Excerpt: Finding Wonderland

It was threatening to storm when sixth-former Matthew Stone pulled out a single suitcase from the back of his father's car. A laminated name-tag was looped tightly around the handle, the handwriting on it a tell-tale sign of just how old the bag was-and how stingy Matthew's parents were for having not bought him a new carrier in the six years he'd been coming and going to the school behind him.

Matthew looked up from his hands when he felt the first spots of rain slide through his auburn hair and down the bridge of his narrow nose. He shook his head, his lower lip protruding as he blew upwards to dislodge a particularly ticklish drop. Through the rear window of his father's silver Porsche Carrera, he saw his mother flash a disapproving look. Her face seemed to twist with the effort, swollen cheeks rippling into thin, fragile lines. A million tiny wrinkles, like her skin was made not of flesh but of old, worn paper.

“Are you alright back there?” called Matthew's father, Anaesthesiologist James Stone. He had a dry voice, low and deep and rough. “You need a hand or anything?” Although Matthew had never have lived up to his father's expectations when it came to his studies, he was smart enough to detect mock-sincerity, and he heard it then in the tone of voice that said 'this is my only son, I have a duty.' Matthew had always hated that about his father; he would rather be outright shunned than done so behind a façade of caring.

“I'm fine.” Matthew called back, his own voice sounding more like his mother's, tight and nasally, like he had a cold. “I got everything with me here.” He saw his mother continue to look upset, it could have been due to the pain she was in after having her face lifted, but there was something hard in her eyes that made it clear to Matthew that she just wanted to be out of that parking lot and careening down the road to the nearest high-flying bar or restaurant. He wanted them out of there too, he'd hardly call the relationship he shared with his parents loving, and each second he spent with them felt like a lifetime.

“Well, do you need any help getting it up to your dorm?” His father made a move to get out of the car, much to his wife and son's shared dismay. Matthew quickly piped up, “No, no, I'm fine.” The rain grew heavier, the sky darker. “I'll be fine, really, it's just one bag. I'll call you if I need anything.” James considered this, his hand still resting on the car handle, then finally he flashed a grim smile to his son through the window, and pressed his foot down on the accelerator.

The car rolled smoothly out of the parking lot, gaining speed as it whirred past the iron gates of McMillan Secondary High. When he was finally able to see them no more, the car having disappeared into the surrounding thicket of woodland, Matthew turned to face his home for the next seven moths. It was as bleak and dowdy as any school came, its original charm as a stately home having been twisted into something corporate and ugly. Most of the original architecture had been converted, all angles and homely features flattened and pressed until only bits and pieces of its original structure could be seen, poking out of the grey like bricked weeds.

With a sigh, Matthew hauled the suitcase into his hands, and headed into the school. He hadn't really expected it to change in any way, but he was still disappointed when he found himself looking at the same group of students he always found himself looking at whenever he was brought back here after the holidays. They each looked as depressed and bored as he felt, their own luggage lying at their feet as they waited in line to be given their dormitory keys. He got in place behind a chubby girl with a lazy eye and severe pock-marks clustered all over her cheeks and forehead. Matthew didn't have the greatest skin in the world-his chin was particularly prone to bouts of acne-but he still found himself edging away from the girl a little, his lip curling with distaste.

The foyer of McMillan was a small, circular room with a single staircase that spiralled up onto a large landing adorned with many display cases, most of which were now empty-the science students having taken them away after leaving for employment. Along the walls were dozens of silver framed photographs of past successes, a CEO here, a top surgeon there, and so on and so forth. Matthew knew where to look if he wanted to catch a glimpse of his father's face-bottom right, partially obscured by a display-back when it had been young and smiling, having just received a cash reward for some thesis or whatever it was that he had handed in to a competition during his final year here.

The line moved forward, the chubby girl snuffling loudly and wiping her nose as she shuffled forwards. Her stomach, more than generously pronounced, wobbled within her tight, cotton cardigan.

