The Budding Roses

Induction

Thursday 11th July

We've made it. We have survived Induction Day. I don't care if you don't believe me, but it's the truth. Fact.

Why we looked so damn hot as we admired our swagger dog appearance in the window of Superdrug on the way home, our junior school ties (so passé) pulled loose about our collars, our white shirts hanging un-tucked over our rolled up skirts. Coo-el! So what that we had started the day as ingénues, all that matters it that we are ending it as certified women of the world.

Okay so Sarah and I might have started the day as total saddo losers, quivering in the corner like a pair of goggle eyed pixies, but at least we had Natasha to raise our cool since she bounded straight across the room like Top Cat. She has no fear.

'Posh twats,' a girl I didn't recognise coughed. Now I'm wondering what "posh twats" means, since it's not a term I've heard before.

'It means cultured and sophisticated,' Natasha educated us, 'take it as a compliment.' The stuff she just knows is amazing.

Still, unsure of how to react, I just giggled gratefully, and distracted myself by staring up at the printed list of paper which was sellotaped to the window. This was the list which determined my future, the list which decides if the next four years are to be a pain free liberation or a daily dose of reform school. It was the list that told us which form class we will belong to next year...

What absolute luck, my one thousand Mary's have paid off; Natasha, Sarah and I are to be in the same form class as each other. Yet retribution for my sins prevails, for can you believe it; Flora Sidebottom is going to be in our class too. If I knew which teacher was responsible for ludicrous decision making, why I'll not be giving them that juicy apple I've been polishing at the end of term, but a poisonous one instead.

I'm overwhelming anti-Flora Sidebottom, and if I've not mentioned her before then that's because I'm so scared of her, that I worry that just the mere act of writing down her name might trigger one of her obnoxious ranting episodes, shouting things like, "I'm gunna 'av you!", and I know it's not polite to judge people on their appearance, but a recipe of fiery red hair, freckles, and that peculiar accent really does send out one strongly aggressive message, "Don't mess with me or else!" On the plus side, this gaudy concoction shrills like a police siren each time she is near, alerting me to her approaching presence and thus granting me the time necessary to stagger like a drunkard albatross in to hiding.

'Can't believe we've got bloody Flora Sidebottom,' I was muttering as Natasha led the way across the wooden floor to find some seats.

'Wow, that's Liam Payne!' She halted abruptly, causing Sarah and I, like any normal people devoid of telepathic ability, to steam roller our way in to a pile up behind her. Way to go Simone!

'Who?' Of course neither Sarah nor I had heard this name before.

As Natasha's eyes glazed her tongue flapped about her face, begging for me to slap it. Forcing restraint I followed her line of vision to where she was staring; a mob of hungry chicks clambered, all fighting to be fed, their attentions bleating upwards towards a tall athletic boy. The way he held himself, bold yet casual, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, why it gave him the air of a summer sportsman; a tennis player, or cricketer perhaps? Smug git more like it. So what if he seems confident, he was also unfathomably weird, like he looked old enough to be someone's parent, or even worse a teacher. And can you believe that Harry Styles was part of his strange fan club? How's he got in there so quickly, acting as if he was lifelong friends with this old man?

'What's Harry doing talking to him? He's so desperate.'

'He really is as good looking as they say,' Natasha wasn't hearing me.

'You think he's good looking? He looks like an old man. How can that be good looking?'

Can you believe that Sarah was blushing too? Now I'm really confused. I don't know who Liam Payne is, or where he's come from, but I'll tell you this, he is certainly not someone to fancy. Eddie Kramer fits that bill, and Liam Payne doesn't look anything like him.