Atlantic High hadn't changed over the past six weeks. It was cleaner, perhaps, and some of the gum-wedged tables had been replaced with newer ones, but other than that it was the same old dump it always was.
Atlantic High looked like it was trying really hard to be a castle, but it didn't quite make the cut. It had a turret on its eastern wing and everything, and this was one of the romantic things I tried to remind myself of whenever I was having a particularly bad day.
It was the people who attended that made my life a misery. The girls in their skirts and their buttoned-down blouses, forever inventing new ways to make the Atlantic uniform look suggestive. The shepherds and their flocks of sheep, using their noses as pedestals from which they could look down upon everybody else.
And that was just your regular day. The first day back after a hazy poolside summer would be a hundred times worse: fresh tans and ample amounts of gossip, ready to be swapped like shreds of silver. The magpies of Magpie's Nest would puff out their chests and bring their most prized and polished jewels to market.
I, as a rule, kept my head down on the first day of term. More so than usual, anyway. The people at school drove me crazy, with all their insignificant little burdens and their snide little remarks. It was all I could do to stop myself from screaming out loud and locking myself in the nearest broom cupboard for the rest of my academic career.
As long as the broom cupboard had Wi-Fi, I figured I'd survive.
"Saffy! Hey, Saffy!"
The voice tic-tac-toed over the heads of the crowd as I made my way towards registration. I would have recognised it anywhere. I turned and saw Debbie Pruitt wriggle her way through the crowds towards me.
"Come here, you old dog!" she bellowed, throwing her arms around me. "I missed you!"
"Debbie, we saw each other a couple of days ago," I reminded her, although there was no denying the relief that blossomed in my chest. She'd been my anchor since nursery school. We'd grown up together. I'd watched her go through all the standard teenage phases until she eventually settled for the punk look, while I pretty much stayed the same. Today her hair was a glossy black, apart from a single strip of hot pink across her fringe.
Debbie reached up and twisted at her nose stud. "I'm glad the feeling is mutual. So, how've you been?"
"I've been good," I said as we picked our way towards registration. "Apart from-"
As though on cue, Carmen Vespin and her trio of clones strutted by. Their legs seemed to flick in unison, as though they'd been practising their entry all morning in Carmen's tennis-court of a bedroom. Her father was a barista at the community court, and they owned one of the largest properties in town.
They ignored us and vanished into class, each tailing the other like a squad of synchronised swimmers.
Debbie and I stared after them.
"Hey, has Carmen always been blonde?" she asked.
I laughed. "You know, I don't think that amount of bleach is good for the brain cells."
Debbie shook her head in agreement, and then gripped my forearm with a sudden urgency. "So, have you heard?"
"Heard what?"
"About the new kid, dummy!"
I frowned at her. "What new kid? I haven't heard anything about a new kid."
"Really, Sweetman? Isn't your mother part of the Lady's Book Club?"
I looked down and grumbled my response in the affirmative, my cheeks flushing over with red. The Ladies Book Club was a society that only the most notable women of Magpie's Nest got to partake in - not that my mother was anywhere near notable, but she baked great lemon drizzle cakes and was especially good at kissing butts. She owned the best bakery in town, so I guess that counted for something.
They met every Monday and Wednesday afternoon in one of their respective houses, depending on the rota (yes, there was a rota), and pretended to discuss whatever literature they'd assigned for the week, when really they deliberated the various comings and goings of the town. Carmen's mother, Edith Vespin, was their reputed leader.
"Well, she didn't mention it to me," I muttered. Admittedly, it sounded like something that Vivian would have been gasping to tell me.
Debbie shrugged. "The literate women of Magpie's Nest must be loosening their reigns. Anyway, don't you want to know more about him?"
"Not really," I said.
"Damn you, Sweetman!" Debbie glowered at me, hands on her hips, as we came to a stop outside our classroom. "Why aren't you as excited about this as I am?"
"Because I'm trying really hard not to become my mother," I replied.
"You can't deny your DNA, Saffy."
"Yes, I can."
Debbie grunted with frustration and stomped her boots against the floor. "Well, I heard that he's in our registration class so try to appear warm and sociable, ok?"
"You do realize that you're the one with black hair, a nose stud and skull earrings, right?"
"Silence, Sweet. It's time to approach the watering hole."
*
The new kid sat near the very front of the class. My position behind Rhys Masters, (who everybody referred to as 'The Walking Butt-Crack', for obvious reasons), meant that all I could see was the top of his pretty espresso-coloured head.
"What's he look like?" I asked, tilting my neck to try and catch a glimpse. Rhys Masters was a spherical unit, and it seemed that he had yet to discover the wonderful concealing properties of the belt, despite the passing of another summer.
"Oh, Mrs Sweetman, when did you arrive? Have you seen Saffy anywhere?" Debbie winked at me.
"Shut up."
She grinned and pursed her lips towards the front of the class. "Well, I can't really see much, but the back of his head is nice."
