“Dad, this is unbelievably unfair,” I interrupted. “I need my phone alarm to wake me up, for a start.” More importantly, I wanted to chat with my friends back home. I needed to stay in touch, otherwise they’d forget me.
“Don’t worry, Helen; you will have your phone by seven a.m. tomorrow morning. I’m sure you can manage a mere twelve hours without it,” he said, getting up from the table. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lecture to prepare.”
“But we need to discuss this, Dad. It isn’t fair!”
I bit my tongue, holding back the sort of language that he would be shocked I knew.
Dad turned around. This time he didn’t look so calm. Oh god. What if he could hear my thoughts? If he heard the names I wanted to call him, a confiscated phone was the least of my problems.
“Helen. I have seen many fair and unfair things in my time: miscarriages of justice, grinding poverty, millions of deaths caused by thousands of wars. Believe me when I say that this isn’t one of them.”
I stomped my way upstairs, slamming my bedroom door behind me. I didn’t care what he said, Dad had no right to take my stuff. And this wasn’t even a punishment. Imagine what he’d do if I broke curfew or failed an exam?
To think that just a few hours earlier, my biggest problem was making sure I had someone to sit with at lunch on Monday. Now I had to make sure I stayed on the right side of Dad and Aphrodite. Otherwise, I’d end up a socially isolated loser. With green hair.
Could my life just end now, please?
THREE
I always thought it was strange when people described their palms as sweaty. But here I was, about to take a step into my new classroom, and my palms were sticky and gross. I caught my reflection in the glass doors. My cheeks looked as burning red as they felt.
The last time I felt this nervous was the morning of my drama summer school play (we did Bugsy Malone, and I nearly threw up over my sequinned costume). But this time, I didn’t have to dance the Charleston on stage. All I had to do was walk into the class and take a seat.
I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Two dozen pairs of eyes stared back at me in silence. Including the teacher.
“Miss Bloom?” I asked.
“Yes. Can I help?”
“Umm. It’s my first day. And I’m meant to be in Double English?”
Miss Bloom pulled a face. The same one that Grandma Thomas makes when she realizes she’s forgotten the milk. “Ah, yes.”
She motioned for me to come in, her wooden bangles rattling, and said the dreaded words: “Introduce yourself!”
My tummy flipped into somersaults. Severing my little toe sounded more appealing. I willed my mouth into action, but my tongue seemed glued down.
“Now is not the time to be shy. Can you tell the class a bit about you?” Miss Bloom prompted. I swear someone sniggered at the back of the classroom.
What could I say? Say something, Helen!
Hi, everyone, my name is Helen Thomas and I’m half-immortal. I’ve just moved back to London with my dad, who happens to be the ruler of the gods, and my big sis Aphrodite, who is so flawlessly beautiful she would make Kendall Jenner sick with jealousy.
That certainly wasn’t an option, even if it was the truth.
I took a deep breath.
“So I just moved to London with my dad,” I said quickly. Public speaking was never my strong point. “From Derby? Where I lived? With my gran?”
Miss Bloom blinked. “Marvellous. And your name?”
“It’s Helen,” I mumbled.
“Thank you, Helen. Sit where there’s room and I’ll bring you up to speed in two ticks.”
Miss Bloom carried on taking the register while I scanned the room. I clapped my eyes on a spare seat near the back, on a table with three other girls. I walked towards it and sat down at the table while everyone in the room stared.
“Your eyeshadow is fierce!” the girl with black hair and light brown skin whispered to me. “I’m Noor, by the way.”
I smiled back, happy that I took the time to put on the blue eyeshadow Aphrodite left me last night. Still, I wasn’t about to tell her that when I got home. I wasn’t through being mad at her.
“I’m Daphne,” said the blonde girl with the polka-dot pencil case and round-cheeked face. “And this is Yasmin,” she said, nodding to the black girl with long braids skimming her back. She was scribbling furiously in her notebook.
Noor, Daphne, Yasmin. I memorized their names to myself.
“Yas doesn’t like to talk during lessons because it distracts from her plan for world domination,” Daphne said, smirking.
Yasmin looked up from her notes, and pushed her black-rimmed glasses up her nose. “There’s nothing wrong with having high expectations, Daphs.”
“So what’s the set text here?” I asked.
Yasmin closed her notebook, the cover of which said You Have as Many Hours in a Day as Beyoncé (Dad would never buy me stationery that cool). “Frankenstein, but you don’t need to worry about that in this class,” she said. “Miss likes to think she’s more therapist than English teacher.”
Noor piped up. “Yas is right. Miss is such a hippy. Get this – our next essay is about our hopes and dreams for the future. She wants us to ‘show her the person behind the uniform’.”
“This is such a weird topic. Who thinks about the future beyond next week? I don’t even know what lippy I’ll wear tomorrow,” said Daphne. She examined her blonde fringe in a compact mirror before tucking it in her blazer.
By the time Double English finished, I’d forgotten about my awkward introduction and relaxed a bit. The girls had actually been nice. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
I took a peek at the timetable handed to me that morning. I still had the rest of the day to survive. “Does anyone have French after this? With Mr Parsons in 4C?” I asked.
“Oui, mon petit pois,” said Noor. “I should warn you that his class is drier than the Sahara. And that’s before he starts talking about perfect infinitives.”
Miss Bloom dismissed us and we filed out of the classroom, a few of the boys scuffling and honking out unimaginative nicknames. Just like in my old school. The behaviour of the average teenage boy was universal.
“I’d kill to swap my advanced science with your French. Can you believe I’m the only girl in my class?” said Yasmin.
“Serves you right for being such a nerd,” Daphne said with a wink.
Yasmin smirked. “Carry on like that, and you’ll have to find someone else to help you with your English essay.”
Daphne pretended to shoot herself in the head. Essay writing wasn’t her strong point, clearly.
“Relax! It’s going to be the easiest essay you’ve ever written. You must have some idea about what you want to do with your life, Daphs?” asked Yasmin.
Before Daphne had a chance to answer, a distractingly gorgeous guy bounced out of his class. Her eyes went dreamy as he walked right through the middle of our group.
“Um, Daphs, Yasmin asked what you want to do. Not who you want to do,” said Noor. We collapsed into giggles. I felt like I’d known these girls for years, not hours.
“That’s Jayden Taylor,” Noor said to me. “Ever since he tried to grow a beard he went from being kinda cute to this unbelievably hot Drake/Zayn Malik hybrid.”