Chapter 1

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The list of schools attended I was going to have on my CV by the time I got my grades was going to take up the best part of a page, and I was never more aware of that than I was when I started somewhere new.  Of all the sorts of schools I had been to, I had managed to avoid the small community schools.

Until now.

I dragged my feet as I walked up the path that led from the car park to the buildings, unwilling to take the steps that would make it all official.  I took the steps any way, knowing there wasn’t going to be a way out of it, and looked around at my new surroundings.

The buildings all seemed relatively modern; lots of angled walls and roofs, and windows instead of walls, and I could see a wall of windows making up either the front or the back of a building over the dark green hedge that looked curved.

It all seemed very artistic, but it was bland.  The only colours I could see were white or grey, apart from the occasional splash of green from strategically planted trees or hedge.

Was this what life was going to be like on this piddly island?  Bland?


I looked down at my feet and rubbed my face, tired of this day already.  That was when I noticed the blue arrows painted neatly on the grey – of course – concrete floor.  Looking up again and following the trail of arrows with my eyes, I saw that it led to a matching blue will with silver letters that declared the school reception.


I followed the arrows and turned away from the wall, finding myself stood in front of two glass sliding doors.  I walked towards them, looking inside to see if anyone was at the desk, and walked into the glass.  Jerking back with my face on fire, I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed that.

“Stupid door doesn’t work.” I muttered to myself, and as I checked again that no one had been around to see me walk into the door like something out of a slapstick comedy I noticed something I didn’t notice before.

A long rectangular button on the wall that had ‘PUSH TO OPEN’ written above it in bold letters.

Great.  The door wasn’t broken; I was just an unobservant klutz.  With a sigh, I leaned over and pushed the button.  Lo and behold, the doors slid open and I walked in without further incident.

“Hello.” The woman behind the glass – what was it with this school and glass? – smiled at me.  Relief flooded me that she wasn’t making a comment about my fight with the door.

“Hello.” I smiled back, but mine somewhat more tinged with embarrassment.  “I’m new here.” I told her and she nodded, moving her chair to sit with the computer.

“Name?” She asked after a few clicks of the mouse.  I leaned forwards and tried to see what she was doing as I gave her my name.

“But I’d rather people called me Logan.” I told her hastily, my hand reaching and gripping the dog tags under my shirt.  The woman looked at me in surprise.  “Is there any way you can make a note or something attached to my name so I don’t have to tell every teacher I have?” I asked hopefully, not releasing my death grip on the dog tags.

“I can sort something out.” She nodded and I practically sagged into the wooden counter with relief.  Just as I released my grip, the woman came out from where the administrational magic happened and handed me what I assumed was my timetable and a map of the school.

What a joke.  With a school this tiny, I hardly thought a map was necessary.

“Your form is on the top of your timetable, and that particular form meets in C9 every morning to be registered.” She told me.  I nodded and peered at the top of my timetable.  Under my name was a number – my year group I guessed – and two letters.

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