Matthew turned to look back towards the entrance when the doors swung open, the wooded frames crashing noisily into the walls. He groaned inwardly when he recognised the four students responsible for the commotion; Jack Harlett-tall, well built, he had the face of a twenty four year old despite being only sixteen, he was also probably the smartest guy in school, but Matthew suspected he got extra credit on account of his parents being high-flying council officials; stood next to him was Joey Harlett-he wasn't as tall as his brother, but he was the more attractive of the two, his soft features made him seem less dangerous, but he wasn't; bringing up the rear was Stephen Goldberg-he was fat, loud, ignorant, and the only reason Matthew could think for him to be in the gang was that people tended to take someone who weighed over three hundred pounds deadly serious; and last of all, standing on Stephen's right, was Elizabeth 'Lizzy' Kraut-she was thin and attractive, with long black hair that had probably never seen a split-end, and bright, brown eyes. Matthew had seen prettier girls around the school, but Lizzy was the only girl who seemed to exist without any fault, well, any physical fault at least. Truth be told, she was meaner than all three of 'her boys' put together.

The gang stood purposefully in the doorway, each one of them posed and sneering. Matthew watched their gaze flicker over the waiting line of students. He saw Jack's eyes light up, a cruel, hard light flashing within the jade orbs like broken beer bottles. He traced the gang-leader's line of sight and saw that it fell upon the chubby girl standing in front of him.

Oh, no... thought Matthew, knowing what was to come. He inched back, stepping onto the toes of a small boy, who squawked loudly but said nothing in protest. Matthew figured the kid would rather keep quite than draw any attention to himself. His outburst did, however, grab the chubby girls' attention, she spun around, looking for the source of the commotion, and saw instead Jack Harlett and his gang smirking over at her. She wasn't terribly tanned at present, but Matthew saw her face pale considerably. He inched back a little more, the boy behind him doing the same.

“Patricia!” said Jack to the chubby girl as he inched closer. “You're lookin' good today. You lost weight over the holidays?” He continued to edge forward, his feet barely moving a full step; Matthew could see it in Jack's eyes that he was enjoying making the girl squirm. He could also see it in the way that Patricia's eyes shone too brightly that she was already on the verge of tears.

Lizzy stepped out from the shadow of Stephen's bulking form, her hips jutting from left to right in a deliberate fashion. She took her place by Jack's side, wrapping a waif-like arm around his neck. She didn't say anything, but her eyes moved up and down Patricia's body, the look in them darkening whenever they passed an unsightly roll of flab or an inflammation of the skin.

“Yeah, Patty, you're looking hot!” came Joey's voice from his brother's side. He was smirking broadly, eyes glittering cruelly. “I never noticed it before.”

By this point the queue had come to a standstill. Matthew and the boy behind him were practically forcing the rest of the line into the walls, and Patricia was alone in the middle with a large absence of people both in front and behind. There might as well have been a spotlight down on her, announcing to the whole school just how alone in this she was. For a moment the foyer was deathly quiet, the tension almost palpable. Matthew felt his own heart flutter, anxious to see where this whole thing was going to go-

-then Stephen let out a high-pitched, screeching laugh, and the other members of the gang followed suit. Lizzy held tightly onto her boyfriend Jack, her hands roaming over his shoulders and face as she struggled to support herself. Joey even went so far as to point and laugh, elbowing his brother in the side and shouting “I think she actually believed us!”

The tears fell then, rolling down bloated cheeks to leave white snail-like trails in their wake. Patricia's humiliation was complete; she held her face in her hands and hurried past them, running out the entrance and into the parking lot. The gang continued to giggle amongst themselves as they took her place in the line. Ahead of them, the security officer shook his head in dismay, but he said nothing. That was the problem with everyone here; they were all too worried about their own skins to step up and say something. Matthew bowed his head guiltily, he too would never have the guts to say anything to Jack and his group; as much as he hated being here, the thought of them pulling a few strings and getting him expelled, giving him nowhere to go but home, was much, much worse. He could stick this place, he could not stick being home with his mother and father and their daily play-acting of a happily family.

Having taken Patricia's place in the queue, Jack, Joey, Stephen and Lizzy approached the security booth with the disgruntled looking guard sitting behind the perspex. Even from this vantage Matthew could see the can of mace that he was carrying in a black leather holster on his torso. Mace was the first point of call in an aggressive situation, members of staff would use it if students were getting particularly violent or rowdy. The second point of call-Matthew couldn't see it, but he knew it was there, everybody did-was the stun-gun. Matthew himself had been stunned once, it was not a particularly pleasant experience, however, he couldn't argue that it kept people in line. He had certainly never kicked up a fuss again since.

“Hey, tubby.” Matthew heard Joey say to the guard. “You got our keys or what?”

