Chapter 1: We all meet who we're dealing with, and it isn't the Doctor
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42 students sat unceremoniously at their desks. No one absent nor tardy, and so far the day had passed on without a single incident. In other words, aliens hadn't stirred up any trouble, and that was what made it so gloriously good. Normal, even. One could say, if they were so inclined, that it was an abnormality. Which, in Cardiff, it was, and if you lived there it seemed downright suspicious. Or it was an enormous relief.
Mostly it depended on your viewpoint.
But to this group of children it didn't matter either way. They were inside taking a written exam. The last of many in this year. It had been oddly difficult for this batch, especially one girl in particular.
In any case, she didn't sit in the back of the class for no reason.
Darlene Jones.
That name would make most teachers at Mountstuart Primary School raise their eyebrows and wriggle their noses with something akin to, but not unlike disgust. Even Mr. Morris, the headteacher, was a bit gleeful to hear that she was going to leave from his institute in only two years. Many wished it would happen sooner because the three years she had been with them were very similar to what most imagine hell would be like.
Not only was she rude, arrogant, and downright stubborn; she happened to be their brightest student. That, and the fact that she gave off a feeling of unease was very unsettling to say the least. Redundancy aside, she was an overall strange girl.
Once, she had somehow found a way to melt all the crayons in her classroom and convince the children to splatter the unsightly goop everywhere. It all cleaned off nicely of course, but that was only the first year. Needless to say, she just couldn't keep out of trouble for very long.
. - .
"So here the children were, taking their exam, when right in the middle of the test, you-know-who gets up and stomps all the way to the front of the class."
As usual, the staff had gathered in the break-room to discuss the events of the day. And none other than Madam Pemmfrie was discussing her latest 'traumatic encounter' with none other than Darlene Jones. She rubbed her neck and held her coffee while she retold the event. Gesturing so wildly her ginger curls would shake almost indignantly in nature.
"What's wrong? I ask, in the sweetest voice I could. Oh, but she—,"
The woman's face became red with anger.
"She insisted I rewrite the test. I asked whatever for, and she gives me this look, like I'm some…worm."
Madam Pemmfrie squinted her eyes and pinched her fingers together to accentuate the point.
"And says," she continued in a high, simpering voice, "'your history is skewed by perception. The only way to know the truth is to live through it and compare notes with everyone else.'"
"As if she were the teacher and not me!" roared a few other teachers, saying the sentence at the same time as she did. Of course, by now they'd gotten used to that strange girl and saw it all as a joke.
Looking on with amusement, Mr. Ian Chessleton snickered and hid his face, which seemed to draw the wrath of Madam Pemmfrie.
"NOW WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT CHESSLETON?"
He simply snickered again and strolled away, not wanting to draw any more fuel to the fire.