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Pneuma Springs Publishing - Bryony Allen

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99 pages

English

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OTOLI - Have you been there?Social outcast ALICE TURNER went there to escape the constant bullying from the Populars. She is befriended by Jenny; an enigmatic waitress who seems to be stuck in the past.As the Populars begin to reap the wrath of a faithful friend, suspicions build in Alice's mind. Why does Jenny keep mementoes that are four years old? And why does Alice feel that she is to blame for the downfall of her enemies?But friendship is a two-way deal as Alice soon discovers. After breaking her promise to Jenny, she faces a far worse foe than before. Alice is forced to make choices on which her future and that of others will depend; whether or not she knows it. Moreover, she will have to find courage to escape the ultimate bully - her best friend.Book reviews online @ www.publishedbestsellers.com

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Children's

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Publié par	Pneuma Springs Publishing
Date de parution	28 avril 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781782282105
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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OTOLI

Bryony Allen

PNEUMA SPRINGS PUBLISHING UK
Copyright

First Published in 2011 by: Pneuma Springs Publishing
OTOLI Copyright © 2011 Bryony Allen
Kindle eISBN 9781907728945 ePub eISBN 9781782282105 PDF eBook eISBN 9781782280781 Paperback ISBN: 9781907728129
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, save those clearly in the public domain, is purely coincidental.
Pneuma Springs Publishing E: admin@pneumasprings.co.uk W: www.pneumasprings.co.uk
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Published in the United Kingdom. All rights reserved under International Copyright Law. Contents and/or cover may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written consent of the publisher.
Dedication

For George, Kimberly, Michaela and Charles.

This book is also dedicated to the many in the world
who have known a time and place such as OTOLI.
Courage is Fire, Bullying is Smoke.

Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881)
The Novel
1
ALICE - Thursday 3rd May
Never before had the girl felt so pitiful and pathetic, as she scrabbled around on the pavement.
Those who were passing by the confectionery shop in Stowton saw several large pieces of chocolate laid out like a jigsaw in front of the teenager. Those with the inclination to care would have seen a dislocated message being realigned: “Happy Fiftieth Birthday Dad”. Those who chose to walk past did so not out of a lack of compassion but more from a fear of the gaggle of girls huddled around the unfortunate wretch, like Komodo Dragons waiting for the moment of death.
A pair of eyes watched from a hidden vantage point. Behind those gloating eyes, a smirk was forming. The on-looker sensed another lure; another victim in need of her help, another pawn to help her right the wrongs of her own shattered life.
As Alice Turner pieced together the present, she bit hard into her bottom lip until she tasted blood. Only then could she numb the voices that barraged against her. Only then could she blame the flow of tears and embarrassment on something other than humility. She fought hard to keep the tears inside; she did not want to give them another excuse to torment her. But it was so hard.
She knew that she should be breathing steadily and focussing her thoughts on something totally different; something like fluffy kittens or cute puppies. As if… Alice often wondered how many textbooks her counsellor had swallowed before their sessions. A taste of real life would help so much more. Instead, a badly misquoted quote floated around her head: “Humiliation, thy name is Alice Turner.”
“Hey! Geek! You dropped your chocolate!” yelled Natalie Butcher.
“What a loser! She can’t even walk right!” tutted Samantha Elliott.
“Oh my God! Is your Dad fifty?” screeched Ailish Smith.
“My Granddad isn’t even fifty!” said Jasmine Williams.
“Maybe her Dad is her Granddad,” commented Ailish Smith. And so the insults continued to flow.
Five minutes previously, Alice had stopped by the confectioners in the parade of shops on her way home from school. She had realised too late that the 'Populars' were walking the same way as her, only a few metres in front. She had tried slowing down; she had even contemplated walking past them but knew that would place her well and truly in the firing line of abuse.
So she dawdled behind, intently studying the ground as she went. In her haste to get into the shop, Alice made some noise that had alerted the Populars. They waited for her, sitting on the bench, and Alice knew that she had no choice but to buy the present and leave through her guard of honour. Instead of the confetti and compliments, Alice was thrown jibes and taunts:
“You stalking us?”, “Loser”, “You been listening to us?”, “Geek!” They didn’t touch her – they never did. But whoever said that old line about ‘sticks and stones’ had never been up against the Populars.
The Populars formed a circle, with their victim as its centrepiece. As Alice twisted between the five girls, desperately trying to say something that might stop them, she lost her footing and fell over. The chocolate dropped to the ground and broke into six pieces.
Thus followed the torments from all except Ellie Mitchell, who stepped back when the Populars were not looking. Ellie did not really want to be there, but she had been in Alice’s position not too long ago. She had no intention of being the loser on the outside ever again. So she watched, making token gestures of involvement. Then the Populars left, triumphant in yet another fantastic victory against the losers of the social standing stakes.
No one came to help Alice, though many had enjoyed watching her agony: plenty of fuel to add to the ‘youth of today’ argument. Even the woman in the confectioner’s briefly thought about intervening but got no further. Being on the main thoroughfare of the pedestrian school run, she had seen so many incidents of bullying and fighting that she became immune. In her first few weeks at the shop, she had phoned the police on several occasions, but soon earned the reputation of a troublemaker. Best to watch, comment, sympathise and move on. Nearby pupils had also kept their distance. If other people were being picked on, then they were safe. So, like the woman in the sweet shop, they watched, commented, sympathised then moved on with averted faces.
As Alice picked herself up from the pavement, a sign bearing the word ‘OTOLI’ crept into her line of vision. It was strange that she had not noticed it before. She walked through this parade of shops twice a day and always diverted her eyes away from people towards the shop fronts. Alice wondered if it was new, but the bold, dark letters showed slight scuff marks. The sign was just above an open doorway with stairs leading upwards, and Alice was facing the foot of the stairs.
As she gazed at the tantalising darkness, Alice felt a strange sensation seep through her skin. Along with the waves of hypnotic calmness, she found herself desperate to explore. She heard a speechless voice calling to her to come up and reached for the touch-less hand tugging at her arm. In an act of wholly uncharacteristic bravery, Alice climbed the stairs.
Two thirds of the way up she stopped. The stairway opened into a light, welcoming café. Alice could see small pine tables with two chairs at each of them and a large yellow sofa in the corner with flowery yellow cushions.
There were flowers on the tables, and music lingered on the scented air, which was full of indiscernible, yet tantalising, tastes. Alice could not make out what music was played but she felt that it was by one of her favourite bands. As she looked away from that inviting sofa a movement caught her eye. Leaning over a table scrubbing away at a stain was an older teen-aged girl wearing the black, traditional uniform of a waitress complete with a white frilly apron. Suddenly, the girl turned and faced her. Alice stood transfixed, feeling the redness spread across her whole body, wanting to cry. But the girl just smiled at her then returned to removing the spot. The spell was broken. Alice raced back down the stairs, and ran the rest of the way home.
2
ALICE - Friday 4th May

