Paradise City (4 page)

Chapter Six

Like many things, I had played this moment over and over in my mind.

I had imagined it in so many ways: me sliding out of Aunty Karen’s car, my hair blowing in the wind as I walked in slow motion through the school gate. Low hums and whispers surrounded me as Amanda and I strutted side by side, giving each other knowing glances as the sea of bodies parted, letting us through.

But reality was nothing like that. I inched my way out of the car, self-consciously pulling at my dress, trying to stop it from riding too high and revealing all to the world. I shrugged on my backpack, heavily laden with textbooks – somehow my fantasy didn’t include the practicality of a school bag. And instead of Amanda standing diligently by my side, she merely stood in contempt, sighing deeply with a ‘let’s get this over with’ expression.

‘Now, remember, Amanda, show Lexie around, and help her meet some people.’ Aunty Karen smiled through the open car window. ‘Have a great day, girls.’

Amanda and I turned and began to walk through the crowds, but no-one parted: it was a fight to the death to weave our way through the masses. Girls chirping in groups, boys pushing and shoving each other. No-one so much as looked my way until I accidentally stepped on the back of some girl’s shoe.

‘Sorry.’ I grimaced, knowing how hard I had stomped, not paying attention.

The girl, a Year Seven at a guess, spun around, anger flashing in her eyes. ‘Watch where you’re going, skank.’

My mouth gaped, looking down at her – that’s right, looking down, because she was a full half-foot shorter than me, with a serious slathering of freckles across her face, and a heavy layer of black eyeliner on her eyelids, flicked up into little ticks at the corners. I was shocked on so many levels and apparently my reaction was somewhat hilarious to her and her friends as they continued on their way, chucking me filthy looks.

Amanda just walked on, shaking her head. ‘You’re going to be eaten alive,’ she said.

I had gone from a world of slumber parties and giggling about boys to a school where Year Sevens were wearing makeup and weren’t afraid to lash out at seniors.

I now wished I had made more of an effort to get my bearings at orientation. Why didn’t I locate the locker block, find out what house I was in or where my first class would be? My heart started to race, heat creeping up my neck as my eyes lifted to the imposing greyscale building, its pebbled concrete exterior stretching out like a prison minus the barbed wire.

This wasn’t the first day of school for everyone, just me. So every student went along with their own sense of routine, with their own surety. I quickstepped up the concrete steps, aiming to keep up with Amanda as I took the crumpled piece of paper from my pocket that I had studied over and over again. ‘Um, where is 11F? Is that a room?’ I asked, chasing after her.

She stopped at the top of the steps, looking back towards the front of the school, making sure the Volvo had departed before turning to me with a shrug. ‘You’re on your own.’ And just like that she pushed through the door of the main building and made true on her promise.

I was on my own. That was painfully clear.

Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic.

I may have been lost and the bell may have sounded but I did know how to get to one place.

The line was three deep to the main reception, where, from memory, the lady minding the front desk was called Ms Ray, an older woman with military precision for all things admin and a particular fondness for tweed material. It was also to my genuine surprise that she was still rocking the perm, something I didn’t know was legally happening in any self-respecting salon. Not since the eighties.

It seemed like all I had done since my arrival at Paradise High was avoid collisions in fear of being abused again. I thought it safest to just opt for a seat against the wall and out of the way until the line cleared; the second bell sounded, causing my heart to spike in anxiety as the last of the stragglers cleared out of the halls.

Great, late on my first day of school, just great. I cursed Amanda. With each lagging student getting served by Ms Ray I watched anxiously as every tick of the clock on the wall made me later and later. At 9.16 a.m. I wanted to give up, to cry, and then Ms Ray called out to me. ‘Can I help you?’

I jumped to my feet, approaching the bench and scrabbling for my piece of paper.

‘Did you want to sign the late book?’ Ms Ray spoke to me without taking her eyes from her computer screen. I paused, before looking down and seeing a blue bound book in front of me, titled, very helpfully, ‘Late Book’.

‘Oh, um, I actually don’t know where I’m meant to be.’

Ms Ray looked up from her chained bifocals.

‘It’s my first day.’ I cringed, sliding over the tattered piece of paper.

‘Oh dear.’ She pursed her lips.

‘I was here last Friday; I had a meeting with Mr Fitzgibbons prior to my orientation.’

‘Honey, there are six hundred and forty-three students in this school. It’s going to take more than a brief walk-in on a Friday afternoon for me to remember student six hundred and forty-four.’

Okay, so she didn’t remember me.

‘Do you know which house you belong in?’ she asked, continuing to type.

‘Um, I don’t . . .’

She took the page from me with a sigh, looking at the grids and tracing a finger along the top blue line.

‘You’re a Gilmore girl,’ she said, pointing to a place on the paper that read 11G+. ‘The number is your year, the letter is your house, and the plus means acceleration. We like to keep it simple here,’ she said.

Yeah, real simple.

She pointed her pencil behind me to the wall. ‘We have three houses here, three divisions: Kirkland, Gilmore and Chisholm.’

My eyes followed hers to the framed pictures of three students, all sporting different-coloured polo tops, below a plaque that read, ‘House Captains’.

