‘That’s not monsters on that bus, is it?’ Malorie says, curling up her pretty button nose in disgust.
Polly clutches Malorie’s arm to pull her towards the gallery, but Malorie has already turned to Willow and Rosemary, who are standing right behind them.
‘Ew,’ Willow grimaces. ‘It is! It is!’
Malorie, Willow and Rosemary stop in their tracks, blocking the whole line of students behind them. Everyone is now turning to look at the old grey bus hissing and wheezing its way into the carpark.
Polly stares straight ahead.
Miss Spinnaker, who is still organising the stragglers into two neat lines, comes over to see what all the fuss is about.
‘Monsters, Miss Spinnaker,’ Malorie sneers. ‘What are they doing letting monsters visit the gallery on the same day as us?’
‘Monsters have every right to visit the gallery, just as witches and warlocks do,’ Miss Spinnaker says firmly. ‘Those monsters are from Darklands. They must have a gallery excursion on today, too.’
Malorie pulls a face as the first monsters stumble their way noisily out of the bus. They spot the line of witches and sneer and guffaw.
‘Witches! Warlocks!’ growls the biggest monster. ‘Ew!’
‘Come along, students,’ Miss Spinnaker says. ‘You don’t have to associate with them, but there’s no need to be rude, either. Remember our Academy manners.’
When Miss Spinnaker’s back is turned, Polly sees Malorie stick her tongue out at the monster who just spoke. He crosses his eyes at Malorie and snorts with laughter.
Polly pulls Malorie forwards, her heart leaping about in her chest.
‘Come on,’ she says, irritably. ‘It’s cold out here. Let’s get inside!’
There is one monster from Darklands she doesn’t want to see. Not now, anyway.
Miss Spinnaker ushers everyone into the gallery and straight up to the second floor. Polly starts to feel her breathing return to normal, and once they are surrounded by paintings she knows and loves, she almost begins to enjoy herself again.
Polly walks beside Malorie, their clipboards in hand, and together the two of them go through the list of questions Miss Spinnaker has set them. The exhibition is titled:
In the first question, their teacher has asked them to list ten different humans from well-known myths and legends. Polly writes down Hedrid, the human who steals witch babies, Augustus, the leader of witch burnings, and Pyralosis, the human who hides at the bottom of swamps, waiting to suck down any unsuspecting witch, warlock or monster child who might wander by. All horrible humans indeed!
Polly is slow at reading, which makes her slow at writing, too. In the time it has taken her to write down three human myths and agonise over her spelling, Malorie has already completed her list and is onto the next page. Malorie is always the quickest to finish her work.
Polly skips a few myths to catch up with her.
‘Oh no,’ Malorie grumbles. ‘We have to draw a picture of a human from one of these paintings. I hate drawing.’
She flops down onto the long padded lounge in the middle of the brightly lit room. Other witches and warlocks wander around in pairs, studying the paintings and jotting down notes on their clipboards.
Polly perches on the lounge next to her and studies the painting in front of them. It is of a group of monsters having a picnic in a beautiful forest. But when Polly looks closely, she sees it’s not just monsters at the picnic. There are witches in the group, too!
The witches are laughing and sharing food, as though it’s perfectly normal to have a picnic with monsters. Polly knows that this was the Olden Days, but it makes her happy to see them all sitting together. She wishes it was still like that today.
Polly begins by sketching some monsters, then the witches. She feels Malorie watching over her shoulder.
‘You’re good,’ Malorie says.
Polly feels happy butterflies bloom in her chest. ‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘I love drawing.’
Malorie watches her for a little longer. ‘You’re really good. I’m terrible at drawing. I can’t even draw a stick figure.’
She shows Polly her drawing. Polly is surprised to see that Malorie isn’t lying. It really isn’t very good. And Polly thought Malorie was good at everything!
‘I can help, if you like?’ Polly suggests shyly.
‘Really?’ Malorie says. ‘Thanks! Hey, maybe I can answer your questions and you can do my drawings?’
‘That’s a great idea!’ says Polly.
She smiles at Malorie, and Malorie smiles back. Polly is surprised at how pretty Malorie looks when she smiles.
Polly finishes her drawing and then starts work on Malorie’s.
‘Gosh,’ Malorie says, enviously, ‘do you think you could you teach me how to draw one day?’
‘Sure,’ says Polly, unable to hide how thrilled she feels.
‘Great!’ says Malorie. Then she stands and wanders over to look more closely at the other paintings in front of them. ‘Humans look pretty spooky, don’t they? Do you think they really exist?’
‘I don’t know,’ Polly shrugs. ‘There are lots of stories about them.’
‘My mum says they are just made up to scare little children,’ Malorie says, twirling a plait in her fingers. ‘She doesn’t believe in humans.’
‘Neither does mine,’ Polly says. ‘But my dad did.’
‘Really?’ says Malorie. Then she pauses. ‘Did? You mean, he doesn’t believe in them anymore?’
‘No,’ says Polly, looking back down at her drawing, ‘I mean, he died. Five years ago. In the mine accident.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry,’ Malorie says, coming back over to Polly and sitting down next to her. ‘I didn’t know. My uncle did, too. My mum’s brother. She still misses him. Sorry about your dad, though. That must be awful.’
‘That’s OK,’ Polly says.
She wants to change the subject now. Talking about her dad makes her uncomfortable. She doesn’t like the thought of anyone feeling sorry for her because she doesn’t have a dad. Lots of witches, warlocks and monsters lost their parents in the accident, not just her.
‘Here, I’ve finished our drawings,’ she says, standing up and handing Malorie back her clipboard. ‘Let’s go into the next room.’
The two witches continue wandering through the gallery, chatting about ordinary things: clothes, cute warlocks from school, and whether they’ll earn their witch hats at the end of the year.
Polly is pretty sure she won’t.
‘Yes, you will,’ Malorie assures her. ‘You just need to practise your spells. Maybe I can help you? In return for you helping me with my drawing?’
‘Really?’ Polly asks.
‘As long as you promise not to throw any more potions at me,’ says Malorie, smiling.
‘OK!’ Polly giggles, and she feels a warm ball of happiness heat her up from the inside. Her cheeks burn pink with delight.
