Untitled as of Yet
It's the first day of school for me. The first day of a brand new school. In Australia. I've noticed a few things about Australia so far. It's usually always sunny, compared to bleak England where people seriously doubt if there is a sun. The people are also a lot friendlier here, and sometimes even say hello, rather than the cold stares you get in London.
I walked to school this morning, Mum showed me the way on the weekend. I love walking to school. There's something nice about walking a footpath surrounded by green bushes and shrubbery rather than grey, solid concrete all the time.
I'm at the entrance of the school. There's a giant sign which reads "Welcome to another year at Perambula High!" Yup. Another year. It's got to be better than the last.
I walk in and I see grey everywhere. Grey shirts, grey pants, grey dresses. This whole uniform thing is unbeknownst to me. I look down at myself, and I too am covered in fully grey. But I'm not one of them yet.
The sign 'office' jumps out at me and I make my way there and push open the big glass doors. A lady with mouse brown hair and giant spectacles eyes me.
"New?" she asks, her eyes going up to my hair. I get that a lot though. The hair thing. I nod, and she's typing at her computer.
"Eleven. My name's Jonny." I answer. Her eyebrows shoot up.
"You're from England?" I nod again.
"Berkshire." She nods knowingly and then hands me a piece of paper, which appears to be my timetable.
"Your first class is in room 404 – English," she says. She stares at me enquiringly, and I realize it's my turn to leave. So I push through the big doors again and follow my way through the stream of grey.
I z z y
The first day of school. How I loathe it. With a passion. Mum had to drag me out of bed today. She threatened to cut off the internet, so of course, I hurried up.
The bus is full. It's jam packed with little year sevens, all looking so small and like they belong in primary school. Well, I guess in a way they do. My senior uniform is so much better than the junior one. It's still the same shade of grey, just without the tartan. It feels good wearing it, having the little year sevens look at me with awe.
When we get to school, I find my friends standing in a circle. I don't know why we do this. We just do. Stand in a circle. I hadn't seen them since December, and it was now January 31st. They squealed in delight over my short, flaxen hair, which was tied in a cute ponytail. I, in turn, took out a bunch of souvenirs from my bag and distributed them accordingly. They then squealed again and fought over the gifts. I hid a smile, knowing full well this was going to happen. My friends are like that.
The bell rings, and we troop off to our first class. Mine is English, in room 404. There's no one there yet, except a boy I don't know. He must be new. He's sitting there with two ear phones stuck into his, well, ears. He has gelled, blonde, almost white hair, with big round glasses. His hair is pretty long and comes almost all the way down to his shoulders. I take a seat in front of him. He doesn't seem to notice me yet, his eyes are closed and he looks entranced in his music.
The light flicks on and the teacher walks in. Oh no, I groan silently. Miss Cadel. The one teacher I hate the most. I had her in year seven, and she is just awful. She made us write stories. Now don't get me wrong. I love writing stories. That's why I'm in the top English class. But there's nothing I have more than writing boring stories, about boring things. Which is exactly what she made us do. It started with 'My first day of school'. Then 'What I did on the weekend' and 'My holiday'. Seriously. Does the woman have even the slightest bit of imagination?
The rest of the class is already in by now, and Miss Cadel starts writing on the board. Scractttch. The chalk falls from her fingers and her nails hit the board. Everyone shrieks, and she turns around.
"Silence!" she barks. We shut up. She picks up the chalk and starts writing. 'Story: What I did in my holidays' she writes. I groan. This is going to be one hell of a long year.
The holidays ended rather suddenly. I didn't know it was the end of January until Bec, my sister, pointed it out to me. Then I proceeded gawping and pulling out my hair. Well, no, I didn't really. But that was what I felt like doing.
My holidays were great. Four weeks of relaxing on the Gold Coast up in Queensland. The sand is so warm and gold there, I love it. I got a really good tan, too. One of the best things about being up in Queensland with my family was actually getting away from everything down in Sydney. Or to be more precise, my group of friends at school.
I love my friends, really, I do, but sometimes they can be just a bit too much for me to handle. Take Bianca, my best friend, for example. She's totally gorgeous, with her mane of golden hair and her dark brown eyes. But she's always convinced she's not beautiful. And we know she's beautiful. All the guys want her practically. Then there's Gemma, another girl in my group. Last year in July she suddenly got really depressed and started wearing black eye liner and wearing black clothes all the time. I don't have a problem with black, but does she have to wear it so excessively? It's like she's at a funeral 24/7.
So being in Queensland, away from my friends for four weeks was refreshing. But now I were back at school, and sitting in Miss Cadel's English class.
Miss Cadel is one of those old maids. Don't be fooled by the 'Miss' at the beginning of her name, she's not young and unmarried. She's just…unmarried. And old. She's usually very strict but she loves me. I had her last year, and she gave me pretty much full marks for everything. I think this is because at the beginning of last year, when all these people were bagging her out for her giant dark framed glasses which cover most of her face, I told them to shut up. Loudly. Well, actually I screamed it.
Now, you might think 'wow what a nice girl', and I would rather much like you to go on believing that. But the truth is, Miss Cadel was not the reason I said shut up.
Actually, I screamed shut up because my boyfriend at the time, Matt, had walked by the door of the classroom and was saying something which I couldn't hear on account of the annoying people who were bagging out Miss Cadel. But Miss Cadel took it the wrong way, and started smiling at me a lot after that.
"Janey," she wrote on my report, "is a lovely girl with an aptitude for the subject of English. This is due to her diligence and her hardworking nature. She will go far in the subject, and in life too. I wish her all the best for the future."
My mum was pretty impressed with that.
I start writing the story Miss Cadel puts on the board: 'What I did in my holiday' when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and There He Is. This guy with totally hot hair. Ok, so it's long and gelled and blonde, but that's what I go for. Like a surfie type. He's got this pair of Beatles glasses on, which I think is very trendy. He starts talking. Oh. My. God. He has an English accent! Oh, how I love those. Think Hugh Grant's accent… only right in front of me. I'm ready to have his babies.
He must notice I'm ecstatic because he gives me an odd look, cocking his head to the left. I snap back to reality and say "huh?" Good articulate response, Janey.
"Would you mind moving your head? I can't see the board," he says, still giving me a weird look. Oooh. Move my head. Sure I can do that.
I smile sweetly and say "Sure" and turn back around. Warmth feels my heart.
He noticed my head! That's a start!
authors note: to be honest to those reading the story, i only have a very vague idea where this is going and am not sure if i will be continuing it. this is due to my lack of planning and load of school work piling up steadily. but i hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway, and maybe sometime in the future i will update it (hopefully sooner rather than later!). thanks for reading and please review. :)
oh yeah, as you can see, it doesnt have a proper name, mainly because i dont really know what its about yet. sorry for that!