Chapter 20
Not much, but I didn't feel like writing today :/ Since it's so short I might add to it later.
"So how bad did school suck?" Rose laughs, as I come charging through the TARDIS door. I slam it behind me.
"Don't want to talk about it. Here give this to the Doctor," I snap. I shove a piece of paper at Rose, and stomp off toward my bedroom. I travel down the hallways and storm into my room. I collapse onto my bed, tossing my book bag to the floor. My head throbs with pain. I pull a pillow over my face, while my head continues to pulse. Stupid migraines. I massage my temples, attempting to clear my mind of all thoughts. I curl up into a ball, and begin to drift. Drifting into a deep sleep. Drifting off into a reality much better than this.
"Oi, rise and shine. Come on, get up!" The Doctor demands. He shakes me relentlessly, and I throw my pillow at his head.
"Leave me alone!" I growl.
"Come on I let you sleep for an hour. You need to tell me what this says!" He continues. The Doctor grabs my wrists and helps me into a sitting position. I push away the frizzy hair covering my face.
"I feel sick, though," I complain, holding my head. The Doctor whips out his sonic screwdriver and runs it over my body. He checks the readings before stuffing it back in his pocket.
"You're fine. Nothing's wrong. You just got a headache, now tell me what this says," he prompts. He holds out the paper to me, and I snatch it from his grasp. I peer down at what I wrote earlier, and my eyes widen in confusion.
"I didn't write this," I murmur, squinting at the script.
"Sure you did. It's your handwriting." I shake my head.
"I wrote about what I found out from the girls I met. This is all gibberish," I reply.
"That's why I need you to decode what you wrote," the Doctor answers dumbly.
"I didn't code it on purpose, though. I don't even know this language," I state, now becoming frightened. I whimper as another wave of pain wracks my brain.
"You probably did it subconsciously. Then what did you find out?" He prods.
"Um…the girls were saying that students can graduate from 8th grade to 12th grade if they have exceptional science grades. Any students in that grade frame that meet the science requirements are allowed to graduate," I explain through gnashed teeth.
"I looked through some of the records and last year 33 students graduated, but after graduation they were never heard from again. There have been no reports from family or friends which is odd too," he reveals. I clutch my head in my hands, having a million things running through my head at the same time.
"Doctor, my head…" I moan. I twist and turn, trying to gain relief from the stabbing pain in my head.
"I know, but it's just a migraine. You're mother used to get them all the time. It's just an overload of information building up in your head. You'll be fine, sweetheart," the Doctor reassures. He pats my arm, rising from the bed. "Just get a good night's sleep. You've got a lot more work to do tomorrow." I blindly throw a pillow in his direction. The pillow comes flying back at me, and the latch of the door clicks into place. I roll over in bed, now looking up at the ceiling. The buzzing thoughts begin to slow, and eventually stop altogether. There is only one thing running through my mind now. What the hell is the language that I wrote in earlier?