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The Portkey

I wriggled and thrashed about in my bed, feeling beads of sweat gathering on my forehead. I hated this nightmare. It came every night when I closed my eyes. And it kept coming. I couldn’t stop it.

     “Sam! Sam! Wake up!” Suddenly I woke up to the sound of my mum screaming in my face.

     I sat up quickly in my bed, flinging the covers off to gulp some air.

     “Sam,” my mother’s face looked terrifying. “How many times do I have to tell you to wake up! You’re late for school! Seriously, every morning it seems to be getting worse! Does your alarm not work, or do you just forget to set it?” she stalked off, mumbling angrily to herself.

     It felt like it was a routine now. Having the dream; waking up late; mum yelling at me; waltzing into school and getting detention; and when my mother finds out about the detention: yells at me again. Having countless detentions doesn’t make any difference to me. They just go by like any other normal thing.

     I strolled casually into the kitchen, shirt untucked, tie loose, shoelaces untied, sat down, and downed the whole carton of orange juice. Mum, being mum, didn’t even take notice. She, being a single mother, having me for a son, is always busy and hardly blinks when I drop a china plate onto the floor, yet is shouting at me when it comes to school and detentions.

     “Bye, mum,” I called, and didn’t even wait for her reply when I shut the front door and walked to the bus stop, already forgetting the nightmare that came that night.

A

I swung the classroom door open, used to the stares that everyone gave me when I came in late, and lazily slumped into my usual English seat, dumping my bag onto the floor.

     Miss Graven didn’t even look up from her desk, just calmly said, “I see you’ll be joining me tonight after school for detention, Sam Edgeworth. Again.”

     Taking out my books and stationary, I replied, “Yup.”

     “Page 38 in your textbook, Mr Edgeworth. Read and answer the questions.”

     “Mhm.”

     There was a pause.

     “40 minutes, Sam.”

     I looked up from my textbook. “What?”

     When I saw her expression, I repeated, “What, Miss?”

     “You are 40 minutes late, Sam. Might I ask why do you seem to be coming in later and later into my morning lessons every day? Is something wrong at home? Or do you simply forget to set your alarm for school?”

     This wasn’t normal. She never asked me what was wrong, just let me get on with work. I felt the others listening. I felt the tension.

     “No.” And that was it. I wasn’t about to give away anything else.

     Miss Graven nodded, clearly understanding that I didn’t want to say no more.

     I returned to the work, only to hear a moment later, “And Luke Jenkins, please spit out that gum this instant. This is a warning.”

     Luke rolled his eyes, sighed and reluctantly got up and spat his gum into the bin. He sat back down, not even looking at his books. Instead, he silently whipped out his phone and started texting someone. I smirked, doodling on the edge of my paper.

     Minutes later, as expected, I heard, “Mr Jenkins, I’d put that phone down too if I were you, because you’ve just earned yourself a detention after school with Sam.”

     At that moment, the bell rang, and I started putting my stuff back into my bag.

     “Half an hour after school. Both of you. In here. And don’t you forget it.”

     I looked at Luke, and Luke looked at me, and we both smiled. At least we had company.

     And, boy, would we need it.

To be continued.