Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope (5 page)

“Oh no…” she groaned, covering her head with her pillow. Oksa had just woken up and the first thing she noticed was her little doll, which had been the biggest casualty of that strange night. It was missing an eye, its foam body was ripped open and, what was worse, its fire-red hair was now fire-damaged hair.

“What have I done? What have I done?! I burned my Poupette doll!” wailed Oksa, wringing her hands, knowing full well what had actually happened.

Because now she’d woken up, it was obvious she hadn’t dreamt it. This wasn’t a figment of her imagination or her mind playing tricks: something had really happened, something all too real. The poor balding, charred doll lay on the desk, her smile twisted by the melting plastic. Oksa gazed at her toy for ages, feeling terribly ashamed that it had met with such an unhappy end. Ashamed. Terrified. Excited. Filled with wonder. Mainly filled with wonder, if she were completely honest.

K
NOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

“Oksa, are you going to have breakfast with me?”

Oksa jumped: her gran had just knocked three times on her bedroom door. The grand opening of the restaurant was taking place in a few days and her parents had worked very late; they must still be asleep.

“I’m just coming, Baba.”

She rushed over to the mirror on the door of her wardrobe—one of the few unscathed pieces of furniture in the room—and examined herself carefully, certain that she must have turned into a monster overnight. She ran her fingers over her face, checking everything. Nothing had changed—her slate-grey eyes, her cheeks with their prominent high cheekbones, her well-defined lips, her slightly uneven teeth, her dimples, which appeared when she smiled or pouted, and her bobbed hair looked the same as they had the night before. Except she felt more tired than ever. Still… She quickly pulled on her pleated skirt and blouse and popped into the bathroom to run a quick comb through her hair and splash some cold water on her face.

She was heading for the kitchen when a sudden thought made her do a U-turn: the state of her room! She couldn’t possibly let anyone see the
burnt wall or the charred doll. She anxiously searched for her thick black felt-tip, which must have landed somewhere in the room when she’d swept everything off the desk with the back of her hand to stop it going up in flames. She eventually found the pen beneath the wardrobe and made a sign on a piece of cardboard, which she stuck to her bedroom door:

WORK IN PROGRESS

No entry under any circumstances
at the risk of MAJORLY serious reprisals
!!!

Oksa didn’t say a word during breakfast. She was in a state of complete shock. How was she, Oksa Pollock, capable of producing these incredible phenomena? She would never even have dared to dream it. It was mind-blowing.

“Dushka,” said Dragomira, tightening the knot of her granddaughter’s tie, “I don’t want to sound like a prophet of doom or anything, but you look terrible. Did you sleep badly? Are you worried about something? Perhaps you’re sickening for something?”

“I didn’t sleep very well, Baba.”

“Don’t move a muscle, I’ve got just what you need.”

Dragomira pushed back her chair and rushed upstairs to her apartment. She came down a few minutes later with a small bottle.

“Take this.”

“What is it? Another of your odd concoctions?” asked Oksa, intrigued as always by her gran’s eccentric behaviour.

“It’s Elixir of Betony,” replied Dragomira, as she filtered the contents of the bottle through a tiny sieve, humming softly. “This is excellent for getting rid of those ugly circles under your eyes,” she said at last, handing her a brimming cup. “Drink this and you’ll be on top form until tonight, believe me!”

At the thought of that, Oksa gulped the liquid down in one. “Eugh, yuck. That must be the most disgusting thing I’ve ever drunk,” she said, pulling a face.

“Come on, finish your breakfast quickly, otherwise you’ll be late.”

“I’m never late, Baba, you know that,” replied Oksa.

Oksa was never late for the simple reason that she could run incredibly fast. She merely had to imagine she was a gazelle trying to escape from a hunter or a magical character with fantastic abilities and her legs would increase in strength and speed. Her favourite role was that of a fierce ninja warrior with superhuman powers. She’d imagine that she’d acquired remarkable powers while she was sleeping, either invisibility, exceptional sight or hearing, or Herculean strength—it varied. These powers, inspired by books and films, were often prompted by everyday life: an annoying problem, an obstacle, an argument, anything could make Oksa imagine that she had a “supernatural” gift. This ability might not be enough to solve all the world’s problems but it was a valuable tool which helped her to overcome difficulties and to daydream. Nothing more than that. She didn’t inhabit those dangerous virtual worlds which tempted their temporary inhabitants to lose touch with reality. Not at all. Oksa was a sensible girl who could tell the difference between fantasy and reality. But this morning, things were completely different from the night before… a fantasy had become part of
real life
—her burnt fingers were a painful reminder of that. Oksa had desperately wanted to be able to do what she’d done last night on many occasions. Okay, she was only a beginner, but still she had to admit it was amazing. She only hoped that it wouldn’t all disappear as quickly as it had come—a worry that made her feel light-headed and sick and gave her palpitations. But for the time being, Oksa the fire-throwing ninja had to meet an important challenge: to run to school at least as fast as the speed of sound if she didn’t want to be late for the first time in her life.

