The Magic Factory (Oliver Blue and the School for Seers—Book One)

CHAPTER TWO-2

“Who are you?” a gruff voice said.

Oliver swirled to see the teacher, an old man with shockingly white hair, looking up at him from his desk.

“I’m Oliver. Oliver Blue. I’m new here.”

The teacher frowned. His beady eyes were black and suspicious. He regarded Oliver for an uncomfortably long time. Of course, this just added to Oliver’s stress, because now even more of his classmates were paying attention to him, and still more were streaming in through the door. A greater and greater audience watched him with curiosity, like he was some kind of spectacle at the circus.

“Didn’t know I was getting another one,” the teacher said, finally, with an air of disdain. “Would’ve been nice to have been informed.” He sighed wearily, reminding Oliver of his father. “Take a seat then. I suppose.”

Oliver hurried to a spare seat, feeling everyone’s eyes following him. He tried to make himself as small as possible, as unobservable as possible. But of course he stood out like a sore thumb no matter how much he tried to hide. He was the new kid, after all.

With all the seats now filled, the teacher began his class.

“We’re carrying on with where we left off last class,” he said. “About grammar rules. Can someone please explain to Oscar what we were talking about?”

Everyone started to laugh at his mistake.

Oliver felt his throat get tighter. “Um, sorry to interrupt, but my name is Oliver, not Oscar”

The teacher’s expression turned instantly cross. Oliver knew immediately that he wasn’t the kind of man who appreciated being corrected.

“When you’ve lived sixty-six years with a name like Mr. Portendorfer,” the teacher said, glowering, “you get over people pronouncing your name wrong. Profendoffer. Portenworten. I’ve heard it all. So I suggest you, Oscar, ought to be less concerned about the correct pronunciation of your name!”

Oliver raised his eyebrows, stunned into silence. Even the rest of his classmates seemed shocked by the outburst, because they weren’t even tittering with laughter. Mr. Portendorfer’s reaction was over the top by anyone’s standards, and for it to be directed at a new kid made it even worse. From the grumpy receptionist to the volatile English teacher, Oliver wondered if there was even a single nice person in this whole school!

Mr. Portendorfer began droning on about pronouns. Oliver hunkered down even further in his seat, feeling tense and unhappy. Luckily Mr. Portendorfer didn’t pick on him anymore, but when the bell rang an hour later, his chastisement was still ringing in Oliver’s ears.

Oliver trudged through the halls in search of his math classroom. When he found it, he made sure to beeline straight for the back row. If Mr. Portendorfer didn’t know he had a new student, maybe the math teacher wouldn’t either. Perhaps he could be invisible for the next hour.

To Oliver’s relief it worked. He sat, silent and anonymous, throughout the whole class, like an algebra-obsessed ghost. But even that didn’t feel like the best solution to his problems, Oliver thought. Being unnoticed was just as bad as being publicly humiliated. It made him feel insignificant.

The bell rang again. It was lunch, so Oliver followed his map down to the hall. If the playground had been intimidating it was nothing compared to the lunchroom. Here, the kids were like wild animals. Their raucous voices echoed off the walls, making the noise even more unbearable. Oliver bowed his head and hurried toward the queue.

Smack. Suddenly, he slammed into a large, foreboding body. Slowly, Oliver raised his gaze.

To his surprise, it was Chris’s face he was staring into. On either side of him, in a sort of arrow formation, were three boys and one girl all scowling the same scowl. Cronies was the word that sprang to Oliver’s mind.

“You’ve made friends already?” Oliver said, trying not to sound surprised.

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Not all of us are antisocial loser freaks,” he said.

Oliver realized then that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant interaction with his brother. But then, it never was.

Chris looked over at his new cronies. “This is my pipsqueak brother, Oliver,” he announced. Then he let out a belly laugh. “He sleeps in the alcove.”

His new bully friends started to laugh too.

“He’s available for swirlies, wedgies, headlocks, and my personal favorite,” Chris continued. He grabbed Oliver, and pressed his knuckles into his head. “Noogies.”

