Just One Drop

Chapter One - The Man Boy

 Guess who decided to re-write? Moi. 

Chapter One 

School. High school. Boredom, mixed with a bit of hell to keep you awake. Whatever you want to call it, it doesn't matter, but I haven't seen this place in a year. Haven't stared up at the spiked fences as I walk in and out of school, or smelt the overwhelming scent of BO, too much perfume, deodorant and cigarettes mixed together when you're in a crowd. My school isn't all the much, just a smattering of buildings, only two double storied, with trees lining the fence, most likely to try and fool the students that they aren't there to keep people out. They don't fool many.

I feel people brush past me, in their blue shirts to signify that they're a junior and white shirt for seniors. Some offer apologies which I ignore, too lost in my own thoughts. Parents with pre-pubescent children leading them into the school, who look far too young and small to be walking through those gates, in their too-large uniform. I can feel some stares on my body, wondering why I'm just standing there. I wonder why too.

You see, I'm basically a new kid, despite attending this very school since year 7 up until last year. I went to France as an exchange student for a year. While my friends and peers were finishing off grade 11, I was sipping hot chocolate, wearing layers upon layers of clothes as I watched the snow fall outside. Of course, I lost contact with friends as I was discouraged from even contacting my family once a week. But, I've come back with a slight accent that tinges my bogan Aussie one, a whole lot paler and fluency in French. It was worth it

I'll be a year older than the rest of the teenagers in my grade as I have to 'repeat' grade 11 because technically I never completed my education for it in Australia. All the people that I grew up with would be graduating this year while I'm stuck with a bunch of unknown faces. It's for the best though. It means that I'll avoid the awkward "oh my god, I missed you SO much!" and the "we should totally catch up!" Followed by the awkward texting and silence on the other end of the phone. No thank you.

I recall the words my mother told me before I left, worrying and fussing as if it was my very first day of high school.

"you should be more optimistic," I replied with my usual,

"I'm just being a realist mum, it's not my fault reality isn't happy."

I shake my head, clearing the recent memory and I take in a deep breath, I wipe my sweaty palms on my knee-length navy skirt and I begin my first day of school.

10 minutes later and I'm already lost. Great. In this school, the different year levels meet up at various locations in the school. For example, the year 7's are in the Hall as it's the biggest and most easy to recognise building. But I don't need to know that, I need to know where I have to go. I frantically search the area for anyone who looks like they're in grade 11. But to no avail, just a sea of acne faced, blue and white shirted kids.

Ah! There! I spot a teacher walking forward in my direction and I speed walk up to her. As I make my way I notice that she looks quite young, probably a first-year teacher, and very, very small. When I reach her, I call out sweetly,

"um excuse me miss, do you happen to know where the year 11's are meant to meet?" she looks up startled and cranes her neck a little to look me in the eyes as my 5'9" frame towers over her 4'11" one.

"Ah, they'll be at the courtyard, but hurry along the first bell is about to go," she replies sternly but unsurely, testing out her teacher voice. Goddammit, I look down at my watch and see that the bell IS about to go, in fact any second now.