When she got there, slightly out of breath, the other students were just starting to go to their classrooms. Phew… she’d done it! Oksa went looking for the Marco Polo room, where she had her first lesson of the day: history
and geography with Miss Heartbreak. Walking through the cloister, she saw some Year 9 students heading for a classroom at the other end to hers. When she drew level with them, one of them shouldered her violently.

“Ouch!” she couldn’t help crying out.

“Why don’t you look where you’re going, loser?” said the boy who’d bumped into her.

“You’re the one who barged into me!” retorted Oksa indignantly.

“Why don’t you go back to nursery school if you can’t walk in a straight line! You’d better watch your step, you moron,” he grunted, shoving her again and sending her reeling into a column.

He swaggered past, sniggering with his friends. Oksa watched him walk away. Very dark-haired and quite well-built, he was a good head taller than she. And about thirty pounds heavier. He turned round to give her a brooding look full of hatred, which surprised her. She shrugged and made her way to her classroom. “Hey, you almost missed the start of the lesson,” exclaimed Gus, welcoming his friend. “That would have been a first in the famous Oksa’s life story. I could have said: ‘
I was there
!’”

“Hi Gus! It was less of a first, more of a—” She broke off, rubbing her shoulder.

“What’s the matter? Did you fall over?”

“You could say that—I fell over a lout of a Year 9 who bumped into me. That Neanderthal really hurt me.”

“I hope he said sorry?”

“Yeah, right! Not a bit of it! He also called me a moron and laughed at me, the creep.”

“Oh well, forget it, he’s not worth it,” advised Gus.

“You’re right… but, still, it’s really sore.”

Miss Heartbreak came into the classroom and began her lesson. Petite and slender, she was a charming, sweet-natured woman who smiled a
lot. The complete opposite of Dr McGraw, whose icy severity made the students shiver, Miss Heartbreak had a keen, friendly gaze which hinted at an underlying gentleness. Oksa was captivated by this first history lesson. When the bell rang for the end of the two-hour period, she wasn’t the only one to sigh with disappointment, which made their teacher smile.

“We’ll be seeing each other again tomorrow, I believe, from ten to eleven, this time for geography. In the meantime, have a very good day!” she said pleasantly to the students.

And it was a good day for Oksa. At break, the students were already starting to form small groups. Merlin Poicassé immediately came over to Oksa to ask how she was feeling. As for Gus, after seeing Zelda Beck sitting alone on a bench, he’d asked her if she’d like to join the trio, inviting her to share a packet of chocolate crêpes large enough to feed the whole class. Zelda smiled and gratefully accepted the invitation.

“I feel a bit lost. I don’t know anyone; my parents and I only moved here a month ago.”

“Same goes for Gus and me!” exclaimed Oksa. “Don’t you think it’s odd to be in England at a school where everyone speaks French? It feels like we’re still in France. I’m finding it hard to believe I’ve changed country. Except when I see double-decker buses and taxis.”

“Yes, that’s how I feel too,” replied Zelda. “It’s very touristy, but I can’t help being delighted when I see a red bus or when I walk past a real English
bobby
!”

“We’ll get used to it,” said Gus.

“That’s for sure,” said Merlin reassuringly. “And the day you can really enjoy their fluorescent pink jelly is the day you’ll have stopped being an expat and have become a real English kid!”

“How long have you been in London?” asked Oksa.

“This is the start of my fifth year… and I still can’t bear jelly!”

They all burst out laughing, delighted at their growing camaraderie. Oksa glanced at Gus, who smiled back. There’s nothing like good friends to make you feel better.