Penny Aldridge was a smiley-faced, perky, ponytailed blonde with a yellow polo – Gilmore captain. James Masters was a green-shirt-clad boy with a monobrow doing it for Chisholm. But my eyes couldn’t help but linger on the dimpled image attached to a cocky grin of the boy in red, the gold plaque mounted with his name: Luke Ballantine.

My brows lowered. ‘Are these the school captains?’ I wondered, thinking it unusual that a school captain was called to the principal’s office and was aiding girls sneaking out of their bedroom windows in the middle of the night.

‘We don’t have school captains here, only house captains voted in by the students themselves.’

‘So kind of like a popularity contest,’ I said, mainly to myself.

But Ms Ray nodded. ‘Something like that,’ she said, slipping over a fresh piece of paper. ‘Here’s a map of the school. I’ve marked out today’s timetable with where you need to be. This is where you should be now,’ she said, drawing a big red circle on the sheet. I tilted my head, looking at the mark.

‘So is that 11F, Biology?’

‘No, that is the main hall. It’s Monday and every Monday there’s a school assembly.’

Oh God.

Ms Ray must have seen the colour drain from my face.

‘Yes, I suggest you get a wriggle on.’

I worked fast to fold up my pieces of paper, frantically shouldering my bag, ready to bolt down the empty corridor.

‘Wait a minute, the green block on the map is the locker room, and you are 1138,’ she said, sliding over my key.

I simply held the key in my palm. ‘Oh, okay,’ I said, without much conviction.

Ms Ray sighed. ‘Leave your bag here and come and collect it after assembly, you’re late enough as it is.’

A small bubble of relief lifted my heart. ‘Thanks,’ I said, handing over my bag as quickly as I could.

‘Just don’t make a habit of it; new or not, next time you sign the book.’

‘Oh, I won’t. Promise,’ I said, raising a small smile and starting down the corridor.

‘Miss Atkinson?’

I slid to a halt, turning on my heel. ‘Yes?’

Ms Ray pointed her pencil in the opposite direction. ‘That way.’

Chapter Seven

I stood slightly to the side, peering through a small glass window that looked into the main hall, the main hall being the indoor basketball arena.

My chest heaved, mainly because I had run the equivalent of two football ovals in order to get there, but my laboured breathing didn’t lessen when I realised how late I was and worse, that there was no way of delicately slipping in undetected: the entrance was in everyone’s direct line of sight. I might as well have had a spotlight shine on me. I bit my lip, frantically looking for Amanda, wondering where she was among the hundreds of students and patrolling teachers. The only thing I could distinguish was the house factions, which was something. The school was divided into three stands. A red banner, a yellow banner and a green banner connected to the front bar of the front row. I just had to make my way to the middle section and find a seat. Desperately searching for a spare spot, I realised I would have to walk right up the back of the tiered stadium. It was such a long way up. While mentally assessing my plan I finally set eyes on Amanda, who was seated in the green section for Chisholm looking bored and as disengaged as ever even among her friends. I bet she’d spark up the moment she saw me do my walk of shame. I made a mental note not to make eye contact with her and just focus on getting to my seat.

Mr Fitzgibbons stood at the microphone; the muffled sounds of the PA system echoed in the large arena as he addressed his minions. Unlike the Friday before, he seemed in good spirits, passionate and bubbly in his body language.

And then as my eyes skimmed to the stands, I froze. There he was, standing to the left of the first section. His arms crossed over his chest, his stance casual as he leant on the front bar of the front row stand. His hair, which I’d thought was as dark as the night was actually a warm brown colour, cropped short and dishevelled. Unlike in his captain photo, he was dressed like everyone else – white shirt, navy tie, his long legs clad in dark denim, something only the seniors were allowed to wear. By the look of things, though, he wasn’t there out of choice; the Gilmore captain and Chisholm captain were also front and centre of their houses, a show of leadership no doubt, and they seemed to take it rather seriously, their attention hanging on every word Mr Fitzgibbons delivered, unlike Luke Ballantine, who cricked his neck from side to side and rolled his right shoulder as if struggling to stay awake.

My eyes fixed on his every movement, noticing that when he was serious there was no trace of that gorgeous dimple. I desperately wished something would take his fancy so I could see a flash of that devil-may-care smile, or that hypnotic pucker in his left cheek. And just as if I had willed it, it appeared right after his eyes landed on me. Perving through the window, watching him with a besotted stare, his brown eyes had locked onto mine, pinning me there. His expression changed from a confused frown, into that of recognition and quickly into a crooked grin.

Shit.

I ducked. Actually ducked.

I was so lame. Nope, nothing obvious about me, so cool, calm and collected I was; I should have just gone to the locker room and ditched the school assembly, signed the bloody late book and be done with it. Gone down into the history books as the worst first-day student ever. Instead, there I was, hunched over with my eyes closed, praying for the strength not to be physically sick and instead just bite the bullet and walk through the door. What was the worst thing that could happen, people might look at me? They weren’t anything to me; besides, I was the new girl, I could play the newbie card for the first week at least, surely. Lexie Atkinson, straight-A student, surely it wouldn’t be too bad . . . would it?