Oliver wriggled and thrashed in Chris’s grasp. Locked in the horrible, painful headlock, Oliver remembered his powers from yesterday, the moment he’d broken the table leg and sent potatoes into Chris’s lap. If he only knew how he’d summoned those powers he could do it now and break free. But he had no idea how he’d done it. All he’d done was visualize in his mind’s eye the table breaking, the plastic soldier flying through the air. Was that all it took? His imagination?

He attempted it now, picturing himself wrestling free from Chris. But it was no good. With Chris’s new friends all watching on, laughing with glee, he was just too tuned into the reality of his humiliation to shift his mind to his imagination.

Finally, Chris let him go. Oliver staggered back, rubbing his sore head. He patted down his hair, which had become frizzy with static. But more than the humiliation of Chris’s bullying, Oliver felt the sting of disappointment from failing to summon his powers. Maybe the whole kitchen table thing was just a coincidence. Maybe he didn’t have any special powers at all.

The girl who was hovering next to Chris’s shoulder spoke up. “Can’t wait to get to know you better, Oliver.” She said it in a menacing voice that Oliver could tell meant quite the opposite.

He’d been worried about bullies. Of course he should have anticipated the worst bully of all would be his brother.

Oliver shoved his way past Chris and his new friends and headed for the lunch queue. With a sad sigh, he grabbed a cheese sandwich from the fridge and headed, heavy-hearted, to the restroom. The toilet cubicle was the only place he felt safe.

*

Oliver’s next lesson after lunch was science. He wandered the corridors looking for the correct room, his stomach churning with the certainty that it would be just as bad as his first two classes.

When he found the classroom he knocked against the window. The teacher was younger than he’d been anticipating. Science teachers, in his experience, tended to be old and somewhat strange, but Ms. Belfry looked completely sane. She had long, straight, mousy brown hair, which was almost the same color as her cotton dress and cardigan. She turned at the sound of his knock and smiled, showing dimples on both cheeks, and beckoned him in. He opened the door timidly.

“Hello,” Ms. Belfry said, smiling. “Are you Oliver?”

Oliver nodded. Even though he was the first one there, he felt suddenly very shy. At least this teacher seemed to be expecting him. That was a relief.

“I’m so pleased to meet you,” Ms. Belfry said, holding out a hand for him to shake.

It was all very formal and not at all what Oliver was expecting considering what he’d experienced of Campbell Junior High so far. But he took her hand and shook. She had very warm skin and her friendly, respectful demeanor helped put him at ease.

“Did you get a chance to do any of the reading?” Ms. Belfry asked.

Oliver’s eyes widened and he felt a little hitch of panic in his chest. “I didn’t realize there was any reading.”

“It’s fine,” Ms. Belfry said reassuringly, smiling her kind smile. “Not to worry. We’re learning about scientists this term, and some important historical figures.” She pointed at a black-and-white portrait on the wall. “This is Charles Babbage, he invented the…”

“...calculator,” Oliver finished.

Ms. Belfry beamed and clapped her hands. “You already know?”

Oliver nodded. “Yes. And he’s also often credited as the father of the computer, since it was his designs that led to their invention.” He looked at the next picture on the wall. “And that’s James Watt,” he said. “The inventor of the steam engine.”

Ms. Belfry nodded. She looked thrilled. “Oliver, I can already tell we’re going to get along famously.”

Just then, the door opened, and in poured Oliver’s classmates. He swallowed, his anxiety returning in a huge rush.

“Why don’t you take a seat?” Ms. Belfry suggested.

He nodded and hurried to the one closest to the window. If it all got too much, at the very least he could look out and imagine himself somewhere else. From here, he had a great view out over the neighborhood, at all the bits of trash and crispy fall leaves blowing in the wind. The clouds above looked even darker than they had that morning. It didn’t really help with Oliver’s sense of foreboding.

