Sisters [book one]

Chapter Three

Dedicated to @TheStyclarSaga because she read through the first chapter and gave me some pointers for when I edit. Thank you so much. You're such a great writer.

Chapter Three

By lunchtime, I'm ready for the nightmare to end.

The start of the day turned out to be okay, I guess. I made it to the front desk alive and I plucked up the courage to say my name and ask for my schedule and locker combination. I arrived to first period without being late and my teacher, Mr Murray, introduced me to the front of the class. Everyone stared at me but no-one spoke. My eyes had scanned every pupil on the way to my seat, in hopes of finding Esmee.

My entire day has consisted of nervous butterflies and awkward introductions to students who couldn't give a damn. While the pupils at Standford found joy in making my life a misery, the pupils at Garfield care even less. It's not like anyone is outwardly ignoring me - though I still don't know that because I haven't actually approached someone and started talking to them - but it's not like they're giving me a welcoming smile, or even acknowledging my existence at all.

I stand in the cafeteria with my lunch in its usual brown paper bag, unnervingly exposed. I stare out at the jungle of hungry students, the noise level at almost drum-bursting levels.

I search the tables for familiar cliques. It's easy to find the jocks because they're all wearing the same letterman jackets and cheerleading uniforms. The geeks already have their homework out on their desks and are so huddled it's hard to make out individual faces. The rest of the cliques are adjacent, only tables away.

While the students are different, all high schools are the same.

I take a deep breath and walk. I hope that by walking, looking lost but not desperate, someone will smile and gesture to the empty seat beside them. I want to be confident and go up to one of the more approachable tables and introduce myself but I'm scared of being rejected. While in no means a social butterfly, I know the high school protocol: new students are outcasts.

I must not see the milk that's spilt on the floor. Like a cartoon on a banana peel, I slip. I don't fall backwards; I fall forwards. My lunch flies out of my hand and I prepare myself for a painful landing; my head narrowly missing the floor. For a moment, I'm paralysed.

Boys clap at my stupidity and the cruel amusement of everyone else leaves no-one sympathetic. I can't make out exactly what they're saying because my heart's ringing in my ears and my face is burning with embarrassment but I somehow manage to get to my feet and hastily exit the cafeteria, tears springing to my eyes. In future weeks I know I'll never recognise anyone in the hallways who caught me face-planting the floor on my first day but they'll know. That's enough.

I find a bathroom and the first thing I do is lock myself in one of the stalls. My head spins and I collapse onto the toilet seat.

I think of Michele. I think of how she would be reassuring me if she were here. Somehow this calms me down: the walls loosen their grip on my neck and the spinning stops. I carry on thinking about Michele and the great Christmas we had together.

I don't know how long I'm in the stall for but I don't hear a bell. I wipe my eyes with toilet roll and I flush the loo. I approach the sinks, extremely aware of the two girls who are preening themselves in the mirrors.

I accidentally look up into the mirror. Not at myself but at the girl beside me. Who I see is someone incredibly familiar: their slightly tanned face more mature and defined than I remember. I want to say the name of who I think this girl is, a childhood friend, but I don't want to get it wrong. Mascara tube in hand, her eyes lock with mine.