O
N SEVERAL OCCASIONS DURING THE DAY
, O
KSA HAD
wanted to talk to Gus about her mind-blowing experiments of the night before. She’d almost dragged him to one side at lunch break, but the crowded, noisy cafeteria wasn’t the ideal place for this kind of revelation, so the two friends went to lesson after lesson all day without getting the chance to talk in private, even for a minute. Which wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Oksa needed to check up on a couple of little things. Well… little things… a figure of speech… As was so often the case, her parents weren’t back when she arrived home, which was annoying, so she spent part of the evening with Dragomira. Baba Pollock was delighted to see that her granddaughter was on much better form.

“That elixir you gave me this morning was wonderful, Baba. I felt brilliant all day!”

“I know, Dushka, I know.”

She was longing to tell Dragomira her secret. She was bound to understand. Dragomira always understood everything. But what was happening to her was
a bit
strange… No, for the time being, it would be better for everyone if she kept quiet. For a minute, she toyed with the idea of giving them a demonstration and shivered at the thought of her father’s reaction. She knew him—he’d scream in shock and terror. She wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house, he’d be afraid for her all the
time. Bottom line—it would be sheer hell. She cut short her afternoon snack with her gran, her supper with her parents and Gus’s call to wish her a good weekend, then shut herself away in her room. Fortunately everyone had obeyed the sign and no one appeared to have entered while she was away. Phew! It would have been really tricky to explain what had happened.

Suddenly—as she’d been in the habit of doing for ages—she assumed the ninja position, her hands upright in front of her, one leg bent at a right angle, the other stretched back, then she turned her head slowly, eyes narrowed as if on the lookout for an enemy or some kind of danger.

“Yaahhaa!” she growled, looking fierce.

She finished her inspection and, just as suddenly, adopted a more ordinary pose.

“Nothing to report, venerable Oksa-san,” she concluded to herself. “Now let’s move on to more serious matters.”

Brimming with energy, she sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the clothes draped over the back of her desk chair. She concentrated, eager to see whether what she thought might happen would. A few seconds later, the clothes were tossed into the air by an invisible force. Oksa cried out in a mixture of surprise and triumph. She then decided to focus her attention on her desk: the pencils standing innocently in a pot lost no time in shooting upwards like missiles, embedding themselves in the ceiling like large nails. Oksa stifled another cry of amazement. When she focused on them, the unpacked removal boxes imploded, scattering their contents across the room. Nothing escaped her destructive power, and in a few seconds all her hard work tidying up the day before had been undone.

“This is incredible!” she murmured, overturning knick-knacks by sheer force of will. After searching under her bed and rummaging around in the few boxes that still hadn’t been unpacked, she remembered where she’d put the little figurines of cartoon characters which she wanted to use for a new experiment: they were in a box on top of
her cupboard, which was filled to overflowing with clutter. She pushed her desk chair over and clambered onto it. Even when she stood on tiptoe and stretched out her arms, though, she was still a good four inches too short.

“That box is beginning to annoy me,” she grumbled. “Come on, Oksa, flex your muscles and GET HOLD OF IT!”

Suddenly she felt herself growing taller, or rather rising, until her hand was within easy reach of the box. But the power of the ninjas or her muscles had nothing to do with it. Oksa was simply floating above her chair! She kicked her feet and felt nothing but empty space beneath her.

“What’s going on?” she exclaimed, before crashing to the floor.

The box of figurines toppled over as she fell and the contents rained down on top of her.

“Wow! This is completely unreal,” she said, rubbing her bottom.

She climbed back onto the chair and tried to get another box, which was just as hard to reach. She held out her arms and focused on her objective. The same thing happened: it was as if her feet were being pushed
from underneath
.

“Amazing!” she just had time to say, before she crashed to the floor again.

Despite landing painfully on her bottom every time she fell, she repeated the experiment about ten times to try and understand what was happening. Euphoric and bedraggled, her cheeks flaming, she finally collapsed onto her bed.

“I must think about this… this is crazy.”

But she was so worked up she couldn’t concentrate.

“I’ve got an idea!”

She sprang up and stood in front of her mirror.

“I’ll work it out.”

She tried to remember her state of mind when she’d wanted to get the box. The strain on her arms, the stretching, the muscles tensing, her fierce desire to touch that stupid box. No, not desire. It wasn’t a desire.
It was more a feeling of exasperation and impatience. Yes, it was
very
annoying not to be able to get that bloody box, it had almost made her lose her temper. She had to reach it at all costs, it was the only thing that mattered. She closed her eyes and imagined floating like she’d just done. A few seconds later she felt her feet resting on something other than the floor. She cautiously opened her eyes to look in the mirror: she was standing upright, intact, still the same Oksa. But she was suspended about three feet above the ground.