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Chapter 01

[One month later]

I'm in the school's reception, all alone, waiting for the headmistress to take me to my new class.

I feel like a little kitten just let out into the jungle that is crawling with all the big wild cats. I'm scared, nervous, and I don't know if my imagination is getting the better of me -- but the guys here seem bigger, tougher, and scarier. I keep my eyes fixed on my palms and just sit there, hoping for the day to end and for me to get home quick.

But this is not home, a voice in my head says, and I push the thought away.

Daddy dropped me off before going to work and I wish my mum is here. It’d be nice to hold her hand tightly and listen to her tell me that everything is going to be okay. But she didn’t bother. She was sleepy and she wanted to sleep in late today. Guess her daughter’s first day in a new school doesn’t really account for something worthy of sacrificing her sleep. Sigh. It doesn’t matter I guess. Some things will just never change, sad as that may be. 

"Irene McGregor?” a voice asks. I look up to see a woman, probably in her late thirties, smiling at me. I manage a small smile of my own and she asks me to follow her. “I’m your headmistress, Mrs Hale.”

We climb stairs after stairs, and after what seems like ten whole minutes, we stop. I think we're on the fourth floor. The hell? In which school is the eighth grade located in the fourth floor? But then maybe that's how it usually is; though I wouldn't know because back in my old school, we had separate blocks for each grade. Yes, it was awesome. It was a totally sophisticated one, and well, let's just say this new school isn't quite up to its standards. I mean, this school is great too but it’s as same as any other ordinary school...there is no 'exclusivity'.  

"Irene?" The teacher asks hesitantly, and I snap out of my thoughts. I look at her, and she points to the class at the end of the floor. We walk there and as if my day could not get any worse, my new class is having maths right now. Who would want maths in their first period? Yuck.

I walk into the class and everyone turns to look at me.

I don't look at anyone but the maths teacher. After the headmistress introduces me, I sit in the last row next to a dark, bright-eyed girl, seeing as that is the only empty seat. 

"Hey. I'm Natalie, but please call me Nelly," she says with a huge smile.

"I'm Irene. Irene McGregor." I say with a shy smile, grateful that she didn’t wait for me to start the conversation.

"Where'd you move from?"

"Connecticut."

“I’ve always wanted to go there for a summer break, but parents can't really afford it." She shrugs.

"Oh. I see." What else am I supposed to say to that? 

"We knew there was going to be a newcomer today but none of us really liked it. We’ve all been together since the sixth grade; it’s kinda hard to welcome a newbie. But don't worry. I already like you and I’m sure the others will too. The guys seem to already," she giggles at that. 

Kinda? Newbie? I hate it when people speak like that....it’s too...too teenager-ish. So typical and common. And talking about the boys -- they’re freaking me out.

Some of them shoot looks every now and then, and there's this particular boy at the last row but onto the left corner of the class, and he has been staring at me ever since I entered. I look at him and he winks. Winks. Oh my god! What the hell! He just winked at me! I’m...I’m...ugh, I’m probably just overacting. But I’m just not used to it. These kind of guys, the flirty, over-friendly type; they just make me uneasy. I pay attention to the teacher instead, and try to understand what she's saying, though I’m fully aware its maths and the probability of me understanding it, is just as high as me marrying Joseph Morgan. 

***

The first four periods are over; its interval now, and I’m just seated in class, trying to answer all their questions.

"Why did you come here?" 

"Do you have any siblings?" 

"How old are you?" 

"Do you miss Connecticut?" Ouch. I glare at the boy who had asked me that and he apologizes right away. I quickly give him a small smile, reminding myself that he doesn’t have a clue to how I feel about the move. I try answering their questions as much as I can until Natalie does me a favour and pulls me away. We walk towards the basketball court and sit on the bleachers there. 

"Sorry. You're like the shining new toy here" 

"Mmm." 

"So.....how old are you?" She asks, trying to make conversation. 

"Thirteen...I’ll be turning fourteen in the second term." 

She nods her head slowly, and then she smiles at someone behind me. I turn to see a boy with dirty blonde hair, and cool blue eyes, reminding me of my little brother back at home. But Ryan’s hair is a golden blonde and he has wide, sparkly blue eyes.

"Hey," he says cheerfully.

"Hi," I greet back with a big smile of my own. 

"I see you've made quite an impression already. Not bad for a newbie."

"Oh, no, I haven't. I-" 

"I belong in the guy-circle, so just trust what I say," he interrupts with a wink. What’s it with boys and winks? But this one didn’t scare me and neither is it flirtatious, so it’s okay. But then what he just said sinks in and my cheeks become warm and I look away. I think they notice my blush because they start laughing.

I curse my cheeks -- they become a deep, visible pink so quickly when I blush, that it looks like I had actually applied make up. 

