opia; matty healy.

1%

I have a notebook. I enjoy filling it with the strangest absurdities and tiniest of findings, whatever I can come up with. A ten-hour flight from Los Angeles to Manchester found me exploring the pros and cons in my tiny notebook, of the brand new beginning I've been graced with. A life in England had never appealed to me until it was brought up over four months ago. LA held, and holds, a lot of memories for me, but the buzz I get from travelling hasn't left me after all this time, and so my words ended up tiny sprawls over an entire A5 page from the turbulence and excitement.

I look at the same notebook, the swirls becoming more and more appealing as the seconds pass; far more likeable than the world I'm about step into. Despite all the positives written under the 'pros' column, there are many places I would much rather be than on my way out the door. I sigh once more, and then slowly descend down the stairs with my half-empty backpack hanging off one shoulder. I try not to spend the five-minute walk to the school thinking about the 'cons' list, but it all comes back to me as if I've memorised it more so than the pros.

I'm sure there's some sort of psychology to it, an explanation to why we always tend to focus on the negatives as opposed to the things that make us happy – and as much as I'd like to change that, the anxiety in my chest is failing me once again.

The buildings are on a rather large campus, and the area is buzzing as I approach. Out of habit I search for people I know, remembering later that I've only visited once and hadn't made any friends. And yet my name is still being called right before I enter what looks similar to an entrance hall.

I turn to my right where a girl with blonde hair and darker roots is smiling. She sports dimples and clear reading glasses, a heavy denim jacket weighing on her shoulders over the top of a pink t-shirt with unclear writing. I shoot her a confused look, because I've never been here, and how the hell does she know my name?

I don't have time to word my confusion before she speaks again: "Isabel, right? It's not hard to spot a new kid on campus. Th' Principal said to look out for you this beginning week."

I blink my tired eyes for a second, smiling back at the girl who stands at my height and now holds out her hand, introducing herself as "Erica".

"I'll show you to the front office and help you find your classes," She smiles and leads the way.

"Thanks." I say, because I'm not sure what else to tell her. "Do you do this often?"

"Help new kids?" She laughs, "Not at all. I'm just in a few clubs so I get a good rep, that and I guess I just got lucky."

I laugh softly, "Guess so."

"Morning Mrs Baker." She smiles. We've walked through a pair of large clear doors and up to a desk where Erica leans with her hands flat upon the desktop. "This is Isabel, she's new. Do you think she could get her timetable and a school map or something?"

Erica is very friendly, I notice. She's very forward with everyone she meets and can easily talk to almost everyone. I continue to observe her behaviour as we walk through the school and she smiles at multiple people. I wonder why I hadn't grown into such confidence, still smiling awkwardly and laughing too much at everything.

"You're lucky we have home room together each morning, and then English on Tuesday's at the end of the day. English is good fun with Mister Wells." She hands me back my timetable and I fold it up as she turns to enter a room. I move out of her way quickly, letting her enter before me since I have no clue where I'm going.

Although she mentioned that she's part of "a few clubs", Erica surprisingly heads towards the back of the room to sit beside a boy chewing on the end of a pencil as he smiles and stares at us.