The small handheld tablet that is waiting for me on my desk is used to load our timetables and has a school-based email system to contact our teachers. We can also access a school map that works the exact same way as google maps. Just, no actual internet access on it. God forbid we contact the big bad world from this prison disguised as a learning establishment.
I flick through the rules booklet. A breach in rules is a serious offense here. I figure it really can’t be that different to any other school. One rule does catch my eye though: All students must be in full school uniform between the hours of 8am and 5pm, the only exception is for your chosen sport. Are they serious? We have to do some kind of sport! I have the coordination of a toddler; tripping over my own feet happens at least once a day. I’m no psychic, but these square heeled leather school shoes they expect me to wear are a certain death trap.
I flick open my one suitcase which contains hoodies, yoga pants, sneakers and hats. I have a couple of pairs of ripped jeans and some tops, nothing fancy. We didn’t have much back home anyway, and because I come from a tropical climate, I was just told to pack my winter clothes and leave the rest. Ha, this is as good as it gets! I managed to steal the hoodies from my brother, Aadi, and our best friend, Smalls. He got his nickname because the guy is huge. I know it seems stupid, but it’s the only name I have ever known him by. My brother was cool with our friendship when he realised Smalls and I would only ever be friends, despite us both wanting more. He’s my wingman. Or so I keep telling myself.
I shove everything into the drawers provided for me, not bothering to fold them, knowing damn well they will end up all over the floor by tomorrow. I hate order and thrive on chaos. A clean room gives me hives.
Someone taps on the door and I shout for them to come in. I scowl when I notice it’s my incubator.
“What are you doing here?” I snap. She looks like a damn Stepford wife, the polar opposite to the mother I remember; one who wore her pyjamas most of the day, sporting a messy bun.
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.” Her new English accent grates on me. She doesn’t even sound like my mother. But then again, it’s been close to a decade, so I guess we’ve both changed. Closing the door, she takes a step closer to me. I stand against the far wall, my hands defensively crossed against my chest.
“And what tone should I take with the woman who abandoned me and decided almost ten years later that she would drag me halfway across the damn world and cut me off from my family and friends?” Her face shows no signs of emotion. Must be the Botox.
“With respect, I saved your ass and you know it. I was hoping that we could build some kind of relationship. I know you will never see me as your mother, and I have come to terms with that. I do expect you to be at dinner every Sunday night. Our house is off the school property slightly.”
“No.”
“This is non-negotiable, but I figured you would say no, so I have a deal for you. If you come to our house for dinner on Sundays, as well as Tuesday for your birthday...” I scoff, surprised that she actually remembers my birthday. “While you are there, you can have access to this.” She holds up a brand new iPhone. “You can call your friends, your father, your brother. I’m pretty sure, with it being his birthday today, you’ll want to speak to him and catch up. But under no circumstances can it leave the house. You are free to use it anytime you come to visit. I have a room set up for you there. All the boys also have rooms.”
“Boys?” What damn boys? No one mentioned anything about that.
“Monty’s sons. You will be introduced on Sunday. They are good boys, and I hope they can be a good influence on you.”
I huff out my frustration. Great, I have almost step-brothers and they are damn nerds. At least it should be easy to get myself kicked out. I give her a smile.
“Fine, what time is dinner?”
“Seven. I will send a driver to pick you up, since you don’t have a car.”
She excuses herself, dropping a piece of paper with my new mobile number on it on my desk as she goes, gushing that Monty will be finishing work and she plans to surprise him. I also notice that it’s ten minutes until the dining hall starts serving food and I haven’t eaten since my flight.
I quickly change into a fresh pair of leggings and my brother’s favourite 76ers hoodie, along with my All Stars. I brush the tangles out of my long wavy chestnut hair. I look like a mess and I’m sure I’ll have jet lag at some point. I take my tablet and find the maps, typing in the dining hall. The lady’s voice giving directions sounds so sophisticated. I name her Susan and follow her directive. Students glare at me as I pass them. Maybe it’s because I’m the new girl and they don’t know why I’m here, or it could be the fact that I am talking to the device in my hand. I don’t care either way.
It takes me fifteen minutes to find my way, even with directions, because I think we took a wrong turn somewhere in the east wing. I’m positive Susan didn’t like my attitude and re-routed me the long way back.
I spot Elsie waving me over. The dining hall looks equally as old as the rest of the school. God, I hope the food isn’t as bad as the crumbling surroundings. I presume it costs a fortune to send delinquent kids here, so why the hell is the place such a dive?
A hush falls over the room as I weave my way through tables to get to Elsie. She’s sitting by herself. I wonder if she’s got other friends or if she’s a loner. I plop down in front of her. Chatter returns to the room, but I still feel eyes on me. When I glance up, a boy with mousy-looking blond-brown hair is staring at me from under his long, unruly fringe. He smirks when he notices me looking back.
“I have some dinner for you. I picked it up because if you’re late you miss the good stuff. I hope you like Pizza. I made an assumption, I used to have an Australian pen pal; she was always eating pizza.”
“Thanks, I love pizza.” I look over and notice she is eating a salad. “Not a pizza fan?”
“I’m a vegetarian. I have made a complaint that they didn’t have an option for me.”
We make small talk while I pick the green shit off the slice of pizza. Every now and again I look up and the same boy is staring at me intently. His table is full. Mostly guys, but a few girls have planted themselves in the laps of some of them.
“So spill the T, what do I need to know about this place?”
She looks up from her salad and blinks at me. “I’m sorry? Why would I spill tea?” Elsie looks confused.
“No, T, like gossip.”
She blinks at me again, blankly. “Okay. Right, so...it is pretty much like other universities, except we start a year early and miss our last year of high school. It’s more like a bridging year and we have a lot of international students. It’s a way of making sure everyone is on the same level.” I nod as she talks.
“Hold up, I had almost finished my final year of high school in Australia, so why am I a second year and not a first year here? I mean, I didn’t sit my exams yet.”
“I do not know. You would need to ask the headmaster about that. But it means you have three years here, instead of the standard four.”
“Do people not join late?”
“Never.” She stares pointedly at me. “Hence the attention you are getting.”