Serendipity

I

February 2017

The feeling of something being new has always been shit to me. Trying to make new friends or meeting other people since the age of 14 is the one thing I hate. This bringing me to my current situation, moving, well more like moved. I hated the idea of having to move, specifically to a very white and Asian dominated area and into a house that looked like it belonged to an old man that shouted "get off my lawn", you know the house that kids miss on halloween. But if the rest of your family likes it then you have to fake it. It wasn't great either that we had moved nearly an hour away from where we were. Might sound short but the effort of travel was exhausting just thinking about it.

What made me dread life even more was right now, driving to my new school and wishing the drive would've taken longer. We park the car and exit, walking dreadfully towards the school and to the front desk with my older brother. "Hi, here for her first day"

"Ah, yes you are late," the white old lady says behind the desk with her spectacles halfway down the bridge of her nose and looking up at us.

"yeah, sorry about that" My brother tries to brush it off like a joke.

"no need to apologise" she does a few clicks on her computer, types for a few, then writes. My brother and I wait patiently and she finally gets up from her chair to show us around.

The tour was shit, like all tours. No doubt this school was amazing, but a bit too up class for my liking. Like I said, I hate things that are new. I liked the schools that were a bit run down, with bits of graffiti or rundown buildings, not new with all this polished stuff.

"Here you are, History, I'll just introduce you" she walks into the class while I wait outside with my brother looking in. I take a good look at the class and already I know I'm screwed. Asian, Asian, White, white, white, Asian, Asian and more Asian.

The office lady gestures for me to enter, my brother pats me on the back and pushes me in, I look back and he waves smiling devilishly at me. I turn back and I see my teacher, old, about 6ft 4, with a saint's bald head, he walks over to shake my hand. I do what any other normal human does and return the gesture.

"Welcome to St Anthony's high, Aariah" I smile and turn to find an empty seat right at front. How fortunate.

I look out the window as my brother walks away with the office lady. The voice of my teacher drags my attention back to the shitty life of a student and my day begins.

xxx

School was done before I knew it and getting home was a mission. By the time I got home I just wanted to collapse and sleep, the end of summer and walking in this heat carrying about 100 kgs was not a great feeling.

"hello my school girl"

"hi mum"

"how was your first day"

"it was good" I say plainly leaving her with a dead answer that never means anything but gives her somewhat satisfaction. I make my way up the stairs huffing and puffing clinging to the only thing able to get me through, the handle. I almost see the end of the torture until the bell rings and my mum calls me to go get it.

I make heavy steps to the door, swing it open

"Hello wel- YOU!"

"YOU!"

there is silence between us and an exchange of dirty looks.

"what are you doing here?"

"You're on my doorstep"

a silence of triumph for me. "O ai Nina?/Who is it Nina?" Mum walks to the door, joining me

"Hello, I'm from across the street and my mum wanted to welcome you, she came earlier but you weren't home" he says with a smile as if he didn't just give me dirties 5 seconds ago.

"Thanks very much, tell your mum to come over on the weekend and we can have a cup of tea" my mum says taking in the box with 'rice cakes' written on the front of it.

"I'll be sure to tell her. Have a good evening" he gives me a look for 3 seconds, then he's off my doorstep.

"Do you know him Nina?"

"debating" I say carelessly not giving it much thought. I make my way up the stairs of doom, sweat beading off my forehead. 14 steps later and the journey has ended.

I drop everything once I get into my room and collapse on the floor not wanting sweat transferred onto my bedsheets because that means washing the current ones and that's just too much work.

I stare up to the ceiling exhausted.

"Can it get anymore shittier?"