Darwen Arkwright and the School of Shadows by A. J. Hartley Read Free Book Online Page B

range.”
    â€œIt’s not a freak show, O’Connor,” remarked Nathan Cloten. “We’re supposed to be impressing our families with all the skills we’ve learned so they’ll keep paying Hillside’s ridiculous fees, not make them run screaming for the exits.”
    â€œI don’t know, Nate,” said Chip Whittley. “The school could probably raise a pot of money just putting her in a tent and charging admission. What do you suppose people will think she is?”
    â€œYeah,” said Barry “Usually” Fails, “some kind of mutant thing from the planet of the . . .
things
.”
    â€œReal witty, Barry,” Alex shot back. “I assume there’ll be a lack-of-talent gala as well, in which you three will be headlining. What will you be doing? Juggling with one ball, perhaps, or counting to ten with your hands in your pockets? Since y’all have the mental agility of mountain goats, you could demonstrate reading without moving your lips, but we’ve only got a few weeks to prepare, so we shouldn’t be too ambitious.”
    Barry, who apparently hadn’t heard anything after “mountain goats,” was now stalking about with his arms spread like a tightrope walker.
    â€œShe said
mental
agility, Usually,” said Nathan lazily.
    â€œWho’s mental?” snarled Barry, dropping the high-wire routine and giving Alex a menacing glare.
    â€œCome on,” said Darwen, leading Alex away.
    â€œWhat
are
we going to do?” asked Rich as they moved off down the hallway, leaving Barry, Chip, and Nathan snickering behind them.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” asked Darwen.
    â€œThe principal said
everyone
had to participate in the gala; weren’t you listening?”
    â€œApparently not,” Darwen admitted. He had spent the whole assembly thinking about what they might find at Mr. Peregrine’s address.
    â€œYes,” said Mr. Sumners, the math teacher, who happened to be passing. “I couldn’t help wondering what your dazzling contribution would be, Arkwright. I assume you have a talent of some sort, yes?”
    â€œSir, I don’t know, sir,” Darwen muttered, avoiding the teacher’s smug gaze as he had done so many times before.
    â€œOh, yes,” said Mr. Sumners, swaggering cheerily away. “This year’s show will certainly be worth the price of admission.”
    â€œMaybe I could do a lecture on science or archaeology,” Rich said, a slightly panicked look on his face.
    â€œI suppose,” said Darwen. “But what am I going to do? Apart from being a mirroculist, I’m rubbish at everything.”
    â€œNo, you’re not,” said Rich.
    â€œYeah?” said Darwen. “What else am I good at?”
    â€œYou’re a decent soccer player,” said Rich.
    â€œNot really,” said Darwen. “Not like dazzle-the-parents-with-my-ball-juggling-skills kind of good.”
    â€œThen you could . . .” Rich tried.
    â€œWhat?” Darwen pressed.
    For a moment Rich just stood there, thinking furiously, but in the end he just gave a defeated shrug.
    â€œExactly,” said Darwen. “Give me portals to Silbrica to open, or I’m chuffin’ useless.” He felt his stomach clench because if Lightborne was right, he wouldn’t be doing that much longer either.
    His gaze slid through the window to the central quadrangle, where the grass was partly covered by a scaffold erected against the clock tower, which was to be home to the new stained glass window. Darwen suspected it would represent something impressive and inspiring—or what Hillside thought was inspiring anyway, like the cringe-worthy statue of “Learning” in the entrance lobby—and it would probably make Darwen feel more than ever that he didn’t belong. He was starting to feel that Alex was right: they had real work in Silbrica to do. Being trapped