All day long at school, Alice had been in turmoil.
Number one: she knew that she had to return to the confectionery shop to replace her father’s present – it had become a bit of a tradition between them. Every year at birthdays and Christmas, father and daughter would give each other chocolate that they would insist on sharing. Even now, Alice enjoyed that brief moment of togetherness when she and her Dad sat and ate. Mum kept away out of appreciation, and Sophie left them alone as soon as she had tutted about her big sister being such a baby.
Number two: she knew that to go to the confectioners at the end of school meant another unavoidable encounter with the Populars. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? She had never done anything to them; in fact, she always avoided them. Alice had judged them on first glance as those to avoid. They were so obviously the popular girls: fashionable, confident, wearing heavy make-up that no-one dared to call tarty, pushing the boundaries of the uniform code by wearing skirts that were slightly too short yet never being reprimanded. They were the rulers of year eight. Other pupils, and even weaker members of staff, allowed the girls to determine the social standing in school. If they decided to talk to you, then you became socially acceptable. If you were not worthy of their attention, you were a definite social failure. If however, like Alice, you resided in the social depths of friendlessness, you were fair game for whatever the Populars felt like playing.
Number three: she could not get the image of the smiling waitress out of her mind. It had been a smile of acceptance without the usual sneer, a smile that was alien to her. But it seemed to be saying more. It was the ‘more’ that had grabbed Alice’s imagination. She pictured herself going into the café, seeing the smile again and making a friend. They would share fun, watch movies together, go shopping, discuss which boys were hot or not, and swap secrets. A lovely dream, but Alice had spent too long on her own to dare to hope for a dream come true.
The previous evening, Alice’s upset state caused yet another session of interrogation led by her mum and dad.
“What’s happened this time? You must tell us so we can do something. Bottling it up only makes it worse.” They always knew: how did parents always know? They always wanted proper answers too; measurable, analysable answers that could suggest resolutions. “Nothing. Everything’s okay,” was never enough for them