Past? What Past?! [ F I N I S H E D ]

Past? What Past! Part2

Recap:

Finally, I spotted a receptionist (or what looked like a receptionist) at an office-type space with one of those glass sliding window things that amused me. I loved to just open and shut it, and hope that each time I did, there would be the same person with a different personality on the other side. I walked to the small line formed and waited for my turn. When I got there, the grumpy old woman barked: "what?"

What I did next was utterly stupid and rebellious of me, especially on my first day. Guess what it was I did. I closed the sliding door, looked at the grumpy, frumpy old coot and then slid the glass window open again.

"What?" she repeated. So I swore, using the king of sweary words, breaking my promise to only talk if it were a life or death situation. Did I honestly think I would keep to that? Nope, I couldn't shut up to save my life!

"Aww, fuck! Well, that didn't work very well."

"A Scot," said the receptionist, shaking her head and sighing. Well, that's not very nice, is it?

"I'm here for my timetable," I said sharply, aware there was hostility in my tone that always appeared when someone had that reaction after they heard my accent. Well, what do you expect? I'm proud of my heritage, and no one shall ever take that away from me. FREEDOM!

Want to know a fun fact? It wasn't actually William Wallace that did the whole speech on freedom: it was Robert the Bruce. Good fact that, isn't it? Totally worthless, but nevertheless, a fun little fact.

"What's your name?" asked the grumpy frumpy receptionist in a monotone.

"Robert the Bruce," I replied, his name on my mind. Whoops. Grumpy frumpy just looked at me, monobrow raised, not believing any sane parent would name a girl 'Robert the Bruce'. "Sorry, I was just thinking to myself, about Scotland. I miss it," I explained. Not like Grumpy frumpy cared.

"What's your name?" Grumpy frumpy repeated in the same bland boring monotonous voice. Damn, Grumpy frumpy was supposed to prove me wrong and actually care!

"Abigail Harriet Wallace," I told her, grimacing at the use of my full name.

Grumpy frumpy tapped away on her computer for a few seconds, then printed out a timetable for me, incorporating all the subjects I studied back in Scotland, but with a difference. This year I would be taking A-level English, but in Scotland I had just finished my Advanced Higher English, because I was so utterly gifted in that particular subject. But this wasn't right. It was the second week into a new academic year and I was going into England's version of Scotland's S6 - England's sixth form, which are years twelve and thirteen. My brain hurt when I tried to work out the education system in England compared to the Scottish one. Why did my parents have to move me down here? Did they HATE me or something? So I was meant to be starting my A-levels or something. It was weird, because I had just finished my tanky Highers (and Advanced Higher English) in Scotland and so was pretty pissed off I wasn't able to do my Advanced Higher in Drama, Geography and History.

So I had decided to start again with the five subjects I took at Higher and passed. I was allowed to take five A-levels too, so that was fine. I was studying Drama, English, History, Geography and Math. English and Drama were my favourite subjects of all time, as was History. It just came naturally to me, you know? I was rubbish at Math. It was my Achilles heel and I hated it. Were I still in Scotland, I wouldn't be doing Math ever again. It wasn't like I even had a choice when I got here, Mum and Dad had already sorted my timetable, the gimps that they were.

"Here," said Grumpy frumpy, quickly transporting me back into reality. She shoved a piece of paper into my hands with a small key with a number on it and then coughed pointedly, telling me to fuck off. Sighing loudly, I meandered through the halls, not having a clue where I was going. Where the hell was registration? What was a form class? I was so confused! I decided to just ditch school, I couldn't be bothered. Spinning around, I quickly walk out of the building and took refuge in my yellow Volkswagen Beetle. I attached my dainty cute yellow iPod to the car radio with the funky radio thing my Dad got me (he's a gadget freak) and I listened to '500 miles' by the Proclaimers. Loudly, too. Well, what do you expect? I really missed home!