school itself wasn’t far from my house, and on my walk over (all downhill, thankfully) I saw lots of kids making their way in that direction. Nobody really paid any attention to me; in fact, people didn’t even seem to notice I was there. Score one for my unexceptional appearance. At five-foot-five, with pale skin and a sprinkling of freckles, I blended nicely into the sea of faces. I guess I could even pass for Irish, with dark green, almond-shaped eyes, courtesy of my dad, and my mom’s small oval face.
Turning the corner, I caught sight of the school gates, and my stomach fluttered a little. The school, a long, low building all on one level, had a parking lot in the front, and was bordered by basketball courts and grassy soccer fields in the back. I took a deep breath and made for the main entrance, when a pair of eyes caught my attention. Just inside the gate, a tall boy, leaning against a lamppost, was staring at me. A chill ran through my spine and my hands tingled. I balled them into fists and glanced down. What the hell? I was so distracted that I took a step forward and walked straight into another girl.
“I’m so sorry,” I yelped, as we stumbled and caught each other. I quickly glanced back at the lamppost, but the boy was gone.
“No problem,” a friendly voice chirped back. “Looking for someone?” She followed my gaze with a curious expression.
“Oh, no. Well, yes, actually. I need to find the principal’s office.”
“New?”
“Am I that obvious?” I asked, laughing.
“I’m Caitlin,” she introduced herself. “Are you in fifth year?”
Another term I was going to have to get used to. I was a junior back home. “Yep. I’m—”
“Megan,” she finished for me, and smiled apologetically at my shocked face. “It’s a small town. We were wondering when you were going to show up.” She pointed toward the school. “The principal’s office is through the double doors and to the right. Sister Basil.” She pronounced the name with an ominous tone.
I could feel my face paling. Great. A scary nun.
“She’s not that bad really,” Caitlin reassured me. “She’s strict, but fair. Keep eye contact with her and agree with everything she says and you should be sorted.”
“Thanks,” I said, turning to leave. I massaged my hands, trying to ease out the pins-and-needles feeling that still prickled through them.
“Good luck! I’m sure to be seeing you later. We’re bound to share some classes.” She waved and walked off.
Thanks to Caitlin’s advice, I got through my meeting with Sister Basil easily. She dispensed with the formalities quickly, gave me my schedule and the school map, then ushered me out of her office.
Classes in Ireland were divided into higher and lower curricula depending on ability. Luckily, I’d made the grade for higher English and I had that class first. I walked down the hall, following the map Sister Basil had given me. When I got to the room it was only half-full of students, most of them talking among themselves. I sat down at the first available desk, opened my copy of Hamlet, and tried my best to look engrossed while furtively listening to the chatter around me.
I still couldn’t believe how fast people here spoke, and I was having some trouble getting used to the musical accent. Dropping my pen (accidentally on purpose), I leaned down to retrieve it and took a quick look around. I was surprised by how nervous I felt. I had always taken pride in my ability to adapt—a talent that years of new schools and new friends had helped me perfect—but something about this day felt off. I scratched my neck. It always got itchy when I was nervous. And that prickling feeling I’d had in my hands earlier was back, leaving them cold and stiff. I stuck my fingers under my legs, hoping the heat and the pressure would get the circulation working properly again.
Just then, Caitlin came in. Smiling broadly, she walked toward me.
“See, I told you we’d share some classes,” she said, dumping her books on the desk beside me. She glanced over my head, then did a double take before sitting down and leaning in. “Do you know Adam?”
I shook my head. “Who?”
“Adam DeRís, the guy down the back. Don’t look now, but he’s staring at you.”
I felt red heat climb slowly up my neck, stinging as it passed over my scar. I ached to turn and look.
“I don’t know anybody here.”
“Well, he appears to know you. He’s still staring. It’s weird; he’s normally only aware of his own self-importance. Oh, crap,” she said, flicking her head back to me. “He just caught me looking. Like he doesn’t have a big enough head as it is.”
I strained my eyes to the side, twisting my neck slightly to try to get a look at him, but just then the teacher walked in and promptly got into some heavy Shakespeare.
At the end of the period, Caitlin packed up her books and notes. I stalled, wanting to give this Adam guy a chance to leave so I could catch a glimpse of him as he left the room.
Caitlin slyly glanced back and stood up. “He’s still looking,” she mumbled through barely moving lips as she turned to talk to the girl sitting behind me. “I’ll tell you when he’s coming.”
Just then I heard the screech of a chair on the tiles and Caitlin nudged me, raising her eyebrows. I knew I was being stupid. I was seventeen, not twelve. But I felt compelled to see who this guy was. I glanced up furtively as I heard him come near. It was the guy who had been watching me at the school gates. My heart began thudding loudly and my hands went rigid and tingly. The heat rose up my face.
“Ohhhhhhh, new girl has the hots for Adam,” scoffed the blond girl behind me. “Don’t waste your time, honey,” she said, putting on an American accent.
“Jennifer! Play nice.” Caitlin gave her a playful shove as Jennifer pushed past us to leave.
Adam glanced back at me and collided with the door frame. He winced and, rubbing his shoulder, made a hasty exit. Jennifer turned to us with her mouth hanging open, and then walked out after him, laughing.
Caitlin grabbed my arm and we made our way to the crowded hallway. “Don’t mind Jennifer. She’s just ticked off because he’s never even looked at her. He’s a bit of a funny fish, him.”
I nodded, barely listening. I was so embarrassed by my bizarre reaction to Adam.
Caitlin saw the look on my face and quickly changed the subject. “Let me see your course list,” she said, peering at the piece of paper on top of my folder. “Oh, great, you’re in the same French as me. Wait until you meet Mr. Flood, our teacher.”
Relaxing, I smiled at her. “Why?”
“You should see his face! Only a mother could love it, and that’s not the worst of it.”
I looked at her questioningly. “What’s the worst of it?”
She scrunched up her nose in disgust. “You’ll see.”
We moved quickly to our next class, and I soon found out why Caitlin very wisely steered us toward seats at the back of the room. Mr. Flood liked to put lots of emphasis