I laughed just as Mrs Temple shuffled her way in from the corridor. She was a tiny woman with dissecting eyes.
"Welcome back, everyone. I hope you all had a satisfactory summer." Mrs Temple had never been much of an optimist, apart from when sheep hearts and scalpels and dead frogs were involved. Her horse-fly eyes scoped in on the new kid and she gestured for him to stand up, which he did.
"In case you hadn't noticed, we have a new addition to our motley crew. This is Jetham Burr. He's come down all the way from London to be with us. Care to share a few words about yourself, boy?"
Jetham Burr was part of an elite group of people, the kind who could hop out of bed in the morning, hair in complete disarray, and still look good. He had a nest atop his head, a wonky smile, and looked entirely uncomfortable in the steely grey Atlantic blazer, but somehow he made the curious wrinkles on my forehead soften out.
"Oh, hello," Debbie whispered next to me.
Not everybody, however, looked as impressed as we did. Between fits of whispering Carmen and her cronies frowned up at him as though he'd been dragged through a bush which, admittedly, was a pretty valid theory based on his appearance.
"Ok, uh, well," Jetham began, shifting from foot to foot. "I don't really know what to say. You can call me Jet, for a start-"
"What a silly name," Mrs Temple muttered, tsking at the ground.
"Uh, yeah. Anyway, I'm going to be studying Music Tech, Media Studies, Geography and Philosophy, so..." he trailed off into an awkward silence, in which he tucked his hands into his pockets and pulled a fat-lipped face.
Mrs Temple snorted again. "No Biology, I see. Honestly, this institution is getting more metropolitan by the year." She flapped her hands at him. "Sit down, sit down."
Jet melted into his seat, his shoulders slackening. Debbie and I exchanged glances. If he was studying Geography, there was a high chance that he was going to share a classroom with us.
Not that I was overly concerned with him, I reminded myself. Boys were a no-go territory. Nevertheless, it was with a sense of complete inattentiveness that I found myself inching to the left as Mrs Temple went about distributing our timetables, trying to catch a glimpse of the boy with espresso hair.
*
Everywhere we went that day, Jet Burr followed us. Not literally, of course, but his name was inescapable.
By the time the day was done, Debbie and I had harvested enough morsels of information to piece together a fluid, albeit slightly perforated, picture of Jetham Burr. The Burrs had moved down from London so that Mrs Burr could take up her place on the county council. They lived in one of the more prosperous estates on the edge of town, the kind with iron gates and private garages. He even had a car, or so they said. Somebody in the lunch queue had seen him pull up that morning in an old banger.
I was half-grateful for his sudden appearance in the Atlantic social infrastructure; it meant that the first-day excitement was focussed, contained. By the time the excitement about him died down we'd be a couple of days in to the term and everybody would have settled back into their usual routines.
Routine meant safety. Routine meant ordinary, and I could never pass up ordinary.
*
The girl was waiting for me outside my front door that afternoon. She was just standing there. Staring at me. There was an odd smile on her lips, more of a physical motion than an emotive manifestation. It was just an upward curve of the lips; it didn't extend anywhere near her eyes.
I froze at the top of the garden. I hadn't forgotten about her. She'd been in my thoughts all day, peering out from behind Jetham Burr's lanky shoulders. She was the first spirit that I'd seen in years; she wouldn't be easy to forget. But her arrival on my porch would only make disremembering her more difficult.
I gathered my wits about me and walked up to the front door, but not before I could say: "What do you want?"
She spoke, slowly and deeply. "I want to help you."
"I don't need your help with anything," I said, reaching up to grasp the handle.
"Are you sure?"
"What could I possibly need your help with?"
"Enemies," she whispered.
I flinched. "I don't have any enemies."
"Do you have any friends?"
"What?" I thought of Debbie. "Of course I do."
This time, the girl said nothing. She only smiled at me, her eyes full of pity.
"Why do you want to help me, anyway? Isn't it usually the other way around? You know, wandering spirit searching for assistance in achieving her purpose? What's the catch?"
The girl tilted her head, her burning-bright eyes locking on me. "No catch. Just two friends helping each other out."
"We're not friends," I corrected her. Winnie would have thought I was being cruel. "I don't need your help. And I definitely don't want to help you. Now leave me alone-"
The front door swung open, revealing a very red-faced Vivian standing in its place. In her hands was a tray, laden with ingots of lemon-drizzle cake. Her hair was fixed perfectly in place and she was wearing her signature baking apron, the one with the doily-like patterns on it. The combination of the two could only mean one thing.
The Book Club.
I groaned inwardly. I'd completely forgotten that it was my mother's turn to host this week. She must have closed down the bakery, Sweet Things, early and rushed home. She'd asked me to write out some discussion points for her on Wuthering Heights only a few days ago.
"Sapphire!" she squeaked. Her eyes were wide in that conspiratorial way that only disappointingly weird daughters could understand. Act normal, it said. "You're home. The ladies and I thought we heard your voice. Come inside."
