Alice and the Fly by James Rice Read Free Book Online

I didn’t smile back at you at the time, imaginarily or realitarily, it didn’t really matter, because even through my sickness and my shaking and my headaches and my chattering teeth I kept smiling for the next three days.

24/11
    Miss Hayes has a new theory. She thinks I’m not reading enough. Today she brought in two handle-stretched Waitrose bags bulging with books. It was hard work heaving them to the bus stop and the bus was so packed with rush-hour commuters I ended up having no place to store them but on my seat, which meant I had nowhere to sit but on top of them, which is why I may have seemed taller today.
    Miss Hayes thinks reading will help me interact with my peers. If I made more of an effort to fit in then maybe I could make some friends. If I had some friends maybe I could stop thinking about Them so much. I did have a friend once, back in St Peter’s. His name was Andrew Wilt. I used to stay in the classroom at lunch and play chess with him. Everyone else was out playing football but he had to stay inside because he had leukaemia and his body was weak. He was a bastard. He used to jab me with a pencil and call me Freak Boy. I guess he had the right to be a bastard, what with the leukaemia, but he’d always sharpen the pencil before he jabbed me and once the tip broke off and stayed in my hand, a little grey freckle I have to this day. The teachers thought I was very noble to stay with Andrew at lunch but he said I was just a freak with no choice. He always went on about how bad I was at chess. Then, when no one was looking, he’d jab me. In year six Andrew Wilt finally died of leukaemia and from then on I sat alone at lunch and played chess on my own. I actually preferred it that way.
    I didn’t tell Miss Hayes any of this. She was sitting there smiling, just waiting for me to talk, but I didn’t know where to begin. She asked if I’d written anything in my journal this week and I nodded. She grinned and leant forwards, so far I could see the white of her bra. She asked if it had worked, if I felt any different. I wanted to say yes, especially with Miss Hayes literally perched on the edge of her seat like that, but I couldn’t think of any effect it had had on me (except for cramping my hand a little) and I didn’t want to lie, so I just shook my head and watched Miss Hayes’ smile disappear, watched that frown crawl back as she slouched into her seat again. She tapped her pencil against her lips.
    She said these things take time. She said I need to be more honest in my writing. She said: ‘Remember, nobody will read it.’ I promise that I’m being as honest as possible. I’m writing as much as I can but it’s hard when you don’t know what to write. I never know if I’m writing the right thing.
    That’s when Miss Hayes went out for the books. She had to go to her car to get them and when she got back her hair had frizzed in the rain. Her blouse was stuck to her chest and I could see her bra without her even having to bend over. I tried not to stare. I could feel this pressure, building inside me. My head ached. I was scratching my arm. She put the pencil to her lips again. I tried to concentrate on the books, tried to read the titles, but I couldn’t seem to focus.
    Miss Hayes said I was very lucky to have someone lend me all these books. She said that when she was my age she was good at English too and if her English teacher had given her time and encouragement and a big pile of books like this she would have found her calling earlier on in life. She said books can save people. She said books can change the world. I can’t really see how a book could change the world – nobody even reads them any more. Everyone in class talks about music and TV, not books.
    Miss Hayes said it was Mr Cullman who introduced her to books. She said that Cullman may teach Geography but his real passion is literature. He has a library in his house. She said she’s only marrying him for his library and