It was seven o’clock in the morning, on a rainy Monday, when the messenger arrived at the school. Mrs. Kendall, the principal, watched him through her office window as he pulled up outside and parked next to the flower beds. After making sure he hadn’t run over any of the school’s petunias, he rummaged around in a satchel and pulled out a purple package.

Mrs. Kendall sighed. She knew why the messenger was here. She had received a letter about it three days before, finding it in her office letterbox. If the purple coloured envelope didn’t catch her attention, the silver letters on the front definitely did.

For the past thirty years, Mrs. Kendall had received identical letters, each informing her to expect a messenger to arrive within the week. And every year, the messenger turned up. Although the dates had changed, nothing else had differed. The same pompous writing, the same strange coat-of-arms in the corner, and the same silver signature at the bottom:

Yours Sincerely

Elizabeth Rosemary

Rosemary. She knew the name. Well, of course she did, everyone alive had heard of Rosemary. She was a fellow school principal. Mrs. Kendall had heard stories of Rosemary’s school, and while it was certainly most deserving of its fame, one could not ignore the strange stories that came from that place.

Considering what the school taught, it was hardly surprising that rumours would spring up. While Mrs. Kendall herself didn’t believe half of them, the ones she did were enough to make her wary of the place and its principal.

Just why Rosemary wanted to offer places at the school to students at hers…, it was a mystery to Mrs. Kendall.

She glanced at the photo on her wall. It showed a group of thirty children, all smiling down at her against the grey backdrop of the sports equipment shed. Those were this year’s oldest students, the senior class. At ten years old, it was time for them to move onto their next stage of education. Most would attend the local high school. Others might be taken out of school by their parents and begin learning their family’s trade.

But two of them would be offered a place each at Rosemary’s school. If they accepted, they would spend the next six or seven years far from home, except for holiday visits. Mrs. Kendall felt slightly sad. She had known these children since they were three years old and had taught each of them at some point or other. She didn’t want to see any of them go. Even the ones who were noisy in class or were a regular in her office on some rule-breaking charge. And Rosemary’s school was so far away…

The ringing of the telephone on her desk snapped her out of her reverie. Already knowing who was on the other end, she picked up the receiver.

“Yes, Sue?” she asked.

“There’s a man out here to see you” came the nasally voice of her secretary “He doesn't have an appointment. Should I send him away?”

“No, send him in” replied Mrs. Kendall, glancing at the letter on her desk.

There was a click. Sue had hung up. Mrs. Kendall leaned back in her chair, adjusting her glasses.

Perhaps Rosemary’s school wasn’t such a bad place for kids to go. It was far away, but it would give the kids who went a chance to see sights other than the endless farms that surrounded their town. And what they would learn there, well, that spoke for itself…

There was a knock at her door, and Mrs. Kendall adjusted herself to make herself look more imposing and impressive.

It was time to make the arrangements.

*

Porridge. Oliver stared at a bowlful of the stuff, sitting in front of him. He had nothing in particular against porridge. In fact, many of his favourite meals in the past had included porridge.

But Oliver had had porridge yesterday for breakfast as well, as well as the morning before that. And with the number of packets still in the cupboard, it looked like porridge for the rest of the week. Still, he could hardly complain. When his father had seen the deal at the local supermarket, he had immediately bought ten whole packets. At the time, Oliver had thought he was stockpiling for an emergency and suggested buying five more.

Unfortunately, he forgot to buy the other breakfast food, which meant until their next grocery run, the family was living on porridge and school lunches.

One might wonder why they simply didn’t just go back and buy more food. In that case, one would be unfamiliar with the family.

The Coy family was unusual in their neighbourhood. For one thing, none of them worked on a farm, or in a local store. The father was a bookbinder and librarian and had happily held that job for over fifteen years. The mother was dead and had also been that way for over fifteen years.

The family also had two children. Oliver, who was reaching for the sugar, and his older sister Emily, who had cooked and served the porridge.

Emily was spooning more porridge from the small pot on the stove, into a bowl which she then set aside on a tray. That was for their father, who was currently working. If the thing their father loved the most in the world was his children, then the second was his hobby, art. The third, surprisingly enough, was dodgy supermarket deals.

If he wasn’t at the library’s front desk, one would most likely find him tucked away in the attic, in front of the easel, surrounded by paintbrushes, sketching pads, and countless screwed up drawings. All Oliver’s earliest memories of his father involved a brush nearby. Whether he was screwing in a lightbulb or fixing his children’s bicycles, there would always be a brush in his hand, or sticking out of his coat pocket.

Unfortunately, this hobby also took up a great deal of his time. Often, he would get up at six in the morning, which meant he would forget to join his kids in the kitchen for breakfast. Or find the time to return to the supermarket. Which meant that Oliver and Emily would be eating porridge for some time.

As Emily left to take their father’s porridge upstairs, Oliver sprinkled sugar over his bowl and picked up his spoon. It was good porridge, he thought as he swallowed a hot mouthful.