The guard looked like he might-might have been about to say something, but then that tiny spark of whatever it had been was gone, leaving him as placid and resigned as the rest of the staff around this school. “Yeah.” he answered numbly, before he reached to his left and pulled out the keys to flat four. He quickly tossed them under the gap of the perspex, snatching his hand back as though he was frightened of Joey savaging it.

The gang left then, strolling up the single flight of stairs and through the set of double doors at the end of the balcony. Their laughter could still be heard even when they were out of sight.

Matthew quickly collected his own flat keys, murmuring a 'thanks' under his breath before turning away to leave through the front doors. If Jack and his gang were loitering about on the first floor, he'd rather avoid any contact with them and make his way to his dormitory via another route.

The storm that had threatened before was now well on its way. Matthew had to physically brace himself when a strong gust of wind blew into the folds of his thin cotton shirt, pushing him back. The rain was spitting down violently, and the wind sounded chipped and angry as it tried to blow over everything in its path. Patricia was huddled up against the oak tree that had been planted in remembrance of the Second World War. Her broad shoulders were hunched, her face hidden by fleshy arms as she sobbed into the bark. The rain was coming down particularly hard on her-even the weather was mocking her, thought Matthew before he turned away from her to follow the path around to the back of the school.

He was almost knocked over on a couple of occasions, but the weight of the suitcase in his hands rooted him down and he eventually managed to reach the back entrance of the school; he was soaked to the bones, but at least he hadn't fallen into the sludge and muddied himself up, for that he was extremely grateful.

The back doors led him into the canteen, which was eerily empty and devoid of light. The dull, grey clouds from outside seemed to infect the room, turning every corner into a pit of shadows and every item of furniture into something hard and metallic. Matthew gazed over at the various cooking units set up behind the display counters; something was always bubbling and frothing on the stove, it was strange to see everything so still, like some greater entity had pressed the pause button.

The storm was reaching its violent crescendo, thunder rolled in the distance, overheard, all around-and the lightning was starting to strike. For a brief moment, the canteen was lit up like a fine summer morning in a bright, yellow light, but then it was gone and Matthew was forcing himself to leave the dead place.

Matthew lived up on the second floor, in flat five. There were two flats per floor, each of which housed six students. In total, the school harboured eighteen flats, which amounted to 108 on-campus students. The staff were also expected to reside on school grounds, they too shared flats in accordance to which subject they were teaching. McMillan High was a high-rated facility, which frequently scored top marks during inspections; it was a hard place to get into, but Matthew had his father's strict summer tutoring to 'thank' for being here.

The students that didn't have rich enough parents to pay for a flat on campus, were located in the halls of residence in the town centre just over a mile away. Even with the yearly cost of travel passes, the students living in the halls were better off than those on campus-and they often made a deal of showing that, or causing trouble for those they deemed 'rich snobs'. Matthew was apparently in this category, according to a couple of guys he had had the misfortune of running into last year; they had accused him of being up his own backside, with an I.Q lower than a retarded dwarf (their exact words), who had only been granted a place here because of his parents and their money. Matthew had reacted rather badly when certain insinuations were made about his relationship with his mother, which had led to a rather unfortunate run-in with a security guard's stun-gun.

His ribs still felt a little tingly now, six months later.

To get to the flats, you had to pass the subject halls, which were sorted into categories and placed together on the same floors. The ground floor covered General Maths, which was a compulsory subject. You were expected to study this until the start of sixth-form, and then you'd branch out into something more specific. The first floor covered General Science, which was also compulsory and run in the same fashion as G.M. On the second floor was Psychology and Social Studies. The third floor covered Specific Maths, which was anything from algebra to applied maths or geometry. Fourth floor was where you studied Specific Science-physics, chemistry, biology. The fifth floor, which housed the last of the subject halls, covered higher specific subjects; you'd study there if you wanted to move into something like engineering or forensics. The floors above the fifth contained resource rooms, such as libraries and study societies.

There were no creative subjects at McMillan Secondary High.

There were no creative subjects taught anywhere in the United Kingdom. The very idea of spending-wasting-time on something artistic was deeply frowned upon. Books-that is novels, works of fiction, nonsense were deemed dangerous forms of escapism, which got in the way of achieving your 'Higher State of Self'. Art was similarly treated, public galleries had reverted back to private ones, which only the super-rich could afford the luxury. The internet had been successfully censored during the summer of 2005, after numerous attempts to police it finally paid off. Now there was no computer in any school or public library which displayed any information that wasn't relative to achieving your Higher State of Self.

