Alistair skipped over and peered at George’s welcome sheet. “You’re in B24, not D24,” he sang out.
“Double bollocks.”
“Please do not swear in my classroooooom…”
George collected his stuff, still cradling his leather notebook. “Let’s sing him out,” Alistair suggested, before bursting into “So Long, Farewell” from The Sound of Music. Everyone joined in, like this was a totally normal occurrence. Apart from Hannah, who rolled her eyes at me and mimed shooting the side of her head.
When it was her turn, she stood up, and said, “I do drama, not music. I’m not singing.”
“As you wish.”
“I am Hannah.” Her voice demanded to be listened to, in a quiet, assured way. “I like drama but I hate musicals, and this, this…” She paused for effect. “This is my idea of hell on earth.”
The room gasped but Alistair was totally unbothered by her criticism. “I can’t believe someone in my form doesn’t like musicals,” he muttered. “There must be some kind of mistake.”
Hannah shrugged and sat back down. It was my turn. Everyone twisted towards me and my chest tightened, my lungs drawing in on themselves.
Pretend it’s a gig, pretend it’s a gig, I told myself as I scrambled out of my seat. How am I supposed to sing when I can’t breathe? Okay, pretend it’s a gig. You get through enough of them somehow. Breathe…breathe…
“My name’s Amelie.” My voice cracked but I recovered as I sang. “I just moved here from Sheffield. And I like songwriting and singing and playing the guitar.”
As always, like with my gigs, the world hadn’t ended. People were vaguely smiling, hardly interested.
Alistair grinned as I sat down. “You have a lovely singing voice, Amelie,” he commented. Everyone turned towards me again and I essentially became just a shyness rash. I hated him for a moment – for singling me out and making me the centre of attention, even though it was a nice compliment. I slunk down in my chair and hid behind my hair until the exercise was finished.
Things didn’t improve in the public-humiliation Olympics. Alistair then made us play “hilarious” ice-breaking activities. One was a game called Zip Zap Boing where we had to pass “a ball of energy” around the circle, using a series of ridiculous sounds and actions. I only zipped, which meant saying the word “zip” and passing the “energy” from one side of myself to another. Hannah only zipped too, and muttered under her breath, “This is awful and I want to die.” I smiled at her widely to try and show her we were the SAME and we could BE FRIENDS. Then we were given bingo cards with things like Favourite colour is pink and Likes to run on them, and were instructed to find people with these traits. I almost considered dropping out of college right there and then, and telling my parents it wasn’t for me. However, a bingo square said Comes from another place and everyone flocked to me right away and I didn’t have to approach anyone or say anything apart from “Yes, Sheffield” multiple times. Once everyone had ticked me off, they started chatting to each other like it was the simplest thing in the world. I stood on the edges, clutching my bingo card, my armpits sweating, missing my old life and my old friends. Then I heard Hannah’s voice behind me.
“Can you pretend to like pink for me?” she asked.
I spun and smiled goofily at her. “I mean, it’s always been my favourite colour.”
“Great. Wow. What a coincidence.” She marked it down on her sheet. “And, do you have any pets?”
I nodded. “Yep. A unicorn.”
“Me too!”
Both our smiles grew wider and I wrote down her name in that square. “It’s Hannah, right?” I asked.
“Yep. And I can pretend to have broken a bone, if you want?”
“Brilliant. Which one?”
“All of them.” She shrugged. “I jumped down an elevator shaft in protest against this ice-breaker game. Broke every bone in my body. I’m a miracle of science.”
We both giggled and our bonding continued.
“Do you have curly hair?” I asked her.
“I mean, when I curl it. Yes, yes I do.”
“Are you left-handed?”
“Sometimes I put out my left hand to look for the L shape, because I forget my left from right. Does that count?”
“Totally counts.”
“Right, my turn to tick some off. Have you ever been abroad?”
“I lived in Sheffield,” I replied.
“Totally is abroad.”
Darla interrupted us by yelling “BINGO!” We all clapped her and she did an actual faux Oscar acceptance speech.
Alistair then talked us through the campus, and how the timetable worked, and said we could come to him any time we needed. Despite his extrovertness, I kind of liked him. Form time would definitely never be boring. He dismissed us and everyone trickled out of the door, chatting like they were friends already.
I dawdled with my bag, taking a bit too long to fit my notepad in. Hannah was fiddling with hers and I hoped we might talk more. She zipped hers up and raised an eyebrow at me. “Well, we survived. Do you feel inducted?”
“I feel like I may need therapy for the rest of my life.”
She laughed. “What have you got next?” We fell into step and pushed our way out of the media block into the sunshine. Hundreds of students hurried from A to B, stopping to check their own maps to figure out where exactly “B” was.
“English language,” I said.
She pulled a pair of mirrored aviators down onto her nose. “Oh no, I’m doing lit. Otherwise we might’ve been in the same class. We’re heading to the same block though. Have you got a map?”
I walked with Hannah all the way to my next lesson. She told me she’d chosen to come to college rather than stay at her secondary school. “It was a religious school and they banned sixth-form girls from wearing vest tops, even in the summer. I ain’t staying somewhere like that.” She was one of only five students who didn’t stay on. We stopped outside my classroom door, and I checked the number to ensure I was in the right place. “Some of us are meeting for coffee actually,” Hannah said, adjusting the strap on her rucksack. “There’s this place in town called BoJangles. You can come if you like? At lunchtime?”
I could’ve hugged her. Because, had it been up to me, I’d never have mentioned seeing her ever again even though I was desperate to. I bleated out yes and asked where BoJangles was.
She showed me on her phone. “It’s so cute you don’t know your way around our tiny town,” she said. “Don’t worry, it takes about five minutes to get the hang of it. Anyway,” she took her sunglasses off and waved goodbye. “See you at lunch.”
“Bye,” I called after her, watching her red hair merge into the chaos of new students getting lost in the corridors. “Thank you,” I said quietly, almost to myself.
It’s so cold, I’m going to have to leave soon. There’s a thin layer of ice creeping closer towards my arse. I bow my head, pull my legs up, and push my knees into my eye sockets.
Hannah isn’t my friend any more.