Oliver was ten and would be graduating primary school at the end of the year, which was in three weeks. Next year, he would enrol at the nearby high school. Emily was sixteen, and in the midst of her high school life, but that didn’t mean that Oliver felt any better about going there. At primary school, the number of students were so small, there wasn’t a single person there that Oliver didn’t know the name of. He wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of becoming one of over a thousand faces in the next year.

Emily came back into the kitchen and sat down at her usual spot at the table. She picked up her spoon and began to eat without a word. They often began their mornings like this, in silence. Emily only really began to function about an hour after getting up, and Oliver wasn’t much of a talker to begin with.

*

It was raining outside, so Oliver grabbed his rain jacket after pulling on his uniform. The light polo shirt and track pants were designed with the hot weather that lasted three seasons in mind. Comfortable and cool, but not much help against the heavy rain that occurred this time each year.

“Oliver!” called Emily from downstairs “You see my hairbrush anywhere?”

“No!” he replied.

Oliver began tossing his books into his bag. Unlike the backpacks most kids wore, he had to use a book bag, worn like a satchel over his shoulder. His father used to use it, when he would deliver repaired books back to his customers. The leather was worn here and there, and the strap was beginning to fray. Emily had a flashy backpack she bought with money she earned from working at the local chip shop. But their father had told Oliver he was too young to work, and so he was stuck with the book bag.

He fished a couple of library books out from underneath his bed and tossed them inside as well. Then hoisting his bag over his shoulder, he went back downstairs to the kitchen. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he saw it was only quarter past seven. School didn’t open until half past, but he always liked to be there early when there was no one around. Emily came into the kitchen, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

“You’re dressed early” she remarked, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl and putting in her lunchbox. Oliver shrugged, and pulled on his jacket.

“Going to the library after school again?” Emily asked.

“Probably” replied Oliver “Why?”

“Drop these off for me, then, will you?” she said, handing him a roll of magazines. They were all editions of Belle, with models in summer clothing, smiling at him from the covers.

“You want me to walk into the library, carrying these?” said Oliver, raising his eyebrows.

“Come on, they’re already overdue. I’ve got hockey practice today” she said, applying gloss in the mirror over the counter.

“Fine” said Oliver, stuffing them deep in his bag.

“Thanks” replied Emily, checking her lips. Satisfied, she grabbed her backpack from the table. Her school started a lot earlier, so she often didn’t have much time in the morning.

“Later” she said to Oliver, halfway out the door.

Oliver yawned and turned on the radio. He was always bored at this time of morning, between Emily’s departure and his own. The radio was playing nothing but ads, so instead Oliver flicked through one of the copies of Belle that he pulled out of his bag. After passing over makeup tips, he found the horoscopes. Running his finger down the column, he came to:

Virgo (August 23 – September 23)

Get ready for a windfall! The end-of-year festive season brings both its share of good fortune and big bucks. But be careful girl! Act like too much of a spendthrift, and you might find yourself a few dollars short when you spot that cute top on sale. Money attracts envy, so be careful of back stabbings. Trust your friends but keep your wallet in your sock.

Oliver snorted. Big bucks seemed unlikely on a bookbinder’s wages. The Coys were hardly destitute, but they were only able to go out to dinner once or twice a year. Oliver had been wearing the same pair of sneakers for the past three years. They were fraying near the toes, and the colour was rather faded, but Oliver didn’t mind. At the age of ten, he had other interests.

Unlike most of the boys at his school, Oliver had no interest in sports. Most of his classmates came from farming families and had spent their summers out on the rugby field. The local rugby team was the largest community group in the area. Almost every boy in town followed the sport with more avid enthusiasm than their teachers could only dream of producing in a lesson. As the son of a bookbinder, this made Oliver an outcast in his own class. When lunchtime came around, most students milled around the sports field. But if you went up the steps of the school library, and looked into a forgotten corner, you would find Oliver. Wrapped up in the world of the printed pages, Oliver would be deaf to everything around him. Only the lunch bell, sounding an hour later, would rouse him.

*

Ten minutes later, Oliver was out the door. Emily took the bus, but her school was on the other side of town. The primary school was only two or three streets away, so as soon as he was old enough, Oliver would make the ten-minute walk alone. The way passed both a barber's and a convenience store. Oliver glanced in when he went by. There was no one inside except for a bored looking assistant arranging the magazines. In a small town such as theirs, the assistant wouldn't have much to do until the afternoon when parents brought their unwilling children in for a cut.

The town of Sheppardton began as a farming community some two hundred years ago. People discovered the land was ideal for growing wheat, and the town sprung up in only ten or so years. Nowadays, flocks of sheep could be seen, and the shearing competition was an annual highlight. Chicken and dairy farmers made a living as well, but after two centuries, wheat remained by far the most extensive industry. Most of the families were descendants of the first settlers and had remained farmers throughout the years. In the grand scheme of things, the Coys were recent arrivals. Oliver's grandfather had come to Sheppardton fifty years ago and established himself as the local doctor. A picture of him hung in their living room. It showed him and Oliver's grandmother standing outside their newly opened clinic. After his grandmother died of tuberculosis, the doctor left the village and moved away, leaving his young son and his new wife behind. Oliver only saw him once every couple of years. With no relatives on his mother's side, as far as Oliver was concerned, the Coy family numbered at only three.