Speaker 1: Scholastic Audio presents Wildoak by C. C. Harrington. Read by Camilia O'Grady.

Camilia O'Grady: Maggie pressed the tip of one finger against the point of her pencil. It was keen and sharp. But was it sharp enough? Surely. Her stomach felt hollow and shaky inside. In fact everything felt shaky, even her legs. She rolled the yellow pencil between her thumb and fore finger. She flipped and twisted it, tapping one end against the surface of her desk. It was the only way out.

Hilary Muir was next. She started reading at the top of page 32, second paragraph, fourth sentence in. Her voice was crisp and light. It flowed like music. Maggie bit her lip. If she could just get through the first line without stuttering, maybe the rest would follow and then she could put away the pencil.

No. She would block. She was bound to. Some of the words would come out fine, and then, suddenly, they wouldn't. The air would catch, her head would jerk around, her mouth would lock open, she would blink repeatedly, and every single person in the room would stare and laugh. She squeezed her eyes shut. Laughing mouths and pointing fingers crowded in. She couldn't bear it. And then everyone would know, and she would have to move schools. Again.

She opened her eyes and glanced around. The classroom windows were locked. The door was closed. Old radiators clinked along the bare cream walls. The air was hot and stuffy. Louisa Walker sat on her right, listening, reading, following along with her ruler. They had never really talked, but she had always seemed kind. Maybe this time would be different, Maggie thought desperately. Maybe Louisa wouldn't laugh. Or Nicola. Nicola Robinson was kind too. Lots of people were kind. There was a pause, a shuffling of feet, the rustling of pages.

" Thank you, Hilary. Well read, beautiful in fact.

Margaret Stephens, please start at the bottom of page 34."

Miss Bryant's voice sounded muffled and far away as it drifted across the classroom. "Margaret?" she repeated.

A stifled giggle. Somebody was laughing already, and she hadn't even opened her mouth. Maggie could feel the wool of her sweater, tight around her neck.

" Margaret Stephens, are you listening to me?"

She stared down at the page, at the printed words, curling, pointed, full of sharp edges, like a mouthful of fishhooks. Miss Bryant's question hung in the air. Everyone was staring now. Waiting for her to start. It's the only way out.

Maggie's heart thudded against her rib cage. She gripped the pencil. She pulled it back. Now. She drove the keenly sharpened point deep down into the soft palm of her left hand. She let out a gasp of shocked pain. Tears scalded her cheeks. Unsteadily, she rose to her feet and held up her hand. The pencil protruded from it like a grotesque oversized splinter. She trembled. Beads of scarlet blood escaped from the wound and dropped to the floor.

" Oh my goodness! Margaret, what on earth just happened? Are you all right? Quickly! You're excused! Get yourself to Nurse Nora right away! Go!"

Maggie ran out of the classroom, ignoring the sweep of horrified and disgusted faces. Nobody was laughing now. She kept running, holding her own hand, footsteps echoing along the corridors of Southam Primary. But more than the pain, she felt a rush of relief.

Nurse Nora was a large, plump woman with small eyes, a navy-blue uniform, and starched white cap. She moved with a cumbersome gait from one side of the room to the other.

" Margaret Stephens. Again? What is it this time?"

Maggie looked down. She held out her hand without saying anything.

" Well, how on earth did that happen? Speak up, child!"

Maggie continued to look down. Her excuses for being sent out had been getting more and more extreme. There was no point in trying to explain. Nurse Nora of all people would never understand.

" You've been in here six times in three weeks. It's not normal." Nurse Nora sighed deeply. "You're almost 12 years old, Margaret. You can't possibly be this clumsy all the time."