The rest of the kids in the class were very loud and very rowdy. It took a long time for Ms. Belfry to settle them down so she could start her lesson.

“Today, we’re carrying on from where we left off last week,” she said, needing to raise her voice, Oliver noticed, in order to be heard over the din. “With some amazing inventors from World War Two. I wonder if anyone knows who this is?”

She held up a black-and-white photo of a woman whom Oliver had read about in his inventors book. Katharine Blodgett, who invented the gas mask, the smoke screen, and the non-reflective glass that was used for wartime submarine periscopes. After Armando Illstrom, Katharine Blodgett was one of Oliver’s favorite inventors, because he found all the technological advances she’d made in World War Two fascinating.

Just then, he noticed Ms. Belfry looking at him expectantly. She could probably tell from his face that he knew precisely who was in the picture. But after his experiences today, he was afraid to say anything aloud. His class would work out he was a nerd eventually; Oliver didn’t want to hurry the process.

But Ms. Belfry nodded at him, eager and encouraging. Against his better judgment, Oliver piped up.

“That’s Katharine Blodgett,” he said, finally.

Ms. Belfry’s grin burst onto her face, bringing her lovely dimples with it. “That’s correct, Oliver. Can you tell the class who she is? What she invented?”

Behind him, Oliver could hear chuckling. The kids were already cottoning on to his nerd status.

“She was an inventor during World War Two,” he said. “She created lots of useful and important wartime inventions, like submarine periscopes. And gas masks, which saved lots of people’s lives.”

Ms. Belfry looked thrilled with Oliver.

“FREAK!” someone shouted from the back.

“No, thank you, Paul,” Ms. Belfry said sternly to the boy who’d shouted. She turned to the board and began to write about Katharine Blodgett.

Oliver smiled to himself. After the librarian who’d gifted him the inventors book, Ms. Belfry was the kindest adult he’d ever met. Her enthusiasm was like a bulletproof shield Oliver could wrap around his shoulders, deflecting the rest of his class’s cruel words. He settled into the class, more at ease than he’d been in days.

*

Sooner than he was expecting, the bell rang for the end of the day. Everyone hurried out, running and shouting. Oliver collected his things and made for the exit.

“Oliver, I’m very impressed with your knowledge,” Ms. Belfry said when she ran into him in the hallway. “Where did you learn about all these people?”

“I have a book,” he explained. “I like inventors. I want to be one.”

“Do you make your own inventions?” she asked, looking enthusiastic.

He nodded but didn’t tell her about the invisibility coat. What if she thought it was silly? He wouldn’t be able to cope with seeing anything resembling mockery on her face.

“I think that’s fantastic, Oliver,” she said, nodding. “It’s very important to have dreams to follow. Who is your favorite inventor?”

Oliver recalled Armando Illstrom’s face in the faded picture in his book.

“Armando Illstrom,” he said. “He’s not very famous but he invented lots of cool things. He even tried to make a time machine.”

“A time machine?” Ms. Belfry said, raising her eyebrows. “That’s exciting.”

Oliver nodded, feeling more able to open up thanks to her encouragement. “His factory is near here. I was thinking about going to visit him.”

“You must,” Ms. Belfry said, smiling her warm smile. “You see, when I was your age, I loved physics. All the other kids teased me, they didn’t understand why I wanted to make circuits instead of play with dolls. But one day, my absolute favorite physicist came to town to record an episode of his TV show. I went along and spoke to him afterward. He told me to never give up on my passion. Even if other people told me I was weird to be interested in it, if I had a dream, I had to follow it. I wouldn’t be here today had it not been for that conversation. Never underestimate how important it is to receive encouragement from someone who gets you, especially when it seems as though no one else does.”

Ms. Belfry’s words struck Oliver powerfully. For the first time that day, he felt buoyant. He was now completely determined to find the factory and meet his hero face to face.

“Thanks, Ms. Belfry,” he said, grinning at her. “See you next class!”

And as he hurried away with a spring in his step, he heard Ms. Belfry call out, “Always follow your dreams!”