Bloom. Nicola Skinner
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I’ll tell you what you wouldn’t have done. You wouldn’t have said: ‘Hold on a minute while I run a little background check on you.’ You wouldn’t have said: ‘Have you got an up-to-date licence to practise the dark art of wish fulfilment?’
You’d have rubbed your hands together and asked: ‘When?’
You know it, and I know it. So don’t talk to me about throwing things away.
My mind spun. Could these strange old seeds be the answer to my prayers? If they would give me what I truly needed, perhaps I needed to pay them a bit more respect. I saw myself striding into the hall, Mr Grittysnit beaming at me in a way he never did in real life, a big fat Grittysnit Star certificate in one hand, plane tickets to Portugal in the other.
BANG!
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something loud and heavy slamming on to the floor.
‘It’s only a book. It fell off that bookshelf,’ Neena said, picking it up.
My heart thudded. It wasn’t only a book. It was The Terrible Sad History of Little Cherrybliss. And the regulation grey jacket I’d put on carefully just minutes before had fallen off.
As if the book didn’t want to be covered up.
‘Sorrel?’ said Neena.
‘Yeah?’ I gasped, with great effort.
‘Your fingers are going mental.’
She was right. My fingers moved and danced in the air in front of us, as if they were playing a tune on an invisible piano. Almost as if they were speaking to me – and I knew what they wanted.
My fingers want to sow.
They wanted to sprinkle and scatter and shower and shake over. They wanted to dash and drop and dust and drip and dance and dribble. They wanted to send off and send loose and send flying. And they really, really wanted to sprinkle those seeds.
A fully formed thought bubbled up inside my brain as if somebody had planted it there. The Surprising Seeds did not want to be sealed up any longer. They wanted to get out into the world.
And I would be the one to set them free.
The shrill school bell ripped through the air and my fingers stopped twitching.
Hesitantly, I picked up the packet of Surprising Seeds, but it was cold to the touch once more. I stuffed it into my rucksack and exhaled deeply, my head throbbing.
‘Where did you say those seeds came from?’ asked Neena, her eyes shining.
I forced out a weak grin. ‘Our patio.’ My thoughts raced over each other desperately, like busy little worker ants late for their first shift.
I got up shakily and pulled Neena to her feet, a plan forming in my head. ‘I’m coming round after school, aren’t I?’
She nodded. ‘What do you fancy doing?’
‘I’ve got an idea. It’s a bit … weird.’
Neena grinned. ‘I love it already.’
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