Catching Falling Stars by Karen McCombie Page A

honest, I don’t want to be sitting here chit-chatting with my teacher about her or any unsuitable friends I might or might not have. Right now, I happen to be too anxious about Rich to concentrate.
    “May I – may I be excused, Mr Carmichael?” I ask, in the most polite voice I can manage.
    “Yes, yes, my dear,” he says, waving me towards the door. “Enjoy your lunch, get to know some of your classmates, and see you back here in twenty minutes.”
    Twenty minutes. It’s a shorter lunch break than I get at my school back in London, but lots of the kids here live on farms and need to get home as quickly as they can in the afternoon, and help out with work before the light fades.
    Anyway, I can easily do what I need to do in twenty minutes.
    Racing out of the church hall, still clutching my lunch, I head for the gate. Pulling it open and slipping through, I’m aware of more than one voice yelling out a chorus of “ Land of Hope and Glory ”, but take no notice. Because I know that if I hurry down the lane and get to the green, it’s only a short distance to the primary school, and Rich.
    And there – there he is!
    “Rich!” I call out to him, spotting my brother at the end of the lane, crossing it on his way back to the cottage.
    “Glory, Glory, Glory!” he calls back as I run to him, only vaguely aware of the stinging pain in my foot as panic overwhelms me.
    Something’s happened, hasn’t it? He isn’t smiling. He looks smaller, more like a frightened bird, than when I saw him only three hours ago.
    Maybe it’s the fact that his socks are rumpled around his ankles, revealing the scatter of pink dots where the blisters have newly healed.
    Maybe it’s the oversized baggy navy shorts that are flapping around his puny legs.
    Wait a minute; they’re not his shorts. Rich’s two pairs – lovingly packed by Mum – are grey, and actually fit him.
    “What’s going on?” I ask breathlessly as I reach him.
    Rich bursts into noisy tears, thudding his head into my chest.
    “Hey, hey!” I say, gently placing my hands on either side of his face and kneeling down in front of him. “What’s wrong?”
    Miss Saunders asks the same question as we tumble through the back door of the cottage a few minutes later.
    She’s taking a pie out of the oven. I want to grab it from her and run back to Rich’s school, where I’ll throw it in the face of his Miss Montague!
    “Rich was scared of his teacher,” I tell Miss Saunders, my heart and head pounding, my hand squeezed tight around my little brother’s. “He was too frightened to ask to go to the lavatory, so he…”
    I hold up the brown paper parcel that I found Rich carrying. There’s no lunch in this particular bag – just a soggy pair of grey shorts and underpants.
    The fight suddenly goes out of me.
    Miss Saunders has a strained look on her face. Have we disappointed her again? Is she disgusted with the news that Rich has had yet another “accident”?
    “Dear me,” she exhales, placing the pie dish down on the top of the range. “Well, what are you waiting for, Gloria? You must hurry back to school or you’ll be late for lessons. I’ll deal with Richard.”
    I’ll deal with Richard . The words repeat in my head as I reluctantly let go of my brother’s hand and back out of the door.
    I’ll deal with Richard . The words dance around as I stumble back towards the church hall.
    “ I’ll deal with Richard ,” I mumble worriedly as I take the few steps up to the heavy wooden door of the hall and push it open. “What does she mean by that?”
    It’s only then that I realize the yard behind me is empty, and the makeshift classroom in the hall is full. While I’ve been fretting, everyone else has filed in and taken their seats.
    Thirty or more pairs of eyes fix on me as I make my way to my desk.
    Three pairs in particular seem to be watching my every move.
    Why are Jess, Archie and Lawrence so interested in me? Can’t they just ignore me? I’d like