Starlight

Golden - Maya

James isn't himself when I next see him. In the hallways, he's there, but he isn't actually there. He looks disconnected, unaware of his surroundings. His friends try to make conversation, but he is unresponsive.

The dark rings under his eyes don't fool me. There is no way this is all because of a lack of sleep. His appearance is met with a rush of determination to find out what's happening, as well as sadness from my discovery the previous evening. And he doesn't even know.

"Maya? What's wrong?"

Coming back to reality, I see the first set French teacher, Miss Hanns, hovering over me. I quickly realise that I am sank back into the plush, purple seats of the world skills department, facing the two rows of classrooms. I've been staring into Miss Hanns's French class for the past ten minutes.

This teacher, unlike most, is understanding and kind. In her situation, any other member of staff would place me in detention. She, however, crouches before me, peering into my face, seeming to accept that I needed this time alone.

"No, nothing's wrong, Miss," I whisper.

She nods slowly, glancing to the side, at her class. They are all working quietly, heads bent over a sheet of paper on their desks.

"Shouldn't you be in Spanish now?" she questions.

"Yes, Miss."

She sighs, but there is a smile on her face. "Alright. Well, I was going to find you later but, seeing as though you're here, I'll tell you." She looks up at me. "The oral exam you took in autumn... Mr Davis tells me you achieved 96%, which is incredibly rare, but nonetheless very, very impressive."

"What are you saying?" I can't help myself. Her words have sparked the curiosity in me.

"This is going to sound silly, but the language department was discussing this, and it was suggested that you could take the final exam early."

"How early?" I ask, pursing my lips.

Miss Hanns grins. "This week."

I don't even have to think about it. "Okay," I say immediately.

The young French teacher straightens up, satisfied, and looks, again, at her class. "And, in the meantime, we thought it appropriate for you to move on to another language. For example, French." She smiles persuasively.

"Bien sûr," I reply. Of course.

"You're familiar with the language, then." She beams at me. "You'll be fine in my class."

"When can I start?" I enthuse.

Miss Hanns's smile turns sly.

* * *

The top set French class consists of roughly twenty-five people, all looking very intellectual and interested in the work. As my eyes rove over them, an uncharacteristic anxiety overcomes me. What if I don't do well? What if I can't do anything?

"Sit anywhere," Miss Hanns urges me.

All the desks are taken, save for one, where a boy sits. Unlike the rest of the students, his head is up, eyes wandering. He seems friendly enough, but for some reason, I don't recognise him. While Miss Hanns strides over to her teacher's desk, leaning over her laptop as she taps the keys on its keyboard,

I make my way to the boy's table and pull out the unoccupied chair. He doesn't even look up as I slide onto the plastic seat.

"Year 11," Miss Hanns addresses us all, "you might recognise our new classmate, Maya Reynolds. She's just moved from Spanish."