My First Day

I can feel it, eyes on me already.

I walk to the main administration office with my head down, I don't want anyone to see me, anyone to notice me. I quietly sit in a chair while my parents walk in. All my books, gosh all my books, that will definitely draw attention to me. A teacher walks in, medium figure, grey hair with an accompanying moustache. Classic white male mid late 50s early 60s probably. "Why hello there young lady, you must be Rachel?" he speaks in a try-hard tough voice. I politely answer and he starts small talk. It's weird and awkward and uncomfortable all mixed up and jumbled into one. My parents introduce themselves and everyone looks so happy. Another person walks in, a girl with long black frizzy hair, half-up half-down style. "This is Georgia and she will be showing you around, accompanying you today." He says with a big grin on his face. I am already uncomfortable. My parents shake Georgia's hand and introduce themselves. This is a day of introductions, if I mess this up, my whole school life could be tragic, not that it already isn't but tragicer I suppose?

My parents give me a hug and a kiss and leave me with Georgia, and Mr May.

I am dying inside, anxiety slowly stabbing me. The morning bell rings and everyone rushes off into class. Left, Right, Behind me, "This place is so confusing." I quietly proclaim. Georgia tells me I will fit in really well, and I will know the place in just a few days. I doubt her, change is definitely not my strong point. She continues her tour while I pretend to be paying attention, but in reality, I am just dying inside, over-exaggerating. She takes me to our morning class, opens the door and another male walks over to me. "Hi I am Mr Smith and I will be your helping hand for the rest of the year!" he excitedly speaks. He gets the class to give me an applause and make me feel welcome. My anxiety takes over, I feel sick and weird and gross all at the same time. I want to crawl into a hole and disappear from the earth, I want to run, as far as my legs can take me away from people, I want to scream, I want to cry and I just want to be invisible. Is what I feel on the inside showing on the outside, is this all too obvious, do I look weird? With a smile on my face, I walk away and Mr Smith starts to talk to me.

My old school, oh god my old school, why does he have to mention my old school. Tears are streaming down my face. He is worried and confused. "Did I do something, what happening, are you ok?" He says scared and afraid. I apologise and tell him the story, the story of my old school. With fear and confrontation appearing on his face he tells me I am safe, and in good hands, that I will fit in and make friends. Like, everyone, he is like everyone, doesn't understand, doesn't get it. But I deal, I wipe away my tears and put on a brave face. It's already second period, and he introduces me to my class, welcome to 8A he says, everyone gives yet another, tragic round of applause for the new girl. A lady in her early 40s approaches me, my English teacher, she has this loving, gentle, caring sense about her I can already feel. She tells me what we will be learning about and that I shouldn't have to worry about anything.

Recess, Georgia introduces me to her group, they seem nice at a glance, but they are popular and I can tell a lot of people don't like Georgia, she has a prissy tendency of her; The way she walks, talks and presents herself seems unlikeable. The group of girls all pin their phone numbers in my phone and take a selfie with me. I don't like it. There we go that awful feeling again. I don't talk for the rest of recess, I just sit back and listen as the girls tell me what and what not to do, who and who not to speak to and how to wear my uniform. I am barely listening, all I can hear is "Don't stuff up, you've got one chance, don't stuff it!" I excuse myself to the bathroom, even though I don't know where I am going.

"What the hell did I get myself into, I don't belong with these people." These trembling thoughts passing in flashes through my mind, I find the bathroom. I splash some water on my face and convince myself to snap out of it, sure enough, I wonder back and the bell rings.

Third Period, theatre. I am walking through a maze of corridors of rooms, it seems impossible to remember where I am going. I enter theatre and yet another white late 50s early 60s man comes up to me and introduces himself, Mr Sworf. He has a goatee and big black glasses, he presents himself as someone who teaches theatre. He calls roll and we play a silly game, it's confusing and my mind can't keep up, that awful feeling comes back and forth but I still manage to get through the game. He bundles us up and puts us into groups. "Great more people I have to introduce myself to now," I say sarcastically under my breath. A girl hears and gives me a weird look, I can tell she feels sorry for me. More introductions, more anxiety, more talking. This process is sadly repeating itself over and over and I just want it to go away, to stop. A first day should be great for someone but I already can feel everyone judging me. I again flick the feeling off my shoulder and go on with the day.

Fourth, Lunch, Fifth and Sixth period go by pretty slowly, it's repetitive and tragic. I have already gotten over 20 new follow requests on Instagram. I wonder to myself how people even found my Instagram, I mean it can't be too hard, but it can't be that easy either.

Off topic, anyway I am asked to stay behind after school, they want to know my opinion. I try to shrug it off but Mr Over Positive Smith keeps asking me questions and then it comes the dreaded. "Are you ok?" Mr Smith says with what seems to be a sad pity smile face. I say yeah but he wants details, and then I blurt it all out. My old school again, I tell him everything and to be honest, he looks horrified and he can't even be bothered faking a smile any longer. I ask him if there is a counsellor I could possibly see but he replies with the classic "You can always talk to me." Damn can't he just show me the counsellors office? He dismisses me and I fumble my way up to my parent's car. Here they come the dreaded fucking questions.

"How was your day? Did you meet some friends? Are people nice? Were you nice? Are the teachers good? Did you have Chinese? What do your classes look like? Blah Blah Blah Blah." These questions continually keep fumbling out my parent's mouth and right now I can't tell when they will stop. I just keep giving them one-word answers till they leave me alone. I don't want the attention I just want quiet, silence, everything to just go away, me to be left to just write, write my feelings away, my emotions, my actions to be drawn out on a piece of flimsy paper.

To be continued...

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