Seasons

Chapter 4 - Downwright High

"Up you get honey!"

My mother's shrill voice pierced my sleep. I moaned and rolled over, burying myself deeper into the mound of pillows around me, "First day of school darling you'd better get up quickly otherwise you'll be late."

I heard her muffled clopping down the thickly carpeted stairs, waiting until the sound faded before peeling open an eye.

A strip of sunlight was painted across my bed, bleaching the sheets and a section of my calf with morning gold. Dust mites danced through the air, twirling frantically as I exhaled loudly.

School.

I swung my legs out from underneath the duvet, stretched them out and curled my toes into the thick carpet, feeling the warmth of the sunbeams through my windows on the back of my crinkled t-shirt.

My parents had insisted that I went to the last semester of my sophomore year as a 'trial' to see if I wanted to stay for the next academic year as a junior. The school agreed and suggested that I started as soon as possible, a brilliant idea in my mother's ever-so-keen eyes, regardless of how jet lagged I am.

I hoisted myself up off the bed and staggered over to my wardrobe, rubbing sleep dust from my eyes, yawning repetitively.

I fumbled for the switch, blinking as I found it and the lights glowed brighter to reveal what a mess I was. I groaned. Great, first day of school and my hair is a nest, I had panda eyes from yesterday's mascara and drool was crusted along my cheek. Gorgeous.

I pressed a draw, sleepily watching it slide open before staring blankly at the rows of lace and cotton underwear for a few slow moments. So, like a zombie I grabbed a matching pink pair before donning them and slipping my school shirt off its hanger.

Downwright High had a uniform, and it was vile.

A white shirt, a navy and white pleated skirt (cringing already) and the most awful dark blue blazer. My mother had put out knee high I is to match, which I was no way wearing, and a tie.

I sighed. I was possibly going to the only school with a uniform, so it was never going to be like one of the cool schools like in movies.

I slipped an arm into the shirt, watching my reflection carefully. I pulled the buttons together, biting my lip at how tight it was...and see-through oh my god.

I quickly pulled off everything again, rummaging for a black bra before trying again, more satisfied but still anxious about my mother's sizing. Oh well.

I pulled up the skirt (also too short, thank you Mum) and fiddled with the tie, eventually managing a normal-ish looking knot. This was worse than my old school by a mile.

Wandering over to the mirror set into the wall above a built in dressing table, I flicked on some subtle eyeliner, dabbed on mascara and bronzer. I was going to need a lot of that, being so bloody pale and English.

"Alex!" my mother shrieked up the stairs, "Hurry up darling!"

I breathed out heavily, turning around to look over shoulder. This was grim. I slipped on my black converse and ankle socks, grimacing at the knee high socks. No thank you.

Looking at myself one last time I trotted out and down the stairs two at a time until I reached the kitchen.

I had briefly come in here yesterday to drop off boxes but left quickly as to avoid a rant from my mother. But it was beautiful.

Huge sliding glass doors occupied the far wall, leading out to the back garden with a huge pool full of cascading rock pools, white loungers with pristine pillows and umbrellas, pale beige stone slabs lined the ground before giving way to lush strips of grass around the edges of the garden, sprinklers gently spraying their blades, casting rainbows in the morning sun.