Matthew had managed-once, a few years ago-to find a website that sold books, actual fiction, and not fact or study guides. He had ordered as many as his debit card would allow, and later that month four books had arrived. One of them had been Lewis Carroll's 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland'. The names of the other three escaped him-something to do with the horror genre, he seemed to remember. He had taken Carroll's 'childish escapism' (as everyone called it) with him to bed that night and read it under the covers with a torch, like a naughty teenager looking at dirty pictures. He still remembered what it felt like to get excited about turning the page, and how mesmerised he had been when reading the nonsensical wonder of Carroll's poetry. It had been the greatest few hours of his life-

-and then his mother and father had stormed into the room. They apparently had tabs on his debit card, so they knew everything that he ordered. The very same night that the books had arrived, they were taken from him and burned in the large fireplace of their living room. Matthew was accused of slipping down a dangerous path, of losing sight of achieving his Higher State of Self, then his father had hit him and sent him back to bed.

Matthew supposed that was the first time he began to question the rules of his country, and why indulging in works of fiction, or appreciating the arts, was so dangerous to becoming the best you possibly could. There was zero tolerance for playing around-you studied, you got a great job, you married and produced superior children, and you worked with the people to bring the country back from its economic grave.

Matthew found himself looking towards the psychology study halls. Everything had been re-painted since the holidays, despite the storm the rooms looked brighter. He pressed on, passing the social studies classrooms with their Higher State of Self propaganda slapped all over the place. They showed a happy looking man and woman with a holy glow surrounding them. It was probably the only recent illustration that had been produced in the last fifteen years; Matthew often found himself staring at it in awe, despite its less than agreeable subject matter. He looked at it now, glaring hard into the faces of the couple, and wishing he were as pleased with the way things were as they seemed to be.

The flat was just as dreary and empty as the canteen had been when Matthew eventually unlocked the door and stepped inside. He couldn't hear any noise from flat six opposite either, and figured that if none of the students were here already, then they would probably be arriving on the following Sunday. That suited him just fine, he'd never really gotten on that well with anyone on this floor; they were a little too noisy for him. Sure, he was pleasant, he'd greet them with a courtesy 'hello' and maybe even make small talk, but that didn't mean that he liked them.

The country may have been built on the foundation of spending every waking minute trying to better oneself, but those of a privileged background very seldom did. The students on this floor certainly didn't, and if Matthew was honest, the majority of the time all he wanted to do was laze around and lose himself in his thoughts (can't censor those, can ya). But the prospect of finishing school with no grades to his name and returning home with his tail between his legs...

… well, the very thought of that made him sick to his stomach. He would achieve something, but not because he wanted to-he had no interest in maths, science or psychology-but because he needed to. He needed to get away from his parents once and for all. One more fake smile and he'd crack, he just knew he would.

Moving quickly down the narrow, blue corridor, he unlocked his dormitory and stepped inside. The room was not especially big, and it contained far more storage space than what was necessary. After all, there were no books to store away, no music CDs, no DVDs, and no television. The only thing in the room was a bed and a PC, with its internet heavily censored to only allow the user access to educational sites. Matthew pulled his suitcase by his side before tossing it onto the edge of his bed. He proceeded to unpack.

Considering that Matthew (and pretty much every student, to be fair) didn't have much in his suitcase except for the essentials; his clothes, toiletries, face products, stationary and the like, it didn't take him all that long to arrange everything back into its rightful place. He was happy to find that when he opened the door to his en-suite shower room, that the bleach he had poured down the toilet before the holidays had done its job and cleaned the air of that awful, stale smell. With his suitcase now empty, Matthew stored it behind his clothes in the wardrobe and moved back out of the dorm, his hands tightly wrapped around a thick, plastic bag that had been misshapen and deformed due to the heavy food products lying inside. It wasn't all that often that he got the kitchen to himself, he was rather looking forward to just sitting there in one of the blue couches and relaxing for a few hours as the storm waged on.

But first, he thought, he'd restock his cupboards with the stuff he held in the plastic bag, and then maybe it would be time to cook something. After that, well, he had a whole night to catch up on his psychology essays. And what a joy that would be...