"I'm Mike by the way," he grins.

"I'm-"

"Irene, yeah, I know. Guy-circle, remember?" He teases. 

I laugh. "For a first day in a new school, it’s not so bad. I was quite afraid, you see. Books and movies portray a completely different scenario" 

Mike and Natalie look at me with an amused expression. And before I can ask why, Natalie speaks.

"You have a slight accent don't you? And the way you talk is so cute. I mean, no one really uses 'afraid' and 'portray' much these days, but you sound so adorable." Okay, she's making me slightly uneasy now. 

"Umm, I went for elocution classes when I was little? I'm referring to the accent part." And referring to the usage of uncommon words, I prefer my language teenage-slangs-free. But I don't tell them that.

"Wait till the guys here you speak. That accent is so gonna get to them." 

"Umm, no thank you," I say uncertainly "the last thing I need is for jealous girlfriends torturing me." I say that in a serious tone and yet they burst into fits of laughter. And to be honest, I’m not such a big fan of being the centre of attention. Sigh.

***

I'm on my way home now and I feel good -- content somehow. We had to wait for a whole month to enrol me in a school, and I had hoped that they wouldn’t find a good one so that we could go back. But things don’t really work out my way and just like always, the built up hope comes tumbling down. Crash! Crash! Crash!

I will admit though, it wasn’t as bad as I expected -- in fact, it wasn’t bad at all, it was great! The whole class was amazing. They are all really friendly, and I am actually wearing a smile now. Not the made up, half-hearted ones that everyone has grown to believe, but a genuine smile and I feel glad.

We pull up in our driveway and I rush to my room. I’m not in the mood to eat and I don’t know if I’m hungry so I just go straight up there. Dad had the courtesy to ask how my day went when he drove me here, but mum is either asleep or not. Anyway, I’m not really bothered. I lay on the bed, reading Sad Cypress, my alltime favourite crime novel. I finally give up and decide to be the better person and see mum. I go down, and she’s in the kitchen, making fresh orange juice.

“Yeah, school was great. Thanks for asking,” I tease playfully, but I’m dying for her to notice the hurt that I’m trying so hard to cover up.

“Oh, hey honey. Sorry, I was really tired. I’m glad you liked your new school; I told you you’d like it.” I guess my skills at covering up how I really feel are just excellent. She’d chosen the school, you see, but because it was the best secondary school here. It’s always about image, reputation, and yada yada. I’ve grown tired of it. 

“Of course. You always want the best for me.” I say with a tiny smile. It was true -- she did always want the best for me though I don’t know if it is for the sake of reputation or because I deserve the best. Perhaps I would like it if I know for certain that it is because as a mother, she wants the best for me. Wishful thinking -- it can be so addictive, like the only way of escape and lately, that’s what I’ve been doing a lot. I don’t know if that’s healthy but that’s all that keeps me going for now.

“Want some?” she passes me a glass of orange juice, snapping me out of my thoughts. God, I’ve been doing that a lot lately; drifting away and getting lost in my thoughts. A robbery could happen in front of me and I wouldn’t have known. Okay, perhaps that was slightly exaggerative. 

Before I even realize what’s happening, a boomerang comes flying into the kitchen and knocks my glass right out of my hands. It crashes against the floor, and there’s orange liquid everywhere.  

“Ryan!” mum yells, an expression of annoyance and anger on her face. It’s not a very pretty sight. My little brother just stands there, grinning from ear to ear. He is ten, notorious and a huge pain sometimes. But with his golden-brown curly locks of hair, childish blue eyes and a wicked smile, no one could resist liking him. And right now, I feel sorry for him.

“Well, at least we can be thankful it didn’t crash on the table. It would have stained the tablecloth.” I try to support Ryan.

Instead, she glares at me. “Thankful, my foot!” She places the jug of orange juice with force on the counter and makes her way out of the kitchen. “Irene, please, clean it up. I’m too tired right now.” No surprise there. I wonder why I even expect anything other than the obvious. It’s so stupid how I always tend to hold onto hope that things may change for the better. I take the broom and dustpan to throw away the glass pieces but mum immediately comes back. 

“Wait, wait! Stop. I forgot there are glass pieces. You could cut yourself,” she says in a rush and takes the broom from me.  “Go, go, I’ll do it,” she ushers me and Ryan out of the kitchen. Well, she can be…well, whatever that she is, but she still is a mother, and she still does care. I mean, she’s not so absent-minded, but sometimes…Her priorities! Yes, that’s what. Sometimes, she forgets what to prioritize. I mean, bothering to come to school today is much more important than caring if I cut my hand on a glass piece or not. I just wish she would realize it herself. 

Too bad though, I was really looking forward to singing that Cinderella song while cleaning it.