There was only one way to find out. I moved to the side of the door, taking a moment to gather myself. I straightened my hair and uniform, took a deep breath and silently counted from three – two, one . . . push.

It was as bad as I had feared. The hall door hinges hadn’t been oiled in the last century, so a loud screech as good as announced my entrance. If that wasn’t enough for all eyes to shift to me, then Mr Fitzgibbons breaking off mid-speech and craning his head around towards me standing in the doorway sure was. His happy demeanour went down a few notches and I half expected him to scream ‘Release the hounds’ at the sight of the new girl rocking up late on her first day at school.

I smiled apologetically, keeping my eyes somewhat averted from Mr Fitzgibbons as I quickly made my way along the edge of the main hall. The sound of my new school shoes squeaking painfully loudly was the only thing that – mortifyingly – broke the stony silence of the room. You could seriously have heard a pin drop as the entire school watched me take each agonising step. Squeak, squeak, squeak.

I wanted to die.

Even more so as I made a long line towards a path that would have me basically skimming past Luke Ballantine. I glanced up briefly to see his deep-set eyes glinting with amusement as I neared the first section of Kirkland.

The squeaking seemed less of an issue now that the murmurs had started among the stands. A rowdiness of chatter and laughter swept through the building and I didn’t know whether I should be relieved at the fact, knowing that most of it was directed at me. I dropped my eyes to my feet as I walked past Ballantine; I could feel his eyes on me more heavily than anyone else’s, mainly because he had caught me spying on him. That had made my cheeks flush before any kind of embarrassment I was facing now. Mercifully Gilmore was the second section so I quickly swung into the aisle and made my way up the steps. Passing comments were not lost on me, no matter how hard I tried to block them out.

‘Stupid bitch.’

‘Who the hell is she?’

‘Fresh meat, bro.’

‘I think she’s the foreign-exchange student.’

‘Another Gilmore nerd.’

It was the longest walk of my life; my sole focus was to not let it get to me, to carry on, take my seat and cry later. Wow, it wasn’t even nine-thirty and I already wanted to burst into tears; definitely some kind of record.

‘All right settle down, everyone,’ Mr Fitzgibbons snapped, his angry voice echoing in the grand space. ‘I said, settle down,’ he repeated, his eyes darting their warning beams across the stadium. It took a few sweeping glares by neighbouring teachers to finally regain silence, and just when I thought I had done pretty well, my eyes lifted to the right, locking with the big blue eyes of Amanda. To my surprise she didn’t look smug, or disgusted. I could have sworn I saw a glimmer of another emotion, one I couldn’t quite put my finger on and just as I was trying to identify it, she tore her eyes from my gaze, faced forward and slammed down the stony guard I had come to know so well over the past few days.

There was no-one else on my row aside from a boy who my mum would have referred to as big-boned, but I would say he was just massive in every which way. At least six feet tall with legs the size of tree trunks, he had a rather interestingly large head that was topped by an enormous mop of curly hair. He snacked lazily on a Mars Bar, paying me no mind until he realised I was watching him, but not in the way I had been watching Luke Ballantine.

‘First day?’ he whispered.

‘Is it that obvious?’

He shrugged. ‘Everyone knows if you’re late for assembly then you come through the back door.’

‘There’s a back door?’

‘Under the stairs.’

Crap.

‘Oh well, next time,’ he said, crumpling up the empty wrapper and letting it fall under the seat.

There won’t be a next time.

‘Shhhhh!’

A teacher who stood in the aisle half-a-dozen steps down glared in our general direction, not entirely figuring out the guilty party. I took the warning though, thinking I was in enough trouble as it was without drawing further attention to myself. Mr Fitzgibbons was raving on about school spirit and God knows what else; all I could think about was how I fancied a Mars Bar. I brushed out the lines of the fabric on my uniform in my lap, wondering when the assembly would be over and I could just get my first class underway, trying to visualise where the building for my first class was. My eyes lifted, wandering around the tops of the heads of what was the entire school, sweeping across to lock once again with a familiar set of eyes, brown and burning right into me. The only difference was this time I had caught Luke Ballantine staring at me, and, unlike me, he didn’t look away; he didn’t blush or duck. He looked at me, without apology, the only thing breaking his attention was the sudden burst of cheering from the stands.

I flinched, blinking back into my skin and wondering what had been so interesting in Mr Fitzgibbons’ speech that could possibly get such a reaction. I turned to Mars Bar boy next to me, who appeared to be less than thrilled. He groaned, rubbing his thick, sausage-like fingers through his afro.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked above the hoots and the hollers.

He sighed wearily. ‘Swimming carnival results.’

‘Oh.’ And just like that my heart sunk. Red Hill didn’t exactly do many sporting activities; instead, our idea of grand water-sports was running under the sprinkler in the summertime, or going for a dunk in our dam.

I started to think that me and Mars Bar boy were kindred spirits, sitting up the back like the pair of misfits we were. I looked across to find Luke Ballantine was no longer standing down the front. Long before Mr Fitzgibbons called the assembly to a close, he had disappeared, and I smiled to myself thinking he had probably gone out the back door.