Many things struck me about the way in which it worked. There was a social food chain and I was friends with all the boys in my year; this was not socially acceptable for eighth grade girls. That was the biggest shock I guess-Ive had such strong male influence in my life. I have two brothers a younger, older and one sister, as I said all my friends where of the rough and tumble variety. I wasn’t ready to give up noogies and causing mischief. My parents realized that I wasn’t going to listen to their advice on the matter, so they called my older brother, and sister.
At the grand age of 19 Ali had to be one of the most hideous breeds of big sister possible…she’s so pretty she puts Kate Moss to shame and has a bigger wardrobe than Barbie. Not only that but is every bit talented, big hearted and funny. She re-iterated that if I fitted into school as well as she fitted into her dream Chanel dress I’d be fine. All I needed to do was wear the right clothes, makeup, be friends with the right people, organize unforgettable roof raising raves and things would fall into place. Basically become everything I’m not. (As much as I’ve made her out to be unforgivably cruel, she’s not that bad!)
Feeling even more trapped I asked my brother what to do. Ben is a living legend in his own mind. He is the big brother to end all big brothers. He’s such a big kid-I think he became a pediatrician to stay that way and socialize with patients of the same maturity.
He has always been supportive, compassionate and hilarious. This is kind of why his advice was invaluable. He told me that being myself is not an overrated, cheesy idea invented by scriptwriters at Hollywood thought up. That it was a genuine key to happiness and success of any capacity.
My first day was a total nightmare. I was so late that I almost slipped on the bridle path as I ran to catch my bus. I looked like an inhuman jumble sale. My clothes where so large on me they where either cast off Pavarotti uniform or designed for the ‘supersized’. My shoes had the clumpy factor that matched my entire look. Any 70s sad Dad having a mid life crisis would be proud to own them; they were loafers of another era. To add to physical insult I was very ungainly… tall, skinny with big hands and feet a typical reject. I couldn’t have stuck out more if I had YEAR 7-NEW MEAT imprinted on my forehead. The kids on my bus thought I was direct evidence that God has a sense of humor. The journey to school felt totally traumatizing, when I finally got off the bus I was so nervous my knees could’ve beat James Stuart at a jitterbug dance off.
To my relief there were a dozen other rather inconspicuous kids from my year that failed at being invisible by huddling under one tree. We followed the mass of students into the playground in attempts to find people we knew. As the bell sounded it wasn’t hard to do-a tidal wave of tenth years swept over us, they left behind a large entourage of first years. A teacher rescued us from the window ridicule we where being subjected to-courtesy of every other year group. We got placed in our ‘forms’ I knew absolutely no one! Our tutor looked as equally as nervous as us. He himself looked out of place, like he belonged to the hippie mud baths at Glastonbury not in a Science lab, with a bunch of kid strangers.
Our first lesson was French-affreux! It was fairly simple but ‘Madame Mao’ seemed rather too eager to make our lives a living hell. Her ‘salive’ took out the front row with accompanied by ear piercing terrier like shrieks. Cooking was less exhausting but the smell of sunshine bars was beyond stomach turning, sulpher dioxide mixed with rotting flesh and hush puppy’s (I think in England they’re called Cornmeal fritters or battered cornmeal) would be understated.
Lunch, if you classify the canteen food as edible was adequate. My new found friends and I walked through the school. Over 300 million people speak English you wouldn’t think so if you were in a school playground. The language of teenagers seemed similar to that of a caveman. A lot of monosyllabic words making no sense at all. Speaking of language, teenagers are like Inuit’s they have fifty words to describe a variation of snow but not one word for just ‘snow’. (Reading Bill Bryson fills your head with unnecessary facts).Teenagers in the school seemed like that-there were plenty of cliques but no happy medium-there was no such thing as just a teenager.
I was given little time to worry about where I would fit in as the third lesson approached. Geography-I am one of the many geographically confused that often end up asking for directions. Luckily it seemed to involve earthquakes-to which I was no stranger (Hong Kong provided me with first hand experience) rather than map reading.
Finally Music, the less said about the boy that got his fingers stuck in a flute the better-and I thought I was accident prone! (I don’t know whether it was due to first impressions but I no longer take any of the aforementioned subjects!)
The trip home was hardly a rollercoaster, yet somehow it still made me feel dizzy and a little dazed. The first day had confirmed my worst fears, that my childhood was O.V.E.R (alphabetical breakdown was so ‘this year’). I felt so maladjusted, even though I had made quite a lot of friends in the one day. There was and still is so much to take in! I went home 11 going on 15. I have changed tremendously as time has gone on, now that I am 15 going on 16; the 90’s occasionally calls with its re-runs of Dawson’s Creek. Pangs of nostalgia pass as the past brings me back to my childhood and 2003 my ‘wonder year’.
