LIFE SWAP!

“Good grief…I would die if I had to wear that shit every day…what do they think they look like?” Gemma muttered as we walked past a group of girls from one of the other school parties wandering around the massive Victoria and Albert Museum, apparently truly disgusted by their rather strict uniform for reasons that were quite beyond me. Not that I really disagreed with her critique of the uniform itself, because it was just a little bit Mallory Towers, in all honesty, but in the end, a school uniform was just a school uniform, and if you were sent to that school as a kid, I supposed that they did not get any more choice than we ever did, with our own admittedly rather more palatable dress code. It was just a little bit too much, really. Much too showy, as if someone was trying to make too much of a statement, rubbing in their obvious superiority over mere mortals, like us. But it was not the fault of the poor little saps who had to wear it, because they were just kids, like us. I was not actually a huge fan of garish striped blazers and silly felt hats, but if that was your uniform, you just had to wear it, or else, whether you actually liked it or not, I guessed, like any other school kid anywhere. Parents who could afford to pay squillions for their little angel’s exclusive education always seemed to like making that kind of statement for some reason, because it was always the rich private schools that went in for distinctive dress codes, in my limited experience. I followed Gemma’s gaze, idly imagining myself wearing a uniform like that, and decided that it would have embarrassed me a bit, especially in public, on a school trip. Not cool at all, and everyone likes to look cool, or at least I did, given more than half a chance. But it was probably no big deal, if you were used to it, and the smart little girls we were blatantly staring at probably were all quite accustomed to it, but it was not for me. In my world, people who dressed like that would be ridiculed, and worse.

“Poor little rich girls? I reckon their parents are paying a fortune to make them look like that and I shouldn’t think that they know any different? Girls like that don’t live in our world…so they think they are something special…or their parents do?” I suggested mildly, as I returned my full attention to our worksheet for a moment, trying to find the answers to the next questions and making sure that we were in roughly the right place. It was a colossal museum, with so many different rooms, and halls, and we had already got lost twice. It was a complete maze to be honest, but I liked puzzles, and I actually liked history, so I was quite enjoying myself on the quiet, really. Not that I could admit that, because at my school, amongst my friends, liking lessons was not considered normal, and certainly never ever cool, in any way. So, I effectively hid my studious nature, most of the time. But the worksheet still had to be done, or we would get into trouble, which gave me an excuse to actually learn something without being called a swot, or worse.

“Snobby bitches…as well…I bet…looking down their noses at us.” Gemma sneered, looking down her nose at them, I noticed, as I hauled her off to the left, searching for something called the Dream Stone. “Where are we going now? This is so boring, Kell…”

“Well…unless you want a detention, we have to answer at least ten of these questions…and I think our eighth is in this hall? It’s a huge lump of rock that some Victorian explorer brought back from Africa and gave to Queen Victoria…for her golden jubilee…and if you touch it, you can make a wish and all your dreams might just come true. Fun…maybe?”

“Oh, right…like that’s going to work, for us…it will probably make all my nightmares come true…knowing my luck…but…I might ask it to get Danny Brown to fall in love with me?” My best friend giggled as we looked up at the glass roof, so high above us. That hall was more like a junk heap than a museum, as far as I could see. It was full of bits of buildings, fireplaces and statues, even columns, all of which had been found in some far-off land and stolen by Victorian gentlemen, back when Britain was the world superpower of the time, and had an empire. That was why they built the enormous old museum in the first place, just to store all the stuff they were bringing home, basically looted from all over the world and put on display to impress the hard-working people of London, whose taxes paid for the upper classes to swan off to warmer climes and steal the stuff in the first place. “So…what are you going to wish for, Kelly?”

“A new life…I’m sick of this one…Mum is actually going to marry that complete knob…and I hate him so much…but she doesn’t even notice?” I moaned, momentarily letting my emotions get the better of me. I told Gemma most things, and she knew I loathed Martin, the boyfriend from hell, but I had tried not to let on about how much it was all getting to me. It just kind of slipped out that time, and I immediately regretted it, but thankfully, Gemma just glossed over it, preferring to joke about things, as always. She did not do serious, and I did not want to think about the weasel becoming my stepfather.

“With rich parents, who would send you to that posh school…I can just see you in that dark blue and light blue striped blazer…so stylish…and the lovely hat?” Gemma teased, lightening the moment, giving my arm a squeeze. “I mean…a fecking hat? It’s medieval!”

“I think I could carry it off…and it might be nice…to be at a school where the teachers were half-decent and boys like Danny Brown don’t start a riot in the middle of our lessons?” I replied as four of the boys from our group pushed past, shouting and messing around, as always. I was no nerd, but I did want to get some qualifications, and sometimes it was just totally impossible to concentrate at Redstone. Most of the time, if I was honest, because the school was in special measures, again, and getting worse, not better. But we were just kids, and we were stuck there in the shit, just like the striped blazer girls were stuck with their medieval hats. “In fact, I bet it’s all-girls…I think I would like that? No testosterone?”

“Danny is cool when you get him away from his dickhead friends…”

“Oh, great…there it is…the Dream Stone.” I said, as we turned a corner, simply refusing to get distracted by boys, and certainly not wanting to talk about Danny, who was in the Martin category, in my opinion, at any rate. The Dream Stone was gigantic, bigger than a bus, reaching up towards the roof. I thought it looked a bit like a heart, and I noticed that there was a platform that allowed visitors to get up to the centre of it, which looked like a big dimple. People were queuing up to climb on the steel steps, and stopping to read a big information display alongside it, presumably before going up and making their wish, just for a giggle.

“Okay…so, before I learn anything about a lump of magical rock, I really need a wee…you save me a place in the queue…I’ll only be a minute?” Gemma promised, and hurried off in the general direction of the public conveniences. I was used to her; she would probably let me do all the work and reappear as soon as I was done. But I did not really mind, because I wanted to read the display, and she would have distracted me. I started at the beginning and read it all as the queue moved steadily forwards. The Dream Stone had been discovered in 1887, thirty odd years after the museum opened, by a man called Sir Randolph Hoyte. He was actually looking for rare minerals somewhere in what is now South Africa, but somehow came across an outcrop of granite that the local tribes believed was sacred, a gift from the gods. So, being British and thinking himself the master of all he surveyed, he obviously dug it out and put it on a ship back to London, where he presented it to his beloved Queen, to commemorate her jubilee. She was so delighted, she dumped it straight in the museum, where people came from all over the place to see if their wishes would come true. No one seemed to be sure where the legend came from anymore, but the museum charged visitors a penny a wish, and made a small fortune, until the first world war changed the mood, and it became more of a curiosity. There were some stories about people who claimed to have received good luck after touching the Dream Stone over the years, but it was really just one of those things, I thought, just a gimmick, a tourist attraction and a bit of harmless fun, talked up to keep the visitors pouring in and spending their hard-earned cash in the gift shop. However, I answered the question on my school worksheet, which was the whole point of me being there, before stepping back to head for the viewing platform and make my wish, which would involve Martin the weasel dying a slow, painful death in the very near future, and accidentally trampled over one of the blue-striped private schoolgirls we had been talking about before, who must have been standing right behind me.