"I intended to," I said, "I live here. Remember?"
Vivian let out a piercing laugh and stepped aside. "You're so funny, Sapphire."
I stepped through the open door, and watched the girl on the porch disappear behind it as Vivian pushed it shut. I could only hope that she didn't follow me inside.
As I expected, the living room was like something out of an Ikea catalogue. The coffee table was perfectly polished and the magazines were stacked immaculately, as though Vivian had gone about with a ruler and made sure everything was straight and proportionate. Everything had to be perfect for the town's most esteemed magpies.
The magpies themselves looked as though they were dressed for church. There were six of them in all, Vivian notwithstanding. She was only a demi-magpie with a big living room and a husband who didn't get home from work till five.
Sitting like a beacon amongst all the frilly hats and flowery skirts was Edith Vespin, the most frilly and floral of them all. There was something distinctively lampshade-esque about her. She was like a slightly more conservative version of her daughter, although Vivian once told me that she'd seen a pack of cigarettes peering out of her handbag.
"Sapphire," she said, setting down her teacup and painting on a smile. "How lovely to see you."
"Mrs Vespin," I replied. I tried to return the smile, but the result looked more like I was trying to stop myself from passing wind. "The pleasure is mine."
Edith passed her eyes over me distastefully. I suddenly felt exposed. "Carmen tells me that you're still working hard at that... ah, pub."
"Yes, I am."
"What a responsibility to undertake at such a young age," Edith said, taking a miniscule sip from her teacup. "Vivian, I do hope that she has time to focus on her studies."
My mother winced, as though she'd just been yanked out of a daydream. "Oh, well-"
"I manage just fine with my studies, thank you," I cut across.
Edith pursed her lips and busied herself with her teacup. A strained silence fell over the room, which was eventually broken by a tiny cough to the left. Mavis Peabody, who was married to the vicar, set her own tea on the coffee table, spoke up.
"Your mother raised some very interesting points about insanity in Wuthering Heights, Sapphire," she piped. On the peripheries of my vision, I saw Vivian seize up.
Edith raised a suggestive eyebrow. "Yes, she did."
All eyes in the room were on me. It was no secret that I liked to read. I spent a lot of my free time at the library, and Carmen had no doubt told the ladies that I preferred fictional characters to real people. Which was mostly true, but it wasn't something that I liked to sing about.
"Well, she's spent a lot of time reading it," I said through gritted teeth. "It was hard to peel her away from it, at times."
Heads swerved and Vivian proudly straightened herself up. Edith's grip on her teacup seemed to tighten.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going up to my room," I said, making my way to the stairs, but not before I could turn and declare to the assembly: "I have studying to do."
"Actually, Sapphire," Vivian said, "we were hoping that you could tell us a little about the new family in town. The boy was in school with you today, was he not?"
Each pair of ears in the room angled like sunflowers towards their sun. Mavis Peabody actually reached into her handbag, pulled her glasses on, and sat forward to peer at me. I knew I should have gone straight to my room.
"Uh, I don't know, mum," I said, "today was really tiring, first day back and all-"
"Just tell us a little bit about him," Vivian wagered. She angled herself towards me at the bottom of the stairs so that nobody else could see her face and raised a pleading eyebrow. Do this for me, please.
I sighed. "Like what?"
"His name?"
"Jet," I said. "Jet Burr."
"Burr," Edith said, triumphantly. The other ladies in the room eyed her admiringly. "I was right. What sort of boy is he?"
I felt my cheeks redden. "Nice, I guess. He'll be in Geography class with Carmen and me."
"I'll ask Carmen about him later," Edith said, and then she flashed her teeth again. "It's so nice that you two are still such good friends, after all these years."
My stomach twisted itself into a knot. From the bottom of the stairs Vivian gave me a tiny, imploring nod.
"Yeah, it's great," I finally said.
Vivian's face swelled with relief. "Alright, well, you'd best get to your studies. I imagine you have a lot of homework after your first day back at school. Say goodbye to the ladies, Sapphire."
"Bye," I grumbled, turning to make my way up the stairs. I felt as though I owed them a curtsy.
"Oh, and Sapphire-"
When I looked back, Vivian was holding the tray of lemon drizzle cakes out to me, glistening with moisture. Her tiny little eyes puffed with approval. "Take a lemon cake for the road."
I stared at her. She was offering me a reward, like I was a mischievous dog that had finally learnt how to sit. I'd played her little game and now I was getting a treat.
I didn't want to take one. I wanted to bat the tray away and dive into an elaborate account of the requited hatred that Carmen and I shared for each other, that we hadn't been friends since we'd turned eleven, started high school and she'd latched onto the notion that body image translated into status.
But then the sweet, citrus flavours reached up to kiss my soft palette, and I took one anyway.
*****************
Ok, guys! That's Chapter 2! I hope you enjoyed... please don't forget to comment, and please please please vote!