?’

‘North Wales.’ Anwen grinned at him and wagged her head. ‘You talk funny too. Where are you from?’ Charlie waved a crisp over his shoulder towards the school entrance. ‘Out the gates, turn left and keep on walking. Soon as you see the wall with the graffiti, turn right and that’s my street. Elm Road.’ He shoved in another handful of crisps.

‘Does it have trees?’

‘Nah. Dog shit and rubbish is all. Why?’

‘Well. With a name like that. Why call it Elm Road with no Elms?’

‘That a tree, then? I never knew.’

‘So, we’re quits. I taught you about a tree, and you taught me about crisps.’

Across the room, a posse of girls, led by Daisy, left their places and crowded around Anwen and Charlie. ‘Found a friend then?’ Daisy looked down at the two, her knuckles resting on her hips. The four damsels behind her shrieked with laughter, and all five sat down opposite Anwen and Charlie. Their breath smelt of chips and something fruity and unpleasant. Anwen pulled away.

‘So, what bands do you like?’ Daisy demanded with a smirk.

‘I haven’t heard any. Paul, my sister’s fiancé, likes The Blues Brothers. There’s music in that. It’s OK.’

‘The Blues Brothers. Who the fuck are they?’

Anwen decided that silence was best. Charlie came to her rescue. ‘We was just talking about Taylor Swift, wasn’t we?’ He nudged Anwen.

‘Yes. I like him.’

There were more raucous yells. ‘She’s a girl, you idiot. Where have you been?’

Anwen resisted the temptation to tell them, instead lifting her head higher and demanding, ‘Who do you like then?’

‘None of your business little Welsh girl.’ The girls danced off, shrieking with mirth, and Anwen sighed.

‘Where have yer been all these years?’ Charlie squinted at Anwen through his fringe, and the kindness in his voice forced a tear.

‘Maybe I’ll tell you one day Charlie, but I can’t talk about it yet.’

The boy nodded his head twice. ‘Stuff happens - I know that.’

The afternoon passed in a muddle of new teachers and incomprehensible lessons on subjects she did not understand. Throughout it all, with Daisy and her cronies in mind, Anwen held her chin up.

The route to her locker from their final class took Anwen past a pair of obscured glass doors. She pushed them open a crack and found the school library - something to investigate tomorrow if she could find it again. It might be the answer to more than one of her problems.

~~~

The library door moved in a smooth arc, and Anwen stepped inside. As it cruised back into place, the room cushioned her in comforting silence.

To her left, several study tables bore computers with mouse mats that carried the school name and badge. Beyond the tables was a long counter where two women sat stamping books and chatting in subdued voices. Low, upholstered chairs and a table took up a corner on her right, and facing her, ranks of shelves bore more books than she had ever seen. She lifted her eyes to a mezzanine - the reference library according to a sign.

Anwen knew about libraries from reports in the newspapers that after being read by her father, were screwed into balls for window cleaning or folded into complicated plaits to form kindling. While supposedly carrying out these chores, she discovered an article saying the government could no longer fund all libraries, and that the nearest one to her home in Wales was under threat of closure. In an accompanying image, a group of demonstrators waved banners outside its imposing wooden doors, petitioning to keep it open.

One of the librarians at the desk glanced up at her, then fell back to her task. More confident and with a rising sense of excitement, Anwen began to explore the almost deserted space. Empty because her fellow students would be eating lunch or sitting outside on walls and benches in the weak sunshine. She ran her fingers over the serried spines, taking in authors and titles. Harry Potter, and